She went inside, suddenly bone weary, wishing she could go to sleep and wake on another planet, as Stipock kept saying people did. A crazy man. For all these years, we've followed a crazy man. No wonder we do crazy things.
The house was clean inside, and the cupboards were full. Hoom, for all his mildness and lack of initiative, was a good provider. She sold her carvings because it made people prize her work, not because she needed the money. And it was like Hoom — to dig up young trees, plant them, and sell the fruit. He only needed to plant once, and he reaped forever, only pruning now and then. His orchards spread from the Heaven River far inland. Tame trees. Hoom thought he could tame anything or anybody. Except me, she thought bitterly. Only I cannot be tamed, no matter how I long to be.
Why Wix? she wondered. And why now? Why a week ago? Why not ten years from now, or never, or always, so that Hoom would never have loved me, would never have been hurt. And how the hell did Hoom know? Too many questions. Does everyone know?
And if Stipock had only been guessing, she had certainly confirmed his guess. What a fool I am, Dilna reminded herself.
When Hoom got home Dilna was asleep, but she roused herself with a groan when she heard the door open, wrapped a blanket around her, and went into the common room, where Hoom and Wix were saying good night. Wix waved a greeting at her, and then disappeared silently as Hoom swung the door shut.
"Well?" Dilna asked. "How did the meeting go?"
"I'm tired," Hoom said, collapsing on a chair in an exaggeration of weariness.
"Tell me," Dilna insisted.
"And what will you give me if I do?" Hoom asked with a lazy smile. Dilna sighed and walked over to him. She sat on his lap, wrapping the blanket around them both. He rubbed his hand across her bare stomach and laughed. "Ah, the wages I get in this house!"
"Tell me," Dilna said, "or I'll put roaches in your bed."
"You would," he said. "So I'll tell you: Noyock's willing."
"Good," she said. "That'll defuse that bastard Billin."
"Don't call names. What's much more important, my dear, is that father's willing, too."
"You spoke to your father?"
Hoom smiled, but he didn't look amused. "It would have interfered with the negotiations if I hadn't. After all, he is the leader of the Uniters."
"That's one nice thing about the opposition — they're very orderly, always appointing leaders."
"We don't have to appoint one: we have one already."
"But Stipock refuses to say what he wants," Dilna said, getting up and walking to the cooking fire, which still had enough heat to stir it back to flame. "Want some broth?"
"As a second choice," Hoom said.
She put the kettle over the flames, its brass long since blackened by smoke. "What did Aven say?"
"That if we were willing to accept the general leadership of the Warden, they'd consent to a separate vote and a separate tax."
"No, silly," she said. "What did he say afterward?"
"He tried to get all emotional and pretend that there was a reconciliation. But I left as soon as I could."
Dilna felt strangely irritated. "It was awfully petty of you, not to let things smooth over."
Hoom didn't answer, and she knew he was angry. Oh well, what the hell. He'd forget as soon as she climbed into his bed. Instant forgiveness, she called it. Privately, of course — it would never do to let Hoom know how transparent he was.
Change the subject: "Any doubt about the vote?"
"No. Even if half the Uniters don't go along with the compromise — which is likely enough, too many old people believe the History says that Jason has commanded us always to be united no matter how widely we spread out — we'll have enough votes to turn the difference."
The broth had already been warm, and now it was steaming hot. She ladled some into a bowl and carried it to Hoom. "Thank you," her husband said as she went back for a bowl for herself. They drank the broth in silence. When it was gone, Hoom went outside to relieve himself and Dilna went to the bedroom and turned down the blankets on his bed. Even though Hoom never treated her like a possession (as a lot of the older men treated their wives, and too many younger ones, too), she still liked to do small services that made his life more comfortable.
As she turned back the blankets she wondered: Does he know?
She thought of how Wix had looked afterward, half–covered with damp leaves and his face twisted in — what, grief? Regret? Disappointment? He should have married, the bastard, and then he never would have been tempted by her, nor she by him. There was no way Hoom could know.
He came into the room, stripping off his shirt as he walked. "Getting chilly now. Jason's due back in a month. From today. Noyock wanted us to wait until he came."
Dilna turned in surprise. "Actually, why not? That isn't a bad idea. After all, the whole idea of voting was put in after Jason's last visit — why not let Jason see it in action?"
"Because," Hoom said wryly, "he might take offense at it and abolish the practice, and every old bastard in Heaven City would give it up just like that. We haven't mentioned it much, but that's one of the reasons Stipock's been pushing us to get the decision now, before the old god returns from the Star Tower ."
"So Stipock does have opinions."
"One or two," Hoom said. "So do I. I'm of the opinion that I married the most desirable woman in Heaven City ."
As he caressed her she laughed and said, "What about the most beautiful?"
"Goes without saying," he answered. But she wondered anyway whether he knew: why had he chosen to call her desirable? Did he know who had desired her? And been satisfied?
She didn't go back to her own bed until nearly morning, wondering as she did why she had insisted on that arrangement a year after they married. A sign of independence, she supposed. Everybody had to have their little signs of independence.
Because Hoom's orchard needed little tending at this time of year, he spent most of the day in the house, and there was a constant stream of visitors. Dilna usually would have been in the common room joining into the conversations, but today she didn't feel like it, and instead she climbed up onto the shingled roof (Wix's innovation, and it had made him rich before he turned eighteen) and lay there, occasionally carving, but usually looking up at the clouds that promised rain (but not a drop fell, of course, for the winds were from the west and not until they shifted to the north would the fall rains begin).
Once she climbed to the crest of the roof and looked out across the river, where now four boats made regular trips back and forth. Eternally back and forth — boring. Wix and Hoom talked of following the current, going down the river to see where it led. As soon as the vote was taken and things were settled. Well, that's tomorrow, Dilna thought, and I'll be packed five minutes after they vote.
She wondered vaguely why she was so anxious to get away, but when her mind made a connection to that day a week ago in the woods to the west, she slid halfway down the roof (damn the splinters, I'll slide if I want) and carved furiously for a while.
She had fallen asleep on the roof when Hoom found the ladder and climbed up. She was surprised to see it was nearly evening.
"Trying to kill yourself?" Hoom asked, concerned.
"Yes," she answered, and then realized that Hoom really had been concerned. "No, Hoom, I couldn't possibly fall off."
"Yes you could," Hoom said, and then he helped her carry her things back down the ladder.
"The visitors all gone?"
Hoom nodded and led the way into the house. "But they aren't all happy about the compromise."