Then the woman and her daughters got up and began to clear the table. Father and son took each a last stick of parsa and went outside, out of the way.
It was a half-hour's flight by the kalifal floater to the coast, and three more to the island. They circled it once before landing, its rugged, jungled beauty holding Tain enrapt. It was much the most beautiful sight she could remember. Or had seen before memory, it seemed to her.
When they landed with their bodyguards, the major-domo met them and conducted them to the "small" house, a large airy bungalow. The small staff that waited there had watched the ceremony on a wall set in the servants' parlor, in the nearby manor, and stood more in awe of the beautiful new kalifa than they did of the Kalif.
Coso and Tain had changed into casual clothes at the palace. Now, after being shown through the bungalow, the two went outside alone, to dawdle hand in hand along the beach till supper time. Their bodyguards and floater crew had been "banished" to the manor, its swimming pool and crossball courts. Servants were tending to the royal luggage.
The majordomo had had his instructions and the cook his, days earlier. Thus the meal was superb but simple, and the quantity modest. When it was over, the Kalif and kalifa stepped onto the veranda for after-dinner liqueurs. The dining room was quickly cleared, and the servants retired to the servants' wing of the lodgelike manor, leaving the couple to themselves.
The Kalif smiled at his bride. "I believe we're alone," he said, and put down his glass. "Would you like to stroll again? For a little while?"
"If you would," she answered soberly.
They clipped repellent field generators onto their belts to keep insects away, and left. Dusk had settled into twilight, but the path was white sand, and the way easy to see. From the beach they watched the last dark rose of sunset, and stars vaulting up the sky. Waves, low and quiet, washed the sand just yards away, whispering "hushsh, hushsh, hushsh," and as they walked, their hands found each other.
"It is very beautiful here," Tain murmured.
"More beautiful with you here than I have ever seen it before," Coso answered.
"Your brother-in-law must be very rich, to own this whole island."
Coso chuckled. "His whole family is very rich. Mine is rich, but his is very rich. We were born rich. Sometimes I wonder why, but I am always glad." He looked at her, her face indistinct in the near night. "And now you are rich, too."
She didn't answer. After a little he asked: "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that I am very lucky as well as rich. Not so lucky in the past, perhaps. Or perhaps I was. Perhaps I had to give up so much in order to have so much."
He stopped, and she did, too, turning to face him. He put his arms around her, and she around him, and they kissed, tenderly at first, then passionately.
After a minute they stepped apart. "Do you still want to walk?" he breathed.
"Only back to the house."
He chuckled softly. "Good. Already we agree on things."
On the way back they stopped twice more to kiss. When they reached the bungalow, they went directly to their bedroom, where he first closed the blinds, then turned the illumination on low. They looked at each other, then Tain lowered her eyes. "I-should go in there," she said, motioning toward the bath.
Coso nodded, and watched her disappear. He disrobed then, looking at himself in the mirror, somewhat taller than most, strongly built, trim, his copious body hair softer than typical, his erection upright. He hoped she'd find him pleasing. After two or three minutes she emerged again, nude, pale, lovely. They stared at each other. It was difficult for him to walk past her into the bathroom to wash himself, but it was tradition, insisted upon by grooms' uncles from time immemorial.
Back in the bedroom they embraced beside the bed, his breath thick in his chest. As they kissed, his hands found her buttocks, pressing her against him. After a moment she pushed him gently away, gazed into his eyes, and helped him down beside her on the bed.
The Kalif was in many ways a disciplined man. Now he was also a man in love, and did not hurry. He caressed, kissed, nuzzled, and after a time he mounted. He was quick despite himself, but she kissed away his disappointment and led him to the bath. Later, in bed again, he rode her long. "Oh Jerym!" she groaned, "oh, Jerym!"
It did not disconcert him; he continued. And when a minute later her fingers dug desperately into his back, the name she cried was, "Coso! Coso! Oh Coso!"
Finally they lay slack beside each other, and he asked no question, simply kissed her. After a little they showered again, then went back to bed, where Tain fell asleep in minutes.
Coso lay longer awake, fingers locked behind his head. Jerym, he thought. It was not a name he'd ever heard. Not a name of Varatos or Klestron, or any world he knew. A Confederation world then. She'd loved Jerym, he was sure of it, and Jerym had loved her. Young love. He wondered if Jerym had been killed in the fighting on remote Terfreya. Or if perhaps he lay in bed on some enormously distant world and wondered about Tain.
A pang of grief surprised Coso. I'll be good to her, Jerym, he thought. I'll be good to her. I promise.
He awakened once in the night and caressed Tain in her sleep, softly, intimately, until she writhed. When she awoke to it, her passion astonished him.
In the morning she disappeared into the bath. Quickly Coso took a small clasp knife from his toiletries and jabbed a finger, bled briefly on the bedsheet, then applied a readymade bandage. As he'd planned weeks before. That done, he put the knife away, threw the covers over the bloodspot, and after knocking, followed his bride into the bath.
Twenty-four
The royal couple spent four and a half days on the island. Their bodyguards kept strictly away, with orders to watch for possible but unlikely intruders by air or sea. In fact, the prospect of intruders was slight. The whereabouts of the Kalif and kalifa were unknown even to the inner council-even to Jilsomo. As far as the outside world knew, they were still in the Sreegana.
By then the Kalif was ready to return to his duties and projects, and the kalifa to the library. Meanwhile his brown skin had darkened a shade, while she had developed a distinct tan and a peeling nose.
They arrived back late on Fourday, and on Fiveday, following a brief morning meeting with his council, he met with the full College before lunch. After acknowledging their formal congratulations on his marriage, he passed out draft copies of a decree he'd written, formally recognizing The Book of the Mountain as having been written by The Prophet and inspired by Kargh. They were to give him their written comments within forty-eight hours, after which he'd issue a final draft to the Prelacy and the Pastorate within a week.
After that he conducted some eighty minutes of discussion on various domestic questions. When he felt they'd reached a suitable stopping place on those, he summarized what he considered appropriate actions or inactions for the present.
Then he stood looking at them for a long pregnant moment. "What I tell you now, I tell you in confidence," he said, then looked them over again. "The last time I said something in confidence to some of you, the House knew about it within two days. That was not acceptable. If what I tell you now should leak, intentionally or accidentally, I'll consider it an act of treason to the throne, and ferret out the source."