of delight. ‘For never has a servant of the Acoma better deserved a promotion.’
‘I’ll have to survive the experience first,’ said a breathless Nacoya. Papewaio set her down, delicately, as if she were made of cho-ja crafted glass; and as Keyoke, Arakasi, Jican, and a laughing Lujan crowded around to embrace the new First Adviser, Mara reflected that she had not seen such joy in the house since before her father’s death. Lashima grant me wisdom to make it last, she prayed; for the Minwanabi threat was not ended, but was only forced back by an unstable alliance.
The traditional period of mourning came to an end, and the priests of Turakamu came to burn the red reeds that had sat in the baskets by the doors for three continuous weeks. Smoke still lingered over the Acoma fields when the first of the marriage brokers arrived, and within a day three ornately calligraphed petitions with wax seals lay piled in the study. Glad to be wearing a colour other than red, Mara called Nacoya and Arakasi into attendance and reviewed the top parchment. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. ‘It seems our friend Minwanabi’s favourite lapdog has an unmarried son. What do you know of him?’
Seated by her knee, Arakasi took the document she offered. The parchment had been perfumed, and the scent warred with that of the akasi blossoms beyond the screen. ‘Bruli of the Kehotara. His father, Mekasi, has tried to marry him off twice, and both courtings have failed. Now the boy serves as a Patrol Leader in his father’s army, though he’s not a brilliant tactician, apparently. His company has drawn only garrison duty since he took command.’ The Spy Master tapped the parchment, a faint smile on his face. ‘I would not, however, count him a fool. We can expect he is a mask for another Minwanabi agent in his retinue, or an assassin in his own right.’
Mara recovered the parchment from Arakasi, her lip pinched tightly between her teeth. To refuse to consider the petition of Bruli of the Kehotara would be a public admission of weakness. ‘They intend to shame me, or kill me,’ she said, but the sick feeling of fear in her heart could not be heard in her voice. ‘I say we take the bait and turn it sour.’
The slightest bit shy in her new role as First Adviser, Nacoya offered no comment; but Arakasi sat utterly still. ‘That could be perilous, mistress. Bruli’s father, Mekasi, is a gambler and not a good one. He lost enough that his estates are heavily mortgaged. His son is a vain boy who insists that everything he wears or uses be only of the costliest work, and his two older sisters and older brother were similarly indulged. Their spending on top of existing debts has nearly ruined their father. The Minwanabi cleared the accounts, but not out of charity. What makes Mekasi of the Kehotara truly dangerous is that his family tradition is sworn to the ancient code of Tan-jin-qu.’
Mara’s hand tightened on the parchment, for she had not been aware of this detail. The code of Tan-jin-qu – the name was ancient Tsurani for ‘lifelong’ or ‘until death’ – meant that Mekasi had bound the Kehotara to the Minwanabi in an ancient form of vassalage, almost forgotten except as an historical oddity. By its terms, any pledge made was impossible to revoke, amend, or modify. If Mekasi of the Kehotara vowed obedience to the Lord of the Minwanabi, he would murder his children without hesitation upon Jingu’s order. As betrayed alliances were common fare in the Game of the Council, Tan-jin-qu made the Kehotara as dependable as if they were part of the Minwanabi household, even more dependable than families in the same clan. Only when Mekasi died and his eldest son assumed the mantle of Lord could the family negotiate a new beginning. Until then the Kehotara could not be threatened, bullied, bought, or bribed to betray the Minwanabi.
‘Well then,’ said Mara, a determined set to her shoulders, ‘we must make sure this Bruli is entertained in a manner befitting his station.’ Arakasi looked keenly at his mistress.
Trying to seem bland, for Mara’s suggestion was no trifle, Nacoya said, ‘I assume you intend to grant this petition a hearing?’
‘Of course,’ Mara seemed distant. ‘We must not be hasty in rebuffing this overture. Do we wish to offer insult to so august a personage as the Lord of the Kehotara?’
‘Then you have a plan.’ Arakasi smiled slowly.
Mara responded without humour. ‘No. But I will have, by the time this minion of Jingu’s presents himself – that is, if your agents can gather me all the information they have on Bruli and his family, before his retinue arrives.’
Forced to admire her boldness, Arakasi leaned forward. ‘It will be costly. You shall have to cover the expenses of the fastest runners in the Guild of Porters, and these must be sworn and bonded, so that their messages cannot be intercepted or tortured from them.’
‘Of course,’ answered Mara, though Jican would howl. Men willing to die for the integrity of the messages they carried could not be hired for other than cold metal. ‘See to this at once, Arakasi.’
The Spy Master rose swiftly, his steps buoyed by exultation. This was what his network was intended for! A bold player of the game who was unafraid to carve out the advantage; and the bonus was that Mara’s target was an ally of the Minwanabi. Suddenly the day seemed perfect.
Darkness sprang into light as the screens were thrown open, admitting the petitioner for marriage into the great hall of the Acoma. Bruli of the Kehotara was almost beautiful in his black-trimmed red armour; and from the dais at the head of the hall, under the weight of her massive ceremonial costume, Mara saw at once that Arakasi’s agents had reported accurately. The man was vain as a calley bird. He had good reason to be; slender yet muscular, whereas the majority of men in the three central nations of the Empire tended towards the stocky, he moved with the grace of a dancer. His blue eyes were a rare and startling counterpoint to his almost black hair, and he had a warm smile. That he would happily murder as soon as marry the woman he approached on the dais was not far from Mara’s mind as she wistfully considered, for just a moment, how different Bruli was from Bunto.
As if reading her mind, Nacoya leaned close and whispered. ‘He’d spend more time looking at himself in the mirror than looking at you, daughter.’
Mara resisted a smile. Her pose remained outwardly formal as she welcomed the second son of the Kehotara to her house.
Two unprepossessing Kehotara warriors accompanied Bruli’s litter, while another six were housed with Acoma soldiers. Mara was certain the honour guard had been picked for their homely appearance, to heighten the contrast to their master’s handsome features as they marched into the Lady of the Acoma’s presence.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, acting as Bruli’s First Adviser. ‘Lady Mara, I have the honour to introduce Bruli of the Kehotara to you.’
Nacoya returned the ritual reply. ‘The Lady Mara welcomes so honoured a guest as Bruli of the Kehotara into our presence.’
At that moment the small form of the runner slave appeared through a side door. He carried a baton marked with white ribbons, signalling the arrival of a message. Mara feigned a struggle to hide relief. ‘Bruli,’ she said quickly, ‘you are welcome in our home. Please ask for whatever you wish from our servants. They will see that you are comfortable. Now, if you will excuse me, the press of business cannot be long ignored by the Lady of the Acoma. I will see you again, perhaps tomorrow?’
She rose, revealing a slenderness hidden until now by the elaborate ceremonial dress. Her bow was peremptory, and she stepped precipitously through a side screen, leaving Bruli of the Kehotara with memorized words of poetry unsaid and a befuddled expression on his face.
Nacoya took over smoothly, according to plan. Knowing vanity to be the great weakness of this young noble, she stepped to Bruli’s side, taking his arm and patting it in a motherly manner.
Bruli’s
