‘What sort of hounds are those?’ he asked as he crossed the hall and mounted his cushioned dais, his First Adviser a half-step behind.
‘They are hunters without peer.’ A gesture from Jiro, and the servant led the dogs to a safe corner, out of reach of passing servants, and set back from any doors. The animals sat, too poised for relaxation, their eyes restless and hungry.
By now, Incomo’s headshakes had drawn notice. Desio understood that his eagerness set him at a disadvantage. As he sat down, he sniffed with intent to diminish. ‘We have fine tracking dogs.’
Jiro rebutted him quietly. ‘None like these, my Lord. Perhaps when our conference is over I could offer a demonstration ?’
Desio brightened. ‘Indeed, perhaps you should.’ He sighed in restrained anticipation, then waved for his guest to choose a cushion. ‘Come. Let us be refreshed.’ Slaves rushed in with laden trays of food and drink. Keeping his bearing erect and proper, Desio resisted the urge to turn to look at the dogs, who were offering low, menacing growls to everyone that passed. At Desio’s gesture, Irrilandi withdrew the Minwanabi honour guard a discreet distance away; Jiro’s Strike Leader did the same, and across the vast chamber came more slaves with bowls and towels, to assist both nobles to wash.
One of the dogs whined. Jiro paid it no mind, but dipped his fingers in the scented water and held them out to be dried. ‘You have an impressive home, my Lord. When I imagine this hall filled with grand entertainment, I deeply regret that I missed attending the Warlord’s birthday celebration.’
Incomo froze, caught in the motion of sitting down at his master’s right hand. He looked urgently at Desio, and by the hardness of the Lord’s expression, knew that he need not take action; the reference to the event when Lady Mara had trapped the former Minwanabi Lord into dishonour and ritual suicide had not escaped his master’s notice.
The vast hall was silent. Desio reached out and took a glass of fruit juice from the tray; that he eschewed stronger spirits showed his inner anger. He sipped, pointedly withholding permission to eat from his guest. No fascination with dogs could ease the Anasati’s current danger. Desio was a powerful Lord, seated within his own hall; the silence would stretch to eternity before he stooped to ask what this upstart second son might wish.
Jiro let the stillness extend enough to show he was not cowed. With sudden brightness, he said, ‘Splendid news from Dustari. Now the desert men and their allies are routed, the Empire shall enjoy peace on the southern border for many years to come.’
Desio flicked a glance to his First Adviser, who signalled a discreet warning. By his reference to allies, Jiro either guessed the desert men had acted under Minwanabi influence, or else the Anasati had spies as cleverly concealed as Mara’s.
A dog whined; its attendant whispered frantic reprimand.
The Minwanabi Lord said nothing.
‘Except for the fabled Acoma luck, this triumph would never have come to pass,’ Jiro finished, then proved also that he could wait.
In leisurely fashion, Desio drained his glass. He listened to a few whispered words from his Adviser, then answered in faultless form. ‘Any action undertaken in defence of the Empire is to be applauded. Or do you think otherwise?’
Jiro smiled without warmth. ‘The duty of every ruler is to serve the Empire. Naturally.’
Conversation faltered to a halt; Incomo’s shrewdness rescued the issue from stalemate. ‘I wonder how Tecuma views Lady Mara’s brilliant victory.’
Given the cue he had sought for, Jiro gave the skinny old Adviser a polite nod. ‘We Anasati find ourselves bound to a difficult course, since blood relation to Mara’s heir forces adherence to goals that occasionally align with Acoma interests.’
‘Go on,’ Incomo encouraged, with a sidewise glower at his master to recall courtesy and offer refreshments. Desio complied with a sulky wave.
Jiro accepted a fruit drink, the same variety the Minwanabi Lord had chosen. He took a sip, shook back burnished brown hair, and stared off into the distance. ‘That such condition should endure is unnatural, of course.’ His manner turned disarmingly offhand. ‘I share concern for my nephew, well enough, but let me speak forthrightly.’ He delayed for another drink until Desio once again leaned raptly forward on his cushions. Jiro resumed. ‘Ayaki’s mother has too few friends to warrant such a dangerous course for the Anasati.’ He allowed a suggestive pause. ‘So if harm comes to my nephew, I would understand. My father is less given to bending with the whims of fate, but my brother and I see things differently.’