"Diana?" It was Joseph. "I brought some of your things. And a camplight for the tent. And some food." The tent flap rustled aside and he stuck his head in. "Here you are."

"Bless you, Joseph. How kind you are."

He grinned. "I'll send Anahita by later to help you with your makeup and costume."

"Monster." She laughed, feeling suddenly heartened. "Don't you dare. Go on, you must be busy back at camp."

" 'I go, I go; look how I go; Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.' Lady knows, I've heard that line enough times." He retreated to her applause.

She ate a little and then took out her journal and wrote. "My dear Nana, I'm not sure how to explain this to you . . ."

Quinn interrupted some time later. "Diana." She crawled in. "What a gorgeous piece of weaving. Where did you get this? Oh, from his grandmother. My, my. Now there's a formidable woman, even though she barely comes up to my shoulder. You must have charmed her.''

"She doesn't like me."

"Surely not."

"Well, I don't know whether she likes me, but she certainly doesn't approve of me. Did you bring everything?"

"Mirror. Kit. Gown. Seshat sent baubles, for afterward-after the performance, for whatever they do for a ceremony. She thought you ought to sparkle, even though we don't have the kind of gold they do. Those women do weight themselves down with it, don't they?"

Diana fingered the gold bead necklace that Anatoly had given her. "I suppose it's a marker of status." Which she sorely lacked. "Oh, well. Let's get ready."

They were old hands at putting on makeup. That accomplished, they changed into the simple gowns that Joseph had designed to fit the greatest range of plays, using smaller accessories to give them character and place. It was dusk when they emerged from the tent and walked over to the encampment where the others had gathered.

Yomi counted them off. "In two more minutes, Hyacinth will be late," she proclaimed. One minute and fifty five seconds later, Hyacinth appeared. He had highlighted his eyes with black pencil and tied various odds and ends-sc.r.a.ps of material, beads, bracelets strung together-to his tunic to lend him an air of being subtly different from the rest, of being a spirit from that parallel world that intersects our own.

Owen looked them over and nodded, satisfied. "I hope you are ready, because now we see.""Where's Ginny?"

"She's at the house already, helping the audience settle in."

They marched, a ragtag troop, through the quiet dusk of the jaran camp. The walk seemed to last forever to Diana, past the dark hulking tents, past smoldering campfires, toward the murmur of voices, toward the people gathered on the ring of empty ground in front of which their stage sat. She caught a glimpse of the audience as they came up behind the screens: a huge ma.s.s of bodies, uncountable, waiting for them rather like a predator waits for its prey. She recognized no individual faces; it was too dim for that. The stage was lit by lanterns. One screen without its fabric center had been set on stage, to form a doorway through which the players could pa.s.s from one scene, or one world, to the next. No other scenery existed, only the players and what they gave to their audience.

Yomi called the five minute warning. Gwyn and Anahita shook out their tunics, preparing to enter. Joseph stood ready at stage left with their changes of costume, since they were doubling parts. Owen vanished around the stage to go sit in the house.

The play began.

Diana was aware of the audience only as an intent, listening beast, but the beast was theirs. The force of its concentration was like a pressure on them, faltering here and there when the scene pa.s.sed its understanding, then snapping back, fixed and tangible.

Though the night was cool, Gwyn was sweating from the exertion of playing two major roles. But he was magnificent, as always: his Theseus was martial and strong, his Oberon utterly unlike, ethereal and just slightly spiteful. Even the audience could not confuse the two, though they were played by the same man. As for Anahita- well-Diana had always thought she played Hippolyta too stridently and t.i.tania as a hair-brained twit, but she was powerful, nevertheless.

The lovers fled to another part of the forest. Love became confused, and then was righted at last. The audience did not laugh once, but their attention did not waver.

Puck gave his final speech and extinguished half of the lanterns. Exit.

Dead silence.

Behind the screens, Diana looked at Hal and Hal looked at Gwyn and Gwyn shrugged. A rustling noise carried to them.

"They're all standing up," said Yomi.

Gwyn chuckled suddenly. "Who ever said they'd know how to applaud?" he asked. He wiped sweat from his forehead and shook the moisture off his hand.

Owen appeared, looking intent and excited. "Di, where are you? Come on, come on.''

"Come on where?" she asked, shrinking back.

"The rest of you, too, up on the stage-this isn't a bow, they won't understand that-but don't you see? We can cement the link. We can complete the circle in their minds. The masque of a wedding followed by an actual wedding. Come, Diana."

"Owen, wait," said Joseph. With economical skill, he stripped the makeup from Di's face and then adorned her with the costume jewelry Seshat had brought. "That will do. You may go."

Owen grabbed Diana's wrist and dragged her away, back around the screens. By the time they got to the front, the other actors had filed onto the stage and formed themselves into a neat semicircle. The audience was standing, murmuring now, but Diana saw that their silence, their rise to their feet, was their way of showing respect for what had just been given them. A clot of people stood at the foot of the platform, but only one of them mattered. Her heart began to pound. He stared at her, and he looked nervous, worried even. Owen released her ten paces from Anatoly, and she halted.

Anatoly wore the brilliant red shirt of the jaran riders, embroidered in a fantastic pattern down the sleeves and along the collar. Gold-studded epaulets shone on his shoulders. Gold braid lined the rim of his black boots. He wore two necklaces at his throat and gold bands on each wrist, and his saber's hilt glinted in the lantern light. A belt of gold plates girdled his wrist. Then his grandmother stepped forward and addressed a long speech to Owen. It had the cadence of poetry.

Tess Soerensen stepped forward into the gap between the two pairs. She turned to Owen. "Elizaveta Sakhalin presents to you her grandson, who, in accordance with the traditions of the people, has come to bow to the parits and the relatives of the bride and to ask to be taken to your camp as husband to this woman. He brings with him a string of fine horses, he brings his armor and his weapons, and he brings his skill at fighting. To his bride he brings a new set of bow and arrows. His family brings these presents for the bride's family: wine and milk, dry fruit, meat, and a silk scarf to bind your camps together. They bring also blessings to this young couple, for their happiness and well-being." She paused, and then with an open hand gestured to Owen.

He smiled. Diana realized abruptly that Owen had rehea.r.s.ed this all along and simply not told her, or possibly anyone else, about it. He lifted a hand and Joseph appeared, bearing gifts in his hands: foodstuffs, clothing, carved chess set. Diana felt cold and hot all at once, and because she did not know where else to look, she looked at Anatoly. His gaze, on her, was intense, and she clung to it as to a lifeline.

'More strange than true,' " Owen began, and in his pleasant baritone, he reeled off the entire speech.

Tess's lips quirked up as he finished. "How am I supposed to translate that?" she asked. "In whatever way it is most appropriate." Tess spoke at length, her phrases cadenced as Sakhalin's had been, a ritual that was generations old. Gifts were brought forward and exchanged. Tess beckoned Diana forward, and then Anatoly, and then she retired. Anatoly put out his hands. Diana took them, clutched at them. They were warm and strong. Elizaveta Sakhalin and Owen came forward and bound the silk scarf around their clasped hands. More words were spoken. Then, sparking, a huge fire burst into flame out on the flat of ground beyond. Two drums beat out a rapid rhythm, and pipes came in with a melody. Under the concealing silk, Anatoly twined his fingers in with hers and stroked her palms with his thumbs. The caress lit fires all along her, and she swayed toward him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be alone with him.

"Anatoly," said his grandmother, scolding. He stopped what he was doing, but his entire face lit with a smile, a smile that was meant for Diana only, intimate, exultant. Daring much, Diana tilted her head up and kissed him, briefly, on the lips.

He whispered words into her ear, another caress, and then pushed back and unwound the scarf from around their hands and tied it around her waist like a belt. Then he turned and left her, walked over to his family and a moment later Sonia Orzhekov had taken him out to dance. Diana gaped after them.

"Diana." Appearing abruptly beside her, Bakhtiian bowed. His presence was as powerful as the fire's. "It is traditional for a new bride to dance on her wedding night.

I hope you will excuse my immodesty in asking you to dance."

"Of course," she said, wondering what on earth he meant. But it quickly became apparent to her that she was not meant to spend any time with Anatoly at all, during this celebration. She caught glimpses of him, dancing with other women, speaking with men out on the fringes of the celebration, glancing her way, once, his gaze catching on her, his smile, and then he was drawn away by someone else.

The actors emerged, pale without their makeup, to congratulate her. She danced.

She felt confused and disoriented, but she went from one instant to the next and tried not to think beyond that.

"Well," said Anahita, coming up beside her much later. "I see that Marco Burckhardt isn't at the celebration. I haven't seen him all day. What do you think of that?"

"I think you're just jealous he was never interested in you," Diana snapped.

"Bravo," said Gwyn softly behind her as Anahita flounced away.

"Congratulations, Diana."

"Thank you. Owen made a spectacle out of it, didn't he?"

"Owen can't help himself. But I a.s.sure you that it was impressive."

"Did he have it rehea.r.s.ed all along? How did he know to bring presents? Where did he get them? Why didn't he tell me?"

Gwyn chuckled. "I think you were part of the experiment. As for the rest, Owen always does his research.

You ought to know that, Diana. If you hadn't provided this wonderful opportunity for him, he'd have had to invent it. Ah, here comes your husband. I'll leave you now."

He kissed her on the cheek and retreated.

Anatoly strode toward her, looking purposeful. His grandmother and several members of his family walked at his heels. A moment later Owen and Ginny arrived, together with Yomi and Joseph.

Yomi hugged Diana. "I hope you're ready," Yomi murmured. "We've come to escort you to your tent."

All at once Diana could not move. In a few minutes, she would be alone with a man she barely knew, with a man she could scarcely even communicate with. She stood rooted to the ground. The others moved away, but she could not lift her feet, could not follow them. She had made a terrible, stupid mistake. She knew that now, knew it bitterly, and hated herself for knowing it.

Anatoly turned back. His eyes narrowed as he examined her. He put out his hand, offering it to her. Diana took in a big breath and laid her hand in his.

They walked through camp. No one spoke. The silence weighed on her, counterpointed by the music and singing coming from the celebration behind, which still played on. So she spoke: "You that choose not by the view Chance as fair and choose as true! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is And claim her with a loving kiss."

Anatoly smiled and squeezed her hand. Joseph grinned. They left the jaran camp behind and came to her tent, set out in the middle, isolated, lonely. There Owen and Ginny kissed her, Yomi and Joseph hugged her, and they left. Anatoly's family left, leaving with them two sets of saddlebags, a rolled up blanket, a leather flask and two cups. Diana stood alone with her new husband in a gloom lit only by the single lantern set on the ground beside them. He did not move, but only watched her.

She hesitated, and then bent to pick up the lantern and pushed the entrance flap aside, and ducked into the tent. A moment later, he followed her in, carrying his worldly goods in his arms. He knelt and set them carefully in one corner, then rose.

She just stood there, the lantern heavy in her hand. His pale hair seemed lighter by contrast with the shadows in the tent. His lips moved, forming soundless words.

Gently, he took the lantern from her and hung it from a loop on the center pole.

"Anatoly." She dug for words, khush words, to speak to him, but they had all evaporated.

"Diana-" He said a whole sentence, but it was meaningless to her, nothing but sounds strung together.

They stood a moment in awkward silence. He lifted one hand to trace the scar on her cheek. His fingers slid to trace her lips, and she kissed them, and his other hand sought her hips, to draw her closer to him, and she slid one arm around his back and caught her other hand in his hair. . . .

Then, as quickly as that, she discovered that in fact they did speak the same language.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

At the edge of the firelit glow cast by the roaring bonfire, Ilya Bakhtiian halted beside his wife where she stood in the gloom. Tess glanced up at him, then back out at the camp.

"They left, then?" asked Bakhtiian.

"Who, Anatoly and Diana? Yes." She turned to face him, watching him as he watched her, measuring. Her lips quirked up. "No stranger than you and I."

"Perhaps. But I doubt it. She will leave him." Once, he would have hesitated to touch her in public, since it was unseemly. Now he lifted his hands without the least self-consciousness to cup her face and stare at her, searching. "I love you," he said, and that was all, although it was a question.

"What would you do if I left?"

His lips drew out, tightening, and his face went taut. He dropped his hands from her face and grasped her hands instead. "You will not. I forbid it."

"You can't forbid it."

"No." The admission was shattering, wrung from him. "I cannot. But if I could, I would."

"The amba.s.sador from Vidiya has a slave. A woman."

Now she had gone too far. "How dare you compare me to that pompous, overdressed boy?" he demanded. "How dare you even suggest that I have made such a thing of you?''

"To make you think, d.a.m.n you."

"Then go. You are free to choose." He was so angry that he was shaking. "We ride south tomorrow. I can leave a jahar to take you to the coast with your brother, if that is what you wish. What I wish, you know well enough."

"Oh, Ilya." She embraced him suddenly. He was tense, stiff, but his anger could not sustain itself when she showed the least sign of her love for him. She felt him relax against her, and he sighed into her hair.

"d.a.m.n you," he muttered.

"Come with me."

"Where?" He drew his head back and frowned at her, suspicious.

She chuckled. "No, not to Jeds. To see my brother, now."

"Why?"

"To tell him the truth. That I don't intend to leave the jaran. Not now, at any rate.

Not this year."

He was still frowning. "When, then?"

"When you die, d.a.m.n you. Now stop bothering me and come with me."

He laughed, surprised, and hugged her tightly. "We have an old tale," he whispered into her ear, "about a woman who poisoned her husband because she wanted to marry another man."

Tess smiled and pressed into him, returning the embrace. "If you can find me another man to marry, then I'll consider it." She broke free of his grasp and pushed him away. "Now, you'll come with me, and you'll stay quiet while I talk with Charles."

"Yes, my wife," he said meekly, and he walked with her across camp to Soerensen's encampment. At the gap, they pa.s.sed about fifty paces away from the little tent that sat on the gra.s.s between both camps. Bakhtiian fought down a smile and he stopped Tess with a hand on her shoulder, and bent and kissed her. The night shielded them. "After," he murmured, releasing her.

"Don't distract me. You don't know how hard it is for me to do this."

Under the awning of Charles's tent, Marco Burckhardt sat with a thin tablet on his lap. Charles sat next to him, staring at something on his hand. Two lanterns lit the two men, one to either side of them, and from the slightly askew flap of Dr. Hierakis's tent, a steady glow could be seen coming from the interior. Then both men looked up, saw Tess, saw Bakhtiian, and Marco collected something from Charles's hand and took it and the slate back into the tent before Tess and Ilya reached the awning.

Charles stood up. Cara emerged from her tent, glanced at the converging lines, and walked over to stand next to Charles. Marco reappeared from the tent.

"They're hiding something from me," Bakhtiian muttered, and he glanced at Tess to see what her reaction was. Tess flushed, but he could not see the color of her skin in the darkness, so she was safe.