Seated at supper between Zen-Kurel and Bayub-Otal, Maia was doing her best to appear relaxed and easy. From time to time the king, sitting beyond Zen-Kurel on her left, would lean forward and speak to her through him, and she would answer, not sure how warm or open a response it was fitting for her to make. That he admired her he had made plain enough, but she was used to that and it had already occurred to her that if he thought of her-as no doubt he did-as in some degree belonging to Bayub-Otal- the girl he had helped to escape from Bekla-he would want to steer clear of any possible ill-feeling. Karnat's reputation was that of a warrior and general, with enormous personal hold over his followers, who were said to regard him almost as a god. At this very moment, indeed, there was about him an air which suggested to her that he never entirely cast aside the burden of this leadership. Mixed with his friendliness and warmth was a certain restraint-the self-restraint of a commander. He was not acting a part, but he was nevertheless conscious of his position and of the presence of his captains and his Suban allies. Whatever his inward inclinations, he would take care that no remarks were passed behind his back about the general being struck on the Tortildan girl. Besides, he was a king. If he did want her, no doubt he would send for her privately, as Kembri had done. So she gave smiling, neutral answers, complimenting him on the bearing of his soldiers and on all she had heard (which in fact was little enough) of Terekenalt. When he spoke to her of Bekla, she said she had been unhappy there, was delighted to have escaped and very glad to find herself in Suba.
Yet despite the honor being shown to her, this last was no more true now than when she had first crossed the Valderra. After her triumphant arrival at the Star Court that morning, three or four Suban ladies, the wives of notables, had taken her into their care, summoned their maids to bring her food and attend her in the bath, and then put their own wardrobes at her disposal. Two of these ladies had known Nokomis, and Maia once again responded as well as she could to their expressions of incredulous astonishment, assuring them that she was in no way related to the legendary Dragonfly of Suba.
By Beklan standards the dresses were disappointing- their style dowdy and dull for a girl like her-but she had chosen the best of them, a pale-gray robe with a shower of yellow stars spreading outward from bodice to hem; and in this, with her hair freshly washed and set with combs, and a translucent necklace of Telthearna aquamarines, she felt as confident as was possible without actually seeing herself (for, looking at the Suban ladies, she could place little reliance on their assurances and praises).
The thought of passing the rest of her life in such a society depressed her unutterably. In some respects, so it seemed to her, Melvda-the whole place-was not all that far above her mother's hovel. Most of the servants were dirty (dirtier than ever me or Kelsi was, she thought), but no one seemed to notice this or think it unusual. The bathwater, though hot enough, was brown and smelled muddy. Her thin towel was soaked through before she had nearly finished drying. When one of her hostesses opened a wardrobe door to show her her dresses, there was a scurrying of roaches or beetles, but at this the lady showed no particular surprise or discomposure. Since no one had offered her a mirror, she concluded that there was none in Melvda.
However, she had felt a little comforted when they took her to her own quarters. This time there was no ladder. The small, neat house stood apart from any others, at the top of a short slope of grass and flowering bushes. Beyond, a medley of fields stretched away towards distant woodland. The table, cupboards, stools and benches were well-made and looked almost new. The bed was more than four feet wide-they had given her their best guest-house, they explained, usually allotted to a couple-while the sedge-filled mattress was softer than the one she had praised to Nasada two nights before.
"Would you like the girl who came with you to sleep here?" asked her hostess.
Maia declined, asking only that Luma should bring hot water and breakfast in the morning. She would, she assured the Suban lady, be perfectly happy to sleep alone in the guest-house. After all, there was none but friends all round her.
She was hoping that Nasada might drop in that night for another talk. There was much more she wanted to ask him; and not only that, but she had almost made up her mind to tell him the truth and beg him to advise her. Like
most girls, Maia found it next to impossible to keep a secret if she could not disclose it to anyone at all.
