'Yet after, he would still kill you, daughter, for I think this one has been permanently twisted by envy.'
Mara captured a strayed wisp of hair, then lowered her hand, the rare metal bracelet on her wrist jangling.
'Lashima's folly, but men's pride is easily bruised!' Her eyes betrayed pain that had nothing to do with Jiro's anger over her past rejection of him.
Nacoya shook a finger at her. 'You're thinking of that no-good barbarian again.'
Mara ignored the accusation. 'Kevin has nothing to do with this. Why should Jiro come all this way, and take such elaborate lengths to provoke me, all on the excuse of some not so very well documented clandestine meetings within the council?"
Now Nacoya looked shocked. 'My Lady, you would do well to heed Lord Tecuma's warning - his spies may not be as widespread as yours, but they are no less gifted. Never mind that Jiro's passions clouded the delivery. You stand in very grave danger.'
Mara dismissed her First Adviser's concern with irritation. '
Nacoya, surely I have enough of real import on my mind without burdening myself with trivia. If there was plotting afoot in the council, surely Arakasi's network would keep me informed of the fact.'
Sunlight fell through a half-opened screen, catching the First Adviser's face like some wizened caricature of a cameo.
'Lady,' she said gravely, 'you rely far more on Arakasi's spies than you should. They are only men. They cannot see into Desio's mind, and they cannot hear every whisper that is exchanged in dark corners behind closed doors. They can be in only so many places at one time. And as mortal men, they may be corrupted or misled.'
'Nacoya, you worry beyond duty's call. You have my permission to retire and pursue some recreation.' While Nacoya completed a stiff-backed bow, Mara pulled at her heavy robes. She wanted a bath and a change, and maybe some players to make her laugh. Her morning with the cho ja seemed very far away. Jiro's icily schooled antagonism bothered her far more than Tecuma's concerns with the council; and she missed Kevin, unbearably. Starved for his friendly company in a way that made her ache, she impulsively sent her runner to fetch a scribe. When the man she.had summoned made his bow, burdened down with chalks and slates, she cut his courtesy short with a gesture.
'Go out to the new needra fields and observe the workers.
Make a transcription of everything that happens there, with particular regard for the redheaded man who is slave master. I wish to know all that he does and says, so that I may evaluate the efficiency of his work team.'
The scribe bowed low over his satchel. It was not his place to question his mistress's will; but he left with a puzzled look, for the Lady concerned herself with a detail that was normally her hadonra's responsibility. In the days he had served since apprenticeship, the scribe had never received so unusual a request.
Chapter 7 Reconciliation
Tasaio smiled.
Startled by his unusual expression, the Lord of the Minwanabi watched suspiciously as his cousin crossed the grand hall upon his return from his trip downriver. Then, recalling that Sulan-Qu was the city nearest the Acoma estates, Desio recovered his wits. 'What has passed?' he inquired as his cousin paused and bowed before the dais, not the large one with its throne, but a cushioned level off to one side reserved for less formal occasions where Desio was not forced to loom over his councillors.
To one side, Force Commander Irrilandi waited without resentment to listen to the man who had supplanted him in everything but title. Tasaio was both nobly born and a brilliant field commander; as the Warlord's second-in-command in the campaign on the barbarian world, he was surrogate for Desio as Clan Warchief. By Tsurani tradition, service to such greatness could bring only honour to the Minwanabi.
'My Lord,' said Tasaio, rising in full and flawless courtesy before his cousin, 'it has begun.'
Desio tensed with anticipation. Inspired by his cousin's example, he had undertaken to practise the martial traditions. As he sat in his finery on a brocaded mat, his waistline sagged less, and his florid face had lost its puppyish appearance. Diligent work on his swordsmanship had improved his skills to the point where his sparring partners need not offer a blatant opening to allow their Lord the victory. Desio no longer cut a comic figure when he wore armour for ceremonies; the older