Mara stifled an urge to smile. ‘No, on the contrary, you spared me a great deal of pain, inconvenience, and irritation over the last few months. Yet I am not as adventuresome in my tastes as some ladies of great houses; my appetites do not turn towards members of my own sex.’ She glanced at the fading bruise that mottled the skin over Teani’s collarbone. ‘You seem to have shared my husband’s taste for . . . rough sport. Your talents would go to waste on my estates – unless you think you would care to entertain my soldiers?’
Teani’s head jerked, ever so slightly; she managed not to expel her breath in a hiss of anger, and Mara was forced to admiration of her action. The insult was great; as a courtesan or mistress, Teani would have a certain legitimacy in Tsurani society. In ancient times there had been little difference between a lord’s courtesan and wife in Tsurani culture. Had Mara died before her husband, any real courtesan of Buntokapi’s might have been permanently installed in the Acoma house. And if TeAi survived both wife and master, a Ruling Lord’s resident mistress had certain legal rights and privileges of inheritance. A woman of the Reed Life was considered a craftsperson or even an artist in the ways of pleasure. But a camp follower was a woman of the meanest class. Anywhere but in a camp of war, the women who followed the armies of the Empire were shunned and despised. And they had no honour. Teani had been named a whore, and if the women had been warriors Mara would now be fighting for her life.
The concubine only glared at Mara. Struggling with her self-control just enough to convince, she pressed her forehead to the floor, red-gold hair almost brushing the toes of her mistress’s sandals. ‘My Lady, I think you misjudge me. I am an accomplished musician and am skilled in the arts of massage and conversation. I know the seven ways to rid the body of aches and pain: by pressure, by stroking, by rubbing, by herbs, by smoke, by pins, and by realignment of the joints. I can quote passages of the sagas from memory and I can dance.’
No doubt the woman was capable in all the named skills, though Buntokapi had probably availed himself of little other than an occasional massage, or a song before indulging in sex. But Teani was also an agent and, likely as not, a trained assassin. With Buntokapi dead, she needed only one opportunity to rid her Minwanabi master of both Mara and Ayaki, ending the Acoma forever.
Dread of Jingu’s plots caused Mara to respond sharply. Not allowing Teani the courtesy of rising from her knees, she said, ‘You’ll have little difficulty finding yourself another position. A maid blessed with such talents as yours should easily catch the fancy of some great Lord, one who would be eager to have you at his side. Within the hour a factor will arrive to close down this house in preparation for selling it and all the furnishings. Take whatever gifts my husband left you and depart, for nothing of the Acoma shall remain here.’ She paused and regarded Teani’s ripe curves with contempt. ‘And of course no trash shall be left behind for the new owner.’
Mara spun and walked through the door, as if the concubine she had dismissed were now beneath her notice. Only the observant eyes of Arakasi saw Teani release the iron control she had exercised for the deception of her mistress. An expression of naked hatred settled upon the young woman’s face; her beauty became a cruel thing, black and twisted and murderous to behold. And in that moment Arakasi observed that the insults of Mara of the Acoma would be carefully remembered, that each might be separately avenged.
Borrowing the authority of his officer’s plumes, the Spy Master seized the initiative and assigned two warriors to remain on the premises to see his Lady’s orders carried out. Then, before Teani had bridled her rage enough to remember his face, he slipped swiftly through the door.
Outside, as he hurried into place beside his mistress, Mara said, ‘Is she the one?’
Arakasi unhooked the chin strap of his helm so he could speak without being overheard. ‘Indeed, my Lady. Teani is the spy. Until she arrived in the city, she was a favourite with the Lord of the Minwanabi and shared his bed on a regular basis. Why she was chosen to spy upon Lord Buntokapi is not clear, but she must have convinced her master she could serve his interests.’ They reached the litter, dead leaves obscuring the conversation from chance eavesdroppers. Even on the quietest side street, Arakasi exercised his customary caution. As he helped Mara onto her cushions, he whispered, ‘What Teani did before she came to Minwanabi service our agent cannot say.’ He directed a meaningful glance at the town houft. ‘I will rest easier when my men have had the chance to discover more about her, for I think you have made an enemy, Lady. Only I saw the expression in her eyes as you left. It was murder.’
Mara rested her head back, eyes half-closed. Wisely or not, she dismissed the issue, for the next step in her plans demanded all of her attention. ‘Kill me for duty, kill me for personal reasons, the risk is no more.’