The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts
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great Lord’s face, the chairs where the Acoma had dined stood empty. Infatuated with that small triumph, Jingu did not notice that Teani had also vanished. Weary of badgering her master for the chance to torment the Lady of the Acoma before the end, she had left to pursue her own means of realizing her goal, knowing that drink and the indulgences of entertaining would satiate the appetites of her Lord.
The blue silk scarf that covered Teani’s hair fluttered behind her as she hastened down a back corridor of the Minwanabi estate house. She did not trouble to replace it, nor did she pause to retie the fall of tawny hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Strike Leader Shimizu’s quarters lay across the next courtyard, and the need for stealth was past; the only person likely to be about at this hour was the slave who lit the oil lamps. Teani slipped through the last screen with a secretive smile. Tonight the slave would be late, preoccupied as he was with the needs of Jingu’s guests. The old jaguna could be niggardly when it came to looking after his staff. Politics always came first in the great Lord’s mind, a trait his ranking officers sometimes came to resent.
Golden in the moonlight that flooded the courtyard, Teani paused to unhook the collar of her robe. She loosened the fabric enough to reveal a provocative expanse of breast, and her teeth flashed white in a smile. Tonight, if she was skilful, the skinny little Acoma bitch would die. How sweet it would be to hear her screams.
Across the courtyard the screen to Shimizu’s quarters rested ajar. Lamplight burned beyond, throwing the distorted silhouette of a man hunched on his cushions with a flask. He’s drinking again, Teani thought in disgust, and all because she had delayed in the great hall, striving with no success to get Jingu to reassign the plotting of Mara’s execution. The concubine wished that pleasure for herself. The fact that her Lord did not care to delegate that task to Teani left her no choice but to outwit him.
Tossing her hair over now almost bare shoulders, the concubine resumed her walk towards the open screen. She entered so silently that for an instant the dark-haired man within did not notice. Teani stole that moment to study him.
Shimizu, First Strike Leader of the Minwanabi, was known to his fellow soldiers as a man of fierce loyalties, passionate beliefs, and forthright personality. His quick reflexes and near-infallible judgement on the battlefield had earned him early promotion; his face was young for his post, unlined except for the scars acquired through his profession. His only flaw was a thin skin, giving him a temper that could erupt without warning. His eyes were hooded, his moods difficult to read except when he drank. In the petulant thrust of his lower lip, Teani saw frustration – the sulky, explosive sort given to men who are balked by a lover. Teani congratulated herself on a task well performed. She knew this man for a fool, sick inside with longing for her body, and the sort of emotional juvenile who mistook longing for love. And by the sweat that shone on his muscled chest, Teani knew that Shimizu was hers to use at will, a tool perfectly tempered to do her bidding; as so many others had been, male and female.
Except Mara. The Lady of the Acoma had escaped her. For that, Teani assembled her most inviting smile and, from behind, raised a hand to touch the sweating flesh of Shimizu’s shoulder.
He started violently, and his hands grasped and drew the sword he kept always by his knee. The blade sang from beneath the sheath, turning to kill even as he recognized his lover. The edge caught in soft silk and stopped, barely short of bloodshed.
‘Woman!’ Shimizu’s face paled, then flushed with anger, both at the lateness of Team’s arrival and the stealth of her entry. As he recovered his poise, he noticed a queer brilliance in her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, as if the sword had been a lover to embrace. Her nipples hardened as she breathed deeply, excited by the brush of the razor-sharp edge against her flesh. Recognition of her twisted passions soured his welcome slightly; he sheathed his weapon with a show of disgust. ‘You’re mad, woman, sick in the mind. I might have run you through.’
But the anger, the disgust, never lasted. When Teani tipped her face upward, her breasts pressing firmly through his tunic, Shimizu lowered his head like one starving and savoured the kiss made hot for him by a slight brush with death. She had solved him like a puzzle. Every touch seemed to melt him to the marrow of his bones. Unable to suppress his surge of joyous welcome, Shimizu caught his fingers in the ties that closed her gown. ‘You can stay, my love? Tell me that Jingu is preoccupied with his guests, and that you will not have to return to his bed this night.’
Teani brushed his ear with her tongue and answered, her breath hot against his neck. ‘Jingu does not expect me back to his chambers,’ she lied. Then, waiting for his fingers to grip more insistently at her clothing, she fended him off. ‘But tonight I may not stay.’
Shimizu frowned, his eyes suddenly hard in the light of the single oil lamp. ‘Why not? Do you share your affections elsewhere?’
Teani laughed, letting him dangle a moment before she slipped her robe from her shoulders and bared her lovely breasts. Shimizu tried to remain stern, but his attention was clearly engaged. ‘I love no other, my fine warrior.’ She shaded her tone with just enough hint of sarcasm to leave him a bit in doubt. ‘It is state business that takes me from your side this night. Now, will you waste what time we have, or will you …’ And she moaned, biting softly as he stopped her words with his lips.
Yet this time, deliberately, she held back enough that he did not lose his train of thought.
His hands roughened on the bare silk of her skin, and his tone grew demanding. ‘Why, then, did you delay so long in coming to me?’
Teani whipped back her honey-streaked hair in a show of pique. ‘How distrustful you are. Do you fear that your sword is not enough to please a woman?’ She moved away, both to tease and to allow him a better view of her half-nude body.
Shimizu frowned, and his hands caught her shoulders. But now Teani softened like butter against him. Her fingers slid skilfully through the slit in his robe. He tensed in delicious apprehension as she scratched her nails along the inside of his thigh.
‘And such a mighty sword,’ she murmured, eyelids drooping as her mouth formed a pouting smile. ‘My Lord of the Minwanabi detained me with tiresome instructions. It seems he wants the Acoma bitch dead, and I’m the one chosen for the filthy chore.’
But even as her hands found their mark and stroked in the manner he most preferred, Shimizu pulled back. Instantly Teani knew she had pushed too fast; or perhaps erred in her manner of presentation. She bent instantly, her hair trailing across his thighs, and teased his flesh with her tongue.
Shimizu took a moment to respond; then his hands tightened against her back, and his voice, dreamily, resumed above her. ‘That’s most strange, my love, that my Lord gave such instructions.’
Teani’s interest sharpened. She straightened and set her hands to untie the laces of his sandals. ‘Gods, do you always have to wear your studded soles in the house?’
Shimizu shifted impatiently, but the concubine continued with his laces. The hardened tip of her breast brushed the inside of his knee as she worked, driving him wild to the point where he answered her next lazy query without thinking.
‘Why? Oh, my Lord told me yesterday that the Acoma girl was to die, but he intends to break her spirit first. Terrify her, he said, by killing off her servants and retainers so that when he strikes, she will be utterly alone.’ Here Shimizu stopped and flushed, aware that his tongue had become loose. He tangled one fist in red-gold hair, drawing Teani away from the sandal as yet left fastened. ‘I think you lie, woman. You do not go to kill Mara, but to couple with another this night.’
Teani’s eyes flashed, partly in excitement, for violence aroused her; and also because men were so laughably predictable. She did not deny the accusation, but provoked further by saying, ‘What makes you think that I lie?’
Shimizu caught her wrists, jerking her body against him. ‘I say you lie because my orders for tomorrow night are to stage a false raid by a thief and see that Papewaio, Strike Leader of the Acoma, lies dead on Mara’s doorstep. Why then, without cancelling such orders, should my Lord of the Minwanabi tell you to give the girl to Turakamu tonight?’
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