Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts
He is the soul of honour, and a devil for cleverness. Of all the men in my service, that one will bring me the Acoma natami.’
Satisfied with his own judgment on the matter, Desio ended his clandestine council. He clapped for servants, and asked for pretty serving girls to bathe with him in the cool waters of the lake.
Incomo bowed, content that while Desio fathered bastard children, Tasaio would need his help to begin plotting the vast design to destroy Mara. If the Minwanabi First Adviser felt any resentment at Tasaio’s usurpation of his role, he hid it even from himself; he was loyal to his master. As long as Tasaio served Minwanabi interests, Incomo had no jealousy within his breast. Besides, the wry thought intruded, Lords of great houses quite commonly came to youthful deaths; until Desio married and fathered an heir, Tasaio remained next in line for the ruler’s mantle. Should Desio perish untimely, it would never do to have one unexpectedly inheriting the title be displeased with the resident First Adviser.
Incomo motioned for a servant to attend his desires. ‘Send word to Tasaio that I am at his disposal in any fashion for which he deems me worthy and that I will happily lend my feeble efforts to his great work.’
As the servant hurried off, Incomo considered ordering a cool tub and a pretty woman to wash his sweaty, tired body. Shrugging off the wistful image, he arose from his cushions. Too much work remained undone. Besides, if he read young Tasaio correctly, he would be sent for within the hour.
Mara moved between nodding rows of kekali blossoms, a basket on her arm. She pointed to a bloom and said, ‘That one,’ and the servant who trailed her obligingly cut the stem with a sharp knife. Another held up a lantern so the first might clearly see in the shadows of early evening. The servant lifted the indigo flower, inspected it briefly to see that the petals were unharmed, then bowed and handed the blossom to the Lady. She pressed it to her nose to enjoy the fragrance before she added it to others already piled in her basket.
The hadonra, Jican, trailed her as she turned down a bend in the path. ‘The ravine between your southernmost needra meadows has been flooded, my Lady.’
Mara pointed out another flower she wished cut, and a smile curved her lips. ‘Good. The bridge across our new river will be completed before market season, I trust?’
Now Jican chuckled. ‘Planking is being added to the framework even as we speak. Jidu of the Tuscalora sweats as he writes daily, begging permission to transport his chocha-la crops down the ravine by boat. However, as I politely pointed out on your behalf, my Lady, the right-of-way you granted when you purchased the land permitted only wagons.’
‘Very good.’ Mara accepted the indicated blossom from her servant, and carelessly stabbed her finger on a thorn. The pain she accepted with Tsurani impassivity, but the blood was another matter. Kelewanese superstition held that chance-spilled blood might whet the Red God’s appetite, making the deity greedy for additional death. Jican hastily offered his handkerchief, and Mara bound up her stinging finger before any droplets could fall to the soil.
Her plan to beggar Lord Jidu of the Tuscalora and force him to become her vassal had been delayed by a season because of the attentions received by her house following the death of Jingu of the Minwanabi. Now, as events resumed their proper course, she found her planned victory over her neighbour to the south had partially lost its savour. Hokanu’s visit had offered a welcome interlude, but his stay had been brief, owing to his need to return home.
Nacoya blamed her restlessness on the lack of male company. Mara smiled at the thought and shifted her basket of flowers. The First Adviser insisted that no young woman’s life could be complete without a healthy male diversion now and again. But Mara viewed romance with scepticism. As greatly as she enjoyed Hokanu’s company, the thought of taking another husband to her bed made her hands turn clammy with apprehension. To her, marriage and sex were simply a woman’s bargaining chips in the Game of the Council. Love and pleasure had no place in such decisions.
‘Where’s Kevin?’ said Jican unexpectedly, making his Lady start.
Mara settled on a stone bench and motioned for her hadonra to join her. ‘He’s being fitted for new clothes.’
Jican’s eyes brightened. He loved to gossip, but was seldom so bold as to trouble his Lady outright on matters outside of estate finance.
Mara indulged him. ‘Kevin went out with the hunters yesterday, and when he complained that his legs and backside had suffered from thorns, I allowed him to be measured for Midkemian dress. He’s off to show the leather workers and tailors what to do, as they know little about his nation’s odd fashions. I told him the colours must not be other than a slave’s grey and white, but maybe he’ll behave with more dignity once his knees are covered with – what did he call it? – ah yes, hose.’
‘More like he’ll complain he’s too hot,’ the little hadonra returned. Then, as Mara dismissed the other servants, he added, ‘I have news of your silk samples, Lady.’
Instantly he had Mara’s entire attention. ‘They were safely stowed aboard your message barge yesterday. The factors in Jamar will have them before the close of the week, in time for inspection before the price auctions.’
Mara sighed with relief. She had worried endlessly that the Minwanabi might discover her move into the silk market beforetime and give warning to their silk-producing allies in the north. Most Acoma revenues came from needra raising and weapon craft; but now she needed to strengthen her army and outfit the ever rising numbers of cho-ja warriors bred by the new Queen. Hides and armour would be needed at home, cutting back on her marketable goods. The silk trade Mara hoped to create must balance out the loss. If the timing were spoiled, the northern silk merchants would undercut her prices and offer early deliveries to starve out her fledgling enterprise. Years of established trade had given them influence over the dyers’ and weavers’ guilds. Paying costly bribes to ensure guild secrecy and goodwill was an unavoidable necessity until Acoma craftsmen could be schooled to mastery of these specialized new skills. But if Acoma silks arrived on the market at just the right moment, not only would Mara gain income, she would upset the revenues of the Minwanabi allies.
‘You have done well in this, Jican.’
The hadonra blushed. ‘Success would not have been possible without Arakasi’s planning.’
Mara stared out over the gardens, into the gathering gloom of twilight. ‘Let us not speak of success until the price auctions are dominated by demand for Acoma goods!’
Jican returned a deep bow. ‘Let us hope the day comes without mishap.’ He made a sign for the Good God’s favour and quietly retired from her presence.
Mara lingered, alone except for a few servants. She set down her basket and surveyed the gardens that surrounded the estate house’s east wing. This had been her mother’s favourite place, or so Lord Sezu had told the daughter whose birth had caused that Lady’s premature death. From this seat the Lady Oskiro had watched her Lord select his hunting dogs as the young ones were brought out for his inspection. But the kennels’ runs were empty now, by Mara’s command; the baying of the hounds had reminded the new Ruling Lady too painfully of the past. And her husband had cared more for battle practice and wrestling with the soldiers than coursing after game with fleet dogs. Or perhaps he had not lived long enough to appreciate the sport.
Mara sighed and shook off her regrets. She excused her servants and stared over the distant meadows as the shatra birds flew at sundown. Normally their flight calmed and reassured her, but today she felt only melancholy. That no attack upon the Acoma seemed imminent did not reduce the threat. The most brilliant moves within the Game of the Council were those that came without warning. The tranquil passage of days only made her skin creep, as if assassins lurked in hiding at her back. Knowing that Tasaio stayed on as Desio’s adviser promised subtle and devious trouble. Arakasi was worried also. Mara knew by his stillness as he stood to deliver his reports. He had survived the fall of one Lord and lived to serve another; a matter that could trouble him would not be anything slight.
Mara lifted a kekali blossom from the basket at her feet. The petals were soft and fragile, susceptible to the slightest chill,