Shimizu caught her wrists, jerking her body against him. ‘I say you lie because my orders for tomorrow night are to stage a false raid by a thief and see that Papewaio, Strike Leader of the Acoma, lies dead on Mara’s doorstep. Why then, without cancelling such orders, should my Lord of the Minwanabi tell you to give the girl to Turakamu tonight?’
Heated by his handling, and loosened by the ridiculous ease with which she had goaded his ego and caused him 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.