Mistress of the Empire. Janny Wurts

reminders were unceasing; the casual touch of his hand to her face that had not happened as she wakened; the slight upturning of his mouth that indicated humor during court that today had been nowhere in evidence. They no longer shared their afternoon tray of chocha, while Hokanu scanned reports from military advisers and she reviewed the commerce lists from far-flung trading factors presented daily by Jican. Their relationship had grown silent and strained and though Hokanu had made no issue of the matter, he had extended his practice at arms to keep busy through the hours they had once spent in companionship. No sharp words were exchanged, nor anything close to heated argument, yet the disagreement over Justin’s heirship was a presence that poisoned everything they did. Mara stroked the taut flesh over her womb, praying this estrangement would end once their new son was born.

      Besides Nacoya, Hokanu was the only soul she had met who could follow her thoughts without misunderstandings. Another kick slammed her innards. Mara laughed. ‘Soon, little one,’ she whispered to the baby.

      A servant who waited in attendence started at the sound of her voice. ‘Mistress?’

      Mara stepped heavily away from the screen. ‘I want for nothing but this child, who seems as anxious as I am to see himself born.’

      The servant tensed in alarm. ‘Should I call for –’

      Mara held up her hand. ‘No, there is time yet. The midwife and the healer say another month at least.’ She furrowed her brow. ‘But I wonder if perhaps this baby could be early.’

      A polite knock sounded at the inner doorway. Mara pulled her robe more comfortably over her gravid body, and nodded for the servant to open the screen to the hall. Jican, her hadonra, bowed from outside the portal. ‘Mistress, a trader is here seeking permission to bargain.’

      That Jican would trouble her for a matter he would normally attend to himself, was unusual. He had managed her vast holdings long enough that he could anticipate almost any decision she might make, even those he disagreed with. Anxious to know what had arisen, Mara said, ‘What do you wish?’

      Always diffident in situations outside of the ordinary, Jican replied carefully, ‘I think you should see this man’s wares, mistress.’

      Glad for the diversion on yet another afternoon without Hokanu’s company, Mara clapped for her maid to bring her a robe more suitable for a stranger’s company. Tucked into a long-sleeved, loose-waisted garment of shimmering silk, she motioned for her hadonra to lead the way. The guest trader waited in the shaded, pillared hall in the wing that housed the scribes. Mara and Jican passed through the cavernous corridors that tunneled partially through the hillside from the sunny quarters she shared with Hokanu. Made aware by Jican’s quick step that he was fidgety, Mara asked, ‘Are the wares this trader offers something special?’

      ‘Perhaps.’ The little hadonra gave a sideways glance that confirmed his uneasiness. ‘I think your judgment is needed to appraise this man’s offer.’

      Years of his loyal service had taught Mara to heed her hadonra’s hunches. When he did not immediately launch into a description of the offered goods, the Lady was moved to prompt, ‘What else?’

      Jican halted. ‘I …’ Uncertainty blossomed into hesitation. He bobbed an apologetic bow, then blurted, ‘I am not sure how to treat this man, mistress.’

      Familiar enough with the hadonra’s foibles to realise that questions would distress him further, Mara simply strode on in receptive silence.

      In another few steps, the explanation was forthcoming. Jican said, ‘Because he is … was Tsurani.’

      Mara pondered this detail. ‘From LaMut?’ LaMut was ruled by Hokanu’s brother, and most trading delegations from the Kingdom included a former Tsurani soldier, to act as translator. Jican nodded, transparently relieved he had not needed to coach her further. ‘A Tsurani who prefers Kingdom ways.’

      The reason for the hadonra’s uneasiness was plainer: while Mara might bend tradition and swear masterless men to Acoma service, the concept of anyone preferring to remain without house ties on a foreign world – no matter that one of them was Hokanu’s brother, Kasumi – was too alien to understand, even for her. And that such a man headed the trading delegation made negotiations more delicate than usual.

      The long, interior corridor opened at last into a colonnaded portico that fronted the south side of the estate house. The gravel path leading to the main doorway ran alongside, and there, shaded by ancient trees, waited the visiting merchant’s retinue, a small group of bearers and ten bodyguards. Mara’s eyes widened. She did not note at first that there were more guards than usual because they were so tall! More careful study revealed them to be Midkemians all, a rare enough detail that the sentries on duty at the estate entrance stared surreptitiously as they kept watch. Scraps of a conversation in foreign speech reached Mara’s ears, and the accent, so familiar, made her pause a fraction between steps. Memories of Kevin of Zun flooded through her, until Jican’s hand-wringing impatience recalled her to present obligations. Mastering herself instantly, she hastened on into the service wing, toward the hall where the merchant awaited.

      That man sat correctly beneath the informal dais she used while negotiating with outsiders. Sacks and carry boxes of sample wares were arrayed by his side, while his hands rested in plain sight upon his knees. He wore a splendid silk robe recognisably of foreign manufacture: the sheen was different, and the dyes blended in patterns never seen in Tsuranuanni. The effect was bold just barely short of insolent, Mara decided, watching the man through narrowed eyes as she approached. Although this man had presented himself as a merchant, he outfitted himself as befitted the highest Ruling Lord of the Empire. Yet the man was no noble; in place of the customary house chop embroidered on sash or shoulder, the barbarous symbol of LaMut, a doglike creature called a wolf, was displayed. The man was arrogant, Mara decided as she allowed Jican to help her up the shallow stair and to her cushions.

      Still, the stranger had impeccable manners. When the Lady was comfortable, he bowed until his forehead touched the mat upon which he knelt. He paused long enough to imply deep respect, while Jican gave his name to the mistress. ‘My lady, this is Janaio, of the city of LaMut.’

      Janaio straightened with grace and smiled. ‘Honors to your house, Good Servant. Are you well, Lady Mara?’

      Mara inclined her head. ‘I am well, Janaio of … LaMut.’

      A detail leaped out at her. This man wore gold! Mara pinched back a breath of undignified surprise. By imperial edict, all jewelry and personal effects made of metal were carefully cataloged upon entry through the rift from Midkemia. Traders from the barbarian world were often outraged as their boots were confiscated and plain sandals loaned to them while they embarked on their travels within the Empire; but the impounded items were always returned when they left. The imperial treasury had learned a rough lesson when the first entourage of Midkemians returned home without their boots, and the economy of Lash Province had been turned on its head by the iron nails drawn from the soles and changed for centis.

      The trader fingered the chain about his neck. ‘I have given surety that I will not leave this behind, Lady Mara,’ he said, in response to her notice. This reminded her of his Tsurani origins, as no barbarian would have been trusted to keep his word in the face of temptation. Midkemians professed no belief in the Wheel of Life, so honor did not bind them to fear loss of the gods’ favor.

      Mara maintained an outward calm. The man was bold! While such an ornament might be a modest possession for a wealthy man beyond the rift, in Kelewan it was equal to the income of a minor house for a year. As well this man knew. His public display of such treasure was a calculated ostentation. Mara waited in reserved expectancy to see just what this trader wished to gain with his bargaining.

      When she had determined that a suitable interval had passed to remind him of his place, she asked, ‘Now, what may I do for you?’

      The man did not miss nuance: that the Tsurani phrase was translated from the King’s Tongue. Mara’s clever opening informed him without undue fuss that she had arranged affairs with Midkemian traders before. He gave her back impeccable Tsurani protocol.