The steward opened the door. “Do you prefer to take supper in the hall or a tray of food in the guest suite so you may recover from your travails in comfort and quiet?”
“A quiet evening tonight, if you will be so kind,” said Vai.
We took a polite leave and followed the steward past the schoolroom wing with its echo of children reciting in loud voices. People paused to watch us pass. Their reserved expressions were as intimidating as their highly decorative and rather old-fashioned clothing.
As the door of the guest suite closed behind us, Vai sank onto the silk-covered couch.
“Cultivated by your seed! You are reduced from animal to plant!” I pressed a hand to his forehead. Ashen shadows dulled his eyes, and lines of weariness soured his mouth. “You’re warm.”
“She piled her cold magic on top of mine to try to cut the threads of my power.”
“She did? The woman?”
“The mansa could not be bothered to test me himself… yet what if he didn’t challenge me because he already knew his cold magic isn’t powerful enough to challenge mine? Perhaps the woman is the more powerful cold mage.”
“Then wouldn’t she be mansa?”
“A woman can’t be mansa. The mansa is a man who rules the House as a prince rules a territory or the emperor rules Rome.”
I placed the cacica’s skull on the side table, positioned to stare directly at Vai. “What do you think of this argument, Queen Anacaona?”
“Catherine!”
“Why should I not appeal to a woman who ruled a powerful empire? Either the most powerful cold mage in any House rules as mansa, or the mansa is chosen by some other criterion. But you cannot say that the mansa is the most powerful, if he is not. I would like to hear what Chartji would make of your argument.”
“Lawyers are paid to make arguments. Furthermore, the feathered people love nothing more than picking through the most arcane details to find things to quibble over.”
“You have no answer to my perfectly reasonable point, have you? For that is exactly why you hired Chartji in the first place.”
He beckoned. I returned the skull to the basket. When I sat next to him, he pulled me close and whispered, “So much for our attempt to spy. The steward said ‘village-born.’ The mansa knew you aren’t Houseborn. I think they know who we are.”
His words fell like stones, unpleasant because they were so hard. “How could they know? I’d better go see what I can learn.”
“You need not look quite so eager, love. Although I suppose it is natural that you do.”
He released me as a parade of solemn servants entered bearing platters. As they readied the table I retreated to the bedchamber, drew the shadows around me, and walked unobserved back through the bustle in the sitting room and out the open door.
Near the entry hall I recognized the djeli’s distinctive tenor. I peeked around a corner. The djeli and the steward were speaking to a soldier who had saddlebags slung over a shoulder. Although their speech had a rhythm different from that of Adurnam, I could string together sense.
“Ride to Four Moons House. Tell the mansa we have the young magister he seeks. Go in haste. Do not rest.”
Four men armed with crossbows stamped in from outside and bowed to the steward. He directed them down my corridor. They walked past without seeing me.
The djeli was holding a sheet of foolscap, which he read. “There are four fugitives, my lord,” he said to the steward. “We are advised to keep the wife as hostage for his good behavior, but that she has peculiar abilities and must be watched by a djeli at all times. Also, remove all mirrors. Kill her rather than allow her to escape. There may also be another man and woman. Shoot the man and capture the woman.”
The steward made a sign to avert evil spirits. “Ill-omened! Strange to have them turn up a year after we got the letter.”
The djeli perused the letter again. “The four have become partisans for General Camjiata.”
“If they are partisans for the general, why are they not with his army?” asked the steward. “Why would the young Diarisso come here in such disorder? He is not on a Grand Tour, although no doubt the women will wish to pursue the matter.”
The djeli nodded. “Above all, we must not make them suspicious. We will coax them to stay.”
Pursue the matter! Coax them to stay! I retreated to the sitting room, still in my shadows. The table had been tastefully laid and a side table arranged with platters: spiced beef with apples, fish in a pepper sauce, and winter parsnips stewed with leeks and garnished with freshly bloomed violets for decoration. Three servants awaited orders.
