The Novels of the Jaran (195 page)

“I have this map—” She lifted a hand, and Juli brought the map over to her, took away the platter of cakes, and brought a lantern. Tess rose. The baron rose at once. Smoothing out the map, Tess spread it over the surface of the table and placed the lantern on one corner. Its glow spread out over the parchment like the favor of God, bright nearest the flame and fading to darkness at the margins. “You see, Baron, that even with the new information I have added to my map, gleaned from Jedan merchants, I can’t be sure how long it will take for Bakhtiian’s army to reach Filis, given the ground he must cover and secure in between.” She covered Filis, the principal city of the great princedom that lay to the north and east of Jeds, with her index finger.

“An army can meet many obstacles,” said the baron cautiously.

Tess smiled and looked up to see him staring straight at her. He lowered his gaze at once, reminding her incongruously of a jaran man, although in his case modesty had nothing to do with it. “Yes,” she agreed. “That is why I feel inclined to install your son as head of the Jedan force that will, slowly and cautiously, of course, push our sphere of influence northward, in order to prepare the ground for the advance of the jaran army. Better that they stable their horses in Filis than in Jeds.”

He blanched. “My son? But he just turned twenty!”

So there
was
something he cared about beyond himself and his power. “It is a great honor for your son, Baron, and may he bring your house glory by his exploits. You have a daughter by your first wife as well, a bit older, I believe, than the boy and sadly enough, unwed, is she not?”

This time he went gray. “Yes,” he said stiffly. A certain fire sparked in his eyes. The daughter was as old as his second wife, and while not a beauty, neither was she a horror; perhaps sentiment had kept her by her father’s side all these years.

“There are few families, Baron, who will have the opportunity of marrying into the princely houses of the jaran. I know you will welcome this chance to marry her to a jaran prince. Certainly, from all I have heard, she is worthy of the honor.” She rolled up the map and tied it closed with a thin strip of leather. She did not sit down. “It will mean she must travel north. I will take her with me when I return to the plains.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Juli watched in the background. The windows here looked down on the prince’s private garden, a riot of buds and blossoms during the day, now that it was spring. A sliver of moon shone through the windows, and the garden lay dense and shadowed beneath, the gray walls of the farther apartments rising on the other side, locking her in. A sudden pang struck Tess. Gods, how she missed the plains. How she missed Ilya. And Sonia, and the children. The jaran.

“What if I refuse?” asked the baron softly.

“Baron, your daughter will be safe with me as long as you administer Jeds wisely in my name. Your mother was old Prince Casimund’s only niece, and by such lineage you were granted the regency. And you have proven your worth to me. I would prefer to keep you as regent. That way your daughter’s children may come to govern Jeds in time.”

“My
daughter’s
children!”

Even in the coldest fish there lurked surprising heat. She could see that the idea, shocking as it might seem, attracted him. “Your daughter’s children, sired by a jaran prince.”

He hesitated. But she already had him. “Do you have a prince in mind, your highness?”

“Why, yes,” said the Prince of Jeds. “I do. His first wife, ah, died recently. He comes from the eldest house of the jaran.”

There was a long silence. It was very quiet here, muted by walls. The wind could not move freely within the palace, and in some ways, that was what she missed the most.

“Even before you arrived,” said Baron Santer suddenly, “we heard reports of a great general in the north, leading his hordes against ancient and civilized lands. It seems that every kingdom he has met has fallen before him.” He paused and touched the end of the map. “But you and I both know how far away that is.”

“Do not forget, Baron,” she replied softly, “that a part of that army has already come to Jeds.” In deference to the customs of Jeds, she wore now, as she always did in public, a gown, but in the four months since she had arrived, black and red had quickly become the most fashionable colors and the cut of the gowns had altered from a high, loose waist to a lower, more fitted one. Because she also wore her saber. “You are wise enough to make your own judgment.”

He bowed. “You flatter me, your highness.”

“I don’t think so,” said the Prince of Jeds. “I feel sure that you understand where your advantage lies.” She did not add, as an important and well connected governor in a growing empire or as a minor, and threatened, prince of a small trading city. If he could even usurp the throne. He could bide his time and wait to see what happened. Doubtless he would. But meanwhile, Jeds would remain stable under his—and Niko and Juli’s—guiding hands.

“I understand,” he said, and bowed in the florid style that was usually reserved for the audience hall.

“Thank you, Baron. You may go. Have your daughter call on me tomorrow.”

He met her eyes one last time. He had banked it all down again, concealing himself. “As you command,” he replied. Juli showed him out.

“How in hell,” said Tess to the air, “did Marco ever make a friend of
that?”

“Not bad,” said Cara from the balcony, drawing the curtain aside, “though perhaps a little overplayed. Baron Santer was a notorious ladies man when he was young. He and Marco got along famously. You’d never guess it now, but when Marco as the first Prince Charles instituted those odd sumptuary laws that helped reform the horrible brothels, the baron was one of his great supporters. There was even a rumor that his first wife was barren, and that the two children were actually the children of a girl off the streets, a courtesan he fell in love with who was later murdered by his wife.”

“Oh, God.” Tess walked back to the stairway that led up, behind an arras, to the gallery above. She laughed, just a little. “It’s an endless tangled web, isn’t it?” Then she stopped stock-still, holding the arras aside with one hand, because there, in the dimness at the top of the steps, stood the ke.

Unveiled.

Tess stared. Then she chuckled. The ke looked like a Chapalii, only its skin was scalier, more alienlike. Had Tess expected a revelation, like the visitation of an angel? “I am pleased,” she said carefully to the ke, “that you trust me.”

The ke descended the steps, and Cara followed behind her. Tess backed up to give them room to come through into the salon. The ke examined the chamber for a long while. Tess only watched.

“It is true,” said the ke suddenly, “that these humans are quite primitive. Scarcely better than animals.”

Tess felt her mouth drop open. She snapped it shut. The ke had addressed her in common Chapalii, without one single honorific.

“I beg your pardon,” added the ke, “for addressing you in the
che-lin
tongue, but surely you cannot know the deeper tongue.”

It took Tess a moment to answer because she thought her heart would burst, she was so excited. “I do not know of such a tongue—but what may I call you? And how did you come to realize that I am female?”

“Are
you female?” asked the ke. Her voice, like that of the males, was colorless, and because of her skin, Tess could not tell at all what emotions she felt.

“Yes, I am. But then why unveil yourself? I don’t understand.”

“By your own testimony you are married to one of these humans. Thus you have become a nameless one, just as I am. The Tai-endi is dead, just as the Protocol Office has proclaimed.” The ke wandered over to stare at the fire as if the lick and spit of flame engrossed or appalled her. “It is no wonder that the Tai-en has kept you in exile here on this planet.”

Tess looked at Cara. Cara shrugged. The ke lifted a hand to the candles and held it close, as if testing their heat. Kept her in exile to spare himself the shame? Or to protect her? Or for some other, alien reason that Tess could not guess? And at the same time, Tess felt an odd exhilaration, as if the extinction of the Tai-endi—in this ke’s mind, at least—granted her a sudden, reckless freedom. “You may call me Tess. Is there some—name—some
word,
that I might call you?”

The ke touched two fingers to the cherubs carved into the mantlepiece and drew her hand along the frieze, studying its heights and valleys. “By decree older than the eldest of the emperor’s towers did ten of the first families lose their names because of their rashness and their pride.” She turned. Tess walked closer. The ke was tall, as all Chapalii were, but layers of robes disguised her thinness. Her eyes gleamed, golden irises slit vertically by lozenge-shaped pupils. “So they became the nameless ones, and so did other names become extinct as time passed, as years turned back on themselves and followed the same course again, and again. Without a name there is no true existence, and yet, without a name, existence is boundless. So must the prince who becomes emperor lose his name. So must the ke live without names.”

“But the Tai-en Mushai lost his name, and yet he is still remembered.”

The ke wandered over to the table and unrolled the parchment, using her hands as much as her eyes to explore it. “So is he imprisoned in Sorrowing Tower forever,” she replied.

“Well,” said Tess in Anglais. “But is it possible that I might learn the—” She hesitated, shot through with hope and the fear of disappointment, riddled with it, like the very pain of the wound itself. “That I might learn the deeper tongue?”

The ke rolled up the map and tied it exactly as Tess had tied it before. “You might. But you must master
che-lin
first.”

Cara raised her eyebrows. Tess had to smile. How blithely they all praised her for speaking Chapalii so well. But that did not mean that by Chapalii standards she was fluent. “With your help,” said Tess humbly, “I will endeavor to do so.”

The ke nodded, like master to pupil. “When do you wish to begin?” she asked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

D
IANA COULD NOT HELP
but compare the two modes of travel: the constant jarring sway of the wagons in the army’s train against the luxurious appointments of Soerensen’s ducal yacht. On this yacht, the Company returned to Earth.

Vasil was in a foul temper, because every time he looked in a mirror he saw his scarred face. He even yelled at Yana one day, when she came to show him the three-dimensional picture she had drawn on a demi-modeler under Hal’s supervision. Yana burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Karolla, for the first time in that long trip, came to life. “You selfish beast!” she cried, standing up. Anton lay cradled in her arms. “How dare you speak that way to her!” Diana, sitting with her, rose at once.

Vasil practically snarled. “Leave me alone,” he said, and turned his face toward the wall.

At that moment, the door whisked open to reveal Yana, crying noisily in the passageway, and Dr. Kinzer. “Aha!” said Dr. Kinzer tartly, tapping her fingers on her slate. “Feeling sorry for himself again, is he? M. Veselov, you really are going to have to learn some patience. Now, I beg your pardon, M. Arkhanov, but I do need a few moments alone with my patient.”

Diana took Karolla by the arm and they went out together. Anton hiccuped, stirred, and went back to sleep. Seeing her mother, Yana gulped down her tears and ran away down the corridor. Karolla looked white.

“Here,” said Diana. “We’ll go rest in the chapel.” It was the most peaceful place she could think of. They found David praying in the chapel, but he rose when he saw them, made a final circle of grace with his right hand, and retreated to leave them alone. “I hope you don’t mind,” Diana continued, taking Karolla down to sit on the front row of benches that ringed the altar.

“Why should I mind?” asked Karolla in a choked voice.

“Well, it isn’t a temple to jaran gods, but it’s still a holy place.”

“Our gods aren’t jealous,” murmured Karolla, and suddenly she flushed bright red. “If only I were as worthy.”

“Karolla!” This was too much. “How can you be unworthy? To leave everything you knew, everyone you loved, and all for—
him.
I think you are the most selfless person I know.”

Karolla stared at baby Anton’s downy head, not seeming to see the soft glowing lights in the walls, the pale dome that enclosed them, the seamless benches, and the doors that opened without a touch. It was, Diana reflected, how Karolla dealt with things: She pretended she did not see them.

“If I truly loved him,” Karolla said, “then I wouldn’t care about—” She broke off. “But I want him to love me more. And he never will.”

“Love you more than—what?” Or whom?

Karolla threw back her head. At first, Diana had wondered why a man as handsome and as vain as Vasil had married a woman who was, truly, as plain as Karolla, since she doubted Vasil cared about Karolla’s finer qualities, but now she supposed he had done it because it ensured him an acolyte.

“But this place,” said Karolla, seemingly at variance, “it isn’t a place
he
can ever come, is it? He can’t follow Vasil here. Vasil must have known that. Either Bakhtiian threatened to exile him again or else Vasil chose to leave him.”

“Bakhtiian?” asked Diana haltingly. Still half asleep, Anton stuck two fingers in his mouth and sucked quietly on them.

“He wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t for the scar to his face. He would never have let Bakhtiian see him with that scar. Is it true that this
dokhtor
can take the scar away?”

Diana lifted a hand slowly and traced the scar of marriage on her cheek. “Yes,” she said. “It’s true. The doctor can make his face look as if it was never scarred in the first place.”

“Then I am content,” said Karolla.

They made landfall at Nairobi Port and took the train to London. Half the time Diana was thrilled to be back. The other half, she felt as if she weren’t there at all. She felt as if she were someone else, watching through her eyes.