Kate Elliott - Jaran

"I hope," he said, a little on his dignity now, "that I am not that easy to laugh at."

"Why do you resent him? I can understand about your wife, but still, Yuri says that he rarely takes any woman up on her offer.''

"That's true. It's no wonder he's so foul-tempered all the time. It isn't really about my wife." He considered her in his turn, but now as if deciding whether to really confide in her. "I'm only five years younger than he is. We grew up together, and I remember him as a child. He changed. At first, when he came back from Jheds, it was easy to believe in what he dreamed of. But he kept changing. He got harder and colder, and he shut out all of those who had once been his friends and companions until all he saw was the vision that leads him. Oh, I still believe in it. Never doubt that. But Bakhtiian is not the same man he was. I remember that day when he stood up in front of the assembled Elders of twenty tribes and told them that the path they had chosen for the tribes was the wrong one. Of course, they immediately agreed with him, and apologized, because he's always right."

"Yes, he is always right, isn't he? He has to be. I think you're the only one who understands."

"No, you're the only one who understands. Not even Niko-but I won't say a word against Sibirin. When you decided to come with us, Tess, I waited. I knew Ilya would run you into the ground and send you back to the tribe, but, by the gods, you kept riding. It had been years since I last saw him bested like that." He stood very still. The last light caught red streaks in his hair, like tiny fires in gold. "And I've been waiting ever since."

"Waiting for what?"

"He doesn't like to lose. And if there's anything I hate, it's a person who can't concede even one race, even if the other rider took the course fairly and rode the better race that one time. What does it matter anyway? One race?"

She stared at him as if his whole character had been illuminated for her in that instant. "Bakhtiian couldn't be who he is if it didn't matter to him," she replied, realizing it herself as she spoke.

"I suppose I feel sorry for him in a way. He'll always miss the best part of life for trying to grab hold of what's out of his reach."

Tess felt a sudden flood of warmth for Kirill, who trusted her enough now to reveal so much of his soul to her. "What is the best part of life, Kirill?" she asked softly.

He shrugged and looked suddenly and incongruously diffident.

She almost laughed, because without knowing it, he had chosen in that instant the surest way of winning her over. Instead, she placed her hands, palms open, on his chest, looking up into his face. His eyes were a deep, rich blue, like the late afternoon sky reflected in water. Solemn, his face had a kind of repose that suited his features unexpectedly better than the quicksilver smiles that usually characterized him. "I think it's going to be cold tonight." She kissed him on the mouth.

Quite abruptly, he flushed pink, and he lowered his gaze from hers. "Tess," he murmured. He glanced at her, and she saw to her great satisfaction that he was both surprised and elated.

"Well," she said, stepping back from him, "I'm hungry. Aren't we going to eat?"

He laughed. "How like a woman. Yes, Tasha made stew."

They walked back together. She felt disgustingly pleased with herself and would not have cared for the world if everyone knew-but Kirill acted with the greatest discretion, not sitting with her, not treating her any differently than he ever did, so that when she parted with Yuri to go to her tent, Yuri did not even suspect.

Sitting on her blankets, listening to the mellow howl of the wind while she took off her boots, shivering a little, she began to wonder if he had changed his mind. But there was a sudden, quiet scuff outside and then he tumbled in, laughing under his breath. She was so surprised she grabbed him, and he, quick to take advantage, embraced her and buried his face in her neck.

"Ah, gods," he murmured into her hair, "that damned Bakhtiian is still awake. What a canny piece of tracking it took to get in here unseen.''

She began to laugh, because his excitement was infectious, and because he was very warm and very close.

"Shh, Tess." He laid a finger on her lips. "This is a small camp. Do you want everyone to know?"

"Won't they know soon enough anyway?" she asked, feeling a surge of recklessness, now that she had made her choice.

She felt him grin against her cheek. "I'll wager you, my heart. How many days-no, nights-do you think we can keep this a secret?"

"What will the stakes be?"

"Why, kisses, of course."

"Just kisses? Surely we can risk higher stakes than that."

"Then name your stakes. By the way, here, I brought an extra blanket for you to borrow. It is a cold night, after all."

"You're smug tonight, Kirill."

"Don't I have every reason to be?"

She did not bother to reply, at least not in words.

Later in the night, it began to drizzle. Kirill stirred and sat up, waking her. "Where are you going?" she whispered. In the darkness, he had to struggle a bit to find and put on his clothing. "I'm leaving."

"But it's raining."

She felt him shrug. "What's a bit of rain? Tess, I am not so ill-bred as to flaunt my good fortune to the others by being found here in the morning."

"My, Kirill. Nobility suits you."

He leaned to kiss her. "Certainly it does. I also have to relieve Konstans on watch, my heart."

She laughed and let him leave.

In the morning, it continued to drizzle, but they rolled up their tents despite the damp and went on their way. Because Bakhtiian could not scout, Tess rode with Yuri at the fore of the main group, enjoying this novelty although not the rain.

" 'What's a bit of rain,' " she groused when they halted at midday. "How anyone can shrug off this miserable weather is beyond me."

"Why?" asked Yuri casually. "Did someone say that?"

She turned her head away to hide her expression from him. Behind them, Kirill was talking with Mikhal and seemed unaware of her. Composing her face, she said, "Yes, Kirill did."

Yuri wiped a bead of rain away from his right eye. "I've never heard Kirill complain about any hardship Bakhtiian has put us through."

"Just about Bakhtiian?" Tess glanced back to where Bakhtiian rode next to Niko. Ilya was looking at her. She jerked her gaze away and fixed it self-consciously on Yuri. "But he follows him."

"I remember when I was a boy, and Kirill was just old enough to ride in jahar, and Bakhtiian had started this great ride of his-and Kirill clung as close to Bakhtiian as Vladimir does now. He admired him. But Ilya changed, and Kirill grew up and became his own man. Somehow, I think they never forgave each other.''

"Forgave each other for what?"

"Kirill never forgave Ilya for casting aside all his old ties of friendship, for giving up everything for the path he chose to ride. Ilya never forgave Kirill for beginning to question him."

"You're being very wise today, Yuri."

He grinned. "Am I? Was there something you wanted to tell me, Tess? You have that look about you."

"No, I just hate this rain."

That he did not suspect was obvious. Yuri, of all people, would not hesitate to either congratulate her for finally behaving as a jaran woman ought, or, she supposed, censure her for heedlessly antagonizing Bakhtiian-not that it was any business of Bakhtiian's who she slept with, by God. And she had grown to know the riders in the jahar well enough by now to recognize the little signs that would show that they knew, and were amused, and teased Kirill. The signs that, had she known them those months before, would have shown her that the entire jahar knew about Fedya. Kirill, especially, would be teased relentlessly, in that subtle, merciless, but discreet way the riders used when there were women present. And Kirill, she realized with a sudden flash of insight, was well enough liked and well enough respected that no man in the jahar would begrudge him what he had fairly gained: her regard. Or at least, no man possibly but one.