Kate Elliott - An earthly crown

"Bakhtiian," said Mother Sakhalin, acknowledging him. "Well met. It is with joy that I greet you this day."

He accepted her benediction with becoming modesty. Pleasantries, sweet cakes, and tea were passed around. "Most of the news of the army I have heard," he said, after a decent interval had passed. "Is there other news I ought to hear?"

Tess enjoyed watching Mother Sakhalin and Ilya together. They respected each other, and yet they remained wary, too, of the power the other one wielded. Mother Sakhalin had a vicious sense of humor and Ilya enough aplomb to match her. Tess suspected that they were the kind of pair who, had they been of an age, might have been lovers but never, ever, husband and wife. Sakhalin presented Ilya with various events, and he exclaimed over her wisdom and adroitness in handling them.

"The barbarian ambassador, the one with the slave, may yet learn wisdom," she said finally. "He has asked that his guardsmen be allowed to marry khaja women and bring them into camp."

"Has he, indeed?"

She considered him with amusement. "Of course, that is not how he asked, but he did his best to bring the matter forward modestly and with good manners. I told him that as long as they treated the women as they would treat their own wives, I might allow it."

"That was generous of you, Mother Sakhalin. But can you be sure they treat their own wives well?''

She looked affronted. "Surely any wife is treated with respect? Even savages must know such simple courtesies."

"Is this all that has happened in camp in my absence, Mother Sakhalin?"

For an instant, and no longer than that, the old woman hesitated. Then she went on. "There is nothing more that needs to be brought to your attention. Six horses were stolen. We have sent out a jahar to look for the thieves."

"Horses stolen? In the midst of this army? The thieves must be desperate souls, indeed."

But instead of answering, Mother Sakhalin took her leave, and her retinue departed with her. Except for the actors. They tarried. Tess waved them forward: an embassy of four, Ginny Arbha, Yomi Applegate-Hito, Diana Brooke-Holt, and Gwyn Jones.

"Well met," Tess rose to greet them, but their sober faces told her immediately that all was not well. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"Mother Sakhalin didn't tell you?" began Diana, and then broke off, looking embarrassed.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ilya in Rhuian. "May I help?"

Ginny turned to Tess. "There's been a disaster," she said in Anglais. "Hyacinth has run off with a man and his sister, and he stole things from our camp."

"Oh, God," said Tess. "What did he take?"

"His own gear, which included a little solar-celled heating unit and his computer slate, a thermal blanket, some other things." She faltered and looked to Yomi.

"A water purifier. A frying pan. Some rope. A tent, which has heating coils in the fabric, as you know. One hundred bags of tea. A lantern, solar-celled. A medical kit. A permanent match." Yomi faltered as well.

"And a knife," finished Ginny, "with an emergency transmitter and broad field stun capability built in."

"Oh, God," repeated Tess. "Have you let my brother know?''

"Immediately."

"What did he say?"

"He said to contain the damage, if we could. He said to leave the problem in your hands for now.''

"I'll have to thank him," said Tess wryly, "when I see him again." She glanced down and surprised a peculiar expression on Ilya's face. "I beg your pardon," she said in Rhuian, and immediately all the actors begged pardon as well.

"Not at all," said Ilya, so softly and politely that she knew he was furious. "I beg your pardon for disturbing your reunion."

"One of the actors has run off," Tess explained. "But you never did explain why," she added, glancing at Ginny.

"Tess," said Ginny, again in Anglais, "evidently they have some kind of taboo on same-sex relationships in this culture. Poor stupid Hyacinth was caught with one of the young men, the young man was exiled, and his sister and Hyacinth ran off with him, to share his exile, no doubt. The Goddess knows, the only thing they'll share is an ugly death. We're heartsick about it, but what can we say? It's their taboo. Perhaps you would like to explain this story to your husband. Evidently Mother Sakhalin did not."

Tess said, "You'd better go. Let me know if you hear anything. I'll have to think about this."

They made polite farewells and hurried away.

"It is one thing," said Ilya in a low, taut voice, "to go to their tents and speak with them in their own tongue. It is quite another to speak it in front of me so that I can't understand what you're saying. Couldn't you have been more discreet? At least gone aside. Gods, Tess! How do you think I felt sitting here like a damned idiot? I'll thank you to treat me with more respect in the future."

"Ilya." She sat down. "Now listen. You must recall that they come from another land, and they didn't know whether what we were discussing might embarrass or offend you."

"Well? Surely Mother Sakhalin gave me the entire report. There was nothing offensive there. Why did the actor run off?"

She hesitated. "He was caught with another man."

Ilya went red with anger. "So Mother Sakhalin has yet to forgive me for Vasil. We will see about this. I suppose they're the ones who stole the horses." He struggled to his feet.

"Ilya, I don't think-"

"By the gods," he said, brushing her hand away, "I'll lead the damned search party myself.''

"Ilya!" She jumped up. "Don't be a fool. You idiot-!" But he stalked off. "Aleksi!" Aleksi appeared from around the corner of the tent, his hands grimed from greasing down an axle. "Send Mitya after him, damn it!" He nodded and obeyed.

Ilya did not come back that evening. Mitya did. What had passed between Bakhtiian and Mother Sakhalin he did not know, but Bakhtiian had ridden off to see the nearby city which had fallen. The last remnant of its city garrison was holed up in the citadel and in the neighboring temple, still fighting. Bakhtiian, Mitya said, had been in a rare foul mood and had ordered his jahar to ride out with him to end the siege once and for all.

Tess felt sick. Physically sick. Her abdomen cramped all evening. Cara fussed over her and made her drink lots of tea and ran a scan over her, but her signs remained positive. The next day dragged by. Ilya did not return. They received no news except that renewed fighting had begun at the city, spurred on by Bakhtiian's arrival. Tess slept poorly. Another day dragged by; another night came. At Cara's insistence she went to bed, but now her back ached. She dozed. Then, starting awake, she heard him walk quietly through the outer chamber and push the curtain aside to come in to her.

"Ilya? Ilya, please don't be mad at me."

He sank down beside her and reached, groping a little in the darkness, and found her face, and kissed her. "I'm not mad at you."

It was not Ilya.

"Vasil!" She broke away from him. "Who gave you leave to come in here?''

"I heard that your back is hurting you." With no more invitation that that, he slid the blanket down off her bare back and stroked his hands along the curve of her lower back while she lay on her side.

"That feels good." Tess relaxed suddenly against his hands.

"I learned to do this for Karolla. Her back always aches her when she's pregnant, especially when there's a little one to be carried about. She said it helps."

"It does help." It did help. He worked without hurry, slowly, up her back to her shoulders and her neck. She sighed and shut her eyes-not that it mattered; it was pitch black, and he worked solely by touch-until he ran his hands over her shoulders and started down her front. "Vasil."

"If you tell me to leave, I will leave," he said, and she knew he was telling the truth. In this one matter, she was certain of it.