Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts
comprehensive vocabulary.
Nacoya vented her frustration by clapping sharply for Mara’s bath attendants. Through the resulting pandemonium as slave girls descended with basins and towels, and armloads of fine jewelled clothing, Mara dismissed her Force Commander. While three sets of hands removed her clothing, she fought one wrist free and gestured at the bundled silk samples brought from the cho-ja hive. ‘Arakasi, decide what to do with these. Jican will tell you when they’re due to arrive at Jamar. Contrive some subterfuge to get them there unnoticed.’
The Spy Master returned an unobtrusive bow and departed with the bundle. Kevin remained. Forgotten in his place behind his mistress’s cushions, he spent the next minute being tantalized by the sight of Mara standing in her tub while her servants poured hot water over her lithe body. Then she sat slowly, gracefully. While she rested in the tub, her woman servants soaping her down and washing her hair, Kevin repeatedly caught glimpses of nude flesh. Motionless in the corner, he inwardly cursed the inadequate coverage of his brief Tsurani garment, as the sight of his pretty young mistress caused his manhood to rise up again in appreciation. Like an embarrassed kitchen boy, he stood with both hands folded before his groin and tried to focus on unpleasant thoughts to bring his unruly body back under control.
When the Lady of the Acoma emerged at speed from the attentions of her maids and bath servants, Kevin followed in his accustomed place, mostly because no one in authority had bothered to tell him otherwise. Jewelled, primped, and clad in a fine overrobe sewn with seed pearls and emeralds, Mara was far too agitated to note the barbarian slave who had been a part of her retinue for almost a month now. She swept through the hallways with a frown pinching the skin between her eyebrows. Kevin, grown familiar enough to guess at her moods, determined that this Hokanu of the Shinzawai came for something outside the usual social visit. In many ways, Mara preferred involved financial discussions with her hadonra to meeting the social obligations that fell to her as ruler of a time-honoured Tsurani house.
At Nacoya’s furiously whispered reminder, Mara slowed her step before the entry to the enclosed courtyard, which at this hour was the coolest place in which to make a guest comfortable. The First Adviser patted her charge’s wrist and delivered last-minute instructions. ‘Be charming with this man, daughter of my heart, but do not underestimate his perception. He is no importunate boy like poor Bruli, to be swayed by the follies of romance, and you have certainly offended him by keeping him waiting.’
Mara nodded distractedly and shed the protective Nacoya. With Kevin still on her heels, she stepped out into the dappled shade of the courtyard.
Cushions had been laid by the fountain, and a tray with refreshments close by. Both appeared untouched. At Mara’s entrance, a slim, well-muscled man paused between steps in what must by now have been the last of a dozen restless tours along the garden pathways. He wore blue silk sewn with topaz and rubies, robes obviously tailored for the son of a powerful family. Now more practised at reading Tsurani inscrutability, Kevin did not look at the handsome but expressionless face for enlightenment; instead he checked the hands, which were well formed and strongly sword-callused. He noted the slight spring in the stride as the young man turned to greet the Lady, and also noted the tenseness in carriage that conclusively betrayed annoyance.
Still, the voice emerged pleasantly tempered. ‘Lady Mara, I am pleased. Are you well?’
Mara swept him a bow, her jewels flashing in stray flecks of sunlight through the leaves. ‘Hokanu of the Shinzawai, I am well enough to know better. You are irked at my tardiness, and for that I plead no excuses.’ She stood upright, the top of her forehead barely level with his chin. To meet his dark eyes, she had to tilt her head up in a manner that, entirely without artifice, made her stunning. ‘What can the Acoma do but ask your forgiveness?’ Mara paused with a disarmingly sheepish smile. ‘Quite simply, I forgot what time it was.’
For a second, Hokanu looked outraged. Then, obviously at a loss before the Lady’s appeal, and taken by the fact she had not lied to him, his teeth flashed in a burst of honest laughter. ‘Mara, you confound me! Were you a warrior, I should be trading sword blows with you. As it is, I can only note that you owe me a debt. I’ll claim your company as my compensation.’
Mara stepped forward and allowed him a briefly formal embrace. ‘Maybe I should have met you at the door in the crumpled robe I wore to council,’ she suggested wickedly.
Hokanu continued to grip her hand in a manner Kevin interpreted as possessive. The young man’s ability to conceal his eagerness behind a façade of astonishing grace annoyed the Midkemian slave, although he could not have said why. When the nobleman responded to the Lady’s quip with another laugh, saying, ‘Do that next time,’ Kevin found himself scowling.
Normally Mara was quick-witted, and assertive when dealing with her male staff and those few state visitors Kevin had observed during his tenure as her body servant. With Hokanu, her wit became less acerbic, and the spirit he had grudgingly come to admire became obscured by inexplicable diffidence. Mara seemed guarded against showing pleasure as she allowed the young warrior to settle her down on the cushions; plainly she found the young man’s company enjoyable. With submissive courtesy she called Kevin to serve food and drink. Hokanu accepted a dish of spirit-soaked fruits and a goblet of sa wine. His dark eyes flicked with interest over the Midkemian. Kevin momentarily felt inspected inside and out, like merchandise; then the nobleman turned teasingly to Mara.
‘I see that you have tamed this sarcat of a barbarian most admirably. He appears to have learned his place somewhat better than others of his kind.’
Mara hid amusement behind the rim of her chocha cup as she took a small swallow. ‘So it might seem,’ she said quietly. ‘Did you find the slaves your father required in the ngaggi swamps?’
Hokanu’s eyes flickered as he inclined his head. ‘The matter has been resolved satisfactorily.’ Then, as though aware that Mara had been as reticent with him as he with her concerning their mutual but unspoken interest in Midkemians, he returned the subject to Kevin’s physical attributes, as though the redheaded Midkemian were not present and listening.
‘He looks as strong as a needra bull and should do very well at clearing the land for your pastures.’
Ill accustomed to being discussed like an animal, Kevin opened his mouth and observed that he would rather take wagers over arm wrestling. Before he could be so bold as to challenge the elegant Shinzawai warrior to a match, Mara’s face paled. With dramatically fast timing, she forestalled his next line. ‘Slave! You are no longer needed here. Send Misa to attend us. Then go to the front courtyard and help Jican see to the needs of Hokanu’s caravan.’
Kevin’s lip curled daringly into a half-smile as he made his slave’s bow, still slightly less than custom dictated, to Mara’s everlasting irritation. Then, with a glance at Hokanu that came just shy of spiteful, he spun on his heel and departed. The only flaw in his performance was the fact that the short Tsurani robe looked ridiculous on him, a detail Hokanu did not overlook.
The comment half-heard as Kevin stepped through the screen into the corridor was close to indecent, considering the presence of the Lady. With a vicious twist of anger, Kevin wished he could pick a fight, then, with equally surprising candour, he realized he felt jealous. ‘Damn him, and damn her, too,’ he muttered to himself. To even think of an infatuation with Mara was sure invitation to get himself strung by the neck from the nearest ulo tree, probably head down over a slow fire. If he was to gain anything from this woman, it would not be through dalliance. Somehow, against all expectations and traditions, he would contrive a way to be free again.
The outer courtyard was dusty, as if last night’s rains had been a dream dispelled by sunlight. Needra and wagons jammed the latticed enclosure; drovers’ shouts and the snorts of gelded bulls overlaid the confusion as slaves ran to and fro with fodder, thyza bowls, and water basins. Kevin strode into the midst of the bustle still preoccupied with his pique, and almost stepped on Jican.
The little hadonra yelped in affront and leaped back to avoid being knocked down. He peered upward, took in the muscled expanse of Kevin’s chest that the scant robe failed to cover, and frowned with a fierceness that his mistress had never seen. ‘What