Mara leaned her head against him. ‘Not really. But I should eat something if I am to be alert in council tomorrow.’
Kevin arose, prepared for the inevitable battle of wills that transpired when he invaded the kitchen. Jican considered any slave caught empty-handed to be fair game. Tonight he seemed primed for fight, since a squad of busy scullions was already scouring kettles and plates. As if the din of crockery were a charm to ward away the distant sounds of conflict, every ladle or cup or soup bowl was getting sanded down and polished. Jican spotted Kevin in the doorway, and his worried face brightened. ‘The mistress wishes to eat?’
Kevin nodded, and found himself the startled recipient of a tray of warm bread, cheeses, and fruit. Disappointed by his easy victory, he swallowed a carefully prepared retort and returned to his Lady. He set down the supper and sat with her, while she made a concerted effort to take sustenance. In the end, Arakasi finished the food. Kevin urged Mara to bed, while at every window and door the warriors waited like statues, prepared for an attack that never came.
Morning dawned. Mara arose from her cushions and called for her bath and her maids. Makeup erased the shadows of worry from her face, and three layers of formal robes disguised her thinness. At the last minute, just as she was poised to leave, she turned and looked hard at Kevin.
Nettled by the prospect of another tedious day, he regarded her with reproachful blue eyes.
Mostly because she feared an attack on her apartment in her absence, Mara gave in to impulse and relented. ‘Come with me. Remain close and stay silent unless I tell you otherwise.’
Kevin fairly leaped to join her retinue. Lujan called her honour guard to form ranks, and minutes later the Acoma contingent made their entrance into the Council Hall.
Sunlight angled across the dome overhead, spotlighting the yellowed murals above the galleries. The upper seats were already filled, with those lowest still empty. The chaos had subsided enough for the Tsurani nobles to be once more attentive to rank, Kevin observed. He followed Mara down the steps, while Lujan took station with two other warriors behind her. The rest of her honour guard remained on the concourse by the door, as if this council were no different from any other.
But as she passed an empty chair on the way to her appointed place, Mara pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. ‘Trouble?’ Kevin murmured, his promise of silence forgotten.
Mara returned a barely perceptible nod. Clearly unhappy, she whispered, ‘The Lord Pataki of the Sida is dead.’
Kevin said, ‘Who?’
‘A man who was kind to me once, in defiance of public sentiment. He was also a potential ally. Yesterday he was here, but this morning his seat is vacant.’
‘How do you know he isn’t just lingering over breakfast?’ Kevin murmured.
Mara settled into her chair and nodded for her slave to stand behind and to her right. ‘Only an assassin could have kept Pataki from this chamber.’ She made an inventory of the nearby galleries. ‘Three other Lords are also absent, from the look of things.’
‘Friends of yours?’ Kevin did his best to keep his voice down.
‘No. Enemies of Minwanabi,’ answered Mara. She snapped her small ornamental fan open and murmured something to Lujan, who arranged his warriors around her seat, then assumed the place nearest the aisle where his sword would be first in her defence.
The lowest gallery was now beginning to fill. Kevin looked around at the great Lords of the Empire, dressed up like peacocks in full plumage. Some sat like royalty in their places, speaking to those who came to petition for favours or alliances. Others stood in clumps, changing position or exchanging confidences like butterflies congregating around flowers. The Game of the Council was less an overt battle for hierarchy than a subtle, endless sequence of encounter, rebuff, and social machination.
‘I don’t understand,’ Kevin said after long minutes of study. ‘No one seems to act as if four of their fellow councillors were murdered.’
‘Death is part of the game,’ Mara answered, and as the morning wore on, Kevin came finally to understand. To show undue notice of another’s defeat was to imply dishonour, since murder in and of itself meant that someone was responsible. In the absence of proof, the Tsurani perceived only ‘accidents’. A Lord might kill with impunity, and even win the admiration of his rivals for doing so, as long as the forms were observed.