The servant bowed, smiled, and mentioned that additional maids awaited her pleasure if the Lady of the Acoma or her First Adviser required assistance with their bath or dress.
'My own servants will suffice,' Mara said tartly. Here of all places, she wished no strangers near her person. The instant the bearers had deposited the last of her baggage, she clicked the screen closed. Papewaio needed no prompting to begin a swift and thorough inspection of her chambers. Nacoya, however, seemed all but in shock. Then Mara remembered. Except for one brief trip when she had presented Mara's petition for betrothal with the Anasati son, the old nurse had probably never left Acoma estates in all her long life.
Memories of Lano lent Mara the insight to manage. The instant Papewaio had determined the rooms were safe, she stationed him to guard the door. Nacoya looked at her mistress, a hint of relief in her eyes. 'With Jingu making surety for the safety of his guests, I think we may expect the peace of a state function to apply.'
Mara shook her head. 'I think wishing has fogged your sharp eyes, old mother. Jingu offers his life as guarantee against violence by his people, and by other guests, that is all. He makes no guarantees against "accidents".' Then, before fear could get the best of her, she commanded Nacoya to draw a bath and make her ready for the banquet and her first personal confrontation with the Lord of the Minwanabi.
* * *
Unlike the great hall of the Anasati, which was dark and airless and musty with old wax, the gathering chamber of the Minwanabi was all space and light. Mara paused in the gallery-style entrance to admire the view before joining the guests who gathered like so many plumed birds below. Built in a natural hollow at the very crest of the hill, with entrance and dais at opposite ends, the room itself was immense. A high, beamed ceiling was spaced with screens that opened to the sky, overhanging a deep-sunken main floor. Several small observation galleries dotted the rim of the hall, allowing a view of floor below and, through the doors to balconies outside, the surrounding countryside. Stone pillars supported the centre tree, while a pebbled brook trickled through squares of flowering trees, tile mosaics and a small reflecting pool beneath the dais. Somewhere, sometime, the Minwanabi had patronized an architect and an artist who had possessed uncommon genius. The gifted artisans must have served an earlier generation of Minwanabi Lords, for the most garish clothing in the crowd was that worn by the Lord and the Lady on the dais. Mara winced, less impressed than most Tsurani by the gown of green and orange worn by the wife. Mara almost wept at the thought of all this surrounding beauty wasted upon an enemy like Jingu.
'The gods may have blessed this house with extreme wealth,' muttered Nacoya. 'But the divine ones left little room for common sense, I say. Think how many insects those sky ports let in, not to mentiotfdust and dirt and rain.'
Mara smiled indulgently on her old nurse. 'Would you try to mother even a nest of serpents? Besides, I'm sure the Minwanabi cover their roof well when the weather is bad. Jingu's wife wears too much makeup to get wet unexpectedly.'
Nacoya subsided, with a comment that her eyes were not that good, nor had they been since she was youthful. Mara patted her adviser's hand in reassurance. Then, resplendent in a gown embroidered with seed pearls, her coiled hair laced with green ribbons, she began her descent to the main floor. Papewaio followed her in dress armour; although he escorted his mistress and her First Adviser to a social occasibn, he moved with vigilance more common to the battlefield. In most ways, state gatherings of Tsurani were more dangerous. Beneath the manners and the finery, ambitions changed; as alliances shifted within the Game of the Council, any Lord present could become the enemy. Few would hesitate to damage the Acoma, if his own stock might rise as a result. And on Minwanabi territory, others not normally at odds with Mara's house might bend with the prevailing political wind.
Simple in her tastes, Mara was neither overwhelmed nor impressed by displays of great wealth. Her restrained clothing reinforced the impression already formed by the Lords and Ladies in the hall around her. Most believed her a young, inexperienced girl who sheltered her house under the marriage to the more powerful Anasati. Now, with Buntokapi dead, she was fair game once again. Mara was content to allow this misapprehension to continue as she passed by; it increased her chances to pick up a scrap of information, a comment, or a remark that could prove useful. As she reached the foot of the stairs and made her way towards the dais to greet the Minwanabi Lord, she watched the expressions of her peers and took stock of who stood gossiping with whom. Her temple-taught poise served her well. She responded politely to those who greeted her, but was not lulled by sweet smiles and warm words.
Jingu of the Minwanabi noted her approach with the ravenous interest of a jaguna. Mara saw him cease conversation with his advisers as she mounted the steps to accept his welcome. The moment gave her pause also, as for the first time she looked upon the face of her family's oldest enemy. The Lord of the Minwanabi was a corpulent man. He had clearly not worn armour since his youth, but cunning and malice still glinted in his eyes. Pearl bands encircled his wrists, and shell ornaments dangled at his collar, shiny with the sweat that beaded his neck. His bow of greeting was slightly less than that due a Lady of ruling rank. 'My Lady of the Acoma,' he said, his voice as thick and unctuous as his appearance, 'we are so pleased you chose to join us in honour of the Warlord.'
Aware the eyes of every noble in the room were turned to see how she handled this slight, Mara responded in kind, her own bow shallow and of short duration. 'We thank the Lord of the Minwanabi for his kind invitation.'
Irritated by Mara's poise, Jingu beckoned someone to the fore of the dais. 'There is one here I believe you know.' Then his lips curled into a hungry smile of anticipation.
The Lady of the Acoma showed no reaction to the woman who came at his call. The presence of Teani somewhere in the Minwanabi household was something Arakasi had forewarned her of: he had long since informed Mara that the concubine was a Minwanabi agent. But the fact that Buntokapi's former lover had insinuated herself in Jingu's innermost circle gave Mara pause. The woman was perhaps more clever than anyone had guessed. She was obviously a favourite, swathed as she was in rare silks and jewels, a chain of rarest metal encircling her slim neck. But ornaments and beauty could not entirely hide the ugliness of her character. Hatred for Mara burned in her pretty eyes, chilling in its intensity.
To acknowledge the look of a woman of her station would be an unnecessary courtesy, and too easily interpreted as an admission of weakness. Mara addressed her words and attentions solely to the Minwanabi Lord who sat at Teani's left hand. 'My adviser and I have just arrived after a long and tiresome journey. Would my Lord show us our places, that we might take some refreshment before the banquet and the festivities begin?'
Jingu rearranged the fringe on his costume with the flick of a pudgy finger. Then he called for a cool drink; while he waited for servants to fill his need, his hand absently stroked Teani's arm, a gesture his wife ignored. When none might mistake the fact that he deferred the wishes of his Acoma guests until his own pleasures were satisfied, he nodded sweetly to a servant. 'Escort the Lady Mara and her servants to the table third from the end, nearest the entrance to the kitchens, so that her party may more quickly be served.' His fat girth jiggled as he openly laughed at the ingenuity of his insult.
A Lady of rank might find such placement degrading; but to Teani this gesture was not enough. Viciously piqued that Mara had ignored her, she interrupted. 'You ought to seat this woman with the slaves, my Lord. All know the greatness of the Acoma rests upon the goodwill of the Anasati, and that even Lord Tecuma's protection wore thin after the death of his son.'
This affront was too great to disregard. Still disdaining to answer Teani directly, Mara pointedly rose to the bait Jingu had dangled before her. She directed a gaze like flint to his fat, laughing face. 'My Lord of the Minwanabi, all know of your . . . generosity, but surely even you can find little benefit in keeping another man's leavings in your service.'<
br />
Jingu rested an arm around Teani's shoulders and drew her slim body against his own. 'But you confuse circumstance, Lady Mara. This woman was cast off by no man, but was only a mistress who survived her late master. I'll remind you but once. Teani is a valued and worthy member of my household.'
'Of course.' Mara sketched a negligible bow of apology. 'Given your widely known tastes, she should serve you well, Jingu. Indeed, my late husband had no complaints' - Mara gave Teani the barest glance - 'but then again, Bunto's appetites were rather coarse.'
Teani's eyes flashed sparks. The fact that Mara made no effort to respond directly to her insult made the courtesan furious. The Lord of the Minwanabi was in no way amused; this small near-virgin from Lashima's temple had shown no sign of being cowed by treatment that demeaned her. Indeed, she had held her own through this first exchange of words. And since his house servant already hovered by her elbow to escort the Lady and her retinue to their places, Jingu had no graceful recourse other than to dismiss her.
The festivities passed slowly for Mara. The food, the musicians, and the dancers were all the finest, but the table nearest the kitchen was hot, noisy, and beset by the constant bustle of servants passing by. The heat and the odours from cooking caused Nacoya to feel ill, and well before the first course of the banquet had been laid Papewaio looked strained. The incessant movement of strangers to and from the kitchen kept him on edge, particularly since every passing tray contained items that were weapons to a trained hand. He had overheard Mara's remark to Nacoya about 'accidents'. And while it was unlikely the Lord of the Minwanabi would attempt to stage a murder in this public setting, Teani's venomous gaze never left Mara. The Acoma Strike Leader's caution remained on a knife edge. When the rare ices served for dessert were cleared away, Papewaio gently touched his mistress's shoulder. 'Lady, I suggest you retire to your chambers before dark. The hallways are strange, and if you await the Minwanabi's pleasure, the servant he assigns you might have other instructions.'
Mara returned from what seemed a long period of concentrated thought. Her hair was perfectly coiled and her manner alert, but dark circles of fatigue underlined her eyes. 'We must find a way to send word to the barracks, that Arakasi will know which suite to leave messages at if the need should arise.'
Papewaio answered grimly. 'We can do nothing without risking discovery, Lady. Trust Arakasi. His agents can reach him without danger, and he will find you himself if there is need.'
Unable to be heard over the scrape of the tables as servants cleared the hall for an exhibition of tumblers, Mara only nodded. She patted Nacoya's arm, then arose to make her excuses to the Lord of the Minwanabi. The headache that plagued her was real enough, and since the Warlord would not make his appearance until the morrow, her departure would cause no offence. If anything, she wished to leave the impression that she was young, inexperienced, and lacking in subtlety. An early retirement would reinforce that impression with the guests, perhaps granting her a breather to formulate a defence. Minwanabi would have a difficult time completing his plots with the eyes of every rival seeking an opening to exploit ahead of him.
Mara sent the servant who cleared away the plates to inform the Lord of her departure. By the time the news reached the dais, and the huge, self-satisfied smile creased the jowls of the great Lord's face, the chairs where the Acoma had dined stood empty. Infatuated with that small triumph, Jingu did not notice that Teani had also vanished. Weary of badgering her master for the chance to torment the Lady of the Acoma before the end, she had left to pursue her own means of realizing her goal, knowing that drink and the indulgences of entertaining would satiate the appetites of her Lord.
The blue silk scarf that covered Teani's hair fluttered behind her as she hastened down a back corridor of the Minwanabi estate house. She did not trouble to replace it, nor did she pause to retie the fall of tawny hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Strike Leader Shimizu's quarters lay across the next courtyard, and the need for stealth was past; the only person likely to be about at this hour was the slave who lit the oil lamps. Teani slipped through the last screen with a secretive smile. Tonight the slave would be late, preoccupied as he was with the needs of Jingu's guests. The old jaguna could be niggardly when it came to looking after his staff. Politics always came first in the great Lord's mind, a trait his ranking officers sometimes came to resent.
Golden in the moonlight that flooded the courtyard, Teani paused to unhook the collar of her robe. She loosened the fabric enough to reveal a provocative expanse of breast, and her teeth flashed white in a smile. Tonight, if she was skilful, the skinny little Acoma bitch would die. How sweet it would be to hear her screams.
Across the courtyard the screen to Shimizu's quarters rested ajar. Lamplight burned beyond, throwing the distorted silhouette of a man hunched on his cushions with a flask. He's drinking again, Teani thought in disgust, and all because she had delayed in the great hall, striving with no success to get Jingu to reassign the plotting of Mara's execution. The concubine wished that pleasure for herself. The fact that her Lord did not care to delegate that task to Teani left her no choice but to outwit him.
Tossing her hair over now almost bare shoulders, the concubine resumed her walk towards the open screen. She entered so silently that for an instant the dark-haired man within did not notice. Teani stole that moment to study him.
Shimizu, First Strike Leader of the Minwanabi, was known to his fellow soldiers as a man of fierce loyalties, passionate beliefs, and forthright personality. His quick reflexes and near-infallible judgement on the battlefield had earned him early promotion; his face was young for his post, unlined except for the scars acquired through his profession. His only flaw was a thin skin, giving him a temper that could erupt without warning. His eyes were hooded, his moods difficult to read except when he drank. In the petulant thrust of his lower lip, Teani saw frustration - the sulky, explosive sort given to men who are balked by a lover. Teani congratulated herself on a task well performed. She knew this man for a fool, sick inside with longing for her body, and the sort of emotional juvenile who mistook longing for love. And by the sweat that shone on his muscled chest, Teani knew that Shimizu was hers to use at will, a tool perfectly tempered to do her bidding; as so many others had been, male and female.
Except Mara. The Lady of the Acoma had escaped her. For that, Teani assembled her most inviting smile and, from behind, raised a hand to touch the sweating flesh of Shimizu's shoulder.
He started violently, and his hands grasped and drew the sword he kept always by his knee. The blade sang from beneath the sheath, turning to kill even as he recognized his lover. The edge caught in soft silk and stopped, barely short of bloodshed.
'Woman!' Shimizu's face paled, then flushed with anger, both at the lateness of Teani's arrival and the stealth of her entry. As he recovered his poise, he noticed a queer brilliance in her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, as if the sword had been a lover to embrace. Her nipples hardened as she breathed deeply, excited by the brush of the razor-sharp edge against her flesh. Recognition of her twisted passions soured his welcome slightly; he sheathed his weapon with a show of disgust. 'You're mad, woman, sick in the mind. I might have run you through.'
But the anger, the disgust, never lasted. When Teani tipped her face upward, her breasts pressing firmly through his tunic, Shimizu lowered his head like one starving and savoured the kiss made hot for him by a slight brush with death. She had solved him like a puzzle. Every touch seemed to melt him to the marrow of his bones. Unable to suppress his surge of joyous welcome, Shimizu caught his fingers in the ties that closed her gown. 'You can stay, my love? Tell me that Jingu is preoccupied with his guests, and that you will not have to return to his bed this night.'
Teani brushed his ear with her tongue and answered, her breath hot against his neck. 'Jingu does not expect me back to his chambers,' she lied. Then, waiting for his fingers to grip more insistently at her clothing, she fended him off. 'But tonight I may not sta
y.'
Shimizu frowned, his eyes suddenly hard in the light of the single oil lamp. 'Why not? Do you share your affections elsewhere?'
Teani laughed, letting him dangle a moment before she slipped her robe from her shoulders and bared her lovely breasts. Shimizu tried to remain stern, but his attention was clearly engaged. 'I love no other, my fine warrior.' She shaded her tone with just enough hint of sarcasm to leave him a bit in doubt. 'It is state business that takes me from your side this night. Now, will you waste what time we have, or will you . . .' And she moaned, biting softly as he stopped her words with his lips.
Yet this time, deliberately, she held back enough that he did not lose his train of thought.
His hands roughened on the bare silk of her skin, and his tone grew demanding. 'Why, then, did you delay so long in coming to me?'
Teani whipped back her honey-streaked hair in a show of pique. 'How distrustful you are. Do you fear that your sword is not enough to please a woman?' She moved away, both to tease and to allow him a better view of her half-nude body.
Shimizu frowned, and his hands caught her shoulders. But now Teani softened like butter against him. Her fingers slid skilfully through the slit in his robe. He tensed in delicious apprehension as she scratched her nails along the inside of his thigh.
'And such a mighty sword,' she murmured, eyelids drooping as her mouth formed a pouting smile. 'My Lord of the Minwanabi detained me with tiresome instructions. It seems he wants the Acoma bitch dead, and I'm the one chosen for the filthy chore.'
But even as her hands found their mark and stroked in the manner he most preferred, Shimizu pulled back. Instantly Teani knew she had pushed too fast; or perhaps erred in her manner of presentation. She bent instantly, her hair trailing across his thighs, and teased his flesh with her tongue.
Shimizu took a moment to respond; then his hands tightened against her back, and his voice, dreamily, resumed above her. 'That's most strange, my love, that my Lord gave such instructions.'
Empire - 01 - Daughter Of The Empire Page 41