of cloth and decoration. I am lucky to have a wife with not just beauty, but good taste.”
Stara smiled. “Thank you. I am lucky to have a husband who appreciates such things.” She met his gaze, knowing she could not hide the fact that his compliment filled her mind with doubts and questions.
“I do,” he said. Then he looked down for a moment. “I would also appreciate it if you did not mention...my difficulty, to the wives,” he added in a murmur.
“Of course not!” she replied quickly. “It is our secret.”
He smiled. “My friends’ wives love a good secret,” he warned her.
“Not this one,” she assured him.
“Thank you.” The wagon was now turning through the open gates into a large courtyard abuzz with slaves. Kachiro helped her climb down to the ground, then turned to the slaves waiting nearby, who had prostrated themselves. “We’re here to join Master Motara in celebrating his birthing day. Take us to the gathering place.”
One of the slaves rose. “It is this way,” he said.
They headed inside, Vora and one of Kachiro’s slaves following. Stara recognised the restrained decoration and beautiful furniture immediately. As she slowed to admire a long cabinet full of drawers of different sizes, Kachiro chuckled.
“Of course, Motara keeps all his best pieces. I’ve tried to persuade him to sell that one to me many times. He won’t even risk it when gambling.”
“So Master Motara is your friend who designs the furniture?”
“Yes.”
“I must compliment him on it, then.”
Kachiro looked surprised, then thoughtful. “He would like that. Yes – do it. Women do not usually take an interest in such things. At least, not when they are around men.”
Stara frowned. “Should I say nothing? Would it offend him more to voice an opinion?” She felt a moment’s disbelief that she was asking this. Since when had she cared whether anyone wanted her opinion or not?
“He won’t be offended. Only surprised,” he assured her. Then he gave her that admiring smile that was so infuriatingly puzzling. “I am liking your unconventionality more and more, Stara. It is refreshing. Women are too secretive and reserved. They should be more like you, open and interested in things.”
“I can also be stubborn and nosy. You might not like that sort of unconventionality.”
He laughed. “For now, I choose to believe that is the price I paid for marrying a woman who is not only beautiful, but clever too.”
Stara felt her heart flip over. Then she felt herself begin to scowl and forced herself to look down to hide her expression, hoping he thought her embarrassed by the compliment.
The slave stopped at the entrance to a large room and stepped aside, his head bowed. Kachiro led Stara past him, then took her arm. Five men turned to look at them. All had the broad shoulders and wide face of the typical Sachakan male, but one was fat, another was skinny, and one had dark pigmentation under his eyes. They ranged in age from not long past youthful boyhood to middle age. The skinny one rose and stepped forward.
“Kachiro! You’re even later than usual!”
Kachiro chuckled. “I confess it is my fault, Motara. I didn’t think to tell my wife we were visiting until it was nearly time to leave, forgetting that she would need time to prepare. This,” he gestured gracefully toward her, “is the lovely Stara.”
Stara smiled. She could have been ready in minutes, but Vora had insisted on taking an hour “to teach your husband that he needs to be more considerate in plans that include a wife’.
The other four men had risen and now joined Motara in approving of her. She kept her gaze lowered as Vora had taught her, but could tell they were examining her closely and appreciatively.
“She is exquisite,” Motara said. “Knowing you so well, I was confident you would apply your eye for beauty to even the difficult task of finding an appropriate wife. But even I am impressed at the result.” The others murmured agreement.
Kachiro looked at her and smiled. “She is more than that. She has a sharp mind and wit, and an eye for beauty and taste to rival my own.” He nudged her gently. “What did you say to me before?”
She looked up fleetingly to meet Motara’s gaze. “That Master Motara’s furniture, here and at home, is exceptional. Graceful in proportion and shape. The cabinet with the drawers . . .” She sighed. “So beautiful.”
Motara seemed to grow a little taller, and for a moment he bounced on the balls of his feet. Then he chuckled. “You didn’t tell her to say that in another of your attempts to get hold of it, did you, Kachiro?”
“Oh! No!” Stara protested. “He did not!”
“No,” Kachiro replied, a hint of smugness in his voice. “She stopped to admire it on the way in. You can ask your slave to confirm it.”
Motara laughed again. “I may just do that, though you still could have described it to her before arriving. Now, on to more important matters. Dashina has kept his promise. We have a bottle each! Vikaro and Rikacha were hoping you weren’t coming, so they could share yours. Chavori wanted it all for himself, but we know how bad he is at drinking.” Motara turned towards the chairs the men had been sitting on.
“And Chiara?” Kachiro asked.
Motara made a dismissive gesture. “With the other women, no doubt whining about us.” He looked at Stara, and she dropped her gaze. “Don’t believe half of what they say,” he warned her.
She looked up at Kachiro questioningly, and he smiled. “They’re not as scary as he makes out. Go and join them. They’re probably itching with curiosity about you.”
He made a gesture and she turned to see a slave step forward. Glancing back at Vora, who nodded, she moved towards him.
“Take me to the women,” she ordered quietly. The slave bowed, then led her towards another exit from the room and into a corridor.
The women were in a room not far away from the men, sitting on cushion-covered wooden benches. There were only four of them, which she guessed meant one of the men was unmarried. They turned to regard her as the slave prostrated himself.
“And who is this?” a slim woman with a protruding belly asked, but with the tone of someone who knows the answer and is following a ritual.
“She is Stara, wife of Ashaki Kachiro,” the slave replied.
“Go,” she told him then, rising and moving forward to meet Stara.
“Welcome, Stara. I am Chiara,” she said, offering a hand and smiling. Stara took it and was led to the rest of the women. “Here is a space for you,” Chiara told her, gesturing to the end of a bench, beside a woman who would have been beautiful but for the scars that marred her skin. “Your slave can stay in the next room with ours. She’ll hear you if you call out.”
As Vora slipped away, her lips pressed in an unhappy line, Stara sat down. She felt a prickle of self-conscious nervousness as the four woman gazed at her with obvious interest.
“Aren’t you a pretty one?” one of them said admiringly.
“She is, isn’t she?” another agreed. “Quite an exotic beauty. Her skin is so lovely.”
“Kachiro said you had Elyne blood, you lucky thing,” a third said wistfully. Though Stara’s mother had told her mixed bloodlines were seen as a strength in Sachakan society, she could not help feeling disbelief at the envious looks of the women.
“Don’t overwhelm her with compliments,” Chiara said, laughing. “Or at least let me introduce you all first.” She turned to the scarred woman. “This is Tashana, wife of Dashina. Next is Aranira, Vikaro’s wife.” She gestured to a rather plain, tall woman who looked to be the youngest. “And finally, this is Sharina, whose husband is Rikacha.” The last woman was appealingly plump and flashed a bright but shy smile.
