Troubled to discover that her plans to give him happiness were permanently dashed, Mara stayed withdrawn throughout her visit to the Ginecho. She performed the proper social display expected of her, but afterwards she would have been hard put to recall a word of the conversation, or recite a detail of young Lord Kuganchalt’s appearance. If Arakasi noted that she seemed distracted as the litter wended its way homeward through Kentosani’s torch-lit streets, he said nothing. He provided his hand with the skill of a man assigned such duties lifelong as she got out of the litter in her courtyard, and disappeared unobtrusively at her dismissal.
Mara called for a light supper, and for once did not ask for Kevin’s company. She sat in solitude in the study overlooking the courtyard, picking at her meal and staring at the shadow patterns the flowering shrubs threw onto the screen. From the kitchen she could hear laughter, and Kevin’s boisterous voice describing some escapade concerning a jigabird seller in the markets. He was in high humour, and the other servants were enjoying his performance with the enthusiasm of bystanders at a street entertainment.
But for Mara, tonight, Kevin’s laughter only cut. She pushed aside her barely tasted plate with a sigh, and asked a servant to bring wine. She sipped, and let the night deepen without calling for lamps. Her mind and her memory circled endlessly, reviewing the leading questions she had asked of the Great One, Fumita. His reticence stung her even yet. Over and over, she pondered his chilly reception, and she wondered, now that it was absolutely beyond hope to change, whether the edict against freeing slaves had been prompted by her inquiries.
She could never know for certain. That was the painful part. If she had more wisely kept her own counsel, Kevin’s chance of freedom might not have been destroyed.
Mara sighed and waved for removal of her supper tray. She retired early, though her mind churned, and when Kevin came she feigned sleep. His touches and his tenderness could not break through her dark thoughts, and she feared to risk bringing him into her confidence. When at last he fell into contented slumber by her side, she felt no better. All night she tossed and sorted words. Hours passed, and she still did not know what to say.
She gazed at his profile, lit softly golden by the screen-filtered light of the courtyard lanterns. The scar he had gained from the overseer at the slave market had nearly faded away over the years. All that remained was a fine crease over his cheekbone, such as a warrior might gain from a sword cut. The blue eyes with their laughing depths were closed, and in sleep his face showed abiding peace. Mara ached to touch him, and instead wound up blinking back tears. Angered by her shameful softness, she rolled over and stared at the wall, only to find herself turning back, studying his profile and biting her lip not to weep.
Dawn came, and she was exhausted. She arose before Kevin, tense and miserable in a cold sweat. She called for maids to bathe and dress her, and when her beloved roused with his sleepy questions, she covered her reticence by seeming brusque.
‘I have a most important errand to do this morning.’ She tilted her head away, ostensibly to help the maid who was arranging her hair, but in fact to hide her puffy eyes before cosmetics could disguise the evidence of her unhappiness. ‘You may come or not, as you wish.’
Stung by her coldness, Kevin paused in the act of stretching. He looked at her; she could feel his gaze on her back and did not have to see to be sure of his reproach. ‘I’ll come, of course,’ he said slowly. Then, chagrined that his tone held an edge that reflected her own, he added, ‘At least, the antics of jigabird sellers will need to improve a great deal before I’ll be drawn from your charms.’ The conciliatory tone of the comment was not lost on her; she cursed the fact he held such power over her and that even such a small remark could feel like a rebuke.
He stood up. Never quite as silent as a Tsurani warrior, but as strongly confident, he stepped over to her and slipped his arms around her shoulders. ‘You are my favourite little bird in the Empire,’ he murmured. ‘Beautifully soft, and your singing is the joy of my heart.’
He moved away, with a sly quip that caused one of her maids an unseemly fit of giggles. If he had noticed the Lady was stiff in his arms, he attributed it to the pins that the maid was using to fasten the long, looping twists of her hair.
The elaborate coiffure should have warned him. Built to a height that indicated a Tsurani intention to impress, and fastened with dozens of fine jade and diamond pins, Mara’s headdress was crowned and glorified by a feathered tiara set with abalone.
‘We’re going to the Imperial Palace?’ Kevin demanded when he tore his eyes away long enough to notice that Arakasi was among the honour guard, dressed as a clerk. The Senior Strike Leader was wearing his ceremonial armour and his most imposing plumes. His spear and helm were streamered, and since the ribbons would not hold up to prolonged street wear, not to mention a fight, somebody important had to be the reason behind all the pomp.