For a moment he looked coldly into her eyes, much as he might have looked at a servant who had had the temerity to interrupt him while absorbed in some complicated matter. Then, once more staring over her shoulder, he muttered just audibly, "I don't care. Go away."
As though he had struck her, Maia started back. As though he had struck her she drew in her breath and raised one hand to her cheek. Then, like one suddenly perceiving in the room the presence of something monstrous and appalling, she snatched up the lamp and ran stumblingly to the door.
Lokris was seated on a bench about twenty yards up the colonnade. As Maia came out she stood up, but if she had not caught her arm Maia would have run past her.
"Let me help you, saiyett: these corridors can be a little treacherous after dark. I wouldn't want you to fall. Please take my arm."
They walked on together, Maia with the one lamp held in her left hand, Lokris with the other in her right. As they reached the landing on the first floor Lokris asked, "Will you wish to leave the palace now, saiyett?"
"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I'll go now, Lokris. Only I shall need some shoes-sandals-anything wiH do."
"Take mine, saiyett: I think they'll fit you well enough."
Lokris took off her sandals, knelt and strapped them on for her.
"Will you be needing anything else, saiyett? A jekzha?"
Maia had, of course, no money with her, and in her
shocked and broken state of mind could not face the embarrassment of asking Lokris to go and get her some and waiting while she did so.
"No, Lokris, thank you: I'll walk on the terrace for a little while."
Lokris accompanied her as far as the north door of the palace, and here they parted without having spoken of what had taken place.
It did not matter where she went, she thought. It didn't matter what happened. The gods, who had done this to Milva, could now do whatever they liked with her. She would go home, and Randronoth could kill her if he wanted. Go home-yes, that would surprise the gods. The gods would not be expecting that.
Slowly she descended the road down the Leopard Hill into the upper city. Although many people passed her, hurrying in both directions, it did not really strike home to her that any upheaval was taking place. The barracks of the upper city-a square, gloomy building-lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, and here she could see torches and hear noise and commotion. But she merely walked on, stumbling once or twice in Lokris's sandals, which were not in fact a very good fit.
She thought of the handsome, dashing young man who had spoken so charmingly to Occula and herself in the Khalkoornil on that first afternoon in Bekla, when they were being taken to Lalloc's. She remembered the sound of Milvushina's weeping on the night when she and Occula had returned from Sarget's party-that same night when she had cursed Bayub-Otal and vowed to harm him if she could. She thought of the good-natured, sympathetic El-vair-ka-Virrion, who had made love with her and later had been so ready to help her with his notion of the auction at the barrarz; and again, of Milvushina smiling as she sat on the couch in the Sacred Queen's supper-room. Behind all sounded old Nasada's thin, dry voice, "Get out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground."
Once or twice, as she made her half-shuffling, ungainly way along the road in the elf-light of moonrise, men spoke
to her; but she did not even hear them, passing on in a trance of wretchedness which communicated itself without the need for any reply on her part. It was a night, however, when few in the upper city were of a mind to be accosting girls. So far as property owners and their servants were concerned (and most dwellers in the upper city were either one or the other) all thoughts were centered upon Santil-ke-Erketlis and the defeated Leopard force in the south. If Erketlis and his heldril were indeed to take the city, as he had said he intended, what was the prospect for merchants-and especially for slave-traders? And beyond these material fears lay the deep, superstitious anxiety engendered by the news of Durak-kon's death at the hands of Fornis. There was a general, intuitive feeling that that business was neither conclusive nor concluded; it must inevitably have some further outcome; and though no one could guess what that might be, the prospect gave rise to uncertainty and dread.
About the streets people were hastening hither and thither, nearly all, so it seemed, concerned in one way or another with the safety of their property. There were not many to take more than momentary notice of a distraught girl in tears, obviously intent on some destination. No doubt she had received bad news. Many had.
