Kate Elliott - Jaran

"What did you mean, anyway, about a female not-"

"Never mind. Forget I said it. Please. I thought you were going to finish."

She shrugged. "I'm done. Do you understand, Yuri? I would think you of all people would."

But Yuri's silence was mulish, not conciliatory in the least. "I know him better than you do," he said in a soft, troubled voice. "You think he isn't capable of really loving someone but he is. He's slow to trust because he's been hurt so badly before, because he's been responsible for people he loved dying-for his own sister and nephew and parents-and he can't forgive himself for it. Yet he can't stop what he has to do either. But if he ever gives his heart to a woman, he will give it absolutely."

"Then I wish her all my sympathy. He'll burn her alive."

"Not if she's strong. Tess-"

"You're damned stubborn, Yuri, and I'm not in a very good mood, or at least, I was, but I'm not anymore."

But Yuri plunged onward with remarkable obstinacy. "There are times a brother's advice is of uncounted value, my dear sister, however much their sisters dislike to hear it. Just ride carefully and, gods, don't antagonize him now. If he decides he wants you-"

"You mean if I antagonize him he'll decide he wants me in revenge? I don't call that giving one's heart absolutely."

"You're just not listening to me! It's all the same thing with him. Oh, never mind. Next time you're riding straight into an ambush don't bother to expect a warning from me." He whirled away from her and stalked down toward camp.

"Yuri!" She started after him. "Yuri." He halted. "I don't want to be angry with you."

"Oh, were you angry with me? I thought I was angry with you."

She put out her hand. "Truce?"

With reserve, he shook it. "Truce. Is it true about Kirill?"

"None of your business." She grinned. "What do you think?"

"I was wondering why he was so polite to Kirill these past three days." He laughed. "Kirill! Well, he did come in second in the-" He broke off.

"In the wagering?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, I know a great many things. Actually, Kirill told me."

"He's subtle, is our Kirill. You'd never think it to watch him."

"Subtle? What does that mean?" That old, creeping, cluttering fear that she had somehow done something stupid, that she had allowed herself to be taken advantage of, reared its ugly form again, and then, laughing, she neatly squelched it. "Well, Yuri," she said smugly, "subtle or not, I have no reason to complain."

"How like a woman," said Yuri with disgust, but they walked down to camp together quite companionably, and discussed whether Josef ought to be prevailed upon to tell a story or Mikhal to play his lute.

They rode through the hills the next day without incident. The next morning they came out onto the plain. Tess felt unburdened of a weight that she had not been aware she was carrying. She smiled at Bakhtiian, inquired politely about his injury, and was rewarded with a perfectly normal conversation about the recent debate in Jeds over the form of poetry most conducive to philosophy. Yuri was driven by this display of good fellowship to beg to be allowed to scout, if they meant to continue in this fashion. But once his reassuring presence vanished, they both grew self-conscious, and the dialogue trailed off into awkward sentences that even Niko's late arrival could not repair.

That night she sat and sat and sat in her tent, but Kirill did not arrive. At last she bundled up in her cold, empty blankets and forced herself to sleep. To be awakened very late by Kirill.

"Forgive me, Tess," he repeated at least three times as he stripped and snuggled in next to her. "Bakhtiian switched my and Mikhal's watch just as Mikhal was about to go out. Do you suppose he suspects?"

"Who, Mikhal?"

"You're teasing me."

"My sweet Kirill, would I tease you?" He only laughed and hugged her a little more tightly. "He's known all along."

"What? How do you know?"

"Yuri knows, too."

"Yuri! Begging your pardon, my heart, but Yuri is not my caliber at this business. I can't imagine how he would have known unless you told him."

"No, Bakhtiian told him. There's nothing for it, Kirill. I have won the wager."

"Well," he said, resigned, "so you have. I was hoping you might."

That morning it was a near thing that Kirill got out of her tent before the camp woke to dawn. And to unexpected news, as well. Yuri greeted her with it as she saddled Myshla.

"Tess! Tess! Have you heard? We've come across Veselov's tribe! Josef just rode in." His face shone with excitement.

"Veselov. Why is that name familiar?"

"The best of my friends from growing up is with Veselov now," he rattled on, ignoring her comment. His voice rang clear in the still morning. "I haven't seen Petya for two years."

"For what possible reason would your Petya give up the opportunity to ride in Bakhtiian's jahar?''

"Oh, they'll all be Bakhtiian's jahars soon enough. But Petya left us to marry-" He stopped abruptly and glanced uncertainly toward his cousin. Bakhtiian, who had evidently been looking at them, looked away. "Well," Yuri continued in a lower voice, "you'll meet her."

They rode into the tribe itself at midday. It felt familiar, somehow, tents scattered haphazardly along the course of a shallow river. A goodly number of people had gathered just beyond the farthest rank of tents, and they waited, watching, as the jahar rode up. Bakhtiian halted them a hundred paces away, and they all dismounted.

"We wintered by them two years ago," Yuri whispered to Tess as the two groups appraised each other in a silence broken only by isolated comments passed murmuring from a handful of individuals. "Tasha's sister's husband came from this tribe, and… and…" His color had gone high again as his eyes searched the gathered people. Their mood was, Tess thought, still one of measuring rather than welcome.

"Petya!" Yuri shouted, forgetting all protocol and modesty in sheer excitement. "Petya!"

He started forward suddenly. Like an echo, movement shifted as the tribe parted to let someone through. A young man burst out of the assembly and strode-half running-to meet Yuri right in the middle of the ground that separated the two groups. They hugged, two fair heads together, but where Yuri's had a pale, dull cast like winter grass, Petya's shone as brightly as if it had been gilded by the sun.

Some barrier dissolved between the groups. An older man stepped forward and hailed Bakhtiian. Ilya gave Kriye's reins to Vladimir and left the jahar, limping across the open space, Niko and Josef and Tadheus a few steps behind. His careful progress lent him dignity, though, Tess considered wryly, it was probably not entirely unconscious. Others filtered forward, men to greet acquaintances and friends amongst the riders, women to observe and draw whatever conclusions they wished.

And three women walked directly toward Tess. Tess had time to examine them as they neared: one old; one young, dark, and pretty; and one-

Surely this was the "her" Yuri had spoken of.

She had that rare sum of parts that is called beauty. She was quite tall for a woman, almost as tall as Tess, and pleasantly slender. Her hair shone gold, and it hung to her waist, unbraided. She was cursed as well with truly blue eyes and full lips gracing an impossibly handsome face blemished only by the thin, white scar, running from cheekbone to jawbone, that was the mark of marriage. The three women halted in front of Tess, but it was the fair-haired beauty and Tess who did the assessing. Without rancor, both smiled.

"Welcome," said the beauty. "I am Vera Veselov."

"I'm Tess. Tess Soerensen." Tess hesitated and glanced at the older woman, sure that this must be the etsana.

"Yes," said Vera, as if this information was no surprise. "This is my aunt, Mother Veselov. Oh, and Arina, my cousin." Arina smiled tremulously, looking as if she might like to say something but did not dare to. "She will be fine with me now, Aunt," Vera finished, and thus dismissed, the etsana meekly withdrew, nodding once at Tess.