Daughter of the Empire. Janny Wurts

in no way evident as the warriors knelt formally before her table. The green plumes of Keyoke’s helm trembled in the air, close enough for Mara to touch. She repressed a shiver and gestured for the men to sit. Her maidservant offered hot chocha from the pot, but only Keyoke accepted. Papewaio shook his head once, as though he trusted his bearing better than his voice.

      Mara said, ‘I have erred. I will seek to avoid such error again –’ She paused sharply, frowned, and made a nervous gesture that the sisters of Lashima had striven to eliminate. ‘No,’ said Mara, ‘I must do better than that, for at the temple I learned that my impatience sometimes undoes my judgement. Keyoke, between us there must be a hand signal, to be used in times when my life, or the Acoma existence, may be threatened in ways I may not understand. Then perhaps the folly of this day’s events may never be repeated.’

      Keyoke nodded, his scarred face impassive, but his manner suggesting approval. After a moment of thought, he ran the knuckle of his index finger along an old scar that creased his jaw. ‘Lady, would you recognize this gesture as such a warning, even in a crowded or public place?’

      Mara nearly smiled. Keyoke had chosen a nervous habit of Papewaio’s, his only outward sign of tension. Keyoke never fidgeted; through danger or stress, and even in battle, she supposed, her Force Commander never lost control. If he scratched a scar in her presence, she would notice, and hopefully take heed. ‘Very good. So be it, Keyoke.’

      A strained silence developed as Mara shifted her regard to the other warrior before her. ‘My brave Pape, had I not erred in one instance, I would now be dead and all our holdings and retainers left without a mistress.’ Wishing the moment of judgment could be delayed, the girl added, ‘Had I but said let none follow me to the grove …’ Her sentence trailed off, unfinished. All knew that her command would have been obeyed to the letter; duty would have compelled Papewaio to remain in the manor, leaving his mistress to fate’s choices.

      Mara said, ‘Now one of my most valued retainers must forfeit his life for loyal and honourable service to his house.’

      ‘Such is the law,’ Keyoke observed, revealing no hint of sorrow or anger. Relieved that Mara had the strength to do her duty, his plumes of office stilled above his immobile features.

      Mara sighed. ‘I expect there is no other way.’

      ‘None, child,’ said Nacoya. ‘You must specify the manner and time of Pape’s death. You may allow him to fall upon his own sword, though, granting him a warrior’s honour, to die by the blade. He deserves that, at least, mistress.’

      Mara’s dark eyes flashed; angry at having to waste such a stalwart servant, she knitted her brows in thought. Nothing was said for a time, then, abruptly, she announced, ‘I think not.’

      Keyoke seemed on the verge of speaking, then simply nodded, while Papewaio rubbed his jaw with one thumb, his familiar sign of distress. Shaken by the gesture, Mara continued quickly. ‘My sentence is this: loyal Pape, that you will die is certain. But I shall decide the place and the circumstance of that death in my own time. Until then you shall serve as you always have. Around your head wear the black rag of the condemned, that all may know I have pronounced death upon you.’

      Papewaio nodded once. ‘Your will, mistress.’

      Mara added, ‘And should fate cause my death before yours, you may fall upon your own blade … or seek to visit revenge upon my murderer, as you see fit.’ She was certain which course Pape would choose. Now, until she selected the time and manner of execution, Papewaio would remain in her service.

      Mara regarded her three most loyal followers, half-fearful her unorthodox judgment might be challenged. But duty and custom demanded unquestioned obedience, and no one met her glance. Hoping she had acted with honour, Mara said, ‘Go now, and freely attend your duties.’

      Keyoke and Papewaio rose at once. They bowed with stiff-backed formality, turned, and departed. Old and slow of movement, Nacoya performed her obeisance with less grace. She straightened, a hint of approval on her wizened face. ‘That was well done, daughter of Sezu,’ she whispered. ‘You save Pape’s honour and preserve a most loyal servant. He will wear the black rag of shame as if it were a badge of honour.’ Then, as if embarrassed by her boldness, the old nurse left hastily.

      The house servant who hovered by the door had to speak twice before Mara noticed her. ‘As my mistress needs?’

      Wrung out by the emotions and tensions of the afternoon, the Lady of the Acoma looked up. By the expectant look on the servant’s face, she realized the afternoon had passed. Blue shadows dappled the door screens, lending a moody, sombre air to the decorative paintings of huntsmen. Longing for the simplicity of her girlhood, Mara decided to forego the formality of the evening meal. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the fact that she must sit in her father’s place at the head of the table. She said to the maidservant, ‘Let the evening breezes in, then withdraw.’

      The servant hastened to obey her wishes and slid open the large outer screens that faced the west. The orange sun hung low, kissing the purple edge of the horizon. Red-gold light burnished the marshes where the shatra birds flocked at eventide. Even as Mara watched, the ungainly creatures exploded into flight. Within minutes the sky was covered with silhouettes of grace and elegance, whirling across clouds fired with scarlet and pink, and indigo before the approach of night. No man understood the reason for this splendid group dance upon the wing, but the sight was majestic. Though Mara had watched the display a thousand times through girlhood, the birds still took her breath away. She did not notice the tiptoe departure of the maidservant but for the better part of an hour sat absorbed as flocks numbering in the thousands gathered to wheel and turn, bank and glide, while the light slowly faded. The birds landed as the sun vanished. In the silvery twilight they gathered in the marshes, clustered tightly to baffle predators while they slept.

      House servants returned in the warm, sweet hour of nightfall, bringing oil for the lamps and hot herb tea. But exhaustion had overtaken Mara at last. They found her asleep amid her cushions, lulled by the familiar sounds of herders driving the needra into shelter. In the distance the sad song of a kitchen slave kneading thyza bread for the morning meal was a soft counterpoint to the faint calls of Keyoke’s sentries as they patrolled the grounds to ensure the safety of Acoma’s newest Lady.

      Accustomed to temple discipline, Mara awoke early. She blinked, at first confused by her surroundings; then the rich coverlet thrown over her sleeping mat reminded her: she lay in her father’s chamber as Ruling Lady of the Acoma. Rested, but still aching from the bruises left by the Minwanabi assassin, she rolled on her side. Luxuriant strands of hair caught in her lashes; impatiently she pushed them away.

      Dawn brightened the screens that faced east. The whistle of a herder driving needra to pasture cut through daybreak’s chorus of bird calls. Made restless by memories, Mara arose.

      Her maids did not hear her stir. Barefoot, and appreciative of the solitude, the girl crossed the chamber and slipped the catch on the screen. She slid it aside with the barest of squeaks. Cool air caressed her skin between the loose folds of her robe. Mara drew in the scent of dew, and moist earth, and the delicate perfume of akasi flowers. Mist rose off the marshlands, rendering the trees and hedges in tones of charcoal, and there the lone silhouette of a herdsman driving the slow-moving needra.

      The soldier at his post in the dooryard turned about on his beat, and realized the girl who stood in the white shift and sleep-tangled hair was his ruling mistress. He bowed gravely. Mara nodded absently as he returned to his duty. The girl regarded the wide expanse of her family estates, in a morning as yet unmarred by the noise and bustle of the day. Shortly all who worked upon the estate would be busy about their tasks, and for only a few minutes longer would Mara have this serene glimpse of what was now hers to protect. Her brows knitted in concern as she realized how much she had to learn to manage these holdings. At present she didn’t even know the extent of her inheritance. She knew vaguely that she had properties in other provinces, but she had no knowledge of their disposition and worth. Her father had disliked the details of farming and stock breeding, and while he had overseen his assets and his people’s well-being with wisdom, his conversations with Mara had always been turned to matters