Kate Elliott - His conquering sword

"Of course," he said brightly and turned away from her to get his armor.

"Dina," said her uncle gently, "your jahar is waiting for you."

She glared at him but had no choice but to go. What right had he to interfere with her and her husband? Every right, of course, since he needed an heir. She mounted and received her staff of command and surveyed her troops, all of them ready to ride. Smoke curled up in the western sky as the sun breached the horizon. AH around, horses shifted and harness creaked and bells jingled, and riders spoke to each other in low tones, waiting for the call to battle.

Tess felt wrung into nothing, that morning when she woke. Yesterday she had sobbed for what seemed like hours, and all mat while Ilya had held her against him; soon enough she had realized that she was holding him up as much as he was holding her. In him, she had felt that same helpless, furious grief; he was the only other person who understood, who could ever understand, the terrible sick emptiness left in her by the death of their son. After a while she had felt, not better, but resigned to the long bitter agony of mourning.

He had left her for a time, to go visit the wounded. She had returned to her own tent, to find her healing there, because she knew she was better quit of Cara's tent now. And when he returned from his tour of the hospital that night, he had come to her and sat before her, and he had said, "Tess, there is something I must tell you. I must tell you of my bargain with Grandmother Night."

Now, lying awake at dawn, listening as he moved about in the outer chamber, she thought of the lantern light on him as he spoke softly but clearly, telling her the tale. It had the ring of an ancient tale told by a Singer, and the cadences of his voice lent it a rarified quality so that at the end she felt freed of an old weight rather than burdened by a new one. Like any confession, it had cleansed him, and, thank God, he had slept soundly afterward.

She heard him go outside. She stretched, feeling stiff, and then got to her feet and dressed slowly, aching all over but otherwise feeling strong. Her wrists looked suddenly small to her. She ran her hands down her ankles and found them back to their normal size as well. Her abdomen still hung in folds, and her breasts hurt, heavy with milk that no child needed, but that would pass, in time.

She sighed, heartfelt, wiped a tear from her cheek, and went outside. Ilya stood there, glorious in his armor. Tess paused outside the entrance flap just to gaze on him. He was looking toward Nadine's tent, where Feodor Grekov was being helped into his armor by two of the Danov grandchildren. Behind Ilya, in the distance, his jahar waited, pennants flapping in the dawn breeze, armor gleaming; his golden banner shifted and curled in the wind.

"Hello," said Vasha shyly and came to kiss her on either cheek, still formal with her as he was with everyone except perhaps Katya.

Ilya turned and smiled, seeing her, and less felt tears come to her eyes, because she loved him so much.

"Tess," he said, and came to her and took her hands and bent to kiss her. "My heart." He never needed to say more than that. That he loved her was written everywhere on him, in his expression, in the line of his body as he leaned toward her, in his voice.

"I brought you your saber," she said. She belted it on him. It seemed to her a moment's insanity, that scene with Charles when she had told him she wanted to leave Rhui; but then, perhaps it had been. Grief seen clearly can be overcome, though never forgotten; it was only when denying it that it distorted your vision.

"Tess," he said in a low voice, "do you forgive me?"

"Forgive you for what?" she asked, bewildered.

He cast his eyes down, looking incongruously humble. "For the sacrifice. For my arrogance in believing that I could cheat Grandmother Night. For what I did to my family, and our son."

What had he done, truly, but try to bring his dreams to life and, against all his expectations, succeed? What had he done that was different than what Charles had done, risking his own family and losing it? Losing the child had been a simple cast of fate, falling on the wrong side, but she could not possibly explain that to him. What could she explain? "Of course, I forgive you, Ilya. But it's not my forgiveness you need; it's the etsanas and the Elders who must judge you for that."

He frowned and looked directly at her. "That is true enough," he said softly, "but without your forgiveness, Tess, the rest is worth nothing to me."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and laid one hand on his chest, feeling the hard ridges of armor under the silky smoothness of his red surcoat. "Can you forgive me the lie, about Jeds?" she asked in a low voice. Yet even as she said it, she knew she had not done lying to him, and never would be done.

He looked startled. "Of course, I forgive you. You remained loyal to your brother, where your duty lay. Who am I to judge who ought to rule in khaja lands?"

Tess had to laugh. "Who are you to judge, Ilya, except perhaps to judge yourself the only fit ruler?"

"You're laughing at me. Tess." He just looked at her for a long while. Then he spun and walked out to his horse. Mitya waited, resplendent in a gold and blue surcoat that reflected half Ilya's banner and half the blue lion of the dead prince. Feodor rode behind Mitya, the banner pole fixed against his saddle. Vladimir held Ilya's gold banner, and Konstans Barshai-with his white-plumed helmet-and Kirill Zvertkov-with his bad arm awkward at his side-flanked Bakhtiian.

Ilya mounted and twisted in the saddle to salute Tess with his horse-tail staff. As one, the jahar started forward. Under a forest of spears they rode out, silk and iron, and leather lacquered until it gleamed, fluttering pennants and rank upon rank of sabers. Nadine rode past with her jahar, proud and confident of victory. A column of archers followed behind them, and then Anatoly Sakhalin's jahar, riders and archers together, brilliant in the dawn.

Quiet descended on the camp.

"Where is Aleksi?" asked Sonia, coming up beside Tess and taking hold of her hand.

Tess leaned into Sonia, letting Sonia's warmth and strength be her comfort. "I sent him out to escort Charles along the lines. It's beautiful to watch them go, isn't it? Yet what they'll bring will be terrible."

They stood for a time in silence. Their years together had brought them that as much as anything: the ability to find peace in each other, and the contentment of a friend who judged you solely on yourself, and nothing more, and nothing less.

"Well," said Sonia at last, "there's much to do. I brought Svetlana Tagansky to visit, but now Aleksi is gone."

"Sonia. I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday."

"Oh, Tess. I understand."

Tess smiled and brushed away a tear. "I know you do. Ilya and I started to make our peace with him, the little one-" She thought of him as Yuri, but she never dared say it aloud; a child born dead was never given a name, among the jaran, but it comforted Tess to know he had one, if only in her own heart. It consoled her to give the baby that link to the other Yuri, whom she had also lost. "Well. Let me meet Svetlana. Oh, look, here is Rajiv." Rajiv came up then, with Maggie and Gwyn Jones in tow. "Sonia, I'll come to your tent soon."

Sonia greeted the others, excused herself, and left.

Tess turned to the newcomers. "Hello, Rajiv. Maggie." She paused and regarded Gwyn Jones dubiously.

"He's clear," said Rajiv. "He knows what we're doing. He had a few clever ideas, too. I thought we'd bring him in at the first iteration."

"You have some ideas?" Tess asked. "I don't mean to be-"

"Skeptical?" Jones grinned. "But I am just an actor? No, it's all right. I was in prison before I studied acting, and-well, let's just say I've learned a few things that might be of use. Consider me a recruit for the cause."