A surge of protest moved within Mara. ‘Kevin is —’ Her voice caught and a rush of emotion caused a sting of tears beneath her eyelids. Forcing her grief and pain behind rigid control, she ran a damp hand over her face. ‘Kevin was right. We are a murderous race, and we waste ourselves in killing one another.’
The butana howled, shaking the screen, and sending chill draughts across the room. Mara repressed a shiver and did not at first notice Saric’s request to speak. When she saw, and signalled her acquiescence, he questioned her condemnation with a buried hint of impatience. ‘Mistress, the answer is plain? It does not matter if Minwanabi is not defeated, so long as the Emperor wins, yes?’
Mara’s eyes opened wide. ‘Explain this.’
Saric searched for words to express the concept which hovered upon the edge of his mind. ‘If the Light of Heaven can bolster his position, can find enough support in the High Council for his absolute rule -‘
Mara shot upright, causing her loosely pinned hair to tumble in waves down her back. Ignoring the maid who rushed to remedy the untidiness, the Lady of the Acoma knotted her brows in a frown. ‘Then he could order Minwanabi. . .’ She fought against the reflexive instinct to oppose any break in tradition and embrace the alien concept of absolute rule. ‘Leave me,’ she said with sudden sharpness to her circle of advisers. ‘I have much to think about.’
As Saric arose with the others, Mara retained him with a command. ‘Send word to the Light of Heaven, Saric. Beg him for an audience. Swear upon whatever honour our name holds that the safety of the Empire depends upon this meeting.’
The young adviser repressed curiosity. ‘When, mistress?’
Over the incessant noise of the butana, Mara called, ‘As soon as he is able, but no later than one hour before noon today.’ Her voice ceased sounding whipped, as her mind weighed options, discarding those that were based on unfounded hope, rather than sound possibility; for inspiration had arrived at a moment nearly too late. ‘If Tasaio’s ambition is to be thwarted, I will need every minute of time.’
26 – Resolution
The Emperor listened.
In his grand audience hall, a chamber large enough to house twenty companies of warriors, Ichindar, ninety-first in an unbroken line, sat atop his ceremonial throne. The imposing chair was ancient wood, overlaid with gold and topaz, with massive rubies, emeralds, and onyx stones faced into the sides and back. It rested on a raised pyramidal dais, with a course of steps upon each side. The floor at the base was inset with a vast sunwheel pattern in warm tones of agate, white opal, and more topaz. Upon each side of the huge pyramid, twenty Imperial Whites stood guard upon the stairs. The floor directly before Mara held chairs for high priests and advisers, but only three were present: a scribe who took notes for distribution to those temple representatives who were absent, the Chief Priest of Juran, and the High Father Superior of Lashima. Mara had been grateful for the prelate of Lashima’s presence, hoping it was a favourable omen, for that man had officiated at her interrupted ordination, on the day Keyoke had arrived to take a seventeen-year-old child home as Ruling Lady of the Acoma.
Stripped of even her honour guard, for warriors were forbidden in formal audience with the Emperor, she voiced the ‘ast part of her proposed plan. An imperial scribe sitting to Mara’s right hurriedly transcribed her words for the archives, as her phrases echoed into the cavernous chamber. With the hall’s vast domed skylights, gold-and-crystal-framed windows, and polished marble floors, the sound of her voice made her feel physically diminished.
At the close of her last phrase, she bowed deeply and stood as protocol dictated, her hands crossed in salute at her breast, behind the low railing beyond which no petitioner might approach. Trembling despite her best efforts, she awaited the Light of Heaven’s reaction. As the minutes passed, and the silence became prolonged, she dared not even raise her eyes for fear she might find disapproval on the youthful countenance atop the dais.
‘Much of what you propose rests upon speculation, Lady,’ the Emperor said on a note of unquestioned authority.
Her eyes still locked upon the elaborately patterned floor, Mara said, ‘Majesty, it is our only hope.’
‘What you suggest . . . is unprecedented.’