Arakasi, who was so gifted at changing roles and guises; he was a consummate actor, easily capable of feigning passionate hatred.
Mara closed her eyes and recalled conversations between herself and Arakasi over the years. The man couldn’t have betrayed her. Could he? She sighed, indulging herself in that simple release in the privacy of her quarters. She was certain in her heart that Arakasi couldn’t be a Minwanabi agent; the hatred for Tasaio and his family was too real, but could someone else have turned the Spy Master? Someone who could, perhaps, offer Arakasi a better position from which to conduct his war against the Minwanabi? With the price for that more secure position the Acoma’s betrayal?
Mara’s fingers tightened until they left white marks on her flesh. If the Spy Master was the relli in her nest, everything she had done was for naught. At this moment Nacoya’s carping would have been welcome, a sign that errors could be rectified.
But the old woman was now ashes, dust amid the dust of a thousand Acoma ancestors whose honour Mara was entrusted to keep.
Again she tormented herself with the question: How could she have held such a deep, instinctive rapport with a man who wished her harm? How could she?
The night held no answers.
Mara dropped tired hands in her lap and regarded her abandoned quill pen. Though the lamps blazed brightly around her, and her best guards stood vigilant at her door, she felt cornered. With a hand that shook distressingly, she reached out and took up pen and parchment. She scraped dried ink from the nib, dipped it in the waiting ink jar, and wrote in formal style in the centre of the top of the page the name of Kamatsu of the Shinzawai.
An extended interval passed before she could force herself to continue. Neither could she simplify her pain by sending a servant to fetch her scribe. Her promise to Nacoya was sacred. In her own hand, she completed the ritual phrases of the proposal for marriage, asking Kamatsu’s honoured son, Hokanu of the Shinzawai, to reconsider after her former refusal, and take her hand as consort of the Lady of the Acoma.
Tears welled in Mara’s eyes as she reached the final line, added her signature, and affixed her family chop. She folded and sealed the document quickly, clapped for a servant, and gave her instructions with her throat tight with emotion.
‘Have this paper delivered at once to the marriage brokers in Sulan-Qu. They are to present it with all speed to Kamatsu of the Shinzawai.’
The servant accepted the paper and bowed before his mistress. ‘Lady Mara, your will shall be carried out at first light.’
Mara’s brows gathered instantly into a frown, ‘I said, at once! Find a messenger and send the document with all speed!’
The servant prostrated himself on the floor. ‘Your will, Lady.’ ”
She waved him impatiently away. If she noted his quick and puzzled glance at the darkness beyond the screen, she did not call him back in allowance for the unreasonable hour. If she delayed the proposal to Kamatsu until morning, she knew well she would not be able to send the document on at all. Better the messenger sta.nd a few hours in the dark, waiting for the broker to arise, than risk another opportunity to change her mind and break her vow.
The chamber suddenly seemed too stifling, and the scent of the akasi cloying. Mara shoved her writing table aside. Filled with a desperate need to see Kevin, she stumbled to her feet and hurried down the lit corridors, past rows of vigilant guards, to the nursery wing.
At the entrance, half-blind in the sudden dark, Mara hesitated. She blinked back a fresh flood of tears and waited for her eyes to adjust; the pungent healer’s herbs and poultice scents lay heavily upon the air. Finally, she crossed the threshold.
Moonlight turned the closed screen copper and carved the rows of watchful warriors outside into dark silhouettes. In no way comforted by their vigilance, Mara made her way to the mat where Kevin lay, his bandages white smears in the gloom, and his torso twisted in the sheets as though his rest had been troubled. She paused, looked to Ayaki, and reassured herself that the boy was more settled, asleep with his mouth open, his hands half-curled on his pillow. The scratch on his neck was healing more quickly than Kevin’s hurts, which had been treated less promptly in the field. But the assassin had left more lasting marks on the little boy’s mind. Relieved he did not suffer another nightmare, Mara moved past, careful not to disturb him. She dropped to her knees by Kevin’s mat and tugged to disentangle his limp weight from the constricting snarl of the bedclothes.
He stirred at her touch and opened his eyes. ‘Lady?’
Mara silenced his murmur with her lips.