He bowed his head. 'You are correct.'
'I assured myself that they meant what they said and that they were not attempting to betray you through my agency. Do you think I am a fool?'
These words were spat so sharply Mai winced, and although Anji's mother did not look at Mai, it was quite obvious by the way her mouth tightened that she had noticed Mai's reaction.
Anji held a breath longer than he ought, and expelled it as he gripped the teapot and poured a second round of tea into the cups. He did not wait for the women. He drained his cup and set it down hard on the table's polished grain.
'No more a fool than I am,' he said.
'We shall see.' She gestured, and the woman who had veiled
herself at their entrance rose like a puppet and walked with graceless stiffness — the poor thing was either terrified or haughty — to stand at the foot of the couch on which Anji's mother reclined.
'Remain in exile, never to set foot in Sirniakan or Qin territory again, and they will not trouble you,' Anji's mother repeated with a gloating satisfaction in her tone like that of a customer who feels she has gotten the better in a long tedious bargaining session. 'The bargain to be sealed by a marriage between you and their sister.'
The sister's eyes were all Mai could see; they were traced with a thick black line that emphasized their shape; her lashes were thick, her gaze exotic because it was all that existed of her. She might be beautiful; she might be plain. It was the mystery that excited.
'I have a wife,' said Anji.
'You have a concubine, Anjihosh. And very pretty she is, as I am sure you wish me to mention. The child is yours, I collect. A handsome boy.'
Her voice warmed as she deigned to examine Atani, who regarded her with the same equanimity as he regarded all people: he was sure they loved him. Hu! The woman could not be all horrid if she admired Atani.
'But a pretty girl of no rank or consequence is not the wife of a prince.'
'Mai is my wife,' said Anji.
'Furthermore,' she went on as if he had not spoken, 'you must marry in order to protect your life. My life. The life of your handsome son. Even the life of the pretty concubine is at stake.'
The sword thrust home.
His eyes flared, as though he had taken a blade to the gut, and he sat back as swiftly as if he'd been hit and flung an arm out as though to shield Mai from the blow. He did not quite touch her; he had more control than that. Yet the gesture betrayed him.
His mother smiled tightly. 'Keep your concubine if you wish. Beauty fades. Blood, however, never weakens. I will hold the baby now.'
She extended her arms; the many, gold bracelets she wore jangled along her sleeves, and they caught Atani's attention. The cursed baby went straight to her, as he went to everyone, and she seated him on her lap and let his damp bottom stain the magnificent silk and allowed him to wrap his chubby moist fingers
around the baubles as though they were humble wood toys. She knew how to hold a child, and he was an easy child to hold. Anji relaxed his arm; his shoulders eased; he smiled.
The woman, behind her veil, watched him, and then she looked at Mai, and Mai looked at her. If there was a message in the other's gaze Mai could not interpret it. After a moment, the other woman looked away, and perhaps that shuttering came from anger, or shyness, or fear, or loneliness. What manner of woman was she, raised in a women's palace apart from men and confined within walls her entire life? As remarkable as Mai's journey had been from dusty Kartu Town through the desert and the empire into the glorious Hundred, how much farther in every other way this woman must have traveled.
Would the other woman demand that her exalted rank be acknowledged, or might they become as sisters? Rich men in Kartu Town kept two wives all the time; Mai's own father had taken a pair of sisters. It wasn't impossible; women learned to live together. What choice did they have? It was better to live in harmony than to fight over scraps.
Yet what was she thinking? She need accept no scraps. She had her own household. Her own coin.
Anji's mother was watching her while pretending to dandle the baby. So Mai smiled at her, very prettily; she had learned to smile in the marketplace and in the Mei clan, where tempers and tensions had trapped so many others.
But not her.
She had escaped.
'You will wish to wash and rest after your journey,' said Anji's mother, handing the baby back to Miravia as to a servant. 'I have set aside rooms for your use, Anjihosh.'
T thank you,' he said, rising and offering a hand to Mai so she must rise as well. Miravia clambered hastily to her feet, holding the baby. 'I have urgent business to attend to at the militia encampment. There is a tent there set aside for my use. I will attend on you again.' His gaze flicked to Mai, and his lips pulled up in that way he had when he was content with his victories. 'In the morning.'
He offered a formal gesture toward the veiled woman. 'Cousin. My greetings.' Then he switched to a language Mai did not know and spoke at more length, although the cadence of the words remained formal and not at all intimate.
The woman did not look at him as he spoke. When he was finished, she replied to the floor. She had a woman's voice, not astoundingly beautiful and not croaking or harsh; just a voice. Impossible to say what manner of person hid behind the veil of formality and distance. Maybe that was the advantage of such covering: if you were clever, you could hide the truth and do what you wished because no one could suspect your actual intentions, your secret heart.
Yet Uncle Hari could look straight into her heart, could he not? No veil would protect her then. Imagine what it would be like to have an ally who could always warn you of the hidden intentions of those who might wish you harm!
'Mai,' said Anji softly.
She rested a hand on his forearm and looked first at Anji's cousin and then at his mother.
'Greetings of the day, verea,' she said in the Hundred style. 'Greetings of the day, Honored Mother.'
The arrow struck home, an ambush, if you wished to call it so. But oddly, as Anji's mother's eyes narrowed, absorbing the hit, her lips quirked as though she were amused.
'Mai,' repeated Anji.
Her ears were still flaming; she knew her color was high. She paced beside Anji as he led her out of the house whose construction she had overseen. She had boiled rice in those kitchens! She had strung canvas walls with her hirelings.
As they descended the steps, she muttered, 'It is my house.'
'You did well,' said Anji. 'Just think. Now you have another five hundred men to find wives for.'
'Will these soldiers stay in the Hundred?'
'They're under my command, plum blossom. Of course they will stay.' He strode up to Tuvi and clapped the chief on the back with a broad grin. 'Five hundred Qin soldiers. Think of it, Chief. Allow me a moment to gloat. Hu! I think we can actually win this war.'
Mai embraced Miravia. 'I missed you,' she whispered.
'Take me with you,' murmured Miravia into her ear. 'I beg you.'
'Come, Mai,' said Anji, taking the reins from his groom.
'Miravia will need a horse to ride,' said Mai to Tuvi. Then she turned to Anji. 'Will you marry your cousin? To keep the peace?'
He frowned. 'One war at a time. I have battles to fight in the north that will not wait.'
He mounted. Mai stepped into Tuvi's cupped hands and he hoisted her up into the saddle. The chief faced Miravia, whose blushes were easy to see. Was Tuvi also blushing? Did he care for her, or want to care for her, or was he simply overheated from the sun?
'I will take my son,' said Anji.
The chief took the baby from Miravia. As everyone waited for Anji to wrap the child's sling around his torso and Tuvi to get the baby snugged in, that cursed Keshad emerged from the lines leading a horse.