Mitya returned the smile tremulously. "I am Mitya Orzhekov," he said, starting over. "My cousin Bakhtiian sent me to give you this letter.'' He produced a sc.r.a.p of parchment from his belt and held it out, "Eminence," said Syrannus, "he does not understand Rhuian. That was memorized. I can hear it." The old man hesitated, clearly unsure of how his master would react.

The boy's eyes skipped past Jiroannes and settled on Samae. He stared, astonished, and then wrenched his gaze back to the letter, flushing as he fixed his stare on the parchment instead of the slave. He wore his hair short, an affectation of the jaran riders that Jiroannes had yet to comprehend. Surely one test of a man's beauty was in the fineness and length and sheen of his hair. The boy coughed, jerking Jiroannes's attention back to him, and began his little speech again.

"I understand," said Jiroannes, "and I thank you." He took the parchment from the boy and unrolled it. As he read, he was aware of the boy sneaking glances at Samae, as if this child were aware that he ought not to covet another man's property and so was trying to hide his interest. The text itself was unremarkable. The army was riding south, toward the Habakar kingdom. The amba.s.sadors were free to move along with the main camp, which would travel in the army's wake. Bakhtiian had a.s.signed his cousin's son as an escort, and he trusted that the amba.s.sador would treat the boy with the honor he deserved.

"A threat," said Jiroannes, handing the letter to Syrannus, "and a promise. Tell the guards to strike camp. You must learn khush, Syrannus."

"Yes, eminence. I have learned what I can these past days. I will learn more."

Jiroannes motioned the boy in to sit in one of the chairs, and watched as Mitya shifted, trying to find a comfortable seat, as if he were unaccustomed to such a structure. Then he had Samae serve them tea and cakes while they watched the guards strike the camp, everything but the awning and the carpet under which the two sat.

Mitya stared, awed by his surroundings, and his gaze flashed again and again toward Samae, and away as swiftly.

When the wagons were loaded, Mitya went away and returned with a string of three horses, one laden, one saddled, and the other barebacked. Jiroannes allowed the boy to introduce him to the saddled chestnut mare, and he saw that this was a fine, elegant horse, a superior creature. At once he coveted her for himself. How fine a gift a herd of such horses would make for the Great King! The boy was proud of her; that was evident. He mounted. Jiroannes mounted his gelding, and they rode.

The entire plain seemed on the move. Troops cantered by them. Lone riders galloped back the way they had come. A belled messenger pa.s.sed, heading south.

Wagons trundled along in the distance. The whole* thing seemed like chaos to Jiroannes, but come late afternoon they rolled into a makeshift camp that rose up out of the gra.s.s. Jiroannes recognized the tents: this was the same amba.s.sadors' row they had inhabited before, set up in the same order, and Mitya directed them to the far end, as if the order of tents had some meaning, some hierarchy. Mitya left them then, but only to pitch a small tent for himself about one hundred paces outside of Jiroannes's camp, and there he sat, alone, until Jiroannes took pity on him and sent Syrannus to ask him in to dine. The two dined alone, Syrannus and Samae serving them. The boy ate with surprisingly good manners, cleanly and precisely, making no mess. He flushed every time Samae paused beside him. He even rose, after he was finished, as if to help clean up, but Jiroannes motioned him to sit again. One of the guards ventured over with his flute, and he played sorrowful tunes as the light faded and darkness fell.

Mitya rose. He spoke, to Jiroannes first, then to Syrannus.

"Eminence, the boy says that he must go to bed now, as we must rise early and be on our way. He thanks you for the dinner. Or at least, some of these words I recognized, and I believe that is what he said."

Jiroannes rose and watched the boy walk away to the solitude of his tent.

Beardless still, but already by his height and his walk half a man.

"Samae." She appeared, sinking to her knees before him. "You will go to the boy tonight." Her head jerked up and for an astonishing instant she stared straight at him.

She shook her head roughly. He slapped her. Red burned on the fine pale parchment of her cheek. "I said you will go to him," Jiroannes repeated, offended and infuriated by her defiance.

She sat there, head bowed, for long enough that he thought he was going to have to hit her again. Then she rose and padded away across the gra.s.s. Jiroannes watched as she paused before the tent. She glanced back, once, to see him looking at her, and then she knelt and a moment later she had vanished into the small tent.

"Was that wisely done, eminence?" Syrannus asked in a soft voice.

"The boy is old enough, clearly, and if she is his first, then the honor is the greater. He admired her but was polite enough not to say so to me. It will make him grateful to me, and he will speak to his cousin of my generosity. So we begin to build a bridge on which to negotiate. Now, since Samae is not here, send Lal to undress me." He went to his tent, but he paused at the entrance to see that Syrannus was still staring out at the little tent, at the campfires glowing around them, at the night and the vivid sky, black splintered with bright stars.

"We shall see," said Syrannus quietly.

In the morning, while Jiroannes sat in his chair as the camp was struck around him, he caught Samae glancing up at the boy. She had paused beside one of the wagons, about to place into the bed the little carved chest that held his jewels and sashes and seals of office; she looked up briefly, toward Mitya saddling his horse.

Mitya remained intent on his task. From this distance, Jiroannes could not see the boy's expression, but something in his carriage betrayed a new confidence. Samae seemed unaware that her master watched her. Something touched her lips, something unknown, an expression he did not recognize. For an instant he thought it was a smile, but he dismissed the idea immediately. Samae never smiled. Distaste, probably.

Still, he would send her to the boy every now and then. Such generosity would seal their relationship. Content, he allowed the guards to take his chair and bring him his horse. For the first time, he felt confident that his mission would succeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

When Diana woke, she found Anatoly lying on his side, watching her. He smiled and reached out to trace her lips with one finger.

"Good morning, Diana," he said in Rhuian, looking pleased with himself. She repeated the greeting, haltingly, in khush, and he looked even more pleased. He said another sentence in khush, but she had to shake her head because she could not understand him. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side and tried again, some words meant, perhaps, to be Rhuian. Diana laughed, because they were equally incomprehensible.

And yet, she did not feel awkward with him at all. Not that there was much left for her to feel awkward about, after last night.

She smiled at him. The set of his body, his eyes, the curve of his mouth, all revealed what he thought of her. Blankets covered him to the hips; above that, he was bare. His one shoulder was a ma.s.s of fresh scars. She ran a hand up his chest and plumbed the curve of his neck and the strong line of his chin. She touched her hand to his mouth.

"Lips," she said. "Eyes. Hand."

He mirrored her. "Lips. Eyes. Hand." Then he repeated them in khush, and went on. "Ears. Nose. Hair. Neck. Shoulder. Arm."

"Ah, none of that yet. Breast, but chest, too. Elbow."

A wicked gleam lit his eyes. He grasped one of her hands and drew it down along his torso, all the way down. "Pes. "

"Anatoly!" She laughed. "That will hardly help me communicate with the rest of your people." However diffident he may have been before, out in the world, however reserved and modest, here in her bed he was not bashful at all, and anything but modest. The blankets slipped off him as he rolled with her off the pillows and on to the stiff carpet, but he only grinned and said something to her, sharp and pa.s.sionate, before running his hands down to her thighs- And then, of course, a man called to them from outside.

Anatoly jerked his head up at the sound. He swore. The voice spoke again, and its tone was clearly apologetic but firm. Anatoly made a great gesture out of a sigh, rolled to his knees, and wrapped a blanket around himself before going to the entrance. Diana scrambled to the pillows and covered herself. Anatoly twitched the entrance flap aside and directed a rude comment at their inopportune visitor. In reply, a long explanation was forthcoming, and Diana watched as Anatoly's shoulders reflected first anger, then resignation, then excitement, and then, last, turning to regard her, some emotion caught between reluctance and eagerness.

He knelt beside her and kissed her lingeringly, sighing against her face. "I love you," he said, first in Rhuian and after, more slowly, in khush. Then he rose, got dressed, strapped on his saber, and left her.

That abruptly. Diana stared at the flap as it rustled down behind him. She was alone. Not to mention that she was utterly bewildered. Listening, she heard horses riding away. She dressed quickly in a tunic, long skirt, and boots, and went outside.

Anatoly was nowhere in sight, but the jaran camp was in an uproar. Loaded wagons creaked past. A troop of hors.e.m.e.n rode by. She could not imagine finding Anatoly in such chaos. Besides, she needed to use the necessary. And she desperately wanted to wash.

She walked over to the Company camp, only to find that it, too, was being struck.

Although, thank the G.o.ddess, the necessary was still intact: first up, last down. Quinn saw her and yelped in surprise, waving, attracting attention to her, but Diana slipped quickly inside the little tent. Although she lingered there, stripping and washing herself all over, shivering at the cold water, when she finally came out she had an audience.

"Well?" demanded Quinn. Hyacinth had an arm around Quinn, and he was smirking. "Was he any good?" he asked. "Is he circ.u.mcised?"

"You ought to know whether they're circ.u.mcised, Hyacinth," retorted Diana.

"You've slept with more of them than I have. Or so you say."

He giggled.

"Oh, leave her alone," said Hal. "Come on, Diana. Can you help? We've fallen behind. We were supposed to leave an hour ago."

"Where are we going?"

"Didn't he tell you?"

"How could he? We scarcely know any words in common." Then she flushed, remembering the language they did speak.

Hyacinth laughed. "You see, Di, I told you they were easy to communicate with.

You're looking satisfied. Where is your blue-eyed paramour, anyway?"

She set her lips together, not wanting to telegraph every least thing about herself to Hyacinth, of all people. "Where's Yomi?" she asked instead.

"Over at Soerensen's camp," said Hal.

"Whatever for?"

"They're working out logistics-oh." He faltered. "You wouldn't have heard.

Soerensen is leaving."

"Leaving?"

"We're moving south with the army. He's going north. There's some site out there-"

"Site?"

"I don't know. Something archaeological, I think. Anyway, he's going north, and then I guess his party will meet up with us later." He lifted one hand to stop her protest. "Don't ask me any more questions. That's all I know. Are you going to load your tent in with our wagons, or is some other provision being made for it?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know what's going on." Suddenly she missed Anatoly so acutely that it was like a physical pain.

Hal took her by both shoulders and examined her closely, then kissed her on the forehead. "Maybe you'd better go see Yomi. Go on. I'll tell Mom and Dad where you went."

Diana went. Soerensen's enclave no longer existed. All the tents were down except for Dr. Hierakis's tent, and David ben Unbutu supervised while Maggie and Joe and Rijiv and Ursula loaded the wagons. An astonishing number of crates sat beside a line of wagons next to the doctor's tent, and as Diana walked up, the doctor emerged carrying another crate, which she set down carefully beside the rest. The doctor looked up.

"h.e.l.lo, Diana. I trust you had a sufficiently restless night."

Diana smiled.

"It seems a shame to have to disturb your rest like this. Where is your husband?"

"I don't know."

"Ah," said the doctor, reading something from Diana's expression. She stood up.

"Here. Come with me."

Diana followed her to a knot of people standing beyond the wagons. Yomi was there, but she made good-byes and started walking away, then stopped as she caught sight of Diana. "There you are, Diana. I need you now. Will you be loading your new tent in with our wagons? Also-" She paused, seeing the doctor lift a hand.

"I'll send her in a moment," said Dr. Hierakis. "If I may."

"Certainly." Yomi strode away.

Marco was there. He had half turned to look at her, and Diana flushed and bit her lip and kept walking without missing a beat, sticking close to Dr. Hierakis. The others-Soerensen, Tess, Bakhtiian, and the silver-haired jaran man called Niko-all smiled at the same instant, seeing her.

"Ah," said Bakhtiian. He looked embarra.s.sed. "I do apologize for taking Anatoly away like that. But I needed to send him on ahead to his uncle. He should be back soon."

"Oh," replied Diana, feeling stupid, and wondering if they all knew in what condition she and Anatoly had been interrupted this morning. "This afternoon? Or this evening, that's not so bad."

"He means a few days, Diana," said Tess softly. "I'm sorry. Ten, twenty at the most, I should think."

"Twenty days!" To her horror, Diana burst into tears. Abandoned, just like that.

Not that Anatoly had had any choice, which almost made it worse. Yet she could not believe that Bakhtiian had sent him off for any ulterior motive-to get him away from her, to get her away from him. She had just begun to feel easy with him, to find a way to talk. G.o.ddess, they would have to start all over again, after twenty days apart. She sniffed hard, trying to stop her tears. Her nose was running.

"Here, Diana." Surprisingly, it was Marco who offered her the handkerchief. She glanced up at him, grateful. He was red in the face, and he would not look at her."Well, then," said Soerensen, neatly throwing focus away from her, "it's settled, although I don't like it much."

"I'm sorry, Charles," said Tess. "But I know you understand why I have to travel with the army right now.''

Diana looked up, hearing a peculiar note in Tess's voice, something being communicated in the tone, not in the words. Tess was pale, and her husband frowned, resting a hand possessively on her lower back.

Charles looked past her to Dr. Hierakis. "Cara, I'd like Ursula to accompany you.

I'll send a messenger if I need anything from you."

"Here is my niece," said Bakhtiian as a contingent of riders came up. "As soon as your wagons are ready, she will escort you north to the shrine of Morava."

Soerensen smiled enigmatically. "You honor me with your choice of escort."

Bakhtiian did not smile. "She is my closest relative. For you, I would do no less."

Like a trade, Diana thought, distracted for a moment from her own pain by the curious dealings going on here. Soerensen took the niece, Bakhtiian took Tess.

"d.a.m.n," muttered Marco under his breath, in Anglais, "but they're playing a delicate game, indeed. I can't believe Tess isn't coming with us."

"Do you think he's stopping her somehow?" Diana whispered.

Marco shook his head. "If Charles thought that was true, then he wouldn't stand for it. No, it's been agreed between them. That's what puzzles me." He hesitated.

"Diana."

"Are you going, too?" she asked. She hadn't been this close to him since the night Anatoly marked her, since the night Marco had said such awful things to her-and she felt shy, suddenly, wondering if he still thought well of her.

"Yes, with Charles. Diana." He made a movement toward her but checked it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry he had to leave so suddenly. I know it must be difficult. It's obvious you care for him. I'm sorry I-expressed myself so poorly, before."

"Stop it," she said under her breath. She stared at her feet. She did not want to think kindly of Marco; that was too dangerous. His booted feet rested on the ground near hers. She saw how they shifted. He murmured something unintelligible-not angry but perhaps despairing, and then he moved away. She forced herself not to look up after him. An instant later, she realized she still clutched his handkerchief.

"Tess, I leave you in the best of hands," said Soerensen. "Cara." Diana looked up to see Soerensen nod at the doctor, and the doctor nod, coolly, back. "Bakhtiian." This farewell was cooler still, reserved, almost disapproving.

Bakhtiian acknowledged Soerensen with an equally reticent nod. Diana would have thought that Bakhtiian would have looked overjoyed that Tess had chosen to go with him rather than with her brother, but he only looked troubled and perplexed. And why was Dr. Hierakis going with the army, not with Soerensen? But Diana knew well enough that she was not in the confidence of any of these people, and so as they parted, she trailed away alone, back toward her tent.

Quinn came jogging to meet her. "Di! Yomi sent me over to help you with your tent and your things. So? Well? What was he like?"

Diana stopped outside the tent. She could not help but smile. "He was sweet."

"But-how else? Come on, Di. The jaran men are so shy, so reserved. Are they that way in bed, too?"