“I never would have dared, until today.” He stroked her hair, gazing over her head, feeling the most delightful sensation steal over him. “I would tell you to take heart, but you already have—my heart.”
“And you took mine long ago, you silly man! Didn’t you see that I’d fallen out of love with Orgoru and in love with you?”
“I’m blind,” he whispered.
“Then you’ll have to work by touch,” she said, and raised her head for another kiss.
They forgot to close the door. Sometime later, Jules stumped by, bathed and trimmed. He stopped to stare in at them, then turned away, shaking his head and muttering about something in the air.
Miles stared. “You want me to do what?”
“To coordinate all the efforts of the underground,” Gar said patiently, “to keep track of what everyone’s doing, and if anyone makes a mistake, send someone to fix it.”
“We’re asking you to be chief rebel, Miles,” Dirk said, smiling. “We’re asking you to boss the revolution.”
Miles sat down hard, staring blankly in front of him. It was just good luck he’d had a chair handy—or maybe that was why they had come into his study and told him at his desk.
He looked around at the room, not even seeing the velvet drapes, the tapestry, the gilded moldings, the fireplace, or the graceful, damask-covered furniture. “Chief rebel?” he asked, stupefied.
“Yes;” Gar said. “Why do you think we had you take care of the records and send people out, then interview them when they came back?”
“You were training me for the job!”
“Very successfully, too,” Dirk agreed. “You’re ready for it, Miles—and we’re ready to go find other oppressive governments to overthrow. You can handle everything here for the next four years.”
“Don’t worry,” Gar said. “We’ll come back for the actual revolution.”
Miles’s mind seized on something trivial. He gazed at a random note on his desk. “Isn’t it an amazing coincidence that the peasant you chose for a guide should prove to be the man you want to lead the revolution?”
“No coincidence at all,” Dirk snapped. “Why did you think we chose you for a guide, out of all the outlawed peasants in the land? Why do you think we kept you with us?”
“You have the intelligence to do the job, and the strength of will to hold the position,” Gar told him. “Besides that, you can think quickly enough to handle an emergency.”
“We’ve taught you all we can,” Dirk said. “You can do the job—and you’re the only man on the planet who can.”
“Me? An illiterate peasant, oppose the Protector and all his soldiers?”
“You,” Dirk said, “and a thousand false magistrates, not to mention the soldiers our agents are subverting at the rate of twenty a day. They may not know the word ‘revolution’ or our intention to overthrow the Protector, but they won’t fight to stop you.”
“Just remember that you have to keep the real magistrates penned up until after the revolution,” Gar cautioned. “They know how to flatter and fawn, and they’re very likely to convince you of their loyalty—then turn their coats the second they’re free, and bring back an army to destroy you.”
“The magistrate who does that will become a minister overnight,” Dirk agreed.
Miles nodded. “I’ll remember.” Then he shook himself. “Wait a minute! I haven’t even said I’ll do it yet!”
“Well?” Dirk said, hands on his hips. “Will you?” Gar demanded.
Miles’s gaze strayed. “I’ll have to talk to Ciletha first.” He braced himself for exasperation, but they must have known more than he thought (when didn’t they?)—for Dirk only nodded, and Gar said, “Of course you must.”
He met Ciletha for their usual walk in the park—the captive bureaucrats had been very indignant at having to clear away the vines and overgrowth enough for the robot gardeners to begin work again. Now he met Ciletha there every evening, even if they’d been together at their desks all day, to enjoy the cool air and gaze at the ponds and flower beds.
“You’re quiet tonight, my dear,” Ciletha prodded.
“Yes. I-I have some … some very important news, Ciletha,” Miles said.
When he fell silent, Ciletha suppressed a sigh and said only, “Go on.”
“Gar and Dirk came to see me today…”
He stopped again. Ciletha pressed. “What about?”
“They want me to be chief rebel. They want me to lead the revolution.”
“Chief rebel! Oh, how wonderful, Miles!” Ciletha planted a huge kiss on his lips. Instinct took over, and he embraced her, amazed.
Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed herself away, eyes wide with horror. “Miles! The danger! If they catch you, they’ll torture you to draw everyone’s name from you. Then, when they’ve milked you dry, they’ll draw and quarter you!”
Miles shuddered at the thought of the dread, slow punishment and put it from him resolutely. “I know, Ciletha. I can’t take that risk without your understanding. I’m foolish enough to think my life affects yours, after all.”
“Foolish! Oh, you dear boy, no! You are my life now!” The horror lifted from her suddenly, and her smile was like the sunrise. “Come, now. We both knew we were wagering our lives for this. We all do. If the Protector’s spies catch us, we’ll all be tortured and hanged—but we can’t go back now.”
Miles frowned, thinking of it for the first time. “No, we can’t, can we? Even if I took you back to my home village and presented you to the magistrate as my fiancée, he’d still have me flogged, set me to years of hard labor—and probably forbid our marriage, to prove that no one can defy the Protector.” He shuddered. “No, I think I’d rather have a real death than a living one.”
“I would, too,” she said softly, “and we can only be slain once.”
“Yes, we can, can’t we?” Miles smiled at her, realizing all over again what a unique woman she was. “But I’m far more concerned for you than for myself, Ciletha. After all, I’m the one who dragged you into this mess.”
“I dragged myself into it,” she told him sternly, “or blundered into it, rather—blundered into you and Gar and Dirk that dark night. But I chose to stay—and I choose to stay now.”
“Well, yes,” Miles said, “but you wouldn’t have done so if it hadn’t been for me.”
“I thought you would never realize that,” she whispered, swaying very close to him. He stared at her in surprise, then realized her meaning and took her in his arms to kiss her again.
When they came up for air, he whispered, “I love you, Ciletha.”
“So you have told me,” she replied. “Do you finally believe that I love you, too?”
Miles smiled as joy swept him again. “I could only hope for that,” he said, “but never believe it.”
“Believe it, then!” she scolded; then, swaying right up against him and half closing her eyes, “What will it take to make you believe it?”
He kissed her again and came up smiling. “A wedding,” he whispered. “Marry me, and I’ll believe you love me.”
Ciletha gave a sigh of mock exasperation. “The lengths I must go to, to make you see what is clearly before you! Well, if I must marry to make you trust me, then I will.”
He gave a shout of joy, then kissed her again. When he drew back, he said, “But I haven’t asked you properly,” and dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Ciletha?”
She gave him a mock cuff on the ear. “Yes, you blockhead!” Then more softly, “Yes, you wonderful, handsome man, I will marry you.”
They kissed again. Then she pushed herself away, suddenly very serious. “But not until this revolution is won or lost, Miles. It would be horrible to bear children and see them chewed up by the Protector’s forces. If we win, then I’ll marry you.” She frowned, suddenly worried. “You did mean to have children, didn’t you?”