‘If Frasai of the Tonmargu fears to confront Jiro, we’ll have a major shift in the ranks of the great families. It may be overdue,’ the Lord of the Bontura surmised. He did not need to belabour the fact that Frasai detested conflicts.
Stunned, Mara absorbed the implications of this unexpected twist. Sadly, she realized that Nacoya and Kevin had been right: after long years of brooding, Jiro was still angered that she had chosen his brother over him as her husband. Jiro apparently had discerned the only course left open to her, and had taken steps to ensure that she would fail – for if she lacked the support of Clan Ionani in a coalition to block the Minwanabi majority, her years of garnering influence and debts of vote all amounted to nothing. The Anasati heir could refuse to support Minwanabi and Acoma both, deadlocking the High Council. Her prediction to Tasaio about encroaching imperial rule by slow default would come true.
But Mara would gain little satisfaction, for a sworn enemy would then turn his full attention to the obliteration of her house in the instant that impasse became obvious. Clearly, the Lady of the Acoma would not live long enough to see her prophecy come true. Her hands instinctively touched her middle, as though to shelter the seed of Kevin’s child. Boy or girl, the babe might never know birth.
And if Jiro was patient and clever enough to survive as the conflict raged on, he could emerge as the logical compromise candidate for the office of Warlord. Deep in thought as she sorted implications, Mara lost herself in the tangled turns of the Great Game.
‘Lady, are you ill?’
Lord Iliando’s question snapped her from contemplation.
‘No, I am only . . . tired.’ She waved away her host’s concern and said, ‘You are in my debt.’
The man inclined his head, acknowledging this was true. Regret coloured his tone. ‘I may not compromise my honour, Mara. You hold but my single vote in council, and only under circumstances that cause me no family or clan dishonour. Those were our conditions.’
‘I would demand no such breach of integrity,’ Mara assured him. ‘Instead, I request that you marshal Clan Ionani’s support. If you can convince your kinsmen to support the Ionani Warchief against House Minwanabi, you will have satisfied your debt to me as well as your clan’s honour.’
Iliando shrugged. ‘Even those who will back Tasaio in the end will go through the motions of supporting Lord Tonmargu’s bid through one round of voting, Mara. It is expected.’
‘Don’t confuse my request with a pro forma show of respect for Frasai,’ Mara interjected. Beyond the screen, the first grey pallor of dawn had begun to drive back the night. She was rapidly running out of time, and that realization vastly shortened her patience, ‘I require as many vows as possible against the chance that conflict might arise between Tasaio and your Warchief. In that event, I depend upon the assurance that Clan Ionani will stand resolute until I clearly show you it is no longer useful. Particularly since Jiro of the Anasati may replace Lord Tonmargu as Warchief by this time tomorrow.’
Lord Iliando sighed deeply. ‘You ask a difficult bargain. I will see what I can do, starting with Lord Ukudabi. He is influential, and his cousin, Lord Jadi, was ruined by Tasaio’s uncle, so his house bears no love for the Minwanabi.’
‘Good.’ Mara set aside her half-emptied chocha cup and arose, ‘I will see the Lord of the Tonmargu myself.’ As her host saw her through to his outer door, she concluded, ‘This is more than a matter of feud between myself and Tasaio, my Lord Iliando. The Empire has been plunged into change, and it is up to you and me and others like us to decide whether the result is good or ill. Remember this: no matter what else you may think, I serve the Empire.’
Once she was outside, Mara’s need for haste took over. She gave rapid instructions to Lujan, climbed into her litter, and endured a jostling ride as her bearers trotted through the city. The streets at that hour were deserted but for vegetable sellers driving laden needra wagons, and priests chanting daybreak devotions. Too fraught with nerves to feel sleepy, Mara closed stinging eyes until she arrived at her destination, an unobtrusive but beautifully appointed villa in the old city, with guards in blue armour at the gates.
Even as her bearers bent to set down her litter, Mara pulled aside the curtain and called, ‘Mara of the Acoma!’
The officer on duty approached and offered a salute. ‘My Lady, what service?’
‘Announce to your Lord that I wish to see him, at once!’
The plumed officer returned a bow of impeccable politeness and strode inside the gates. Despite the early hour, Kamatsu of the Shinzawai was not in bed. Already finished with breakfast, he sent word that Mara be escorted inside, to the comfortable study off his garden.
In a secluded chamber surrounded by flowers and greenery, Mara found the Lord of the Shinzawai in conference with another figure in the black robe of a magician.