The Spy Master did little but look at her, yet Mara spoke as if he questioned her aloud. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘This is a command. Only a fool would assume that the Minwanabi will not make an appearance. You have done enough, and more, and Kevin spoke rightly last night. Whether or not there is a threat against the Acoma, I will not leave this council. We are already as prepared as we can be for an attack. If our efforts are not enough, then Ayaki is protected at home.’
Arakasi inclined his white-wrapped head. His fatigue must have been great, for the next time Kevin looked, the nervous intelligence of the man had stilled. Mara’s Spy Master lay in a loose-limbed sprawl, soundly and finally asleep.
Disquiet pervaded the great Council Hall. Mara was not the only ruling noble to enter with more than the traditionally permitted honour guard — the aisles between seats and concourses were packed with armoured warriors, and the hall looked more like a marshalling yard than a chamber for deliberation. Each Lord kept his soldiers at hand, sitting on the floor at his feet, or lined up along the railings between stairways. Any who needed to travel from place to place were forced to take tortuous routes, often stepping over warriors who could only bow their heads and mutter apologies for the inconvenience.
As Mara picked her way between the retinues of two rival factions, Kevin muttered, ‘If one idiot drew a sword in here, hundreds would die before anyone had a chance to ask why.’
Mara nodded. She said softly, ‘Look there.’ In the lowest gallery, the seat opposite the Warlord’s dais at last stood occupied. Warriors in orange and black filled the floor in a wedge formation, and in their midst, clad in battle gear barely more ornamented than an officer’s, sat Tasaio of the Minwanabi. If Kevin had been disappointed by the late Lord Desio’s innocuous appearance, the same could not be said of his cousin’s. Tasaio sat his chair with a relaxed and waiting stillness that even from a distance revealed presence. Kevin was reminded of nothing so much as a tiger. Briefly, Tasaio glanced across the chamber. His eyes locked with Kevin’s for an instant; yet recognition occurred. The face beneath the fluted rim of the helm stayed impassive, but there was no mistaking the shock of awareness that passed between the two men.
Kevin stared a moment longer, then bent his head toward his Lady. ‘The tiger knows we’re outside his lair.’
Mara arrived at her chair, and sat, and by all appearance seemed occupied with arranging her formal overrobe. ‘Tiger?’
‘Like one of your sarcats, only four legged, twice as big, and a lot more dangerous.’ Kevin assumed his position behind her chair, .crowded into the narrow space by the press of extra warriors who normally would have waited on the upper concourse.
Mara took stock of the hall, which seemed more gloomy and, oddly, more resonant to sound. There were empty chairs, with the gloss of armour and sword scabbards more plentiful than fine silks and jewels among the Lords present. As intrigues became more tangled, the talk turned convoluted; words gained layers of meaning, and looks between Lords were all weighted. Each empty place meant a council member dead or intimidated into withdrawal. The factions that remained were resolute, and some caucuses fairly bristled with unspoken aggression.
A council runner brought Mara a note. She slit the seal, glanced at the two chops stamped inside, then motioned for the boy to wait while she read. Lord Zanwai entered, along with a dozen warriors. He appeared recovered from his ordeal the night before, and as a blocked aisle forced him to improvise a route, he chose one that brought him close to Mara. He gifted the Acoma Lady with a smile and slight nod as he passed.
She returned his tacit greeting, then penned a response to the note just received and dispatched the runner to another gallery. To Lujan she said, ‘We’ve gained two more votes, in thanks for Arakasi’s information.’
The morning’s business wore on. Mara exchanged talk with a dozen Lords on seemingly harmless subjects. Although Kevin tried to follow the byplay, he could not discern if the exchanges masked threats or offers of alliance. More and more, he found his eyes drawn to the lower gallery, where Lord after Lord paid court to Tasaio of the Minwanabi. Kevin could not help but notice that the visitors spoke most, while Tasaio largely remained silent. When he did reply, his words were sparse and crisp, as evidenced by the flash of white teeth. The warriors at his sandalled feet moved no muscle all the while, but sat with the inhuman poise of statues.
‘His followers fear him,’ Kevin whispered to Lujan in a stolen moment of confidence.
The Acoma Force Commander returned a barely perceptible nod. ‘With good reason,’ he murmured back. ‘Tasaio is a superb killer, and he keeps his skills sharp by using them.’
His gaze on the figure in the orange-and-black chair, Kevin felt a chill skim his flesh. If the Game of the Council was ruthless, there sat the most merciless player of them all.