Tasaio lifted tawny, black-lashed eyes and returned a merciless stare, ‘I will not be able to stay and lead this raid to ensure that things will go right. Nevertheless, it is often said that battles are won and lost before the first arrow is shot. The Acoma will certainly emerge with losses. I will spend my last hours before I depart for Dustari preparing for every imaginable contingency, and our Force Commander will receive instructions as detailed as I can make them. Irrilandi was Keyoke’s boyhood friend and knows his temper. He should be able to anticipate which action Keyoke will take in response to our efforts. If I give Irrilandi detailed instructions for each option, he will emerge victorious.’
Incomo bristled at the doubt implied in Irrilandi’s skills; still, the criticism was fair relative to the man who had been the Warlord’s Subcommander, the First Adviser conceded as Tasaio and his aide marched smartly from the hall. Desio’s cousin was probably the most skilled field officer in the Empire, having earned a reputation for valour and cunning in the rise of the Minwanabi under Jingu, then refining his natural talents through four years commanding the Alliance for War on the barbarian world.
Incomo sighed, his only sign of regret that after one last night of planning, this gifted young noble would depart by river to begin this journey across the Sea of Blood to the ruins at Banganok. There Tasaio would join the men already in camp with the desert raiders, to effect the second stage of the plot to be set in motion by the silk raid. The campaign against the Xacatecas in Dustari must be stepped up, else the demand for an Acoma relief force could never be bribed through the council. Assigned the more demeaning worries of bath water and pretty serving girls, the Minwanabi First Adviser skirted a sweeper as bent as time, and shuffled his way out of the vast hall.
Mara paced. She spun in a tight circle, repressed an impulse to kick a pillow, and said, ‘Call him back. At once!’
The scribe, whose slates lay in a disorderly stack by the desk in the Lady’s study, bowed low and touched his forehead to the floor. ‘Your will, Mistress.’ He scrambled erect and hurried from the room, too intimidated by Mara’s anger to resent the fact that she had ordered him off to the farthest reaches of the estate as though he possessed a runner slave’s fitness.
As the servant’s footsteps dwindled down the passage, Nacoya clucked in reproof. ‘Daughter, the troubles you shoulder are difficult, but that should not let you take liberties. You have worked yourself into a deplorable state.’
Mara whirled, white with fury. ‘Old woman, your nattering is most unwelcome.’
Nacoya raised a furrowed brow. ‘Worry has made you unreasonable.’ Her gaze fastened unerringly upon Kevin’s name, repeatedly scribed on the slates strewn around the floor. Narrowing her eyes as if trying to peer into her foster-daughter’s heart, the former nurse said, ‘Or love has.’
Now Mara did kick the cushion. It sailed through the screen and through close-woven branches of akasi; flower petals exploded in profusion, and a cloud of pollen showered the floor. ‘Old woman, you try me beyond tolerance! Love has nothing to do with this. I’m angry because I allowed myself to send him away out of fear, and cowardice of any sort is unacceptable.’
Nacoya fastened at once on the key phrase. ‘Fear . . . a barbarian slave?’
‘I feared his blasphemous opinions on the working of Fate’s Wheel, and the effect that attitude might have upon my son. And I’m put out with myself for feeling this. Kevin is my property, is he not? I may have him sold or killed at my whim, yes?’ Mara sighed in frustration. ‘For these last two months I’ve had his behaviour watched, and he has conducted himself well. The fields are at long last clear, and not one of his countrymen has been hanged to speed things along. And the entire time he has shown the proper respect toward his superiors.’
Nacoya’s sternness softened. She considered her mistress’s fevered eyes and the flush on her cheeks, then regrettably concluded that little more could be done. The girl had come to love the barbarian. Though Mara still didn’t understand that fact yet, neither tact nor reason could turn back time. Against any sane judgment, Kevin would be back by nightfall.
Nacoya shut her eyes in long-suffering patience. The timing could hardly be worse, with news of a coming Minwanabi offensive just delivered from Arakasi’s able hands. But one could not fault a young woman for turning to comfort in a crisis. Nacoya could only pray that Mara would tire of the slave quickly, or at least learn that nothing more than sexual release could come from such a relationship. The Lady must see reason, and give attention to more appropriate suitors. Once married to a man of rank, firm on her seat as Ruling Lady with a fit consort at her side, Mara could sleep with anyone she chose — her husband must accept this was a right of her office, as mistresses would be for a Ruling Lord. But finding a consort, that was the problem.