As the Xacatecas began their opening bows, Mara responded to Nacoya’s motherly prompting and made her way towards the dais. Kamatsu of the Shinzawai and his son fell in behind her as she ascended the stairs; and then the Xacatecas took their leave and she found herself confronting Almecho and her host, Jingu of the Minwanabi.
The Great Ones remained to one side, their unique social rank setting them apart from any formal role in the greeting ceremony. But as she took her bow, Mara caught a clear look at one of them and recognized the hooked nose and thin lips of Ergoran beneath the black hood. The Warlord took her hand as she rose, a slight twist of sarcasm marring his smile as he returned the ritual greeting. He had evidently not forgotten their last meeting, when she had dutifully repeated the words of Buntokapi concerning needra pens. Etiquette prevented his raising the topic, since ritual suicide had absolved the stain on Acoma honour. But nothing prevented the Warlord from initiating an exchange that caused Mara some social discomfort.
‘Lady Mara, what an unexpected delight. I’m pleased to see you bear as much personal courage as your father -to walk into this nest of relli.’ Still holding her hand, and stroking it in a patronizing display of attention, he turned to Jingu of the Minwanabi. His host stood biting back his anger, as distressed by the last remark as was Mara. ‘Jingu, you’re not planning to spoil my birthday celebration with bloodshed, are you?’
The Lord of the Minwanabi’s flush deepened as he spluttered a denial, but Almecho cut him off. To Mara he added, ‘Just have your bodyguard sleep lightly at your door, Lady. Jingu knows if he doesn’t observe the proper form in killing you, he’ll make me very angry.’ He glanced at his host. ‘Not to mention that he’s given sureties to his guests and it wouldn’t be profitable to eliminate you if he had to take his own life as well, would it?’
The Warlord laughed. In that instant Mara knew that the Great Game was, truly, only a game to this man. If Jingu could murder the Lady of the Acoma in such a way that he could disavow responsibility publicly, the Warlord would not only take no umbrage, but would silently applaud Jingu for his cleverness. Even if Jingu failed, to Almecho the whole situation would become a diverting amusement. Sweat dampened Mara’s back. She trembled despite her effort at self-control, and almost at her elbow the second son of the Shinzawai whispered something to his father. Almecho’s eyes narrowed; Mara’s colour must have gone ashen, for the Warlord squeezed her hand.
‘Don’t be upset, little bird; Jingu might surprise us all and behave himself.’ With a wide grin, Almecho added, ‘The betting odds right now are that you might have a slight chance of leaving alive at the end of the celebration.’
He still showed no sign of releasing her, but before he could derive further pleasure at her expense, a polite voice intruded.
‘My Lord Almecho . . .’ Kamatsu of the Shinzawai inserted himself into the conversation. Experienced through a lifetime spent in court intrigue, the former Warchief of the Kanazawai Clan changed the subject with a charm few present could have equalled. ‘Only a few minutes ago the Lady Mara pointed out that I had no opportunity to introduce my younger son to you at her wedding.’
Almecho’s attention was diverted enough for Mara to disengage his fingers. She half stepped to the left, and without breaking rhythm, Kamatsu moved likewise. Almecho had no graceful alternative but to acknowledge the Shinzawai Lord standing directly before him. A handsome young man accompanied his father. Kamatsu smiled and said, ‘May I present to you my second son, Hokanu?’
The Warlord frowned, momentarily off balance. He inclined his head towards Hokanu, but before his famous temper could invent a disparaging remark, Kamatsu continued. ‘His elder brother, Kasumi, you’ve met. I’m sure you remember, Almecho – he is the Force Leader of the second army of the Kanazawai Clan in your campaign.’