‘I am loath to relinquish control of the Empire back to the High Council,’ Ichindar resumed, returned to the subject that had brought her. He lowered his voice so the priests and the scribe would not hear. ‘I also have come to understand that the chance arises to begin afresh.’ He released Mara’s hand with a half-smile of chagrin that oddly reminded her of Hoppara. Then, gesturing for his servant to return his formal headdress to his brow, he swept back up the stair to his lofty throne.
Once again seated in state, he framed his official answer. ‘Whatever will occur on the morrow, the Empire will be forever changed. The magicians have held council on this issue, but they are reluctant to intervene further in politics, since the risk of the Enemy is past. Many of my allies against that threat have withdrawn’ – he indicated the empty chairs upon the pyramid steps — ‘some as a result of my condemnation of Axantucar.’ Ichindar studied Mara a long and final time. ‘I think your plan has merit, but the risks you court are equal to, if not greater than, others you wish to avoid.’ The point did not have to be stated that more than Lords might fall if Mara’s proposal went awry. The Empire itself might be plunged into bloody ruin, ‘I shall send word in the morning of my decision,’ Ichindar allowed. ‘Tasaio has already requested a meeting, with all Ruling Lords in attendance — it’s just this side of a demand I appear before the High Council to answer charges, I think.’
Now seeming only a boy wearing a costly weight of jewels, sparkling metals, and silk, Ichindar sighed. ‘I expect I have no choice. I shall confront Tasaio.’ He ended the audience with a tired smile. ‘Whatever befalls, Lady Mara, you have my regard. Await my word tomorrow, and may the gods protect you and the name of your ancestors.’
Mara bowed low, feeling admiration for this young man, trained since childhood to revere tradition, and yet gifted with imagination and intelligence enough to see beyond false glory to the higher good of his people. Aware that he was special, and that his office might never be blessed with another of such unbiased perceptions, Mara left the great hall.
In the imperial anteroom her own party awaited, including Saric and Lujan, and Arakasi as attending servant, along with a picked honour guard of warriors. As one of Ichindar’s ministers escorted the Acoma contingent out of the imperial quarters, Mara remained deep in thought. Outside, as she was helped by Arakasi into her litter, she said, ‘Home, quickly. We have much to do and dangerously little time.’
Mara held council throughout the night. Lords of many parties and clans made their way to her town house to seek her wisdom. Two hours before dawn, the Lady gathered an escort, and departed in her litter to appear before the one ruler who had failed to call. To the sleepy guard who answered Lujan’s knock upon that man’s town house gate, she demanded, ‘Tell Lord lliando that Mara of the Acoma waits without for his welcome.’ The disgruntled Lord of the Bontura arrived a short time later, his hair still in spikes from his pillow, and his robe mismatched with his slippers. Through an expression still surly from being wakened, he spoke the words to welcome Lady Mara into his home. When she was comfortably installed in his sitting room, and servants were called from their beds to attend to the courtesy of refreshments and chocha, he spoke bluntly. ‘Mara, why do you arrive unbidden at this hour of the night?’
Mara signalled for Lujan and her honour guard to withdraw, ‘I come to ask your help.’
Iliando held up a hand. ‘You have my sympathy in your time of difficulty, but as for opposing Tasaio -‘
Mara snapped erect. ‘What?’ Had the Lord of the Bontura spies among the Minwanabi retinue, or had one of Incomo’s staff been too free with his tongue? None but her inner circle should have known the contents of her discussion with her enemy on the hill.
‘Come, girl, your meeting with Tasaio atop the hill with two armies at your backs could hardly be kept secret, could it?’ Mara’s expression showed that she had hoped it could. ‘I will save you time. I have already given my support to Jiro of the Anasati,’ the Lord of the Bontura confessed.
A slave arrived with the chocha tray and unobtrusively began to fill cups. While the older Lord blew on his cup to cool the scalding drink, Mara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jiro? What is he seeking in this?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’ The Lord of the Bontura unwisely tried a sip, burned his tongue, and set down his cup in distaste. ‘Mind the chocha,’ he warned unnecessarily. Out of patience, but tactful enough to keep still, Mara waited for the elderly Lord to qualify his statement.
‘Jiro has sent word to all members of Clan Ionani, making plain his beliefs that he considers his house in better standing than that of Lord Tonmargu.’
‘So he bids to be Warchief,’ Mara surmised. Suddenly she needed the chocha as an excuse to busy her hands. Nerves, and tension, and the uneasy adjustments her body was making to pregnancy were all exacting a toll.