His Conquering Sword by Kate Elliott Read Free Book Online Page B

things she so liked about Gwyn was that when he was offstage, he was off; he did not drag the one world into the other. She knew she emoted offstage, at times, but it wasn’t a habit she wanted to foster in herself, and she usually only did it when the person she was with seemed to expect it of her. A professional knew how to separate work and life. But Veselov was always on, always aware, always projecting. The Goddess knew, it ought to be tiring, going on like that all day and presumably all night. She went with Gwyn back to the awning and wiped her face clean. They took down the stage. By the time they got the wagons loaded, the afternoon had mostly passed, and the marketplace lay quiet and almost empty. They started back.
    “I liked that story,” said Arina. “It was true, what the judge did, knowing which woman was the true mother. But I can tell it’s a khaja story.”
    “How?”
    “Well, it isn’t a man’s part to make such a judgment. That is women’s business.”
    “But we changed it,” protested Diana, “when we did it at the camp. We made Azdak into an etsana.”
    “I didn’t see that.” Arina smiled, looking ahead, and lifted a hand to greet a rider. “Here is Vasil.”
    Vasil reined his horse in beside them, on Diana’s side of the wagon. “Why is it I’ve seen none of these songs of yours before?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. We’ve—sung—them many times, and we—practice—every night, in our encampment.” She could think of no words for “perform” and “rehearse” in khush.
    Veselov did not look at her directly, and yet Diana felt his attention on her as much as if he had been staring soulfully into her eyes like a besotted lover. She shifted on the hard wooden seat. He sat a horse well, and his hands were light and casual and yet masterful on the reins. For an instant, she wondered what he would be like in bed; His lips twitched up into a bare, confiding smile, as if he had read her thoughts and promised as much as she could wish for, and more.
    “I would like to see more,” he said, but did he mean more plays or more of her? “You become the woman in the song, yet you remain yourself.”
    “Yes,” said Diana, surprised, because Anatoly had yet to grasp the concept of acting.
    A rider called to Vasil from farther down the line, and Veselov excused himself and rode away.
    Arina coughed into one hand. “Although he is my cousin,” she said, “and I love him dearly, I would recommend to you, Diana, that you be wary of him.”
    “I’m married, after all!”
    “What has that to do with anything?”
    Diana changed the subject, and they discussed other things until they got back to camp at dusk. Where Kirill waited. He came up to them immediately, Lavrenti nestled on his good arm, his other arm hanging free for once. Diana could see the fingers on his withered hand twitching and curling, but without much force or coordination.
    “I beg your pardon,” said Diana to Kirill as Arina climbed down, “I must return to our camp and I just wanted to know … is there any word of my husband?”
    “He wasn’t with his uncle,” Kirill assured her.
    “Oh, then he’s at the besieged city?” Karkand, it was called, the seat of the Habakar kings.
    Kirill shook his head. “No. Bakhtiian sent him to capture the Habakar king, who fled on beyond his city.”
    “I don’t understand. Anatoly went after him?”
    “Yes, with a picked troop of five thousand riders.”
    “But where did the king flee to?”
    Kirill shrugged. He glanced at his wife, as if for help. “To the lands beyond, I suppose.”
    “Out ahead of his uncle’s army?” Diana demanded. “All by himself?”
    “Well,” replied Kirill apologetically, “he did promise Bakhtiian to bring back the king’s crown, coat, and head, for the offense the king gave to Bakhtiian’s personal envoys.”
    “Thank you.” Diana stuttered over the words and started the oxen up as quickly as she could, to get away. She felt