The servant hastened to obey her wishes and slid open the large outer screens that faced the west. The orange sun hung low, kissing the purple edge of the horizon. Red-gold light burnished the marshes where the shatra birds flocked at eventide. Even as Mara watched, the ungainly creatures exploded into flight. Within minutes the sky was covered with silhouettes of grace and elegance, whirling across clouds fired with scarlet and pink, and indigo before the approach of night. No man understood the reason for this splendid group dance upon the wing, but the sight was majestic. Though Mara had watched the display a thousand times through girlhood, the birds still took her breath away. She did not notice the tiptoe departure of the maidservant but for the better part of an hour sat absorbed as flocks numbering in the thousands gathered to wheel and turn, bank and glide, while the light slowly faded. The birds landed as the sun vanished. In the silvery twilight they gathered in the marshes, clustered tightly to baffle predators while they slept.
House servants returned in the warm, sweet hour of nightfall, bringing oil for the lamps and hot herb tea. But exhaustion had overtaken Mara at last. They found her asleep amid her cushions, lulled by the familiar sounds of herders driving the needra into shelter. In the distance the sad song of a kitchen slave kneading thyza bread for the morning meal was a soft counterpoint to the faint calls of Keyoke’s sentries as they patrolled the grounds to ensure the safety of Acoma’s newest Lady.
Accustomed to temple discipline, Mara awoke early. She blinked, at first confused by her surroundings; then the rich coverlet thrown over her sleeping mat reminded her: she lay in her father’s chamber as Ruling Lady of the Acoma. Rested, but still aching from the bruises left by the Minwanabi assassin, she rolled on her side. Luxuriant strands of hair caught in her lashes; impatiently she pushed them away.
Dawn brightened the screens that faced east. The whistle of a herder driving needra to pasture cut through daybreak’s chorus of bird calls. Made restless by memories, Mara arose.
Her maids did not hear her stir. Barefoot, and appreciative of the solitude, the girl crossed the chamber and slipped the catch on the screen. She slid it aside with the barest of squeaks. Cool air caressed her skin between the loose folds of her robe. Mara drew in the scent of dew, and moist earth, and the delicate perfume of akasi flowers. Mist rose off the marshlands, rendering the trees and hedges in tones of charcoal, and there the lone silhouette of a herdsman driving the slow-moving needra.
The soldier at his post in the dooryard turned about on his beat, and realized the girl who stood in the white shift and sleep-tangled hair was his ruling mistress. He bowed gravely. Mara nodded absently as he returned to his duty. The girl regarded the wide expanse of her family estates, in a morning as yet unmarred by the noise and bustle of the day. Shortly all who worked upon the estate would be busy about their tasks, and for only a few minutes longer would Mara have this serene glimpse of what was now hers to protect. Her brows knitted in concern as she realized how much she had to learn to manage these holdings. At present she didn’t even know the extent of her inheritance. She knew vaguely that she had properties in other provinces, but she had no knowledge of their disposition and worth. Her father had disliked the details of farming and stock breeding, and while he had overseen his assets and his people’s well-being with wisdom, his conversations with Mara had always been turned to matters of his liking, and pf a lighter nature.
When the maid called softly from the doorway of the chamber, Mara shut the screen. ‘I shall dress and breakfast at once,’ she instructed. ‘Then I will see this new hadonra, Jican, in the study.’
The maid bowed and hastened to the wardrobe, while Mara shook the tangles from her hair. Denied the comfort of servants in the temple, Mara reached automatically for her brush.
‘My Lady, don’t I please you?’ The young maid’s bearing revealed distress.
Mara frowned, annoyed by her thoughtless lapse. ‘Yoa please me well enough.’ She surrendered the hairbrush and sat still as the serving girl began to tend her hair. As the maid worked, Mara conceded to herself that her decision to see Jican was as much to avoid Nacoya as to; learn more of her estates. The old nurse had a natural tendency to be grumpy in the early morning. And beyond her normal ill temper, Nacoya would have volumes to say to the young girl on her responsibilites as Ruling Lady.
Mara sighed, and the maid paused, waiting for some indication from her Lady if there was a problem. When Mara said nothing, the girl continued, tentatively, as if fearing her Lady’s disapproval. Mara mulled over the questions for Jican, knowing that eventually she would have to contend with Nacoya’s scolding manner. Again she sighed, much as she had when facing one of Nacoya’s punishments for some girlish prank, and again the maid halted to see if her mistress was displeased. After a momentary pause, the girl resumed arranging her mistress’s hair, and Mara became caught up in the questions of estate management.
Later, dressed and groomed, Mara sat with her elbow propped in a mound of cushions. Her lip was pinched between her teeth in concentration as she reviewed the latest of a sizeable heap of scrolls. Small, sun-bronzed, and nervous as a thyza bird, the hadonra, Jican, looked over her shoulder. Presently he extended a tentative finger.
The profits are listed there, my Lady. As you note, they are respectable.’
‘I see that, Jican.’ Mara laid the scroll on her knees as Nacoya ducked her head around the door. ‘I am busy, Nacoya. I will see you shortly, perhaps at noon.’