MALTA DANCED THREE MORE TIMES WITH CERWIN. HE SEEMED BLITHELY unaware of how her feet dragged through the steps. After her effortless grace in Reyn's arms, dancing with Cerwin seemed an awkward physical effort. She could not quite match his step or the beat of the music. The adoring compliments he showered upon her rattled against her nerves like hailstones. She could hardly stand to look into his earnest, boyish face. All the life and beauty had gone out of the ball. The whole gathering seemed diminished by Reyn's departure. It suddenly seemed there were fewer couples on the dance floor, less laughter and talk in the room.

Bleakness welled up from the bottom of her soul, inundating her again. She could recall that she had been briefly happy earlier today, but the memory seemed shallow and false. As the music faded, it was a relief to see her mother at the edge of the dance floor, gesturing unobtrusively for Malta to come to her.

"My mother summons me. I'm afraid I have to go."

Cerwin stepped back from her, but caught both her hands in his. "Then I shall let you go, but only because I must, and I pray you, only for a brief time." He bowed to her gravely.

"Cerwin Trell," she acknowledged him, and then turned and left him.

Keffria's face was solemn as her daughter approached her. The concern in her eyes didn't change, but she managed a smile as she asked, "Have you had a good time, Malta?"

How to answer that? "It has not been what I expected," she replied truthfully.

"I don't think anyone's presentation ball is quite what one expects." She reached for Malta's hand. "I hate to ask this of you, but I think we should leave soon."

"Leave?" Malta asked in confusion. "But why? There is still the shared meal, the presentation of the gifts-"

"Hush," Keffria bid her. "Malta, look around you. Tell me what you see."

She glanced about herself hastily, then perused the room more carefully. In a low voice she asked, "Where have all the Rain Wild Traders gone?"

"I don't know. A number of Bingtown Traders have vanished as well, without any explanation or any farewell. Grandmother and I fear there is some trouble afoot. I went outside for a breath of air, and I smelled smoke. The blockade of the harbor has increased tension in the city. We fear a riot or outbreak of some kind." Keffria looked slowly about the room. She kept the calm smile on her face as if she discussed the ball with Malta. "We feel we would all be safer at home."

"But," Malta began and then fell silent. It was hopeless. All joy and light had gone out of the evening anyway. To stay here would just extend the death throes of her dream. "I shall do as you think best," she abruptly conceded. "I suppose I should tell Delo farewell."

"I think her mother already took her home. I saw Trader Trell speaking to his son just a moment ago, and now I do not see Cerwin either. They'll understand."

"Well, I don't," Malta replied sourly.

Her mother shook her head. "I am sorry for you. It is hard to see you come of age in such troubled times. I feel you are being cheated of all the things we dreamed you would do. But there is nothing I can do to change it."

"I know that feeling," Malta said, more to herself than to her mother. "Sometimes I feel completely helpless. As if there is nothing I can do to change any of the bad things. Other times, I fear I am simply too cowardly to try."

Keffria smiled a genuine smile. "Cowardly is the last word I would use to describe you," she said fondly.

"How will we get home? The hired coach will not be back for hours."

"Grandmother is talking to Davad Restart. She will ask if his coach could take us home. It would not take long. It would be back long before the ball is scheduled to end."

Grandmother came hastening up to them. "Davad is reluctant to see us leave, but he has agreed to loan us the use of his coach." She scowled suddenly. "But there is a condition on it. He demands that Malta come and bid the Satrap farewell before she leaves. I told him I thought that improper and putting herself forward, but he insists on it. I feel we have no time to argue. The sooner we are home, the safer we shall be. Now, where has Selden got off to?"

"He was with the Daw boys a moment ago. I'll find him." Keffria abruptly sounded both weary and harassed. "Malta, do you mind? Grandmother will be with you, so you needn't be afraid."

Malta suddenly wondered how much they had deduced about her earlier encounter with the Satrap. "I'm not afraid," she retorted. "Shall we meet you outside?"

"I suppose that will work. I'll go and find Selden."

As she and her grandmother crossed the floor, Ronica Vestrit spoke. "I think we shall host a tea ten days from now. The group of women presented this year is not large. Shall we invite them all?"

Malta was startled. "A tea? At our home?"

"In the garden, I think. We should be able to trim it up decently. Now that the berries are ripening, we could make little tarts to serve. In my day, such little tea parties often had a theme." Grandmother smiled to herself. "My mother held one for me, in which everything was lavender or violet. We ate tiny candied violets, and sugar cakes tinted purple with blueberry juice and the tea was flavored with lavender. I thought it tasted dreadful, but the idea of it was so lovely I didn't mind." She chuckled aloud.

Grandmother was trying to make her feel better. "Our lavender is blooming very well this year," Malta pointed out with an effort. "If we are deliberately old-fashioned, then no one will remark if we use the old lace tablecloths and doilies. And the old china, perhaps." She tried to smile.

"Oh, Malta, this has all been so unfair to you," Grandmother began. Then, "Chin up; cheery smile. Here comes Davad."

He bore down on them like a big gander in a poultry yard. "Well, I do think it is tragic, just tragic, to hurry this sweet girl home like this. Is her headache truly that bad?"

"Devastating," Malta replied quickly. So that had been her grandmother's ruse. "I am not accustomed to such late hours, you know," she added sweetly. "I told Grandmother I only wished to bid you good night and thank you for your kind offer of your coach. Then we shall be on our way."

"Oh, my poor little sugarplum! Surely, you will at least bid the Satrap good evening. After all, I have already told him you must leave, and I've come to escort you while you say good-bye."

That sealed her doom. No gracious way out. "I suppose I could manage it," Malta said faintly. She set her hand on Davad's arm, and he hastened her across the room to the high dais, with Ronica Vestrit hurrying after them.

"Here she is, Magnadon Satrap," Davad announced grandly before Malta had even caught her breath. He did not seem to notice that he had interrupted a conversation Trader Daw was having with the Satrap.

The Satrap turned a languorous glance on Malta. "So I see," he said slowly. His eyes moved over her casually. "Such a shame you must leave so soon. We have had only the briefest of conversations, and on such an important topic."

Malta could think of nothing to say. She had sunk into a deep curtsey the moment the Satrap deigned to notice her. Now Davad rather ungracefully took her arm and hauled her to her feet again. The act made her appear clumsy; she felt the blood rush to her face. "Aren't you going to tell him good night?" Davad prompted her as if she were a backward child.

"I wish you a good evening, Magnadon Satrap. I thank you for the honor of your dance." There. That was dutiful and correct. Then, before she could forbid herself the hope, she added, "And I pray you will soon act on your offer to send rescue for my father."

"I fear I may not be able to, sweet child. Trader Daw tells me there is some unrest down in the harbor tonight. Surely my patrol vessels must stay in Bingtown until it is subdued."