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

mistress from the road and had not eaten since the night before.
    Mara’s study was dim and cool, even during early afternoon. Furnished with a low black table and fine green silk cushions, it had hand-painted screens opening onto a walkway lined with flowering akasi plants. When open, the outer doors provided a view of the Acoma estates, needra meadows rolling away to the wetlands where the shatra birds flew each sunset. But today the screens were only partially open, and the view was blocked by filmy silk drapes that admitted air while keeping out prying eyes.Mara entered a room that appeared at first glance to be empty. Experience had taught her not to be deceived; still, she could not entirely control her slight start.
    A voice spoke without warning from the dimmest corner. ‘I closed the drapes, Lady, since the work crew is trimming the akasi.’ A shadowy figure stepped forward, graceful as a predator stalking prey. ‘Although your overseer is honest, and Midkemians are unlikely to be spies, still, I take precautions out of habit.’
    The man knelt before his mistress. ‘More than once such practices have saved my life. I bring you greetings, Lady.’
    Mara gave him her hand as a sign he should make himself comfortable. ‘You are doubly welcomed home, Arakasi.’ She studied this fascinating man. His dark hair was wet, but not from a bath. Arakasi had paused only to rinse off travel dust and slip on a fresh tunic. His hatred of the Minwanabi equalled any harboured by those born on Acoma lands, and his desire to see the most powerful of the Five Families ground down into oblivion was dearer to him than life.
    ‘I hear no sounds of shears,’ Mara pointed out. She permitted her Spy Master to rise. ‘Your return is a relief, Arakasi.’
    The Spy Master straightened and settled back onto his heels. Mara had a quick mind, and, with her, discussions tended to thread through several topics simultaneously. He smiled with genuine pleasure, for in her service his reports bore rich fruit. Without waiting for her to be seated, he answered her earlier query. ‘You hear no sounds of shears, Lady, because the overseer sent away the workers. The slaves on the first shift complained of sunburn, and rather than sweat over the whip, the overseer chose to shuffle the work roster.’
    ‘Midkemians,’ Mara said shortly, as she settled onto her cushions. With Arakasi she felt familiar, and since the day waxed hot, she loosened her sash and allowed the breezethrough the drapes to cool her through her opened robe. ‘They are recalcitrant as breeding needra. Jican advised against my buying them, and I fear he may have been right.’
    Arakasi considered this with a birdlike cock of his head. ‘Jican thinks like a hadonra, not a ruler.’
    ‘Meaning he does not see the whole picture,’ Mara said, and the light in her eyes intensified with the challenge of matching wits with her Spy Master. ‘You find the Midkemians interesting,’ she surmised.
    ‘Passingly so.’ Arakasi turned at a slight step in the corridor, and seeing that the disturbance was nothing more than a servant approaching from the kitchen, he again faced his mistress. ‘Their customs are not like ours, Lady. If there are slaves in their culture, my guess is they are very different creatures from ours. But I digress from my purpose.’ His eyes grew suddenly sharp. ‘Desio of the Minwanabi at last begins to show his hand as Ruling Lord.’
    The servant arrived at the doorway with platters of fruit and cold jigabird. Arakasi fell silent as Mara motioned for the tray to be placed on the table. ‘You must be hungry.’ She invited her Spy Master to take his ease upon the cushions. The servant departed silently, and for the moment all was quiet outside. Neither Mara nor her Spy Master reached for the dishes. The Lady of the Acoma spoke first. ‘Tell me of Desio.’
    Arakasi became very still. His dark eyes showed no emotion at all, but his hands, so seldom betraying