Mara slipped her arms into the rose-coloured silken robe the maid held up for her. She turned and saw Kevin standing naked, his breeches and shirt across his arm, and a dumbfounded look on his face. The Lady’s expression remained stern, her dark eyes fathomless and hard. ‘Jican tells me that the work clearing the forest for my needra fields goes slowly. This is mostly owing to your countrymen, who complain and malinger over their appointed share of work.’ The maid with the comb lifted the hair from Mara’s nape and began expertly piling it into an elaborately knotted headdress. Mara continued in a level tone, despite the fact that her head was tugged this way and that as the maid separated each long lock for arrangement. ‘I wish you to take charge,’ Mara announced. ‘Spring will be upon us all too swiftly, and the needra herds will increase. You shall have power over my overseers and the authority to change any detail you see fit. In return, your countrymen will cease their laziness. They will cut timber and clear the new fields before the first calf is thrown. You may coddle their needs so long as the work gets done. Fail to complete this task, and I shall have one man chosen at random and hung for each day my new pastures remain unfinished past the Spring Welcoming Festival.’
Kevin appeared puzzled, but he nodded. ‘Shall I return tonight, or –’ he began.
‘You will need to stay with the workers in the meadow camp.’
‘When shall I return –’
Coldly Mara interrupted. ‘When I choose to send for you. Now go.’
Kevin bowed, his face revealing bafflement and anger. Still carrying his clothing, he departed the room. The soldier on duty by the door showed no change in expression as the barbarian stepped into the corridor. The Midkemian looked at the impassive soldier as if he had said something, then let loose a burst of ironic laughter. ‘Damned if I can figure her out, either,’ he confided in tight frustration. The soldier’s eyes fixed upon Kevin, but the features remained unchanged.
Despite being surrounded by servants, Mara overheard Kevin’s comment. She heard the pain that he did not bother to conceal, and closed her eyes against inexplicably threatening tears. Tsurani decorum kept her from showing emotion, though her inner self might cry out with the desire to call Kevin back. As a lover she wished to ease his pain, but as Lady of the Acoma she must not be ruled by the heart. Mara kept her anguish behind a mask, while her servants worked unobtrusively on her person.
Afraid to move, afraid even to sigh lest her control break into an uncontrollable bout of weeping, Mara called in a small voice for a meal. As much as she longed for release, tears would be shameful for the Lady of the Acoma. To be shaken by a barbarian slave’s words, to feel desolate over his absence, was not appropriate for the Lady of a great house. Mara swallowed her pain, which was doubled by knowing she had wounded Kevin in saving herself. She found no relief in restraint nor did the silent disciplinary chants learned in Lashima’s temple help ease the ache. When her breakfast tray arrived, she picked at the food without appetite and stared into empty space. Her servants remained dutiful and silent. Bound to traditions as rigid as her own, they waited for her next command without judgment upon her behaviour.
Mara at last signalled, and servants removed the breakfast tray with the food barely touched. Determined to master her inner turmoil, Mara called her advisers to conference. They met in her study, Keyoke alert as always, his Force Commander’s plumes the only decoration on his well-scarred, common armour. He had been up before dawn to oversee a patrol on the borders, and his sandals were still dew-drenched and dirty. Nacoya, who usually dragged in the mornings, perked up sharply as she completed her bow and noticed Kevin’s absence. She breathed a perceptible sigh of relief: at long last her mistress had come to her senses and sent the tall barbarian away.
Angered by the old woman’s worldly-wise satisfaction, Mara repressed a desire to slap Nacoya’s wizened cheek. Then, shamed by her inappropriate resentment, she looked for her hadonra’s arrival. At the point when she was ready to send her runner slave to find him, Jican arrived. Puffing, he bowed very low and apologized profusely for his tardiness. As Mara belatedly recalled that his delay had been caused by her summarily rearranging the work roster, she cut Jican’s apologies short.
‘I want a list of every asset we have that you feel might be vulnerable to exploitation by enemies,’ Mara instructed. ‘There must be other transactions aside from our silk interests that Desio could damage, either by undercutting prices, or through buying off the guilds who rate the quality of our goods. There are markets he might strangle, trade routes he could disrupt, agents that could be bribed, and buyers who could be threatened. Boats could be sunk, wagons overturned, warehouses burned; none of this must be allowed to occur.’
‘That does not seem to be Desio’s style,’ a dry voice said from the doorway that opened onto the outer pathways. Arakasi stepped in through the partially opened screen, a shadow against the misty grey of dawn.
Mara barely managed to repress her surprise; Keyoke and the guards in the hallway all lowered their hands from their weapons. The Spy Master bowed and chose a place among the advisers, and the furrow over his brows indicated he had more to say. Mara indicated her permission, and the Spy Master sat at the table, his long fingers folded in his lap.
He continued as if his presence had been expected all along. ‘Except that the young Lord of the Minwanabi has not held power for long enough to evolve much style.’ As if he were still formulating his conclusion, the Spy Master stroked the merchant’s plaited scalp lock he had cultivated for his latest guise on the road. One thing is clear, though: Desio is spending huge sums of money upon something. The markets from here to Ambolina are choked with Minwanabi goods, and from the scant information from our clerk in Desio’s employ, I would presume the unaccounted money is being invested in gifts, bribes, or favours.’
Agitated at this news, Mara chewed her lip. ‘Bribes for what?’ she mused softly. ‘There must be some means of finding out.’
Keyoke’s deep voice interrupted. ‘This morning, my soldiers caught a strange herder lurking in the needra fields that border the Tuscalora estates. They took him for questioning, but he died on his dagger rather than name his true master.’
Arakasi’s eyes slitted speculatively as Nacoya said, ‘He was probably one of Lord Jidu’s spies, sent to check the guard on the bridge across the gorge.’ The First Adviser pursed her lips, as if thought of the Acoma’s southern neighbour brought a bad taste to her mouth. ‘The Tuscalora chocha-la harvest is nearly ready for market, and by now even Jidu’s thick-witted hadonra must guess that his wagons will not be using Mara’s bridge to reach the road without paying toll for their passage.’
The Spy Master leaned sharply forward. ‘I would not count on the possibility that herder was Jidu’s.’
Mara nodded. ‘Neither do I take your hunches lightly, Arakasi.’ To Keyoke she added, ‘We must send a patrol to guard Lord Jidu’s borders – unobtrusively, of course. His warriors are good, but they may not realize how much my enemies might gain if their master’s crops burned.’
Keyoke nodded, the hands at rest upon his sword unmoving as he contemplated this touchy assignment. Lord Jidu of the Tuscalora might be lax in his spending habits, but his soldiers were fine warriors.
Jican diffidently offered advice on this point. ‘Lord Jidu hires migrant workers from Neskesha to help with the harvest, when his crop is abundant. This has been a bountiful year. Perhaps some of the warriors could disguise themselves as chocha-la pickers and infiltrate the workers in the fields. The overseers would not know every strange face, and since our men would be drawing no pay, their presence might pass unnoticed for many days.’
Keyoke expanded this proposition. ‘Better, and for our warriors’ honour, we could stage battle manoeuvres in the meadows beside Lord Jidu’s estates. Our own workers can infiltrate the groups of Tuscalora pickers, and if trouble arises, they could slip away and alert our troops.’
Mara nodded decisively. ‘Let this be done.’ She dismissed her advisers, assuring Jican she would study the finance papers brought for her review after