She was still not speaking to him, but she abdicated the cooking to him, and started shedding the armor—cause enough to be in better humor, Shoka reckoned to himself, and certain enough, coming freshly-washed and free of that weight to a dinner already done improved her mood no little.
"Mmmn," was all she said until the rice and the tea were gone, and sighed afterward and just sat with the bowl in her hands.
"I tell you," he said then, "I won't talk about going back if you don't. Any time you want—we can. Do you want to?"
"You said you weren't going to talk about it!"
"So I'm not. I was just asking. Here. Give me the bowls. I'll wash up."
"That's not your job!" She stood up and took his from his hands and stalked over to the spring.
He untied their bedroll then. It was cool in the hills, even toward chill at night. He put the mats down doubled, two blankets for cover, and had bed ready by the time she had washed.
"I'm tired," she said, putting the bowls and the food away. "I just want to sleep tonight. Please don't bother me. All right?"
"Of course," he said mildly. "Whatever you like. But I hope you don't mind doubling up on blankets. It's going to be cold before morning."
She made a disgusted sound.
And when they lay down she pointedly turned her back to him.
All right, he thought, finding himself not so indifferent as he had hoped to be, and finally, uncomfortably, edged closer to her. The girl had thinking to do. At any moment she could change her mind and decide that she wanted to go back to the mountain, which was all to the better. So he could be patient.
He could not see himself being patient all the way to Hua.
Damn the girl.
He thought again of force. But Taizu had had that, had had much too much of that, gods knew, and she was not one to forgive a man's lack of patience. He had been patient two years. He could become ascetic with more patience than this.
Gods.
He stared at the stars. He got himself very well under control and said, quietly:
"You're not cold, are you?"
"No."
"I'm sorry about the demon business."
"Don't talk about it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying to sleep!"
"Do you believe in demons?"
"Of course I do. Stop talking about itl Do you want to make them mad?"
"Well, I don't. I lived on that mountain for ten years and I never saw one. Did you?"
"No, and I'm glad I didn't!"
"The village believes they're all through the mountains. And they aren't. If they were there I'd have seen them. Jiro would have smelled them."
She said nothing.
"Taizu."
"I shouldn't have slept with you in the first place. Now you tell lies about me in the village and you try to scare me."
"What does sleeping with you have to do with it? I thought you enjoyed it."
Long silence.
"Didn't you?"
"It was better the second time."
"You were helping. It does make a difference." He brushed a hand down her shoulder. "One never knows—how many chances there are. Gods know—you're supposed to enjoy it, Taizu. It's no good if you don't."
Silence.
"Dammit, you could at least answer a man."
"I'm trying to sleep!"
"Well, I'm not having much luck at it." He got up and shoved at her. "Get up. Give me my mat and a blanket. This isn't going to work."
"You said it was cold."
"So it is cold. A damn sight colder in this bed."
"I'm tired," she said, and sat up and put her arms around him, laid her head against him. "All right. It's all right. If you want to, I don't mind."
He was sorry then. He put the blanket around them and stroked her hair and held her, reckoning it had been a long way and a heavy load for a girl. Probably the armor made her sore in the joints. Gods knew it did him, and he had been on horseback all day.
"Just go to sleep," he said. "That's all a man needs, you know, a civil answer."
She put her arms around his neck and held on. He felt her shoulders heave gently.
"Are you crying?"
No answer.
'"What for?" he asked finally. "Is it me?"
She took a fistful of his hair and hugged him tighter and shook her head. Whatever that meant. He heard her sniffing back tears.
"Tired?" he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder and did not let him go. So he sat there a while feeling awkward, but finding a lapful of Taizu quite warm enough against the night chill. He leaned his head against hers and sighed and prepared to sit there as long as comforted her.
But she patted his face then and said: "We can do it. It's all right."
"Dammit, girl." Because now he was out of the notion. "Be kind. Tell me once for all if you want to or don't. Don't change your mind again. You're wearing me out."
"I said yes. I mean yes!"
"Gods." He took her in his arms. He held her a while, feeling the exhaustion himself, and felt her shiver. "You're not scared, are you?"
"Cold." Her teeth were chattering.
He rolled her onto the ground and pulled the covers over. Exhausted, he thought. And scared.
So he held her close until she stopped shivering.
And by that time she was half asleep and he was.
"Hell," he murmured, "we'll try it tomorrow."
Chapter Eleven
Jiro sulked in the morning. A bit of exercise and an interesting trek through the hills was one thing, but he seemed to have a notion that home was getting further and further away, and waking up a good long way from his stable and his pasture put him thoroughly out of sorts. Being armored up again was not to his liking, and he more than laid his ears back, he cow-kicked and snapped.
Smart horse, Shoka thought, feeling a sharp pain in the leg this morning, so that it was hard not to limp, and picking up Jiro's saddle and slinging it on sent a stab of pain through the knee.
It was some satisfaction to see Taizu moving a little slower today, bending and stretching and grimacing as she massaged her shoulders and put the armor-sleeves on.
Decidedly slower this dawn than last.
"See," he said, "you should make love every night. It works the stiffness out."
She made a face at him. He grinned and threw the saddlebags over.
"I'll take one of the quivers," he said.
"I'm not going to argue."
"I could take half the bedding."
"I won't argue that either."
She never once suggested she ride—because, he thought, she knew that walking would have him limping in short order. And she never threw that up to him even when he provoked her, even when he was trying to wear her down and persuade her home again: she might have, he thought, except she was at heart kind, except she doubtless understood very well what he was doing, and put him off last night with some little justice on her side.
He remade the bedrolls separately, and came over to help her while she was doing her hair. He brought her ribbons the ladies of the village had given them, another red one and a bright orange.
She smiled at his gift, and tied them in with the first, and gave him a worried look, as if she was not sure she did not look the fool.
He smiled. Her eyes lightened.
So he walked off and mounted up, before a word could start another argument.
The day warmed and the road went smoothly, two ruts of silken yellow dust between the low growth of wild, late-summer grass. "Will you ride awhile?" Shoka asked finally, but Taizu shook her head and wiped a little trail of sweat from her temple. "No," she said. "Thank you, master Shoka. I'm all right."
"Jiro can carry the bedroll."
"No," she said cheerfully, light-hearted, even. She hitched the bedroll higher. "One isn't so much."