Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts
forgot the contents of the scroll. ‘Thank Lashima,’ she said, correctly interpreting the cause of Mara’s euphoria. ‘You’ve discovered the joy of your womanhood at last.’
Mara laughed, a little breathless. She pirouetted like a girl and sat on the cushions. Kevin followed her, his hair still tousled and his face more guardedly sober. Nacoya regarded him closely for a moment. Then, her lips pursed in mild disapproval, she turned upon her mistress.
‘My Lady, you must excuse your slave.’
Mara looked up, her first flush of surprise changing to annoyance. ‘First Adviser, I shall do as I please with my slave.’
Nacoya bowed deeply in respect for her mistress’s prerogative. Then she went on as though Kevin were not present. ‘Daughter of my heart, you now have learned the wonder of sex. This is good. And you are not the first great Lady who has used a slave. It is not only useful, it is even wise, for no slave can use you. However, Desio of the Minwanabi will be waiting to take advantage of every weakness, however small. You must not make mistakes and let the pleasures of the flesh grow into infatuation. This Midkemian should be sent away to keep your thinking clear, and you should take one or two different men to your bed soon, to learn they are merely … useful.’
Mara stood motionless, with her back turned. ‘I find this discussion inopportune. Leave me at once, Nacoya.’
The First Adviser of the Acoma returned a deeper bow. ‘Your will, Lady.’ Stiffly she arose, and with a last lingering glare at Kevin she left the room. As the indignant tap of her sandals faded down the hall, Mara motioned to her slave.
‘Join me,’ she invited. Then she shed her loosened robe and dropped naked upon the cushions of the mat that served as her bed. ‘Show me again how the men in your land love their women.’
Kevin returned his familiar wry grin. Then he raised his eyes toward heaven in a show of mock appeal. ‘Pray to your gods to give me the strength,’ he murmured. Then he slipped off his shirt and his drawers, and joined her.
Later, when the lamps burned low, Mara lay awake in the clasp of Kevin’s arms and reflected upon the joy she had found in the midst of so many worries. She reached out and smoothed back her lover’s tousled hair. She regarded the punctures traced across his shoulder by the sharpened thorns of the kekali; the wounds were slight, already scabbed over. Only then did Mara appreciate the bittersweet nature of the love that had overtaken her at last.
Kevin was, and always would be, a slave. There were certain unarguable absolutes in her culture, and that fact was one.
Caught up in a moment of melancholy, and frowning at the waning moon through the screen, Mara wondered whether the bad luck that had brought down her brother and father might not stalk her yet. Desperately she prayed to Lashima that the blood from Kevin’s scratches had not seeped through his shirt and touched the ground. Lord Desio of the Minwanabi had sworn the vengeance of his house into the hands of Turakamu. And with or without invitation, the Death God walked where he would. If he chose to favour the Minwanabi, the Acoma would be swept away without trace from the land and the memory of man.
Mara stirred.
Her hand brushed warm flesh, and she started awake. In the predawn gloom, she saw Kevin as a figure of greys and blacks. He was not asleep but propped on one elbow looking at her. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said.
Mara smiled drowsily and snuggled into the crook of his elbow. She felt tired but content. Through the months since Kevin had come to her bed, she had discovered new aspects to herself, a sensual side, a tender side, kept hidden away until now. The pleasures she shared with the barbarian made the brutalities of her marriage seem a distant and unpleasant dream.
Playfully she ran her fingers through the hair on Kevin’s chest. She had come to value their morning chat after lovemaking as much as council with her advisers. In ways not fully realized, she was learning from him. His nature was far more guarded than she had guessed upon first impression; she now understood that his direct and open manner stemmed from a cultural surface trait that masked an inner privacy. Kevin remained intentionally vague about his previous life and family, and though she asked often, he avoided talk of the future, as if he concealed his plans in that regard, as well. Different as he was from a born Tsurani, Mara judged his character to be complex and deep. She found it astonishing that such a man could be a common soldier, and wondered if others with like potential lay undiscovered among her warriors.
Kevin said something, disturbing her contemplation.
Mara smiled indulgently. ‘What did you say?’
Caught up by a thought, he mused, ‘What strange contrasts your world has.’
Brought to alertness by his uncharacteristic intonation, Mara focused her attention. ‘What troubles you?’
‘Are my thoughts so transparent?’ Kevin shrugged in partial embarrassment. He remained silent for a moment, then added, ‘I was thinking of the poor quarter in Sulan-Qu.’
‘But why?’ Mara frowned. She attempted to reassure him. ‘You will never be permitted to starve.’
‘Starve?’ Surprise made Kevin pause. He drew a fast breath, then stared at her, as if he might fathom her woman’s mind by studying her intently. At last, moved to some inner conclusion, he admitted, ‘Never in my life have I seen people suffering in such numbers.’
‘But you must have poor folk in the Kingdom of the Isles,’ Mara returned without inflection. ‘How else do your gods show their displeasure at man’s behaviour than by returning him to his next life in low estate?’
Kevin stiffened. ‘What do the gods have to do with starving children, disease, and cruelty? And what of the righteousness of good works and charity? Have you no alms in this land or are all Tsurani nobles born cruel?’
Mara shoved herself upright, spilling cushions across the waxed floor. ‘You are a strange man,’ she observed in a voice that hid a note of panic. As often as she had bent tradition, she had never questioned the gods’ omnipotence. To dare that heresy was to invite utter destruction. Mara realized that other nobles might be less firm in their adherence to their ancestors’ faith, but she herself was devout; had fate not destined her for the ruler’s mantle, she would have dedicated herself to a life of contemplative service to the goddess Lashima. The ultimate truth was that the gods decreed the order of the Empire. To question this was to undermine the very concept of honour that was the foundation of Tsurani society. It was this divine mandate that imparted order to the Empire and made sense of everything, from the certainty of ultimate reward for honourable service, and the right of nobles to rule, to constraints in the Game of the Council so that wholesale carnage never resulted.
With one careless remark, the barbarian had challenged the very fabric of Tsurani beliefs.
Mara clung to her poise, inwardly battered by a host of alarming implications. The pleasures Kevin brought her could never compensate for the dangerous new bent of his thoughts. He must not be allowed to speak such blasphemous idiocy, especially not within Ayaki’s hearing; the boy had grown to dote upon Kevin, and the future Lord of the Acoma’s resolve as he led his house to greatness must never be shaken by uncertainties. To conquer the might of other families because the gods looked favourably upon such efforts was one thing; to vainly think accolades came solely through wit and skill, and some random factor of luck was … was morally destructive and unthinkable. Cornered, with only one option, the Lady of the Acoma chose her course.
‘Leave me,’ she said sharply. She arose at once from her bed and brusquely clapped for servants. Although the sun had not yet risen, and the screens were still closed for the night, two maids and a manservant answered her summons.
‘Dress me at once,’ the Lady commanded. One maid rushed to select a robe, while the other took up brush and comb to attend to her mistress’s tangles.