The Law of Becoming: 4 (The Novels of the Jaran)

  “Yes!” Vasha was ecstatic that she had been thinking about him at least as much as to feel that she ought to apologize, he supposed for convincing Prince Janos that he, not Bakhtiian, was the valuable hostage.

  “I hope,” she added, “that Janos serves you with honor.”

  He wasn’t quite sure about some of the words, but he assured her that it was so as much to see the grace of her smile as because Janos had, in fact, treated him well. Then, recalling his conversation with Janos about women and their lovers, he felt abashed and lowered his gaze away from her to stare at his trencher. Among the jaran, it wouldn’t truly matter if Rusudani was married to another man. He might still hope she would take him as a lover. Now he understood why Tess said that marriage was a prison for women among the khaja. Which made him think of Katerina, locked in her tower.

  “Princess Rusudani,” he began.

  A crash came from the anteroom. A man shouted, and they heard more shouts, some scuffling. The steward rushed out to the high table. He looked outraged.

  “He something to pour wine for the high table, my lord. He threw the something against the wall. I beg your pardon for the something. I will send him to something.”

  Rusudani came to life. In a low but determined voice, she ripped into the steward. Janos started to defend the steward, but Rusudani cut him off, saying something about her servant and the respect due to her. She rose. All those seated at the high table were by now silent, watching this altercation. Janos glanced toward the Mircassian envoy, then made a gesture with one hand to the steward, who escorted Rusudani out into the anteroom.

  Janos leaned toward Vasha. “Your priest is refusing to serve wine at the table, Prince Vasil’ii. Is this also a task which is beneath his dignity? Even though he is a captive and a slave, on my sufferance? I could have him whipped and put in the dungeon for such disrespect.”

  “Among my people, Prince Janos, Singers are ruled only by the gods.”

  “You are no longer among your people, Prince Vasil’ii, and this man is too proud. You will speak with him. He must understand that whatever honor he receives among your people, here he is merely yet another servant. If he obeys, he might hope to better his position.”

  Vasha wanted to laugh, but not because he found Janos’s words amusing. It was impossible. Perhaps the young man known as Ilyakoria Orzhekov might once have been the kind of lad willing to endure such trials for the hope of future gain; the man who had earned the name Bakhtiian, he-who-has-traveled-far, would not. Stefan himself had said it: He would rather die than accept that another man ruled over him.

  But there was no harm in using this opportunity. “It would be better for him to speak with my cousin Katerina.”

  Janos began to shake his head, then halted. Rusudani came out of the anteroom. Bakhtiian followed her, carrying a flask. His expression was a mask, frozen, and Vasha saw deep in his eyes a hint of the furious madness that raged within him. He was taut with it, strung so tightly that soon the pressure would break him.

  “How is it that he will obey her and not me or my steward or my captains?” Janos asked.

  “Because she is a woman, Prince Janos. All men must show the proper respect toward women.”

  And what man would not wish to make as beautiful a woman as Rusudani happy, thought Vasha, averting his gaze and staring down at his hands, embarrassed to be seated here in a place of honor while his father, a Singer chosen by the gods, ruler of the greatest empire he knew of, served wine at the table.

  They retired to the solar after supper. Here Rusudani received the envoy and his letter for the first time. She read it carefully. No emotion troubled her even countenance, but her hands trembled slightly. Once she glanced at her husband. Once she glanced toward Bakhtiian, who stood near the door. Last, finishing the letter, she looked up briefly at Vasha. He was gratified by her attention.

  The envoy indulged himself in some personal effusions toward Rusudani. Vasha found that he could follow the gist of the conversation: the king speaks fondly of her; he hopes she can hasten to the court; certain arrangements for her journey and for her arrival had been made, too complicated for Vasha to understand.

  “How soon can you make ready to leave?” Janos asked.

  Surprised, Rusudani looked to Lady Jadranka, but the older woman merely shook her head. “I have little enough in my possession, my lord,” she replied softly. “How soon can an escort be made ready for me and those servants I choose to take with me?”

  “I will escort you myself, of course, my lady. We will leave in three days.”

  “The prisoners?”

  “I will leave Lady Katherine under my mother’s care.”

  “Prince Vasil’ii will travel with us, then,” she said with quiet authority.

  So it was decided.

  “I will make sure you come with me,” Vasha said to Stefan when the guards returned him to his tower chamber.

  “That’s all very well, but what about Bakhtiian? What will happen to him? What if the army manages to trace us here only to find us gone?”

  “We can’t expect to be rescued. I have already spoken with Prince Janos about the possibility of an alliance.”

  Stefan stared, but any reply he might make was interrupted by the arrival of the khaja priest, the one who ministered to Lady Jadranka and her women. He wore a mask of disapproval as three guards dragged in Ilya, whose arms were bound behind his back.

  “My lord,” said the khaja priest in his stiff Taor. “Princess Rusudani entreats you to speak with this vassal and urge him to take heed of his life. He was whipped by Lord Belos for disobedience and then he struck at Lord Belos. It will not do, but Princess Rusudani hopes that God will see fit to bring this man to the true faith, so she asks you to intercede for him.”

  Forced to his knees in front of Vasha, Bakhtiian glared at the priest.

  “I will speak with him,” said Vasha. The khaja left. “Father! You’ll get yourself killed if you keep on this way!”

  “Untie me,” snapped Ilya. Stefan began to unknot the rope. “You went hunting with Prince Janos. What did you learn, of him, of the land hereabouts? Is there any news of the army?”

  “No news of the army. Of the rest, I can fashion a map in the ashes for you to see. Of Janos….” Vasha paused while Ilya stood up, shaking out his arms, and began to pace out the room. He had a welt on one cheek, red and swollen. “We are traveling to Mircassia. We leave in three days. Princess Rusudani is to be invested as the heir to King Barsauma, and Janos will be her consort. She is sympathetic to us, Father, and Janos’s position at his father’s court is not strong, so it will be in his interest to make a treaty with the jaran. That way—”

  “Janos will get no treaty from the jaran.”

  Vasha flinched as though hit. “But Father, an alliance with Janos and through him with Rusudani and King Barsauma will allow us to direct our forces against Filis, and as well, once we are in Mircassia and the treaty is sealed—”

  “By whose hand?”

  “By mine, representing the jaran.” He hunched his shoulders, expecting his father to scold him for his presumption or, worse, to laugh at him. But Ilya, strangely, said nothing. “After that, that might give us, or at least you, the opportunity to return to the jaran army, with a copy of the treaty.”

  Ilya stopped in the center of the chamber and turned a burning gaze on Vasha. He looked more than a little crazy. “Tess will come for me.”

  “Tess probably thinks you are dead.”

  “She will still come.”

  “Even if she does, the alliance still is wise. Imagine if Mircassia is our ally and not our enemy.”

  “What of Katerina?”

  “She is to stay here under the protection of Lady Jadranka when we ride south.”

  Ilya snorted. “And what do you think of that, my boy?”

  Stung, Vasha strode over to the window loop and strained to see Katerina’s tower, but he could only see the stairs that wound up the parapet. “What ou
ght I to think of it? She will be as safe as any of us are.”

  “You don’t understand the khaja, Vasha. She is not safe at all. She has already been raped.” Speaking in khush, he switched to Rhuian, and it took Vasha a moment to understand the word.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you suppose I mean? Prince Janos raped her. He means to keep her as a mistress. She told me herself. I saw her once while you were out plotting treaties with the man who forced her.”

  “I didn’t know!” Vasha cried, horrified. How could such a thing happen to a woman? How could Lady Jadranka have let it happen? How could Janos do such a thing…but there his imagination failed him. He could not conceive of Janos, whom he liked, whom he had many reasons to like, forcing a woman. It was inexplicable. It was impossible. But if it was true…

  And yet…

  Too overwhelmed to speak, nevertheless one thought intruded insistently into the chaos of his thoughts.

  “But even if it’s true,” he muttered, bracing himself against the stone wall, “It still makes sense to make the alliance.”

  “Tess has taught you well,” said Ilya bitterly, sarcastically. “That was truly spoken like a khaja.” And in the next breath: “She will come for me.” Abruptly he sat down on the bed and began to talk to himself. “A bright light appeared from heaven and on this light he ascended. Father Wind knit a rope and Mother Sun cast a spark on it from out of her eye and glowing it reached down to the tents of the people, and up this rope climb those whom the gods have marked for their own. Farther he climbed than the angels, whose wings shone in the air with the glory of God’s light and filled the heavens with the light of a thousand campfires. By this light you may know him.”

  Vasha sidled over to Stefan. “What’s he doing?” he whispered.

  Stefan put two fingers over his mouth and drew Vasha aside, away from Bakhtiian, but Ilya seemed to have forgotten they were there. “He began this about ten days ago, after he was beaten by the overseer, when Nikita tried to take the blows for him. He just goes on like this, as Singers do sometimes, speaking words that the gods have poured into them.”

  “As far above as angels, he surveyed the lands, and by this sign he recognized his fate, that the sword given him would carve from many lands one land for is it not said that where the gods touch the earth then must all rivers run like the wind and the few shall become the many and the blind shall see. And out of this dispute did Mother Sun exile her only daughter to the earth and sent with her ten sisters who bore the ten tribes of the jaran. And the dyan of the first tribe fell in love with the daughter of the sun. She refused him, as any heaven-born creature must. He led his jahar into battle and fell to a grievous blow. Wounded unto death, he begged her for healing. Healing him, she loved him, and together they made a child.”

  Suddenly he leapt up and began to beat a fist against the wall, as if trying to batter it down, over and over again. Vasha jumped forward, to restrain him, but Stefan caught his arm and dragged him back.

  “Let him alone. You must let him alone, Vasha. He’ll just rage worse if you try to stop him.”

  So Vasha watched helplessly as his father bloodied his hands against the unyielding stone. After a while Ilya slumped down and sat staring at nothing.

  “Father,” Vasha said, bringing him water, but Ilya would not drink or even acknowledge his existence. “Father, if Tess comes, you must have the strength to leave this place.” Ilya stirred. “Father. Please.”

  And, finally, he drank.

  Jaelle and Katerina watched from the tower the commotion caused by Prince Janos’s arrival at White Tower. That evening, two servants brought a magnificent tray of food from the feasting that was, evidently, going on in the great hall.

  “He will come to see you tomorrow or the next day,” said Jaelle, feeling that she might broach this subject now with Katerina. “It would be prudent of you to greet him kindly.”

  “You think it would be prudent of me to allow him to lie with me, don’t you?”

  Jaelle hesitated.

  Katerina touched her hand, her fingers tracing her knuckles. “You must tell me what you truly think, Jaelle. It does me no good if you are afraid to speak freely.”

  “What he has offered you is generous. You must make him write it down in a contract. That way you are protected if he ceases to love you. That is your great advantage, your only one.”

  “My only power is that this man desires me?” Katerina snorted. “That is a sad state of affairs.” Her expression softened, and she clasped Jaelle’s hand firmly in hers. “But that is all you have had, is it not?”

  Surprised and abashed, Jaelle could only nod.

  “Well,” said Katerina, “I can endure anything, knowing you are my faithful friend.” She leaned toward Jaelle, like a lover easing toward a kiss, and stared at her intently. Jaelle felt dizzy, felt a wash of unexpected heat flood her, but she did not know what to say only that she had to say something, for what if Katerina drew back, recoiling from her silence?

  “I am,” she said, her voice so faint it seemed to die into the air. “I am your faithful friend, Katerina.”

  Voices sounded on the stairs below. Katerina let go of Jaelle’s hand and leapt to her feet. Moments later, the door to the chamber was unlocked and swung open, and Prince Janos entered.

  “I have come to play castles with you.” He handed his cloak and gloves to a servant. A second man hurried forward and piled more wood on the fire so that it blazed up. Jaelle hastily cleared the tray away, but it was taken from her by a servant and she was left to watch while Janos sat down at the table and began to set out the pieces, pausing once to examine the knight whose features had been scraped away. He placed it on the board, making no comment. Servants brought wine and steadied the fire and fled. Finally, Katerina walked over to the table and sat down in the chair opposite Janos. She was not afraid to look at him directly. Jaelle admired her for that.

  “I have learned one thing,” said Katerina, picking up the faceless knight and setting it back down, centering it precisely in its square. “That I cannot stop you. You may come here. I will play castles, since I am bored.”

  Now he looked up at her, searching her face, his gaze uncomfortably fixed on her. “And my other suit?”

  “You did not ask before.”

  “I am asking now.”

  Her eyes were as blue as the winter ice. “By our laws, Prince Janos, a man who forces a woman is put to death. You are so marked now. I will never invite you to my bed, not now, not at any time, ever, from this day to the day I die.”

  “What if I married you? You would have no choice in that, would you, nor about lying with me in my bed?”

  “You are already married.”

  “But if I was not,” he pressed, “and I chose to marry you, then what?”

  “Then you would be a fool for losing Princess Rusudani.”

  “But you would be mine.”

  Katerina shifted in her chair, looking, for once, at a loss for words. “I want to see my cousin,” she said in a low voice.

  “Become my mistress of your own free will, and this will not be denied you.”

  Katerina laughed, sharp and surprised. “Is this how khaja men court women?”

  “It is your move,” said Janos, indicating the pieces.

  “You cannot defeat me, Prince Janos,” she said softly, almost like a warning. But she moved a piece. “Your mother has treated me kindly. I would like to send my servant to the marketplace to buy her a gift, in thanks.”

  “With what will you buy this gift?”

  She slipped a fine gold necklace off her neck, handling it as if it were the merest trinket. “She may take this to trade.”

  He hesitated, hand poised over a foot soldier. “Very well,” he said, moving the piece one square forward. “She may go tomorrow.”

  “You will purchase a suitable gift for Lady Jadranka,” said Katerina in the morning as she helped Jaelle on with a cloak, “perfume, perhaps,
or a fine bolt of silk, if they have such a thing for sale here. Then you must find a healer…I don’t know what the khaja call them. A woman or a man who can give you herbs, trefin or enefis, perhaps they know of others here, that will prevent a woman from conceiving. You must know of such things.”

  “I do.”

  “If there is coin left, then buy something for yourself.”

  “Good wool cloth,” said Jaelle instantly. “Winter is coming on.”

  Katerina laughed and kissed Jaelle on the cheek. “You’re very practical. My grandmother would like you.” Abruptly she flushed and released her, and Jaelle, equally flustered, took a step back. “Go on. The guards are waiting.”

  In the chamber below, Lady Jadranka waited for her. “I had hoped to persuade my son to allow Lady Katherine to go on an outing, but I see that she has convinced him to let you go to the marketplace for her. I will go up.”

  Outside, Rusudani just happened to be crossing the courtyard with her ladies, heading for the chapel. She halted and approached Jaelle. “This is Lady Katherine’s cloak,” she said, fingering it. Taken aback, Jaelle stood stiffly, but Rusudani nudged her gently, her hand hidden in the folds of the cloak, and passed her a little bag filled with coin. “I see that Lady Jadranka has persuaded Janos to let you out to the market.”

  Jaelle took refuge in silence, not sure anymore whose cause she was furthering. She had an idea that Katerina would not approve of her seeking out a love potion meant to work on Bakhtiian, and at the same time, she wondered if Rusudani understood Katerina’s position in relation to her own; certainly she must know nothing about the troubling questions Prince Janos had asked about marriage last night.

  The outer ward was alive with activity. It looked rather like the great courtyard of a caravansary when a large caravan was making preparations to set off. By the armorer’s forge, she saw Stefan helping to hold a horse while it was shoed. Setting down a hoof, he looked up and saw her, and his face lit. Without meaning to, she smiled at him, forgot herself enough that she slowed down and received, for her lapse, a groping hand from one of her escorts.