The Lady of the Acoma nodded slowly. ‘Bitter indeed.’ As if she noticed the discomfort that wore away at her love’s reserves, she added, ‘Patience. By tradition we must wait until the Light of Heaven sends his acknowledgment of the appointment.’
Kevin bore up as best he could. Despite today’s call to council, and the selection of a new Warlord, the barbarian remained unconvinced that Ichindar was as much a slave to tradition as his Lady thought. Yet he chose to say nothing. Within a half hour a messenger in white and gold livery entered, with a company of the Imperial Whites. They carried a mantle of snowy feathers, the edges trimmed in shining gold. They bowed before the chair of Omechan and presented the cloak to Axantucar.
Kevin studied the new Warlord as the mantle was laid upon his shoulders. While the uncle, Almecho, had been a barrel-chested, bull-necked man, this nephew looked like a slender poet or teacher. His frame was thin to extreme and his face ascetic, almost delicate. But the triumph in his eyes revealed as rapacious a soul as Tasaio’s.
‘He seems pleased,’ said Kevin under his breath.
Arakasi spoke quietly. ‘He should be. He must have spent a large portion of his inheritance to have a half-dozen Lords murdered.’
‘You think the black-clad warriors were his?’
‘Almost without doubt.’
Mara said, ‘Why would he send soldiers against us? We would support any rival of Tasaio.’
‘To prevent unpredictable alliances. And to ensure blame for the general slaughter was placed at Minwanabi’s door.’ Arakasi’s mood turned expansive, perhaps from satisfaction over an enemy’s defeat. ‘He is the victor. Minwanabi isn’t. The tong almost certainly worked for Tasaio. Logically, the other soldiers were Omechan.’
Order returned to the council, and after an uneventful interval of speechmaking, Mara gave Kevin the order to fetch Lujan and her warriors. ‘We return to our town house tonight.’
The Midkemian bowed to her as a proper slave might, and walked slowly from the huge hall with its bejewelled, enigmatic Ruling Lords. Again he concluded that the Tsurani were the strangest race with the most convoluted customs a man might ever encounter.
Calm returned to Kentosani. For an interval Mara and her household rested, healing wounds and assimilating the changes effected in politics since Axantucar’s assumption of the Warlordship. Evenings were festive in the town house as the Lady of the Acoma entertained several influential Lords whose interest now favoured her house. Kevin seemed more disgruntled than usual, but between exhaustion and her social obligations, Mara had little opportunity to deal with his dark mood.
Arakasi sought out his mistress on the third morning as she reviewed communications from several Lords still within the city. Clad in a clean servant’s robe, and content for the moment to let his splinted arm rest openly in a sling, he still gave her the deep bow her rank entitled. ‘Mistress, the Minwanabi retinue has boarded barges upon the river. Tasaio is returning to his estates.’
Mara stood, her pens and papers and messages forgotten in the joy of the moment. ‘Then we may safely return home.’
Again Arakasi bowed, this time lower than before. ‘Mistress, I wish to beg your forgiveness. In all that occurred, I was not prepared for the Lord of the Oaxatucan to rise so quickly to replace his uncle.’
‘You take yourself too harshly to task, Arakasi.’ A shadow crossed Mara’s face, and she moved restlessly to the window. Outside, the trees were shedding blossoms over the streets. Servants still pushed vegetable carts, and messengers still ran on swift feet. The day seemed bright and ordinary, like waking after nightmare. ‘Who among us could have anticipated the murder that was done that night?’ Mara added. ‘Your work spared five Lords, myself among them. I would venture no single person did more, and the result gained the Acoma great prestige.’
Arakasi bowed his head. ‘My mistress is gracious.’
‘I am grateful,’ Mara amended. ‘Come. Let us go home.’
Later that afternoon, the Acoma garrison marched smartly from the town house, Mara’s litter and carry boxes and a wagon bearing the wounded securely in their midst. At the docks, boats waited to take the mistress and her retinue downriver. Settled upon cushions beneath a canopy, with Kevin at her side, Mara regarded the everyday bustle of trade along the waterfront. ‘It is so tranquil. You would think nothing untoward had occurred in the last week.’