Unless--she suddenly thought: unless--and try as she would, her sharp little peasant mind refused to drop it-- unless Sednil were actually to find Zenka. Suppose Zenka were to say "Yes, come" (for she still did not believe that his love could have altered: I was there and Sednil wasn't, she thought), then she was going to need all the ready money she could lay her hands on.
Quite apart from that, however, she was in a fair old bit of money difficulty anyway. She was two thousand meld out of pocket to Sednil, to say nothing of the thousand she had lost along with Randronoth's nine thousand to Fbrnis. And then when Sednil got back (as of course he would) there would be another two thousand to find. No doubt about it, she was running short--or she was going to run short. If she were to accept Randronoth again but no one else, it would be certain to get out.
Everyone would assume that they were lovers. But suppose she were to accept three or four men--Randronoth among them, perhaps--just once apiece, just to get solvent once more? It went against the grain, certainly; it was clean contrary to her resolve that no one else should ever drink from that bright cup which she and Zenka had drained together. Yet what else could she do? And anyway she would be doing it only so that she could be ready at any moment to join him again--a swift and secret journey, involving instant down-payments and, no doubt, bribes. What sort of journey?
Whither? Ah! this she could not envisage. But when the time came, Lespa would surely point the way.
It was early one evening--getting on for supper-time and the air cooling pleasantly--when Ogma came smilingly upstairs to tell her that a stranger was below and asking to see her. "He says he's from Lord Randronoth, miss," she said with obvious approbation, "and to show you this." It was yet another imprint of Randronoth's Canathron seal.
After taking her time over changing into a fresh robe and having Ogma brush and arrange her hair, Maia came leisurely down the staircase, paused for a minute in the hall to give Jarvil a few unnecessary instructions and then strolled into the parlor.
The man, who was sitting near the window gazing out across the Barb, stood up as she entered. He was unexpectedly young--only a year or two older than herself; tall, with black hair falling below his shoulders, and eyes of so deep a brown as hardly to be distinguishable from the pupils. He was elegantly--almost foppishly--dressed in a slashed, crimson veltron and yellow silk breeches, and wore at his belt a pouch or scrip of fine, tooled leather embossed with the Canathron emblem.
"Good evening, saiyett," he said, crossing the room and taking her hands. "My name is Count Seekron, of Lapan, and I come from Lord Randronoth. He sends you this gift and begs that you will graciously permit me to talk with you for a short time."
The unsmiling intensity of his manner somewhat disconcerted her. He gave the impression of being taut-- indeed, one might have said strung-up, nervous. His hands, she noticed, as he picked up the gift--which he had left on a near-by table--were trembling slightly. She felt no particular wish to put him at his ease, yet from mere wonted good nature she smiled as she motioned him to sit down again and took the gift from him.
It was a miniature cabinet, about three inches long and perhaps two inches wide and deep. The hinged doors, fastened together by a gold latchet, opened upon three tiny drawers, each lined with darkly-lustrous, gold-spec-kled lacquer. The top and sides, as well as the doors, consisted of panels of fine, white bone. Upon each the craftsman had carved in relief the likenesses of different fishes--twelve in all--and these, with their scales, fins, gills and eyes all perfectly represented, were stained and shaded in their natural colors. Eight tripartite comer-pieces of silver bound the seven panels together and the doors had flat, undulated hinges about an inch long. It was a miracle of skill and patient craftsmanship--and quite simply a rich woman's toy.
Maia had never before seen anything at all like this, and for some time kept turning it over in her hands, examining it with the same kind of incredulity and delight that the early Victorians must have felt upon first seeing photo-graphs. She opened the perfectly-hung doors, pulled out the drawers and rubbed her forefinger Wonderingly over the slightly raised simulacra of the fishes, for she could not at first believe that they were not fixed or applied, but actually formed part of the surfaces of the panels themselves.
Artistry of this order was something entirely new to her. She could never have imagined it and needed a little time to take it in.
Randronoth was shrewd, she thought. No one--no one, that was to say, with the least spark of sensitivity--could resist such a present. It was not a question of courtesy to the giver, or even of money value (although the piece must be worth at least two thousand meld and very likely more). It was the thing itself. Simply to see it would be enough to make anyone want to possess it. It was the very exemplar of a rarity and of exquisite, gratuitous luxury: and it was hers.
How cunningly it had been chosen to appeal to her! Oh, that did not escape her! Gold, jewels, robes--any ordinary kind of opulence--she could have declined. But this marvelous, unique plaything--whatever could you keep in it, she wondered; pins, rings, spools of silk?--how perfectly it was calculated to suit and to be irresistible to her in particular! Occula, perhaps, might just possibly have been proof against it: no one else that she knew. Any obligation involved in acceptance appeared negligible as she turned it this way and that, continually perceiving fresh details of skill and beauty. The piece was not only faultless; it was almost immoderate in the delicacy and quality of its workmanship.
"This--this is very kind of Lord Randronoth," she murmured at last, latching the doors and placing the cabinet back on the table. "Will you please thank him very much and tell him that I'm grateful and delighted?"
"Then he will be, saiyett," replied the young man, smiling for the first time; yet rather formally and a little unnaturally, she thought--as though he were not really interested in the cabinet, but had something else on his mind.
"I've never seen work like this," she went on, herself growing more relaxed in her pleasure over the gift.
"Do you happen to know where it came from?"
"That I can't tell you, saiyett," he answered. "It's old, I know that much, and I rather believe Lord Randronoth's family's possessed it for some time; possibly it may have been his grandfather who acquired it, for I know he once traveled a long way to the south, beyond Ikat Yeldashay. He--"
But with this he suddenly and rather oddly broke off, once more getting up and walking over to her where she still stood beside the table.
"Saiyett," he said quietly, "I would like to--that is-- er--Lord Randronoth wishes me to talk to you privately."
She frowned, startled. "Well, isn't this private enough for you?"
"I would prefer it if we could walk in the garden, saiyett."
She was on the point of refusing, for his peculiar, tense manner and lack of warmth (Maia was unaccustomed to detachment from men, particularly young ones) had not made her particularly like or want to oblige him. However, it would hardly do to accept Randronoth's present and then send his messenger packing unheard.
"I'll have some wine brought out on the terrace," she said.
"Or we might, perhaps, walk down as far as the edge of the lake, saiyett."
She stared at him, as though at an impertinent servant; but he only stared back at her unwaveringly, his pupils expanded, like a cat's, in the fading light. "This is a serious matter, not primarily one of courtesy," those eyes seemed to be saying. "Surely you realize that?"
Still intent on showing that she and not he was in control, she called Ogma to bring her light cloak and a jug of wine. She filled a goblet for herself and one for him. He sipped it, again with his blank smile; but when they had descended the steps and begun strolling side by side between the shrubs and flowerbeds towards the shore, she noticed that he had left it behind in the parlor.
He seemed hesitant to begin, and this annoyed her still more.
"Well, I s'pose no one's going to hear us here," she remarked at length, "without it'
s an owl."
"Saiyett," he said, still speaking very quietly, "Lord Randronoth says that you will recall that at the end of this year the present Sacred Queen's reign comes to an end."
Instantly she felt afraid. All that Milvushina had said came flooding back into her mind. Yet now she realized that she had taken Milvushina's warning only partly seriously. That is, she had believed her, but had not envisaged the dangerous thing actually happening or how she was going to meet it if and when it did happen. She had certainly not expected it to come from this quarter.
"Well, what of it?" she answered sharply.
"Her successor will be chosen by acclamation of the people."
"But I suppose--" she turned aside for a moment, stooped and pulled off a dead head from a clump of flowering pinks--"that What'll really happen is that the Council will decide."
"The Council may be divided, saiyett, but the people are not: that is what Lord Randronoth asked me to stress to you."
Her knees were trembling and her bowels felt loose. There was a marble seat near-by, half-enclosed by trailing boughs, and here she sat down, laying one arm along the cool arm-rest. After a moment he also sat down, turning his head so that he was almost whispering in her ear.
"Fornis may make some desperate attempt to remain Sacred Queen, but this is bound to fail, because the people will not accept her. Already she has tried the patience of the gods too long."