Mistress of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts

edges.
    Both men sat as if praying. Hokanu noiselessly drew nearer. For several minutes the Lord and the two servants abided in frozen tableau. Then daybreak pierced the gloom, and a sun beam fanned across the sky, catching in a crystalline formation at the peak of the rise. There came a flash that dazzled. Warmth and first light bathed the secluded quiet, and the dew sparkled, touched to gemlike brilliance. Then Irrilandi and Incomo bowed until their heads touched the earth, repeating faint words that Hokanu could not make out.
    For that brief instant, the son of the Shinzawai was nearly blinded by the unexpected flash; then it was gone as the angle of the rising sun changed.
    The two men completed their strange rite and stood. The war-wary eyes of Irrilandi were first to pick out adiscrepancy in the quiet morning. He saw the Lord who waited nearby, and bowed. ‘Master Hokanu,’ he said. Caught short, Incomo repeated the gesture.
    Hokanu motioned both servants back toward the house. ‘I could not sleep,’ he said ruefully. ‘I observed you walking and came to see what brought you here.’
    Irrilandi gave a Tsurani shrug. ‘Each day before sunrise we give thanks.’
    Hokanu’s silence begged for a further explanation, though he did not look at either man but studied his bare feet as he stepped through dew-damp grass.
    Incomo cleared his throat in what might have been embarrassment. ‘We come here each day to witness the day’s beginning. And to give thanks, since the Good Servant came to us.’ He regarded the great house, with its high, peaked gables, stone pillars, and the screen lintels tied now with red bunting in respect for Turakamu, the Red God, who would welcome Ayaki’s spirit into his keeping during the day’s rites. Incomo elaborated for Hokanu’s benefit. ‘When our Lady brought about Tasaio’s ruin, we expected death or slavery. Instead we were given the gift of days: another chance to serve and gain honor. So each sunrise we offer a prayer of thanks for this reprieve, and for the Good Servant.’
    Hokanu nodded, unsurprised by the devotion of these high officers. As Servant of the Empire, Mara was beloved by the masses. Her own staff served her with an affection that bordered upon awe. Indeed, she would need such support for her house to recover from this loss. A ruler disliked by his people might expect a blow of this magnitude to cause hesitation in his staff, as servants from the highest positions down to the meanest slave fretted over whether heaven had withdrawn the luck of the house. Even without divine disapproval, mortal enemies would seize upon opportunity and strike where the ranks weremost confused. And so the superstition fed upon the results, since a house weakened would suffer setbacks, and so seem to be in the disfavor of the gods.
    Hokanu felt irritation. Too many events in this Empire twisted in upon themselves, until centuries of unbending customs led their society toward stagnation and entropy.
    This inbred cycle he and Mara and Ichindar, the Emperor of the Nations, had dedicated themselves to overturn.
    Ayaki’s untimely end was more than sorrow and grief; it could become a major setback and be turned into a rallying cry for all those Ruling Lords who were disgruntled by recent changes. If the Acoma showed any sign of irresolution, there would be strife; and at the heart of the faction that had begun to form in rigid adherence to old traditions, the Anasati voice would be loudest.
    The funeral guests would not be here to observe the ashes of the departed as they spiraled in their smoky ascent to heaven; no: they would be watching one another like starving dogs, and Lady Mara would be subjected to the most thorough scrutiny of all. Weighed down by dread, for he knew his Lady was too lost in her pain to handle peripheral matters, Hokanu pushed open the ornamental gate and started across the garden. He forgot the two men who walked with him until Incomo said, ‘First Adviser Saric