Kate Elliott - His conquering sword

"He went over to the actors last night," called Jo from the inner chamber, sounding repulsively jovial considering what it was she was doing. "I think he's having an affair with one of them. Here, Cara, that will do it. I think we've got everything that we can do now. I'll take it from here."

"Good," said Cara. "Go ahead and freeze it and pack it for Jeds." David shuddered. "What does Tess want Rajiv for?"

"Rajiv promised to help her; they're going to work on setting up the information network, the initial matrix. I guess Tess needs something to keep her busy today. Not that I blame her."

Cara dried her hands on a towel. She rummaged in her chest and pulled out a tunic, stripped off the one she was wearing, and changed into the other one. "So she is staying on Rhui? Charles was worried that she might change her mind."

"After all the trouble he went to, intending to convince her to return to Earth?"

"She's more use to him here."

David grunted. "No doubt. What's he waiting for, Cara?"

"Who, Charles? I don't know what you mean."

"What's he up to? I think he's plotting something."

"Charles is always plotting something."

"Yes, but something else is going on, something beyond the saboteur network. Something to do with Rhui."

"Ask him, David. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to the hospital. Where we'll doubtless be quite busy very very soon." But, as if to take the sting from her words, she rested a hand on his shoulder before she left.

David followed her out. Ursula had already gone, but out beyond the tent waited David's own little entourage, assigned to him for the duration of the battle: ten archers, ten riders, two of the khaja engineers, and two boys to act as messengers. He sighed. He didn't want to go down to the city, but he felt obliged to. He had helped create the mines; he had helped design and build the engines and towers; he felt the responsibility not so much to Bakhtiian, but to the conscripted laborers whose sweat had built these siegeworks and who might well pay with their lives today. Maybe, if they performed well, he could argue to Bakhtiian that they deserved some kind of legal position within the army or at least to retain some of their old status as Habakar citizens. If he could couch it in the right terms, perhaps he could persuade Bakhtiian that it was to his advantage to make them feel as if they were part of the jaran army rather than just subject to it.

He mounted his horse and rode with his escort in the faint light heralding dawn out through camp, through the distant outer walls that ringed the suburbs of Karkand, down along colonnaded avenues toward the besieged inner city.

"Ummm," said Nadine low in her throat, rolling her husband over in the blankets.

"Dina!" Feodor murmured. "Stop that!" All the while doing nothing whatsoever to halt her actions, and a few things that encouraged them.

There was silence for some time, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the occasional muttered comment, and the increasing noise of activity outside as the camp woke and prepared for battle.

Nadine sighed and sat back finally, running a hand through his tangled hair and combing it through her fingers. "I like you much better like this," she said.

He cast a sudden, angry glance at her and sat up to let her braid his hair back. She bound the braids with blue ribbons embroidered with gold thread and brought him three gold necklaces and a polished and embossed belt of god plates to wear over his red shirt. She even tied the gold tassels onto his boots.

"That's better." She regarded him with a sardonic lift to her mouth. "Now you look fit to be my husband."

He flushed. "Like a prize you won looting some city?" he demanded. "You don't need to throw it in my face every day, Dina. I know you didn't want to many me."

She shrugged on her own shirt, belted it with a plain leather belt, and tugged on her boots. "I have to go. I'm to meet my uncle at the main gates. Aren't you riding out with your uncle today?"

When he did not reply, she looked up at him in surprise. He was staring at the carpet, cheeks stained red.

"What's wrong, Feodor?"

He flung his head back, glaring at her defiantly. "You'll find out anyway. Someone will tell you. My uncle is leaving me behind with the contingent that's left to guard camp."

"Ah," said Nadine. "He doesn't want to risk losing his new status in the army."

"I had nothing to do with it! I didn't ask to be left behind!"

"Gods, Feodor, I know you're not afraid of battle. You have scars enough to prove you're not. But your uncle is still being cautious. You're not a prize for me; you're a prize for the Grekov tribe, and they'll do everything in their power to keep you intact."

"You have no right to insult me or my family, Dina." He was so angry that his voice shook.

She smiled. "I can do what I like. Now, if you'll excuse me."

But when she brushed past him to go outside, he grabbed her arm. "No. You'll apologize. My uncle has proved his worth to Bakhtiian."

"What? Are you going to tell me that your uncle and aunt didn't encourage you to mark me? That they didn't goad you into it? How else could they have achieved such advantage in the tribes?" His hand clenched so hard on her arm that it hurt, but she refused to submit herself to the indignity of trying to break free from his grasp.

"Maybe no other man wanted you."

"I've had as many lovers as any other woman," she retorted, stung by his words.

"Wanting a woman as a lover is not the same as wanting her as a wife. Even with everything a man would gain from marrying you, I don't think any man but me wanted to marry you."

Now she did twist out of his grasp, wrenching herself away. "Have you finished insulting me? May I go now, Husband?"

"Go and get yourself killed! It makes no difference to me!"

"Why should it? In a few more years Galina will be ready to marry, and if you're quick enough, you can replace me with her!"

She stormed out of the tent and found herself faced with a little audience: Vasha Kireyevsky and Katya and Galina Orzhekov, busy helping Bakhtiian into his armor. All four of them glanced her way and then away, pretending that they hadn't heard a thing. She set her mouth and ignored them, calling over two of the Danov grandchildren to help her into her armor. Soon enough, Feodor emerged from the tent. He was pale now, and he flushed immediately, knowing as well as Nadine had that their argument must have carried well outside her tent.

With his eyes lowered, he came up to her. "I brought your saber," he murmured. He dropped his voice even further, and motioned with one hand, and the two boys helping her sidled away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Let me tie on your saber for you."

Seeing him thus, looking so mild, Nadine felt a sudden rush of affection for him. "I'm sorry, Feodor. I'm sorry that your uncle is being so stupid. I can talk to Ilya-"

His gaze lifted at once to her face. "No! Don't you humiliate me, too."

"I didn't mean to humiliate you! I just-"

"Oh, Grekov," said Bakhtiian casually from ten strides away. He shrugged his shoulders up and down twice to settle his armor into place, then leaned down and whispered something into Katerina's ear. She nodded and ran off. Vasha circled Bakhtiian, eyeing the overlaid strips of the armor for any that might have caught or stuck together. Galina brought him his helmet. "Mitya will be riding out with me today, and I need a trusted captain to carry the Habakar prince's banner behind him, to remind our army and the khaja army in Karkand that Mitya is now the heir to this country. I have sent Katya to tell your uncle that I need you for this honor."

Nadine flushed. She felt humiliated by her uncle's gesture, but when she looked at Feodor, she was appalled to find him smiling, appeased by Bakhtiian's attention.