‘When shall we meet?’ Tasaio said in a voice that betrayed satisfaction.
‘The day after tomorrow,’ said Mara. ‘Send word to the Emperor, and the other council members, and leave me free to muster the support I have promised.’
‘It shall be interesting to see whether the Lady can meet her obligation. If she forswear, she will not leave the city alive,’ Tasaio ended. He returned the shallowest of bows, barely more than an inclination of his head. Then he spun with the quickness of a sarcat and walked back to his own lines.
Beaten down by a sense of hopelessness greater than any she had known in life, Mara returned to Lujan’s protection.
From the sidelines, the imperial herald proclaimed, ‘This conference is ended! Depart in peace and honour, and know the gods are pleased that no blood was shed this night.’
As Mara’s officers called orders for the Acoma army to disperse, the Minwanabi First Adviser drew breath to address his master; but Tasaio held up his hand. ‘She is defeated, Incomo.’ He watched Mara’s retreating figure, a knowing smile on his lips. ‘I have seen that look in the eyes of warriors waiting for death upon the battlefield.’ He gave a half shrug. ‘Oh, they fight well, and do honour to their ancestors, but they know they are fated to die. Mara knows I have won.’
‘Master,’ pleaded Incomo, ‘I would be less than your dutiful servant if I did not point out that there may be unexpected turns in your assessment. There are other issues at stake beyond who may claim the white and gold. Ichindar has fathered no son. At this moment, many of the Imperials might whisper that the time draws nigh to install another member of the royal line upon the throne. Jiro of the Anasati could be their choice; Kamatsu of the Shinzawai can trace ties to royalty, and his son is well regarded. What if you were to discover this offer is but -‘
Tasaio sharply cut off speculation. ‘Mara knows I have won. It is over.’ Oddly piqued, as if he had relished a challenge that would not materialize, the Lord of the Minwanabi signalled his Force Commander to wheel his columns of soldiers and march back to their camp.
Left alone with the mournful song of the butana, Incomo lingered behind. He could not imagine how Mara might contrive to shift the course of events yet to come. But he knew this conflict was far from over. At best, Mara had bought herself the gift of a few months more in which to plot; at worst, she would have some trap in mind, and the Minwanabi would be swallowed by it. Chilled by a heavy gust, Incomo caught his flapping robes about him and hurried to overtake his master. As he picked his path downhill in the darkness, he mulled over the most prudent course: to send inquiries to his agents for the latest information they might uncover about Mara’s intentions, or to complete his unfinished last testament and death poem. Caught by a deepening sense of finality, Incomo decided to do both.
The night’s progression of events did not end with the meeting on the hilltop. Mara arrived back at her town house feeling tired to her bones. She shed her outer robe and pushed back strands of hair torn loose by the incessant wind, and only then came out of her daze long enough to understand what Saric was telling her.
An imperial messenger had called in her absence.
‘What did he say?’ Mara asked dully, and by the concern on Saric’s face, she realized she had asked him to repeat himself.
Tactful, Saric explained; and the particulars of Ichindar’s latest proclamation struck Mara like a blow to the heart.
Her mind went numb after the first words: that the Emperor of Tsuranuanni was buying up all Midkemian slaves belonging to subjects of the Empire. The words ‘fair price’ and ‘Imperial Treasury’ seemed sounds made by cold winds, an evil extension of the nightmares brought by the butana. Reeling as if the underpinnings of her life had all been torn asunder, Mara did not feel Saric’s hands help her from the hallway into the sitting room. The cushion that supported her did not seem real, and the tears that sprang into her eyes seemed those of somebody else.
Her body, her mind, her heart – all seemed open wounds of anguish.
‘Why?’ she asked dully. ‘Why?’
Saric had not released her hand, mostly because she clung still to the warmth of. his touch. He offered what comfort he could, though he guessed the futility of such efforts. In the gentlest of tones, he tried to soften the insupportable. ‘It is said that the Light of Heaven will sell Kevin’s countrymen back to the Midkemian King. All slaves who were prisoners of the war will be shipped downriver and sent through the rift. The original rift has been reopened outside the City of the Plains.’
Flinching outright at the mention of her beloved’s name, Mara could not prevent brimming eyes from spilling over. ‘The Emperor makes free men of slaves?’