their bath or dress.
‘My own servants will suffice,’ Mara said tartly. Here of all places, she wished no strangers near her person. The instant the bearers had deposited the last of her baggage, she clicked the screen closed. Papewaio needed no prompting to begin a swift and thorough inspection of her chambers. Nacoya, however, seemed all but in shock. Then Mara remembered. Except for one brief trip when she had presented Mara’s petition for betrothal with the Anasati son, the old nurse had probably never left Acoma estates in all her long life.
Memories of Lano lent Mara the insight to manage. The instant Papewaio had determined the rooms were safe, she stationed him to guard the door. Nacoya looked at her mistress, a hint of relief in her eyes. ‘With Jingu making surety for the safety of his guests, I think we may expect the peace of a state function to apply.’
Mara shook her head. ‘I think wishing has fogged your sharp eyes, old mother. Jingu offers his life as guarantee against violence by his people, and by other guests, that is all. He makes no guarantees against “accidents”.’ Then, before fear could get the best of her, she commanded Nacoya to draw a bath and make her ready for the banquet and her first personal confrontation with the Lord of the Minwanabi.
Unlike the great hall of the Anasati, which was dark and airless and musty with old wax, the gathering chamber of the Minwanabi was all space and light. Mara paused in the gallery-style entrance to admire the view before joining the guests who gathered like so many plumed birds below. Built in a natural hollow at the very crest of the hill, with entrance and dais at opposite ends, the room itself was immense. A high, beamed ceiling was spaced with screens that opened to the sky, overhanging a deep-sunken main floor. Several small observation galleries dotted the rim of the hall, allowing a view of floor below and, through the doors to balconies outside, the surrounding countryside. Stone pillars supported the centre tree, while a pebbled brook trickled through squares of flowering trees, tile mosaics and a small reflecting pool beneath the dais. Somewhere, sometime, the Minwanabi had patronized an architect and an artist who had possessed uncommon genius. The gifted artisans must have served an earlier generation of Minwanabi Lords, for the most garish clothing in the crowd was that worn by the Lord and the Lady on the dais. Mara winced, less impressed than most Tsurani by the gown of green and orange worn by the wife. Mara almost wept at the thought of all this surrounding beauty wasted upon an enemy like Jingu.
‘The gods may have blessed this house with extreme wealth,’ muttered Nacoya. ‘But the divine ones left little room for common sense, I say. Think how many insects those sky ports let in, not to mention dust and dirt and rain.’
Mara smiled indulgently on her old nurse. ‘Would you try to mother even a nest of serpents? Besides, I’m sure the Minwanabi cover their roof well when the weather is bad. Jingu’s wife wears too much makeup to get wet unexpectedly.’
Nacoya subsided, with a comment that her eyes were not that good, nor had they been since she was youthful. Mara patted her adviser’s hand in reassurance. Then, resplendent in a gown embroidered with seed pearls, her coiled hair laced with green ribbons, she began her descent to the main floor. Papewaio followed her in dress armour; although he escorted his mistress and her First Adviser to a social occasion, he moved with vigilance more common to the battlefield. In most ways, state gatherings of Tsurani were more dangerous. Beneath the manners and the finery, ambitions changed; as alliances shifted within the Game of the Council, any Lord present could become the enemy. Few would hesitate to damage the Acoma, if his own stock might rise as a result. And on Minwanabi territory, others not normally at odds with Mara’s house might bend with the prevailing political wind.
Simple in her tastes, Mara was neither overwhelmed nor impressed by displays of great wealth. Her restrained clothing reinforced the impression already formed by the Lords and Ladies in the hall around her. Most believed her a young, inexperienced girl who sheltered her house under the marriage to the more powerful Anasati. Now, with Buntokapi dead, she was fair game once again. Mara was content to allow this misapprehension to continue as she passed by; it increased her chances to pick up a scrap of information, a comment, or a remark that could prove useful. As she reached the foot of the stairs and made her way towards the dais to greet the Minwanabi Lord, she watched the expressions of her peers and took stock of who stood gossiping with whom. Her temple-taught poise served her well. She responded politely to those who greeted her, but was not lulled by sweet smiles and warm words.
Jingu of the Minwanabi noted her approach with the ravenous interest of a jaguna. Mara saw him cease conversation with his advisers as she mounted the steps to accept his welcome. The moment gave her pause also, as for the first time she looked upon the face of her family’s oldest enemy. The Lord of the Minwanabi was a corpulent man. He had clearly not worn armour since his youth, but cunning and malice still glinted in his eyes. Pearl bands encircled his wrists, and shell ornaments dangled at his collar, shiny with the sweat that beaded his neck. His bow of greeting was slightly less than that due a Lady of ruling rank. ‘My Lady of the Acoma,’ he said, his voice as thick and unctuous as his appearance, ‘we are so pleased you chose to join us in honour of the Warlord.’
Aware the eyes of every noble in the room were turned to see how she handled this slight, Mara responded in kind, her own bow shallow and of short duration. ‘We thank the Lord of the Minwanabi for his kind invitation.’
Irritated by Mara’s poise, Jingu beckoned someone to the fore of the dais. ‘There is one here I believe you know.’ Then his lips curled into a hungry smile of anticipation.
The Lady of the Acoma showed no reaction to the woman who came at his call. The presence of Teani somewhere in the Minwanabi household was something Arakasi had forewarned her of: he had long since informed Mara that the concubine was a Minwanabi agent. But the fact that Buntokapi’s former lover had insinuated herself in Jingu’s innermost circle gave Mara pause. The woman was perhaps more clever than anyone had guessed. She was obviously a favourite, swathed as she was in rare silks and jewels, a chain of rarest metal encircling her slim neck. But ornaments and beauty could not entirely hide the ugliness of her character. Hatred for Mara burned in her pretty eyes, chilling in its intensity.
To acknowledge the look of a woman of her station would be an unnecessary courtesy, and too easily interpreted as an admission of weakness. Mara addressed her words and attentions solely to the Minwanabi Lord who sat at Teani’s left hand. ‘My adviser and I have just arrived after a long and tiresome journey. Would my Lord show us our places, that we might take some refreshment before the banquet and the festivities begin?’
Jingu rearranged the fringe on his costume with the flick of a pudgy finger. Then he called for a cool drink; while he waited for servants to fill his need, his hand absently stroked Teani’s arm, a gesture his wife ignored. When none might mistake the fact that he deferred the wishes of his Acoma guests until his own pleasures were satisfied, he nodded sweetly to a servant. ‘Escort the Lady Mara and her servants to the table third from the end, nearest the entrance to the kitchens, so that her party may more quickly be served.’ His fat girth jiggled as he openly laughed at the ingenuity of his insult.
A Lady of rank might find such placement degrading; but to Teani this gesture was not enough. Viciously piqued that Mara had ignored her, she interrupted. ‘You ought to seat this woman with the slaves, my Lord. All know the greatness of the Acoma rests upon the goodwill of the Anasati, and that even Lord Tecuma’s protection wore thin after the death of his son.’
This affront was too great to disregard. Still disdaining to answer Teani directly, Mara pointedly rose to the bait Jingu had dangled before her. She directed a gaze like flint to his fat, laughing face. ‘My Lord of the Minwanabi, all know of your … generosity, but surely even you can find little benefit in keeping another man’s leavings in your service.’
Jingu rested an arm around Teani’s shoulders and drew her slim body against his own. ‘But you confuse circumstance,
