"I think of you always. I long to be with you again. I am sending you a present. Entertain and hear the messenger. He is my friend. He will tell you-" (The next bit was beyond her. Well, she thought rather impatiently, if he's going to tell me, don't matter, do it?) "He is to be trusted. Sednil is free, as you asked. Your devoted lover, Randronoth."
She put it aside without reflection. The memory of the Randronoth episode was most bitter to her, not through any fault of his, but on account of its horrible and humiliating outcome. She simply wanted to forget it, and to forget him too. She felt nothing for him, and his feeling for her both alarmed and vexed her. Like most outstandingly beautiful girls, Maia had no objection to being desired where she did not desire-it was unavoidable, anyway-provided the admirer's behavior remained within reasonable bounds. But for a man in a high position to be virtually unbalanced-what she herself called "touched"- on her account was worrying, simply because one never knew whether he might not do something embarrassing or even downright dangerous. The present, being from a provincial governor, would have to be accepted, of course. She only hoped it wouldn't prove to be one which would make it more difficult to refuse him what he wanted-for to refuse him she was determined.
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
