Caught off guard, Mara tried to wave the matter off. ‘Nothing has changed, save -‘
Nacoya put her old hands firmly upon Mara’s shoulders and looked her mistress in the eyes. ‘Much has changed. Before, you were seen as a resourceful girl, who could escape traps and strengthen her house and defend herself. Even after Jingu’s death, the mighty of the Empire could cast your success off as luck. But now, by making others relinquish honours, you announce to the world that you are a threat! Tasaio must act. And he must do so soon. The longer he waits, the more his allies and vassals will come to doubt his resolve. Before, he might remain content to wait for a clear opportunity; now he must do something. You have made him desperate.’
Mara felt a sudden current of cold. With certainty she knew Nacoya was correct in her appraisal. Made nervous as fresh worries tangled with others arising from her trade difficulties, she closed her eyes a moment. ‘You are right.’ Smiling thinly in chagrin, she regained her poise and added, ‘I have acted precipitately and . . . well, the best that can be done is to hold council with my staff as soon as I have refreshed myself. We must. . . make plans.’
Nacoya nodded grumpy approval. As Kevin escorted Mara to her quarters, the old woman fretted, not only because Mara acted without thought, but also because she looked tired, truly bone-tired. As many years as Nacoya had served, she had never known the daughter of her heart to appear so worn.
The Acoma First Adviser sighed and shook her head. The Acoma ministers could meet and talk all they liked; plans might be made and acted upon, but truly, what could be done to ensure Acoma security and prosperity that had not been tried already? Feeling her age, and the ache in every joint that suffered from arthritis, the old woman shuffled slowly down the corridor. Every day since the Lord Sezu had died and left his holdings to his daughter, Nacoya had known fear that her beloved Mara might become a casualty of the Great Game. Yet the Lady had proven herself a capable, cunning player. Why, then, should the fear be worse today, or was it just an aged woman’s bones protesting a life of long service? Nacoya shivered, though the afternoon was warm. At every step she took, she seemed to feel the earth of her own grave beneath the soles of her feet.
Word returned from Ontoset. Mara read the message twice, a stormy frown on her face. Restraining a vicious urge to tear something, she hurled the parchment onto her writing desk. The move was entirely unexpected. But Netoha had refused her very generous fees for the use of the rift on his lands.
‘It makes no sense!’ Mara exploded aloud, and in the corner of her study, Arakasi raised one eyebrow.
Dressed as a gardener, the Spy Master contemplated the edge on the small sickle he had been using to prune kekali bushes. He still insisted on keeping his return to the estate a secret, for his suspicions concerning Tasaio’s penetration of Mara’s security were far from laid to rest. The mistress might not wish to talk the matter through, her mind being diverted by other things, but Arakasi had his own worries. He currently spent as much time investigating servants and slaves upon the Acoma estates as he did conducting the business his mistress required of him. Only Nacoya knew of his concerns, as the old woman was above suspicion.
Arakasi tested the edge on the laminated tool with his finger, and assumed a posture that would appear to an onlooker as if the Lady berated a servant for carelessness. ‘Mistress, I have discovered little about this man, Netoha. His motives are not public. He must have cogent reasons for refusing your offer; obviously, he cannot do business across the rift himself, because of your trading rights. Yet I cannot tell you what his reasons may be.’
Mara tugged at a tight hairpin in frustration. Her message to Fumita of the Assembly had been returned unopened, so her last recourse to gain her trade concessions was this Netoha. Although Arakasi did not care to be pressured, she said, ‘Can you get someone close to the Chichimechas to discover what these reasons may be?’
‘I can but attempt to, Lady.’ Trying hard not to look harried, Arakasi added, it is unlikely we shall learn anything new, but I can have someone exchange gossip with the house and field servants. Netoha’s workers are largely barbarians -‘
Mara broke in, ‘Midkemians?’
Arakasi nodded. ‘The renegade magician, Milamber, freed all his countrymen before leaving, and this Netoha employs them as workers. I would say from reports out of Ontoset that they do well enough as farmers. In any event, these are likely to be more garrulous than our own slaves, so getting information shouldn’t prove difficult. If, that is, they know anything worth hearing.’