Not in the least distressed, Teani reached under Shimizu’s tunic and traced the muscles of his thigh with her fingers. ‘I would never ask you to dirty yourself with an assassin’s work, love. But as my man, would you permit your woman to enter the lair of a dangerous beast without protection? If I answer the appointment after your guard duty ends, would you go as my escort? If Mara intends me harm, and you defend me, then our Lord will have nothing but praise. You’ll have slain the enemy of his heart and done so without risk of shame. If you are right’ – she shrugged, as if the possibility was faint – ‘and there is some truth to the woman’s message, what harm is done by my bringing an escort?’
Shimizu relaxed utterly, and her caress flushed his skin like fine wine. That a member of the Minwanabi household should bring an honour guard to her appointment with a guest was entirely proper, even expected; and, as such, he could lawfully defend the safety of his charge if her life were threatened. Loosened by relief, he kissed her. And in the fervency of his response Teani sensed that the warrior she manipulated wavered in his resolves like a reed in a gale. If she had asked for Mara’s death, Shimizu would have been deeply unsure which would claim his first loyalty: his obligations to his Lord or his devotion to the woman in his arms.
Teani pushed Shimizu away with all the caution she would have used while sheathing a deadly weapon. No trace of satisfaction showed in her eyes, but only resignation and bravery as she lifted the plumed helmet from the side table and set it in Shimizu’s hands. ‘Honour our Lord, my love. Then meet me here when your guard duty is over, and we shall go to meet Mara of the Acoma.’
Shimizu placed the helmet on his head. With the strap still swinging loose, he bent and kissed her fiercely. ‘If Mara dares try to harm you, she shall die,’ he whispered. Then he broke away and strode swiftly through the screen.
As Shimizu vanished into the twilight, Teani rubbed the red marks his armour had pressed into her flesh. A wild joy shone in her eyes; and she blew out the lamp, that no observer should share this moment of triumph. All she had to do was provoke an attack from Mara, or fake one if the bitch did not rise to insults. Then, by the warrior’s code, Shimizu must strike a blow in Team’s defence; and if in the greater game Mara’s death came to be judged a shameful act, what did damage to the Minwanabi matter to a concubine whose loyalty belonged to Tecuma of the Anasati? Buntokapi’s murderess would be meat for jagunas, and to Teani that triumph was beyond any other consideration.
Beyond the balcony rail, moonlight spilled gold across the wind-ruffled waters of the lake. But Mara did not step up to the screens to admire the view. Arakasi had cautioned against this when she first entered the new suite. The guardrails of the balcony, as well as the supports and some of the planks near the edge, were old, almost ancient wood, but the pegs used to fasten them were new, lacking the dullness chican wood gained when weathered. Someone had prepared the way for an ‘accident’. A walkway of glazed stone tiles lined the garden three floors below this window. No one falling from the balcony could possibly survive. Few questions would be asked if her body were found lying broken there in the morning, with the old railing above having obviously collapsed as she leaned upon it.
Night darkened the corridors and suites of the Minwanabi estate house; few guests remained awake. Missing Papewaio, and aching for sleep and the security of her own estate, Mara settled restlessly on the cushions beside Nacoya.
Dressed in simple robes, and enamelled shell bracelets crafted by the cho-ja, the Lady of the Acoma rested her head on her palms. ‘The concubine cannot be much longer in coming.’
Nacoya said nothing; but, from his post beyond the entry screen, Arakasi returned a dubious shrug. His gesture indicated that he thought Teani unpredictable in the extreme; yet her note had stated she would come after the midnight change of the guard. Mara felt cold, though the night was warm. She wished for Papewaio, whose skill in battle was legendary. Arakasi might wear the armour of an honour guard, but his talent with weapons was nothing to boast about. Still, without the Spy Master’s network she would have no plan at all. Steadying her nerves with temple discipline, Mara waited and at last heard footsteps in the corridor.
She turned a self-satisfied smile to Arakasi; then abruptly banished the expression from her face. The footsteps drew nearer, and above the expected jingle of expensive jewellery, Mara heard the squeak of armour and weaponry; Teani had brought a warrior for company.