‘What’s in play?’ he asked. ‘Did Arakasi bring bad news?’
Mara flashed him a warning glance. ‘Not here,’ she murmured, pointedly appearing to inspect the tiny garden that helped damp the street noise from the house. ‘Everything appears in order, Jican.’
Kevin remained puzzled by his mistress’s reticence until Arakasi nodded slightly toward the overhanging galleries of the home across the way. Watchers might lurk in the shadows there, and belatedly the Midkemian recalled that spies in this world included particularly sharp-eyed individuals trained to read lips. Mollified, he kept the proper one step behind his mistress as she entered her town house.
The inner hall smelled of waxed wood, spices, and old hangings; antique furnishings lay everywhere Kevin looked, lovingly polished by. generations of servants. The residence in Kentosani was older than the estate home near Sulan-Qu. Most of the screens on the street side were overhung with patterned silk, but the inward wall opened into a central courtyard, green-tinged by the shade of ancient trees. Cramped stairs with balustrades carved with mythical beasts, worn nearly smooth by hands resting upon them, ascended through lofty ceilings. As if the building had once been a walled compound, the ground-level walls were stone, with the upper three storeys of wooden frame and cloth walls. Kevin stared in amazement, for the building was like none he had seen on either side of the rift. While tiny compared to the Acoma estate house, Mara’s town house was as large as a Kingdom inn. Massive beams and stonework were cleverly constructed, forming a dwelling that felt open and airy.
Balconies crammed with potted flowers overlooked the inner garden, with its fish pools and fountain, and one gnarled head gardener who brandished his rake at two slaves who scrubbed moss from tiled pathways. To no one in particular, Kevin said, ‘A man could get used to this.’
A jab from behind reminded him of his station. He looked around, and down, into the irascible countenance of Nacoya, who clutched her walking stick at an angle that still meant business. ‘Your mistress calls for her bath, barbarian.’
Belatedly Kevin noticed that the ground floor was suddenly emptier and servants were rushing up the stair. Arakasi did not seem to be among them.
Poked again, and this time in a place that mattered sorely, Kevin said, ‘All right, little grandmother. I’m going.’ With an insolent smile, he hurried along.
Mara was already in her chambers, several strange maids busied with her undressing. Two other servants, neither one Arakasi, poured ceramic cauldrons of steaming water into a wooden tub. As Mara stood naked, her servant pinning her hair up, Kevin moved forward and tested the water temperature to ensure her comfort. At his nod, the servants departed.
Mara dismissed the maids, then mounted a small riser and gracefully stepped into the bath. She settled into the soothing warmth, eyes closed as Kevin began applying scented soap to her cheeks. Softly she said, ‘That feels wonderful.’
But the bothered expression did not ease from her face.
‘What did Arakasi say?’ Kevin asked as he massaged gently and removed the road dust from his beloved’s face. He laid his hands upon her shoulders as she bent to rinse off suds, her tension still apparent.
Mara sighed and blew droplets off her nose. ‘A clan meeting has been called for this afternoon. Someone took care to see that the notice never quite reached me. Sometime tonight an apologetic messenger will give us word upon his return from our estates, I am sure.’
Kevin retrieved the soap and resumed his washing. His fingers kneaded the nape of her neck, but she gave no sign of pleasure. Kevin guessed she thought upon that long-past visit from Jiro of the Anasati, when he had warned that factions within the Hadama Clan were alarmed at the Acoma’s sudden rise. The victory treaty with Tsubar could only have inflamed existing jealousies. And worse: immediately before their departure for the Holy City, Arakasi’s spies had sent news that young Jiro had paid a call upon Lord Desio.
This missed message might be connected to both events. The politics of Kelewan were endless, and deadly dangerous. Unwilling to dwell too long on Tsurani intrigue, Kevin pressed Mara forward and began sluicing her back. ‘My Lady, mixed messages and clan rivalries will still be there after your bath. Unless you want to confront your kinfolk covered in road dirt?’
He startled an outraged laugh from her. ‘Beast. I’m certainly no dirtier than you, who walked the entire way in the open.’
Playfully Kevin ran a finger over his face and held it out as if inspecting it. ‘Hmmm. Yes, I do seem to be darker than when we began the journey.’
The soft cake of soap he held was unguarded, and Mara gouged out a dollop and seized the moment to deposit it on her lover’s nose. ‘Then you had best wash your own body as well.’