"Your wife?" demanded Mother Orzhekov. "I see no mark, Nephew."
Every gaze was fixed on them. Behind Irena Orzhekov sat her three daughters. Sonia stared transfixed, hands on her cheeks, lips parted, fighting back a grin. Behind Arina Veselov, behind Kirill, sat Vera, and behind her, Yeliana. Vera's face was white, her mouth a thin line.
"Let me down," Tess whispered fiercely.
"Ah, so you have come back to me," he murmured. "You were acting far too meek." He lowered her gently and set her on her feet beside him but he did not relinquish his grip around her waist. It would be undignified to struggle in so public a place and with such an audience. Doubtless he counted on it.
"Niko," he said, "I thought my aunt had been told."
"Bakhtiian, it was not my right to tell."
Ilya glanced at Tess. "With your permission?" he asked, but he did not let go of her. She nodded mutely. "Mother Orzhekov," he said formally. "Terese Soerensen and I rode down the Avenue of the shrine of Morava at sunset. The ceremony was completed. The bond has been sealed. So she is indeed my wife. And I," he added, with a sardonic edge to his voice, "am her husband."
Silence could not contain their audience's astonishment. Exclamations, comments, every kind of noise broke out, and hushed to stillness when Irena Orzhekov rose. Arina sat with complete composure. Kirill, behind her, now looked strangely serene. Sonia had clapped her hands together, delighted. Vera-Vera was gone.
"I will have quiet," said Mother Orzhekov. "I think this assembly has ended. If you agree, Mother Veselov. And you, Elders?" More nods from various aged faces.
She had to say no more. The crowd dispersed quickly and with a great deal of noise.
"Come here, Ilyakoria," said Irena when only the etsanas and their families and five Elders from each tribe remained. She sounded displeased. He looked not the least bit cowed. "You will sit beside me until our business is finished here. Tess, sit with Sonia."
Sonia said nothing when Tess sat down next to her but squeezed her hand.
"Now, Olya Zvertkov, is it truly your wish to bind yourself over into the Veselov tribe?"
These negotiations went on for some time. The two etsanas haggled over tents and pots and how many of which flock ought to go to which tribe in recompense for the loss of Kirill's mother or the gain of Kirill himself. Tess rubbed her eyes and lay her head on Sonia's comforting shoulder, and Sonia put her arm around Tess to hold her steady.
At last they agreed, and Arina rose. Bakhtiian rose as well. "I have not yet released Kirill from my jahar," he said. "And while I claim the right to perform that release in private, I ask that he remain behind now."
The two women nodded, and Arina took her family and her Elders and left. Bakhtiian gave his aunt a curt nod and then walked away to where his tent was pitched some distance behind hers.
"Tess!" whispered Sonia. "Why didn't you tell me! Did Yuri know?"
"Yes."
"Well, the gods' blessing on that. It would have made him happy."
"Everything made Yuri happy," said Tess bitterly, and then she stopped, seeing what Bakhtiian had brought them from his tent. Two blankets, folded neatly, and on top of them, two red shirts, folded with equal neatness. A scrap of sleeve showed on one, a line of Yuri's distinctive embroidery.
"I bring these to you, his sisters." Ilya knelt before his cousins and held out his hands. Kira, the eldest, took them from him with reverence, but instead of turning to Stassia first, she turned to Tess.
"Which will you have, my sister?" she asked.
Tess started to cry silently. She took the topmost shirt gently from the pile and held it hard against her face. The silk was cool and soft. Sonia took the other shirt and cradled it against her chest. She, too, was weeping. Kira and Stassia each took a blanket.
"Because my kinsman Yurinya has neither brother nor father living, I return his saber to you, my aunt.'' He offered it to her.
Tears ran down Irena's face, but her expression remained composed. "You are his nearest male relation. It is yours, now, Ilyakoria."
He shut his eyes for an instant. "Thank you," he murmured, and he simply held it a moment before he remembered where he was. Then he turned to Kirill.
"Perhaps, Zvertkov, you will tell Yuri's sisters, and Mikhal's wife, how they died."
Kirill was very pale but his voice was steady, and the account he gave covered Yuri and Mikhal with so much glory that Tess could hardly believe it was true though she knew it was: that Mikhal had ridden back into the fight instead of riding for help, as he might well have done with no shame-as Petya had; that Yurinya had saved Tess's life. The children had crept up to listen, and Katerina and Ivan clutched their mother, faces solemn. Stassia held little Kolia.
"And were they burned," asked Irena when he had finished, "and released from the burdens of the earth, as was their right?"
Niko and Kirill both looked at Ilya. Tess hid her face in her hands.
"They were given," said Ilya with no expression in his voice, "what they most wished. Now, Aunt, if you will excuse me, I will ask Sibirin and Zvertkov to accompany me while I return what is theirs to Fedya's and Mikhal's families."
Irena inclined her head. "You are excused, Nephew. And Ilya." She paused. Tess looked up. "To marry cousins is dangerous. To marry them in the sight of the gods-well, we shall see. Certainly you have never lacked arrogance. But you have ridden a long way to return here, and with this I can sympathize. For this night, Nephew, my tent is yours." She rose and shook out her skirts, and then turned to address her family. "Come, children. You must take your blankets to your mothers' tents tonight."
Ilya simply stared at his aunt for a moment, as if this gesture bewildered him. But then, then he turned his head smoothly to give Tess so piercing a look that she felt as if they were already alone and she stripped utterly naked, far past such unimportant layers as clothing and skin, down, down to where the wind sweeps fire across the earth itself.
Then he turned and strode away, Niko and Kirill at his heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"If one does not hope one will not find the unhoped for, since there is no trail leading to it, and no path."
Dusk, stars, evening.
Tess let Sonia help her dress in all the beautiful women's clothing gifted her by Nadezhda Martov, bracelets, the beaded headpiece. She felt empty, burned away until she was hollow.
"You're being very quiet," said Sonia. "I'll leave the lantern, and you can sit here on these pillows. Tess, it isn't as if you haven't lain with him before-" Abruptly, she sat down beside Tess and took her cold hands in her own. "You haven't?"
Tess could only shake her head numbly.
"But you rode down the Avenue together."
Tess found a whisper. "I didn't know."
"You didn't know!" Sonia was speechless for a moment. "I can only suppose that he didn't have the nerve to try to mark you, knowing you could use your saber, so he-Gods!" Tess glanced at her. The lantern light cast edges on the soft planes of Sonia's face. "Well, Tess, I'm sorry, but you're his wife now, and I can't interfere." She kissed her on the cheek and stood up, abandoning Tess in the middle of the silken mass of Irena Orzhekov's finest pillows. "But listen to me." Her voice was quiet but vehement. "Perhaps we do not know one another so well, you and I, but I can see into your heart, my sister, and I know you are strong enough for what has been given you."