‘We’re going to pay a visit to an official of the Emperor,’ Mara explained, her tone brittle. She let Arakasi hand her into the litter. He was better at the task than the Strike Leader, who was fine enough with a sword but clumsy when it came to managing a Lady in high-soled sandals, eight layers of overrobes, and a headdress that would have outmatched any King of the Isles’ coronation crown by a factor of ten.
‘You look like the confection on a wedding cake,’ Kevin observed. ‘This personage is important?’
At last he won a smile from her, though with her face painted and thyza-powdered, the expression was predictably stiff. ‘He thinks he is important. When one goes asking for favours, the difference becomes moot.’ Mindful of her finery, Mara settled back on her cushions. ‘Close the curtains, please,’ she instructed Arakasi.
As the bearers raised the litter poles and started off, a nonplussed Kevin fell into stride. He presumed that Mara wanted privacy to discourage gawkers and to preserve her elaborate costume from dust. His cheerful mood held through a long, traffic-harried trek to the Imperial Palace, and not even the elaborate protocols of the various gate-and doorkeepers put him off. Once he had become accustomed to the grand weight of ceremony that attended all matters within the Empire, he had discovered the purpose behind such manners. No official, however minor, was ever rudely interrupted by someone from the lower ranks. Ruling Lords or Ladies were not caught unprepared by a visitor; the Tsurani attention to ceremony ensured, according to rank, that all things happened in due course, and that the proper papers, or clothing, or refreshments would all be in place the moment the caller at last crossed the threshold.
The Keeper of the Imperial Seal was well prepared when his secretary finally let Mara and her retinue into the audience chamber. The cushions had been plumped since the last petitioner had departed. A fresh tray of fruit and juices sat upon the low side table, and the official himself had his robe on, his weighty collar and signet of office adjusted and straight, and his fleshy anatomy arranged with dignity.
A middle-aged man, the Keeper of the Imperial Seal had a florid face, a mouth all but lost amid multiple chins, and hooded, darting eyes that could probably name the coin worth of every jewel in Mara’s costume at a glance. He also liked sweets, as evidenced by the keljir leaves piled in his refuse basket. The gummy confection made from an extract of tree sap had rimmed his teeth and his tongue a faint red-orange, and his bow was perfunctory, owing to his bulk and his equal-sized sense of self-importance.
The chamber smelled of fat man’s sweat and old wax, by which Kevin deduced that the screens were probably stuck shut. Holding a satchel of inks, pens, and parchments for Arakasi’s needs, he braced himself for a boring wait as Mara begari the phrases of greeting. The official used this interval to open a drawer in his lap table and unwrap a keljir as if the task were a sacred ritual. He popped the sweet in his mouth, sucked noisily, and then condescended to reply.
‘I am well.’ His voice was deep, and too loud. He cleared his throat carefully, twice. ‘Lady Mara of the Acoma.’ He sucked, considered, then added, ‘I trust you are well?’
Mara inclined her head.
The official shifted his weight on his cushions, and the floor creaked ponderously. He shifted his candy with a click of teeth to the other bulging cheek. ‘What brings you to my office this fine morning, Lady Mara?’
Kevin heard her reply as a murmur, but could not make out single words. .
The official’s jaws stopped working on his treat. He cleared his throat, three times, very deliberately. His fingers drummed on his knee, leaving white spots in the flesh that the hem of his robe did not cover. Then he frowned, his eyebrows snarling together over his baby-round nose. ‘That’s – that’s a most unusual request, Lady Mara.’
The Lady elaborated, and hearing her mention ‘Midkemia’, Kevin pricked up his ears.
The Lady of the Acoma finished most clearly, ‘It is a whim.’ She shrugged in a manner that Kevin recognized as purely feminine, and calculated to disarm. ‘I would be pleased.’
The Keeper of the Imperial Seal shifted again. His frown became uncomfortable. Mara said something.
‘I know the rift is closed!’ the official blurted, startled into biting down hard on his sweet. He looked briefly as if he had cracked a tooth. ‘Your asking on this, a seemingly worthless concession, is odd. Most odd.’ He cleared his throat and said, ‘Most odd,’ again, as though he liked the sound of the words.
Kevin discovered himself leaning forward, and realized he had better not; a slave in this land must not be caught taking an interest in the affairs of his betters.
Mara spoke again: maddeningly, too low to be heard.
The official scratched his chin, obviously stymied. ‘Can I do that?’
‘It is written so, as a point of law,’ Mara returned. She beckoned to Arakasi, who strode forward and bowed behind her shoulder. ‘My clerk will be pleased to explain.’