Throughout the meal she pretended moments of forgetfulness, nearly speaking or eating out of turn then quickly catching herself. The young man must be her father’s choice of husband, so she took to tapping her feet quietly when he spoke, and stifling the occasional yawn, in the hope that it would irritate him.
Aside from that first glance, her brother did not look at her again during the evening. His expression remained aloof and indifferent. He only spoke when the guests sought his opinion.
Little trade was discussed, to Stara’s disappointment. The talk was all about politics. She listened, knowing that such matters could affect trade, especially in Sachaka.
“Sachaka needs to fight Kyralia,” the older garish man declared at one point, “or it will turn on itself.”
“Invading Kyralia will only delay the inevitable,” the sober man disagreed. “We must solve our problems here, not complicate them by involving other lands, and giving those bold enough to disobey the emperor more power than they deserve.”
“If we defeat them, the Kyralians will hardly be in a position to involve themselves in our politics,” the young garish man pointed out. “And anyone who manages to conquer it will earn respect and power.”
“But a freshly conquered land needs controlling. As do conquerors, if their ambition is not satisfied but instead increased by their success.”
“The emperor would never—”
“Kakato,” the older garish man cut in, silencing his son. “Let us not presume to know what the emperor would or wouldn’t do.”
At last, a name, Stara thought. So my prospective husband is called Kakato. She made up some rude rhymes to entertain herself. When she turned her attention back to the men their conversation had moved on to a broken agreement with the tribes of the ash desert, and whether it was an unwise or an unlucky move.
The night wore on, long past the meal’s end. Stara found herself not having to fake her yawns. When her father finally dismissed her she rose and bowed with genuine relief before she left.
In the corridor outside, Vora was waiting. The woman’s lips were pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing until they reached Stara’s rooms.
“So, mistress,” the slave said, as always with no trace of subservience, but Stara could not bring herself to correct the woman. “What did you think of your prospective husband?”
Stara sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t impressed. He’s a bit young for me, don’t you think?”
Vora’s eyebrows rose. “Young? How old do you like your men?”
“Old?” Stara paused, then narrowed her eyes at the woman. “It isn’t Kakato?”
The slave shook her head.
“Then one of the old . . . you must be joking! Which one, then?” The soberly dressed man had spoken the most intelligently, Stara noted, whereas the older garish man had seemed little smarter than his son.
“Master Kakato’s father, Master Tokacha.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask, mistress.”
Stara gave the woman a withering look.
“I was ordered to teach you customs, nothing more.” Vora spread her hands. “To do any more than ordered is to disobey.”
“If I order you to tell me anything that might be useful or important, unless that information is specifically restricted by my father, would you be able to?”
The woman smiled and nodded. “Of course, mistress.”
“Then tell me. Everything that might be useful or important.” Stara lifted the necklaces from her neck. It was amazing how tiring the weight of so much jewellery could be. One of them caught on the headdress and she cursed. She felt Vora’s hands plucking at it and soon she was free.
“How was Master Ikaro?” Vora asked as she stowed the head-dress in a wooden box.
“I have no idea. He only looked at me once.”
“Your brother is a kind man. And talented. But like you, a slave. You should ask to see him. I think Master Sokaro would allow it.”
“I doubt my brother would. If he cares that I’m here at all, it’s more likely he wants me married and out of the way.” Stara peeled herself out of the wrap and gave it to Vora, who handed her a sleeping shift.
“Why would you say that?” the old woman asked.
“He made it pretty clear what he thought of women the last time he visited us in Elyne.”
“That was some time ago. You may find he has changed. He would be a good ally. Shall I arrange it, mistress?”
Stara turned away. “I don’t know. Ask me in the morning.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Moving to the bed, Stara sat down and relished a full, unsuppressed yawn.
“I know what you were doing tonight,” Vora said from the doorway. “It will take more than that to put off your prospective husband.”
Her lips were back in that narrow line. Stara frowned in annoyance. “Sachakans may treat women like stock, but we both know women aren’t dumb animals or mindless objects. We have minds and hearts. Nobody can blame us for wanting, at the least, to influence who we are sold to.”
Even as she said the words, Stara knew she had given herself away. If not by her behaviour during the evening, which Vora must have been able to see or hear, then by responding to Vora’s accurate guess.
The woman lips softened and quirked upward.
“You’re not going to influence anyone by being so obvious about it, mistress.” Then she turned and vanished into the corridor beyond.
Stara stared at the empty doorway and considered a possibility she hadn’t thought of before. Could Vora actually be on my side?
As Tessia replaited her freshly combed hair she noticed that the voices of the magicians and apprentices outside the tent walls had grown from a few occasional murmured comments to a full, multi-voiced discussion. After tying off the plait, she crawled outside and stood up.
The morning sun filtered through the forest, striping the small abandoned field they had camped in with shadows. A knot of magicians had gathered between the tents, their apprentices hovering close by. All wore expressions of worry or annoyance. Spotting Jayan, she moved to his side.
“What’s happening?”
“Lord Sudin has gone, taking Aken with him.”
“Does anybody know why?”
“No, but Lord Hakkin has admitted that he and Lord Sudin discussed strategies for luring Sachakans into revealing themselves last night, or possibly scouting for themselves. He thinks Sudin might have left to try out one of his own ideas.”