Daughter of the Empire. Janny Wurts

her Lady’s command a maid pulled aside a screen that opened onto a small section of the inner court garden, always available to Mara for reflection and contemplation. While a dozen servants could hurry on errands through the central courtyard of the house, the clever placement of screening shrubs and dwarf trees provided a cranny of green where their passing would not intrude.

      Nacoya appeared as Mara seated herself before the opening. Silent, and showing signs of nervous exhaustion, the girl motioned for the nurse to sit opposite her. Then she waited.

      ‘Mistress, I have brought a list of suitable alliances,’ Nacoya opened.

      Mara continued to stare out the door, her only movement a slight turning of her head as the maidservant in attendance combed out her long, damp hair. Presuming permission to continue, Nacoya unrolled the parchment between her wrinkled hands. ‘Mistress, if we are to survive the plots of the Minwanabi and the Anasati, we must choose our alliance with care. We have three choices, I think. We can ally ourselves with an old and honoured name whose influence has gone into decline. Or we can choose a husband from a family newly powerful and wealthy, but seeking honour, tradition, and political alliance. Or we might seek a family that would ally because your family’s name would add to some ambition of their own in the Great Game.’

      Nacoya paused to allow Mara the chance to reply. But the young woman continued to stare into the gloom of the garden, the faintest of frowns creasing her brown. The maid finished with the combing; she bundled Mara’s hair into a neat knot, bowed, and withdrew.

      Nacoya waited. When Mara still made no move, she cleared her throat, then opened the scroll with well-concealed exasperation and said, ‘I have ruled out those families who are powerful but lack tradition. You would be better served by a marriage to a son of a house that in turn has powerful allies. As this means possible entanglements with the allies of the Minwanabi and, especially, the Anasati, there are few truly acceptable houses.’ She looked again at Mara, but the Lady of the Acoma seemed to be listening solely to the calls of the insects that wakened into song after sundown.

      As servants made rounds to trim the lamps, Nacoya saw that the frown had deepened upon Mara’s face. The old nurse straightened the parchment with a purposeful motion. ‘Of all those likely to be interested, the best choices would be …’

      Mara suddenly spoke. ‘Nacoya. If the Minwanabi are the single most powerful house in the Empire, which house is the most powerfully politically connected?’

      Nacoya pushed her list into her lap. ‘The Anasati, without question. If the Lord of the Anasati did not exist, this list would be five times as long. That man has forged alliances with more than half the powerful Lords in the Empire.’

      Mara nodded, her eyes fixed upon the air as if it held something only she could see. ‘I have decided.’

      Nacoya leaned expectantly forward, suddenly afraid. Mara had not even taken the list, let alone looked at the names Nacoya had dictated to the scribe. Mara turned and focused her gaze keenly upon Nacoya’s face. ‘I shall marry a son of the Lord of the Anasati.’

       • Chapter Four • Gambits

      The gong was struck.

      The harmonics of its sound reverberated through the breadth of the great hall of the Anasati. Hung with ancient war banners, the room was thick with the smell of old waxed wood and generations of intrigue. The vaulted tiled roof hid shadows so deep the place was sombre even with candles lit. The hall itself swallowed echoes, to the point where the assembled courtiers and retainers, seated and waiting, seemed barely moving statues who made no sound.

      At the head of a long, carpeted centre aisle, upon an imposing dais, sat the Lord of the Anasati in his formal robes of office. Beneath the tiered weight of his ceremonial headdress, perspiration glossed his forehead; his bone-thin features showed no trace of discomfort, though his attire was stifling in the heat of midday. A dozen sashes of scarlet and yellow restricted his breathing, while the bows that flared out like starched wings behind him bound his shoulders; each time he moved, servants were obliged to rush to his side and adjust them. In one hand he held a large carved wand, its origins lost in time, sign of his supremacy as Ruling Lord. Across his knees rested the ancient steel sword of the Anasati – a relic second in importance only to the family natami – handed down from father to son since the days of golden bridge and the Escape, when the nations first come to Kelewan. Now its weight bore down cruelly on old knees, an inconvenience he must endure along with all the other trappings of office while waiting for the upstart Acoma girl to arrive. The room was a veritable oven, for tradition dictated that all the screens must remain closed until the formal entry of the suitor.

      Tecuma, Lord of the Anasati, inclined his head slightly, and his First Adviser, Chumaka, hurried to his side. ‘How long?’ the Lord whispered impatiently.

      ‘Quite soon, master.’ The loyal counsellor bobbed like a nervous rodent and elaborated. ‘The gong has rung thrice, as Mara’s litter reached the outer gate, while it entered the main house, and now as it passes through the gate to the courtyard. The fourth chime will sound when she is admitted to your august presence, Lord.’

      Irked by stillness when he longed for music, the Lord of the Anasati said, ‘Have you given thought to what I asked?’

      ‘Of course, my Lord. Your wish is my desire. I have conceived of several appropriate insults to answer the Acoma bitch’s presumption.’ The adviser licked his lips and added, ‘To ask for your son Jiro as consort … well, that would be brilliant’ – the Lord of the Anasati shot his adviser a curious look, which caused his ritual gown to list left. Servants flocked to him and fussed until it was properly adjusted once again. Chumaka continued his comment – ‘Brilliant, if it had even the remotest hope of success. A marriage with any of your sons would bind you to the Acoma in an alliance. Not only would that deplete your resources to protect them, but then the witch could turn her full attentions to the Lord of the Minwanabi.’

      The Lord of the Anasati curled his lips with thinly disguised distaste for the man just named. ‘I’d marry her myself if I thought she had even the remotest possibility of defeating that jaguna in the Game of the Council.’ He frowned at mention of the foul-smelling carrion eater; then his knuckles tightened on his wand as he thought aloud, ‘But what does she hope to gain? She must know I would never allow her to take Jiro as consort. The Acoma is the only family older than mine, after the Five Great Families. If it falls, and by some chance one of the Five Greats falls …’

      Chumaka finished the often repeated wish of his Lord ‘… then the Anasati becomes one of the Five Greats.’

      Tecuma nodded. ‘And someday one of my descendants might rise to be Warlord.’ He cast a glance to the left, where his three sons waited upon a slightly lower dais.

      Closest to his father sat Halesko, heir to the Anasati mantle. Beside him was Jiro, the most clever and able of the three, already likely to marry any one of a dozen great Lords’ daughters, perhaps even a child of the Emperor’s, bringing the Anasati another powerful political tie. Next to him slouched Buntokapi, intently picking dirt from under his thumbnail.

      Studying the lumpish visage of his youngest, the Lord of the Anasati whispered to Chumaka, ‘You don’t suppose by some act of providence she’d take Bunto, do you?’

      The counsellor’s thin eyebrows rose. ‘Our intelligence indicates she may be a bright girl, if unseasoned, but for her to ask for Bunto as consort would … show a little more cleverness than I’d expect, Lord.’

      ‘Cleverness? In asking for Bunto as consort?’ Tecuma twisted around in disbelief, causing his bows to droop and a second flurry of fussing from his servants. ‘Are you bereft of your senses?’

      Regarding the stolid third son, the counsellor said, ‘You might be tempted to say yes.’

      With a look close to open regret, the Lord of the Anasati sighed. ‘I would have to say no, I suppose, wouldn’t I?’

      The