Mara blinked, not at all certain she grasped his intent. ‘Lord, I did only what was necessary to avenge my father and brother and preserve the existence of my house.’
Almecho laughed, and his bitter humour sent small birds winging from the treetops. ‘Lady, what do you think the game is, if not to remain while you dispose of enemies? While others have been flitting around the High Council nattering at one another over this alliance and that, you have neutralized your second most powerful rival – turning him into a reluctant ally, almost – and destroyed your most powerful enemy. If that isn’t a masterful victory in the game, I’ve never seen anyone play.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘That dog Jingu was growing a little too ambitious. I believe he plotted to dispose of three opponents: you, the Lord of the Anasati, and then me. Tecuma and I are somewhat in your debt, I think, though you certainly didn’t act on our behalf.’ He trailed his fingers thoughtfully through the water; small currents rose up and roiled the surface, just as the currents of intrigue ran always beneath the affairs of the Empire. The Warlord regarded her keenly. ‘Before I leave you, I want you to know this: I would have let Jingu kill you, if that was your fate. But now I am pleased you lived and not he. Still, my favour is scant. Just because no woman has ever worn the white and gold before, don’t think I count your ambition any less dangerous, Mara of the Acoma.’
Somewhat overwhelmed by this endorsement of her prowess, Mara said, ‘You flatter me too much, Lord. I have no ambition beyond the desire to see my son grow in peace.’
Almecho placed his helm upon his head and motioned for his guards to return. ‘I don’t know, then,’ he reflected, half to himself. ‘Who is to be more feared, one who acts from ambition or one who acts for the needs of survival? I like to think we can be friendly, Lady of the Acoma, but my instincts warn me you are dangerous. So let us just say that for now we have no reason to be at odds.’
Mara bowed. ‘For that I am very grateful, my Lord.’
Almecho returned the bow, then departed to call servants to attend his bath. As Mara followed him from the garden, Keyoke saw his Lady and came at once to her side. ‘Pape . . .’he said.
Mara nodded in shared sympathy. ‘He died a warrior, Keyoke.’
The Force Commander’s face showed nothing. ‘No man can ask for more.’
Certain that Nacoya was acting in all her glory with the guests, Mara said, ‘Walk with me to the glade of my ancestors, Keyoke.’
The Force Leader of the Acoma shortened stride to match that of his slight mistress and silently opened a side door. As they left the main house, and birdsong replaced the talk of guests and servants, Mara sighed. ‘We shall need a new First Strike Leader.’
Keyoke said, ‘Your will, mistress.’
But Mara kept her opinion to herself. ‘Who is the best for the position?’
Keyoke seemed unusually expressive as he said, ‘It galls me to say it, but despite his less than seemly attitude at times, no man is better able than Lujan. Tasido has been with us longer and is a better swordsman . . . but Lujan is among the best I’ve seen in tactics, strategy, and leading men since’ – he hesitated – ‘well, since your father.’
Mara raised her eyebrows. ‘That good?’
Keyoke smiled, and his humour was so unexpected that Mara stopped in her tracks. She listened as her Force Commander qualified. ‘Yes, that good. He’s a natural leader. That’s the reason Papewaio came to like the rascal so quickly. And if your First Strike Leader had survived he’d be telling you the same. Had the Lord of the Kotai lived, Lujan would probably already be a Force Commander now.’ By the hint of pain beneath Keyoke’s tone, Mara understood how much like a son Papewaio had been to this old campaigner. Then his Tsurani self-discipline fell back into place and the old warrior was as she had always known him.
Glad of his choice, Mara said, ‘Then name Lujan First Strike Leader, and promote a Patrol Leader to take his place.’ They passed beneath the trees, where once Papewaio had knelt and begged to take his life with his sword. With a pang of sorrow for his passing, Mara considered what might have happened had she not reinterpreted tradition concerning the black scarf of the condemned. A shiver touched her spine. How delicate was the thread of progression that had preserved her life.
Strangely abrupt, Keyoke stopped. Ahead lay the guarding hedges at the entrance to the glade, and the Force Commander traditionally might accompany her that far. Then Mara saw that a lone figure awaited her, before the contemplation glade of her ancestors. The red and yellow helm in his hands was familiar, gleaming in the copper light of latest afternoon; and the scabbard at his side held no weapon.
Mara gently dismissed her Force Commander and stepped forward to meet the Lord of the Anasati.