The Complete Empire Trilogy: Daughter of the Empire, Mistress of the Empire, Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts
to spill his confidence to her, Teani raised her chin in challenge. ‘How should I know the ways of great men?’ She met his eyes to assure herself that his hunger was still kindled. ‘My love, you are jealous beyond rational thought. Shall we strike a bargain to salve your feelings? I will lie here with you tonight, and tell Minwanabi that I tried and failed to reach Mara of the Acoma with my knife. But in exchange, you must restore my honour by killing the girl along with Papewaio tomorrow.’
Shimizu did not speak but gathered Teani close. His fingers moved impatiently, working the robe free of her body. She wore no clothing beneath, and by the feverish way he pulled off his own robe and tunic, the concubine knew she had him. His preoccupation was answer enough. He would do her will on the morrow, to ensure she was his, and his alone, for the duration of the night. Shimizu mistook her shiver of delight for passion. As he claimed her, his thoughts were solely of love; but the beautiful courtesan he coupled with responded with cold-blooded skill, her purpose to ensure that Mara, Lady of the Acoma, would lie dead with a blade in her heart.
Mara wakened unfreshed after a long and restless night. Her maids sensed her tense mood. They fetched her robes and braided silk ribbons into her hair without speaking, while Nacoya grumbled as she always did in the early hours of the morning. Too restless to wait for the meal offered by the Minwanabi house staff, Mara hurried Papewaio through his daily ritual of sword sharpening, then suggested a stroll by the lakeside. This provoked her First Adviser to sour silence.
But until Mara knew the extent of her peril, she preferred to avoid any set pattern. Before she had a chance to mingle with the guests, and observe which alliances were strong and which had grown weak, she could not hope to assess how powerful the Lord of the Minwanabi had become.
Mara breathed deeply, trying to enjoy the fresh air and flash of the sun on the water. The breeze chased ripples over the shallows, and the fishing boats bobbed on moorings, awaiting hands to man their oars. Still, the calm of the lake lent no comfort. Aware that Nacoya’s steps were not so spry as they might be, Mara at last suggested they return to the estate house.
‘That is wise, mistress,’ Nacoya said in a tone that suggested the Lady should not have gone walking where sand and dew might spoil the silk ties of her sandals. But the old woman’s rebuke lacked spirit. Her eyes were sad, and her heart felt empty so far from the Acoma estates. As she turned back to the palatial home of the Lord of the Minwanabi, with its gardens, and its banners, and its deadly gathering of guests, Papewaio took her arm and steadied her without asking leave.
The reception to welcome the Warlord, Almecho, began at mid-morning, though the dignitary it was intended to honour would probably not arrive until afternoon. When Mara arrived at the festivities, most of the nobles of the Empire had gathered, plumed and jewelled and hungry with ambitions. The Game of the Council permeated all aspects of Tsurani life, yet none more so than extravagant affairs of state. The guests might stroll beneath fringed canopies, eating exquisitely prepared foods, and exchanging gossip and tales of ancestral valour, or occasionally making wagers or trade bargains. But every Lord present watched his peers with sharp eyes, seeing who curried favour with whom and, notably, who was retiring, silent, or, more telling, absent altogether. Mara studied the faces and the house colours along with the rest, aware that she was observed in turn. The Lord of the Techtalt and his son gave her barely a nod in greeting, which indicated that already many would delay being seen with her until the standing of the Acoma had stabilized.
Mara adroitly made the issue seem trivial by leading Nacoya to a table and sending a servant for refreshments. She took care to ask only for dishes she had seen on the plates of other guests, and when the food arrived, she and her First Adviser were observed to eat well, as if nerves did not trouble their appetites. Papewaio saw, and would have smiled if the protocol expected of an honour guard did not constrain him. Mara handled even the subtleties with fineness, for only by missing her breakfast could the fussy Nacoya be induced to take refreshment under this much stress. The effect was not lost on those guests who watched. A few nodded in covert admiration, and others whispered in corners. Still others were oblivious to the affairs of the Acoma, being embroiled in plots of their own.
Mara heard the Lord of the Xacatecas laugh low in his throat; he said something that caused the third son of the Ling Family to wince and turn pale. The offspring and cousins of the Xosai seemed everywhere one turned, and the northern-born wife of the Kaschatecas flirted shamelessly with the First Adviser of the Chilapaningo. That dignitary looked as stiff as cured needra hide; quite probably he was mortified by her attentions, but she spoke too fast and gripped his sleeve too tightly for him to excuse himself.
Mara scanned the crowd, noting the wide variety of fashions and house colours. She counted the guests in two categories: those who were allies or not strong enough to challenge her, and those who were threats or who wished some vengeance upon her. Since the Minwanabi were numbered among the Five Great Families of Tsuranuanni, every powerful house in the Empire had sent some representative. Mara noted the Keda, the Tonmargu, and the Oaxatucan, each with their circle of flatterers. Lesser Lords kept their distance, or sought to wheedle favour. The Ekamchi Lord’s purple headdress bent close to his First Adviser, while the red robes of the Inrodaka clashed with the garb of two servants whose livery Mara did not recognize. Having studied those guests who were present, she felt a sudden chill. Nowhere did she see a tunic of scarlet and yellow.
As if sensing her uneasiness, Nacoya pushed aside the jigabird bones that remained of her repast. ‘I do not see the Lord of the Anasati,’ she said pointedly. ‘Unless the gods have delayed him, my daughter, you and your young son are in the gravest danger.’
Nacoya did not elaborate upon the obvious: that the absence of a prominent family was of political significance, the least aspect of which was that Tecuma’s vow to protect the Acoma for the sake of Ayaki would give no shelter unless he or his eldest son was in attendance. Without Anasati protection, Mara had only fifty warriors, who were quartered in barracks beyond her reach. Now the coldness of the Techtalt’s greeting gained a new significance; for it seemed possible that Buntokapi’s slight against the Warlord had damaged the Anasati name more than Mara had anticipated. Her danger grew in proportion. The Lord of the Minwanabi might think himself strong enough to obliterate the Acoma, then win the war that would result when Tecuma sent armies to defend Ayaki’s title,
‘You should not have accepted this invitation,’ Nacoya whispered.
Mara gestured sharp denial. Not even the fact that two houses now stood in peril could change her resolve. She would survive, turn defeat into triumph if chance lent her the appropriate weapons. But the absence of an ally she had depended upon worried her enough that she failed to notice that Teani came late to the reception, a secretive, self-satisfied look on her face whenever she glanced at Mara. Neither did the Lady of the Acoma rise from the table fast enough to avoid the Lord of the Ekamchi, who appeared, leering, at her elbow.
‘Good day, Lady of the Acoma. What a surprise to see you did not bring any of your new cho-ja warriors to watch out for your health.’
Mara bowed stiffly, reading an uncharacteristic boldness in the pudgy man’s manner. ‘My health is in sunlight, Lord of the Ekamchi. And I do not lack protection with Papewaio at my side.’
The Lord of the Ekamchi grimaced, having good cause to remember the courage and prowess of the Acoma First Strike Leader. Still, some purpose kept him persistent, revealing to Mara that he knew of some shifting alliances before she did. Unwittingly emulating her father, she chose the bold course and provoked the issue before it could be broached under less favourable circumstances. ‘You have perhaps spoken with Tecuma of the Anasati lately?’
‘Ah!’ The Lord of the Ekamchi was taken aback. Still, his eyes flashed briefly in triumph as he recovered his poise. ‘I regret to tell you that our host, the Lord of the Minwanabi, did not invite Tecuma of the Anasati to his festival. He wished not to remind the Warlord of the late unpleasantness, indeed, the slight visited upon that worthy man by the son who married the Acoma.’
‘Buntokapi died with honour,’ Mara said acidly. ‘You demean yourself by speaking ill of the dead.’ Her words were a warning, and a challenge to Ekamchi honour if the subject was not dropped.
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