that. Indeed, bearing in mind Nokomis's enormous celebrity, this would enhance, not detract from her status in Urtah.
Whereas if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon, there could be only one possible conclusion drawn by Kembri, the Council and the entire Leopard faction-that she had set her heart on becoming Sacred Queen at all hazards and reckoned she could achieve it by relying on the support of the people even against the Lord General. Well, she thought, maybe she could, at that, if she'd been cast in the mold of Fornis. Yet beloved of Lespa or not, she knew very well that she entertained no least desire to be Sacred Queen.
Now, for the first time, as she lay tossing restlessly, with the moonlight creeping across the floor, there came into her heart glimmerings of doubt: not of her love for Zen-Kurel-no, nor of his for her-but of its ultimate attainability. The fear of death-the fear of death as an imminent and actual probability-is a terrible thing, twisting and forcing the inward eye like a kind of distorting lens. In face of the fear of death, an alternative which would otherwise have seemed beyond bearing becomes at least endurable, while what was once felt as merely tedious or irksome appears positively attractive. Poor Maia had little doubt what would become of her, one way or another, if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon.
If only she had known anything at all of Zen-Kurel- simply his whereabouts! If she could have been sure of nothing more than that he was alive, then, she thought, she would also have known her answer. But to know nothing-nothing-
"What?" said the Fear of Death, squatting, hands clasped round bony knees, in the shadow under the window across the room. "A Katrian boy you were with for-how long? Three hours? You must understand, Maia, that I've nothing whatever against you; but for a girl of your origins to be asked in all earnest to become High Baroness of Urtah, and reject it for the ridiculous, out-of-the-question possibility of somehow regaining a foreign lad who made love to you and was gone almost at once! Who may be anywhere, who may be dead: well, to be frank I thought you had more sense. I couldn't protect you, you know-"
"But I haven't any heart for it!" she cried out to the horrible shadow. "High Baroness? What's Urtah to me, or a man who couldn't even see anything particularly beautiful about my cabinet of the fishes? And do you realize he never even said he loved me? Were you there? Do you remember what he called it? He called it 'the arrangement'! Yes, 'the arrangement'! Three hours-three days- what's it matter? What matters is the actual, physical memory of my Zenka-the things he said to me, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, what it was like to be with him, what it was like to know we understood and loved and respected each other! And I know what it would be like to live with him, too. I'd never have to be pretending to be something I'm not-not with him I wouldn't!"
"And then, you see, there's Form's," went on the Fear of Death, clicking slightly in moving to a more comfortable position against the wall. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten Fornis, have you? Kembri as an enemy-well, I suppose at a pinch you could try going on your knees to Kembri. But Fornis, my dear! I mean, won't she be delighted to hear that you rejected Eud-Ecachlon in order to try to supplant her as Sacred Queen? For of course that's what she will think, no danger. Ob, I know it's the middle of the night and all that, but really I've only got your good at heart. I mean, you do remember, do you, those bodies hanging by the road when you and Occula were coming up to Bekla last year? And you remember Fornis getting back from the temple, do you, with the blood all over her arms yum yum? And you're completely defenseless, you see. Oh, yes, of course, I know about the comet; not quite so bright tonight, by the way, have you noticed-?"
"O Cran, let me alone!" she screamed silently. "I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll tell them tomorrow! O Zenka! Zenka! If only I knew where you were! If only you were here to save me and take me away! But how can I die-yes, die!-for nothing but a memory?"
In spite of her near-hysterical fear, Maia did not lack awareness of the enormous consequence to herself of the decision she was now taking. She realized very well that she had been subdued by terror to conclude that, while she could and would have risked all for a realistic hope of recovering her flesh-and-blood Zenka, she was not equal to facing virtually certain death by murder for the sake of a love with no discernible hope or future. This was retreat; abandonment; surrender. She had a sensation of stepping down from some high, bright place into twilight, into a listless, sluggish world like that of oxen, a world where
she did not want to be and-had nowhere to go. She knew clearly enough that she was relinquishing the hope which had upheld her and prompted her actions ever since that night in Melvda-Rain. For months past she had known what she longed for, and now she had turned away from it.
And there were no compensations. If she had been five or six years older she might, perhaps, have comforted herself with the prospect of becoming the greatest lady in Uriah, a figure of power and consequence in the empire and one probably well able, with experience and the exercise of tact and discretion, to control and give guidance to a husband who would be only too glad to receive it. But what could all that mean to sixteen-year-old Maia, even had she been able to envisage it?
She fell asleep at last, just as first light was breaking and the mynahs and starlings were beginning to murmur along the ledges outside. She dreamt of the river and the soldiers who had carried her to Sendekar, but when she woke could find little meaning or comfort in the dream. Poor Maia was young enough to feel ashamed of what she was going to do; nor did it occur to her that this shame was creditable.
Brero, like the good fellow he was, could sense that something was wrong. He stood fidgeting on the little terrace as Maia, who had summoned him, at first remained silent, hesitating for the last time before sending her irreclaimable message. There were three possible ways of doing it. (Ah, rope, knife or poison, she thought bitterly; these being the options traditionally offered in the empire to someone compelled to commit suicide.) Either she could send Eud-Ecachlon a letter of acceptance, or she could herself go to Kembri's house and tell him; or else she could invite him to come and see her again. Not having much confidence for writing a letter (and not, of course, wishing to employ a scribe) and having no particular desire to encounter Kembri, she had decided on the last, and accordingly had packed Ogma off to the markets of the lower city for the makings of a slap-up dinner. It really was like being executed, she thought. If it had to happen, then it ought to be endured with style and courage. Yet now, with Brero waiting uneasily before her, she hung back, looked
at the ground, drummed her fingers on her knee, began to speak and then broke off.
"Brero, I want you-I want you to-"
"Yes, saiyett?"
These were the last moments of her youth, she thought. She had only to speak, now, and her life would cease to be her own, for ever. Her tongue was like a knife, about to cut away all that was past, which would thereupon float away and disappear behind her. There'd be no delay, either; she felt sure of that. Kembri would not lose any time in making the news of the betrothal public throughout the city.
She stood up and turned aside, filled with an uncontrollable anguish. In the act of trying to speak her lips trembled and for a few moments her sight actually clouded over. She realized that Brero had taken her arm and led her the few steps back to the bench.
"Very awkward times, these, saiyett; very awkward for everyone."
She looked up into his rugged, kindly face, not sure whether he meant something specific or was only trying as best he could to express a vague sympathy.