Part 50 (1/2)

She smiled back at him. She could not help herself.

Ilya looked white. One hand clenched tight around the ta.s.sels of a pillow. ”I mean here, now,” he said in an undertone. ”You know d.a.m.n well what I mean, Veselov.”

It was almost embarra.s.sing to see Vasil as he absorbed Ilya's attention. What did it matter what Ilya said to him, as long as he said something? He glowed with it, but like the moon, Tess saw suddenly, his was all reflected glow. He did not have heat enough to burn within himself, not like Ilya. She felt all of a sudden that she teetered on the edge of an answer, about him, about them.

”You know why,” said Vasil.

”You are forbidden my presence.”

”Yet I am here.” Vasil drew in a great, shuddering breath. He opened his hands.

His eyes had a beautiful shape, rounded with a hint of a pull at their ends. His lips were as pretty as his son's, but on him, with all the life and mobility of expression he bore with him, all the features that might otherwise have seemed weak and effeminate were strong and bold instead. ”Tell me to leave, to never look on you again, and I will obey.”

”No, you won't.”

”But I will.” He said it so sincerely, but Tess knew he was lying. Everyone here knew he was lying, except perhaps Ilyana, who sat loyally at her father's side. He dropped his voice to an intimate whisper. ”You don't want me to go.”

Ilya shut his eyes. He was exhausted.

”Vasil,” said Tess firmly, ”he needs to rest. I must ask you to leave.” She rose and made polite farewells to the children and to Karolla. She had to give Vasil a shove to get him on his way. ”Go.” Then she turned back to Ilya. He was already asleep. She found Aleksi and together they carried Ilya back into the tent and took his clothes off and laid him on the bed. Aleksi left, and Tess stripped and lay down beside him. He sighed and turned into her, draping an arm over her, tangling his legs in with hers.

”Ilya, why is Grandmother Night laughing at you?”

He did not reply. She thought perhaps he was still asleep, but a moment later his hand moved to rest possessively, protectively, on her belly. He stroked the swollen curve and sighed deeply into her hair.

”Why was Nadine spared?” she asked suddenly. ”The rest were killed, even her brother, who couldn't have been very old. Why didn't they kill Nadine, too?”

He stiffened in her arms. ”She wasn't there,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”She and my aunt's youngest daughter-the one who died-were like Katerina and Galina are now-as close as twins. She was with Anna, out doing ch.o.r.es, I suppose. Out getting water, probably.””What about Natalia's husband? Where was he?”

It took her a moment to realize why he had gone so hot so suddenly; he was sweating. ”With me, of course. With the jahar.”

”He rode with your jahar?” she asked stupidly.

”Of course he did. He married into the tribe, of course he rode with my jahar.''

”What happened to him?”

”He left,” he said curtly. ”I was glad to see him go. I hated him.”

”What was your mother like, Ilya?”

She didn't expect him to answer, but he did. ”Proud. Arrogant. Impulsive. Vain.”

Tess laughed a little. ”She sounds rather like you.”

”No,” he said softly, ”I am like her. She never liked me, not until I came back from Jeds.”

”That can't be true!”

”You never knew my mother,” he said bitterly.

”No, and I'm sorry I didn't.”

”Don't be. You wouldn't have liked her, and she'd have made your life miserable.”

”Ilya!” The force of his anger and pain stunned her. ”Didn't you like her?”

”I loved her.” He said it gratingly, as if he were ashamed of it.

She hesitated, but she had never found him in such a forthcoming-in such a vulnerable-mood before, so she went on. ”What about your father?”

He laughed. It was a fragile sound, brief enough, but it heartened her. ”My father was a strange man. He was an orphan. Did you know that? He was a Singer. He never said much. He never tried to counsel my mother, and she dearly needed counseling, sometimes. Not in all things. She negotiated with other tribes skillfully enough. They all said so, and it was true. But her own headstrong desires . . . those she never learned to control, and he never tried to help her. I'm not sure he cared. But he loved me. He only stayed because of me. He said the G.o.ds had told him that he would have a child who would have fire in his heart. He said the G.o.ds had told him that this child would change forever what the jaran were, that the G.o.ds would take the child on a long journey, a Singer's journey, to show him what he must do to bring the light of the G.o.ds' favor onto their chosen people.”

”And that child was you.”

”That child was me.” His words were slurred, now. ”And now I have gone on the Singer's journey twice, once in body, once in spirit. That makes me a Singer, like my father.'' He lay heavy on her, where an arm and leg were draped over her, and he sighed and shut his eyes again.

”Go to sleep, my heart.” She stroked his hair. A Singer. He was now a Singer. It seemed a doubly heavy burden to bear.

He slept soundly all that night. The next morning he insisted they start out down toward the Habakar heartlands. He rode a placid mare, but by mid-morning he was so exhausted that, given the choice between halting the train of wagons on the trail so that he could rest or riding in a wagon instead, he agreed to ride in a wagon. Tess sat next to him, one arm around him, propping him up. On his other side, Sonia drove. A constant stream of riders-women and men both-pa.s.sed them, just to catch sight of him, just to see if it was true, that he had defeated the Habakar sorcery and come back victorious and alive.

By mid-afternoon he trembled as if with a palsy. Tess and Sonia overruled his objections and halted the wagons and made camp. He was so tired that Tess practically had to hand-feed him, and then he fell asleep before he could hold an audience. Vasil came by that evening.

”He's asleep,” she said. She sat under the awning in the cool evening breeze, reading by lantern light from Cara's bound volume of the complete works of Shakespeare.

”You look tired,” said Vasil. Without being asked, he sank down beside her.

”Karolla is pregnant, too.”

That startled her. ”A third child. You must be very pleased, Vasil.”

He smiled. ”I love my children. Is he really asleep?”

She closed the book and set it to one side. ”Vasil, what do you want? Or do you even know?”

All at once his expression lost its casual self-a.s.surance. ”Oh, G.o.ds, I thought he was going to die. I couldn't have borne that. At least, even banished from him, I knew he yet lived.”

His vehemence shook her. ”Why did you come back? You must know that he can't see you, that it will never be acceptable.”

”I had no choice,” he muttered. He dropped his gaze away from her shyly, forcing her to stare at his profile. The lantern light softened him, giving him the lineament of an angel.

Tess sighed. She had long since discovered that she was susceptible to brash men who hid behind modesty. She leaned over and took his hand. ”Vasil.” Then she faltered. She did not know what she needed to say.

Daringly, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, and then turned her hand over and kissed her palm once, twice, thrice. She s.h.i.+vered, and not from the cold. ”You'd better go,” she said, and was shocked to hear how husky her voice sounded.

Without a word, without looking at her, he placed her hand back in her lap and left.”Oh, G.o.d,” she said to herself as she watched him walk away. As she watched him as any woman watches a man she is attracted to, measuring the set of his shoulders and the line of his hips and the promise of his hands. No wonder Sonia had warned her against him.