The Novels of the Jaran by Kate Elliott

Author:Kate Elliott [Elliott, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-6522-0
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2013-07-02T02:43:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

ARINA HAD DIED ONCE already by the time Diana got to Dr. Hierakis’s tent. A boy from the Veselov tribe brought Diana the news—garbled, she prayed—at the Company encampment, and she ran all the way to the hospital grounds and into the doctor’s tent, pitched in the center. She stopped at the edge of the carpet. Her ribs were in agony; she gulped air.

Tess sat cross-legged on a pillow, mending the torn hem of a tunic. Her eyes lifted once to watch Kirill, pacing in the distance, and then shifted to Diana. Her face lit. “Ah, thank goodness,” she said in Anglais.

“What happened?” Diana fairly shrieked the words. Beyond the tent, Kirill opened and closed his good hand to the rhythm of his pacing. His face was white. Once a man paused to speak to him, but the exchange was brief and the man shook his head sadly and walked away.

“We got caught in a skirmish. Arina was wounded.”

“But—she’s dead—?”

Tess pinned the needle into the fabric, bound up the loose thread, and set down the torn tunic. “Her heart stopped. At that point, Cara threw every jaran out of the surgery and began—well, she’s operating now.”

“Operating!”

Kirill halted stock-still and looked their way, caught by the sound of Diana’s voice. He strode over to them and flung himself down on the carpet, next to Tess. Tess embraced him. He accepted it. More than that—he buried himself against her as if he sought his comfort from her. Diana knew body language. When acquaintances embrace, one can read the gap between them. When friends, when siblings embrace, no matter how close, there is still an infinitesimal distance, like a layer of molecules, separating them. When a mother hugs her child, they meet. But when lovers embrace, they don’t just meet but join. Tess held Kirill against her as if he was her lover.

At this inopportune moment, Bakhtiian appeared. A bandage swathed his left arm. Tess’s gaze lifted and met his. Diana watched an entire conversation pass between them, wordless and within seconds. A lifted eyebrow. A grimace. Eyes slanting toward the tent. The movement of a chin, signifying a nod. To Diana’s astonishment, Bakhtiian grabbed a pillow, threw it down on the other side of Kirill, and settled down beside the other man. At once, Kirill broke away from Tess and sat up. He flushed.

“Here is something to drink.” Bakhtiian offered the other man a cup of komis. Trapped between Tess and Bakhtiian, Kirill had to accept. He sipped once, twice, and then gulped the rest down like a man who has only just discovered that he is desperately thirsty. Then he sat, breathing hard, gaze fixed on his withered hand. He closed it into a fist, and opened it again. Closed it. Opened it.

“Do you want a command?” asked Bakhtiian, refilling Kirill’s cup.

“Ilya—” began Tess.

Kirill flung his head back. “A command!”

“A general doesn’t have to fight in every engagement. He only has to lead. I know your worth, Kirill. And I know the worth of your loyalty to me.

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