The Complete Empire Trilogy (120 page)

‘How do you know he isn’t just lingering over breakfast?’ Kevin murmured.

Mara settled into her chair and nodded for her slave to stand behind and to her right. ‘Only an assassin could have kept Pataki from this chamber.’ She made an inventory of the nearby galleries. ‘Three other Lords are also absent, from the look of things.’

‘Friends of yours?’ Kevin did his best to keep his voice down.

‘No. Enemies of Minwanabi,’ answered Mara. She snapped her small ornamental fan open and murmured something to Lujan, who arranged his warriors around her seat, then assumed the place nearest the aisle where his sword would be first in her defence.

The lowest gallery was now beginning to fill. Kevin looked around at the great Lords of the Empire, dressed up like peacocks in full plumage. Some sat like royalty in their places, speaking to those who came to petition for favours
or alliances. Others stood in clumps, changing position or exchanging confidences like butterflies congregating around flowers. The Game of the Council was less an overt battle for hierarchy than a subtle, endless sequence of encounter, rebuff, and social machination.

‘I don’t understand,’ Kevin said after long minutes of study. ‘No one seems to act as if four of their fellow councillors were murdered.’

‘Death is part of the game,’ Mara answered, and as the morning wore on, Kevin came finally to understand. To show undue notice of another’s defeat was to imply dishonour, since murder in and of itself meant that someone was responsible. In the absence of proof, the Tsurani perceived only ‘accidents’. A Lord might kill with impunity, and even win the admiration of his rivals for doing so, as long as the forms were observed.

A middle-aged Lord sauntered up to Mara, who rose in greeting and bowed. Social conversation was exchanged, with a word or two concerning trade issues. Kevin was left to his own thoughts. This calm conducting of business during the day, while assassins had roamed the palace the night before, frightened him beyond anything he had known since he was captured.

A rustle of voices swept through the room as a young man strode into the lower gallery. Flanked by six guards in scarlet and grey armour, he assumed one of the more imposing chairs opposite the central dais. Heads turned to watch as he motioned an adviser to his side. After a word in conference, the minister bowed and immediately hurried up the steps to where Mara and the other noble spoke. Aware by a low stir of whispering that something significant had occurred, Kevin watched the exchange.

The adviser made Mara a bow. ‘My Lady of the Acoma, my Lord wishes you to know that the Keda stand ready to honour any debt incurred in their name.’

Mara inclined her head slightly, and the minister departed. This message had a profound effect upon the man whose conversation was interrupted. His entire manner changed, from dominance to sincere subservience. And suddenly several other lesser nobles were making their way down from the galleries, seeking word with the Lady of the Acoma.

Kevin watched in wonder as the subtle currents of Tsurani politics shifted, with Mara becoming more and more a central object of attention. With the leaders of the Five Great Houses lost on the alien world, the more powerful clans were caught up in their own internecine struggle. This left openings for the lesser families within those clans, and for the smaller clans within the council, to negotiate, make promises, and seek out potential support. If the armies of the mighty were to march upon one another in rivalry, the weaker houses needed to stand together, or else insinuate themselves beneath the mantle of more powerful protectors. Treaties and standoffs were arranged, concessions were made freely and under duress, and trade properties changed owners as sureties and gifts. As the day wore on toward noon, Kevin realized that Mara had not yet needed to leave her chair: interested parties came to her, which did not escape the notice of other factions. Inrodaka and Ekamchi glanced often toward the vacant seat of the Lord of the Minwanabi, while members of the Ionani Clan made smiling remarks to a stiff-faced Tecuma of the Anasati.

Just before midday, a company of soldiers in purple and yellow entered and accompanied a slender young man of dark good looks to the chair of the Xacatecas. The heir to Chipino’s mantle took his place within the council with all of his father’s cool poise. Mara, watching, flipped out her fan and held it pressed for a moment against her forehead. Kevin sensed her distress. He could offer no word of
sympathy, but only stand rigid as he, too, noticed with a wrench how much the Xacatecas boy resembled his departed father.

Three Lords waited politely for Mara’s attention. She recovered her poise and entertained them with anecdotes until most of the Lords of Clan Xacala had had time to present themselves to the heir of their former Warchief.

A lull came at last. Mara beckoned to Lujan and descended the shallow stair, until she stood before the Lord of the Xacatecas. Up close, Hoppara looked every inch the young raptor, though his hair and eyes were a warmer brown, and his slenderness was his mother Isashani’s. But he had Chipino’s bearing and presence, even in untried youth. He rose, formally bowed, and said, ‘Are you well, Mara of the Acoma?’

Mara felt her colour rise. By inquiring after her health before she could speak, Hoppara had acknowledged before all present that Mara was his social superior! Since his blood was of the Five Great Families, this gesture was little more than a courtesy, but in some meaningful if subtle way the concession held stunning consequence. Even as Mara drew breath to frame her reply, she could sense the stir in the galleries. Nobles near Lord Xacatecas regarded her with astonished awe, while others looked sourly on from their seats across the dais.

Her answer held true warmth. ‘I am well, my Lord of the Xacatecas. Your grief is the grief of House Acoma. Your father was a credit to his family and clan, and more. He defended the Empire’s borders with courage and honoured the Acoma by permitting us to count him an ally. I would consider it a signal privilege if you would number my house among the friends of the Xacatecas.’

Hoppara managed a creditable smile, though the effort did not entirely mask his grief. ‘My Lady, I would count it an honour if you would consent to dine with me this afternoon.’

Mara bowed formally, indicating she was at his disposal. The way back to her own chair was suddenly impeded by a wave of flatterers, and until the Xacatecas First Adviser came calling to fetch her to lunch, she had no moment to herself.

The Xacatecas apartments in the Imperial Palace were twice the size of Mara’s. The carpets and antiques were sumptuous, black-lacquered furnishings in tasteful contrast to shades of lavender, royal purple, and cream. Li birds in hanging wicker cages filled the room with song and the flutter of brightly coloured wings. Mara recognized Isashani’s love of comfort and grace, and she settled in relief upon soft, thick cushions. The servants had been trained by Lord Chipino, and one of them had served on the desert campaign. Already familiar with her habits, he held a bowl of water scented with the perfume she preferred. As Mara washed, she thought sadly of the old master, while Kevin found his place on the floor behind her shoulder.

Hoppara shed his heavy outer robe, pushed a hand through tightly curled hair, then seated himself opposite a low table laden with a sumptuous lunch. He sighed, tugged his sleeves back to free strong, suntanned wrists, then offered his hands to be washed by the body slave who waited at his elbow.

When the slave had finished the ablutions, the young Lord turned frank eyes to study the bearded barbarian who stuck to Mara like a shadow.

Kevin stared levelly back until Hoppara raised an eyebrow. ‘This is your barbarian lover?’

The curiosity did not offend. Hoppara had his father’s bluntness and his mother’s shrewd judgment of people. He was simply being direct, not mocking her personal choices. Mara returned a slight nod, and Hoppara gave back
Isashani’s disarming smile. ‘My father mentioned this man to me. If it is the same one?’

‘This is Kevin,’ Mara said guardedly.

Hoppara nodded in satisfaction. ‘Yes. The slave who owns a full set of armour in Acoma colours.’ He sighed, his sorrow barely concealed. ‘My father told us how this Kevin was more than merely useful in the battle fought in the desert.’

Mara smiled slightly, indicating the point was not lost. ‘He had one or two … suggestions.’

Li birds sang sweetly through an interval of reflection. ‘Father was not often free with compliments,’ Hoppara admitted. He stared at the cutlery as if he saw memories instead of food on the plates. ‘He credited much of what he saw in the field to brilliantly original ideas. He said no Tsurani would have thought to order his soldiers onto the backs of cho-ja warriors. The tactic impressed him greatly.’ The young Lord gave his guest another engaging smile. ‘As he was also impressed with you, my Lady.’

Kevin suddenly felt a stir of jealousy as Mara blushed at the compliment. ‘I thank you, my Lord.’

‘Is it hot?’ Hoppara said suddenly, as if the colour on the Lady’s face had other cause than his attention. He waved for a servant to open the screen, and sunlight and air spilled into the room. The garden beyond was planted in violet flowers and canopied over with fruit trees. Then, as if Lujan’s slight stiffness revealed that a guest might be concerned for her safety in the Xacatecas home, the Lord offered swift reassurance. ‘This apartment backs up to a barracks that houses the Emperor’s honour guard. Eighty Imperial Whites are in residence at all times.’

When Lujan stayed unbendingly alert, Hoppara’s tone turned genial. ‘Mother never liked that much. She said she could never wear lounging robes or bathe in her garden without putting the Imperial Family at risk. Assassins could
be murdering them all, she insisted, and there the Imperial Guards would be, peeking over the walls with the wrong spears raised, and not an eye among them on defence.’

Mara smiled. Lady Isashani’s beauty was legendary – repeated motherhood over the years had done little more than add a mature lushness to her figure – and her forthright, spicy tongue was the outrageous delight of polite Tsurani society. ‘How is your mother?’ Mara inquired.

Hoppara sighed. ‘Well enough. My father’s and older brother’s deaths were a blow to her, of course. Did you know,’ he added, unwilling to lose the thread of his original subject, ‘that my sire suggested you might marry one of his younger sons one day, should you escape from Desio’s attempts to obliterate you?’

Mara’s eyes opened wide at that, for gossip said Isashani unequivocally favoured Hokanu for her match. ‘I’m flattered.’

‘You’re not eating,’ Hoppara observed. He lifted his knife and stabbed a morsel of wine-soaked meat. ‘Please, refresh yourself. My sisters’ lapdogs are all overweight. If the scullions give them more scraps, the poor beasts will end up being mistaken for pillows.’ Hoppara chewed thoughtfully. He appeared to weigh Mara’s expression. Then he arrived at some inward decision, and his manner changed from charming to serious. ‘My father believed you will become one of the most dangerous women in the history of the Empire. As a man who chose his enemies with great care, he clearly wished to have you as a friend.’

Mara could only bow low at the compliment. She sipped at her fruit drink and waited, while the li birds chirped dulcet melodies.

Now convinced beyond doubt that she would not soften to praise, Hoppara tore an end off a loaf of bread. He soaked the crust in a sauce and remarked, ‘You realize, of course, that many of us are going to die before the new Warlord is invested.’

Mara made a spare gesture of assent. The white and gold had too many contenders, and alliances were too much in flux. Even a fool could perceive that rivalries would become bloody.

‘I have been ordered to seek you out, and will bluntly make my point.’ Hoppara motioned to a servant, who bowed and unobtrusively began to remove the birdcages. Into an air of growing silence the young Lord said, ‘The Xacatecas wish to survive this ordeal without surrendering too much of the prestige my father gained in life. To this end, we look for the situation of greatest advantage. My First Adviser instructed me to offer you informal alliance and to promise whatever aid the Xacatecas can provide as long as –’

Mara stopped him with a raised finger. ‘A moment, my Lord. Ordered? Instructed? Who directed you?’

The young man’s manner turned rueful. ‘She said you’d ask. My mother, of course.’

Kevin laughed, and Mara said, ‘Your mother?’

Unabashed, Hoppara admitted, ‘I will not reach my twenty-fifth birthday for three more years, Lady Mara. I am Lord of the Xacatecas, but not …’

‘Not yet Ruling Lord,’ she finished.

Hoppara sighed. ‘Not yet. Mother is Ruling Lady until then – if I can manage to stay alive.’

‘Then why isn’t Lady Isashani here?’ Kevin asked.

Hoppara glanced at Mara, who said, ‘He often forgets his place.’

‘And he never met Mother, obviously.’ The young Lord shook off discomfort. ‘Isashani might seem like a li bird, but she’s as tough as any soldier and weighs her options like a silk merchant. She has six sons left, and four daughters. If she lost me, she would mourn, no doubt, but Chaiduni would take my place, and after him Mizu, then Elamku, and so on down the line. After us there are the get of my father’s
concubines, some eighteen sons, not counting those still in milk teeth, and another batch yet to hit the cradle.’ Now the boy coloured, as he thought of the storms that had rocked the house when Lord Chipino had arrived home from the desert with six new concubines, every one of them pregnant.