"I danced an old Tonildan tale, esta-saiyett, about Lake Serrelind."

"How charming! And the Ortelgan baron-er-what is his name, now?-he enjoyed it?"

"Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, esta-saiyett?" (That was one to her, she thought: obviously Fornis had meant Ged-la-Dan.) "He didn't actually say as much, but I believe he may have."

"But Randronoth did?"

"I'm sure he did, esta-saiyett."

"Yes." She smiled. "I'm sure he did. Well, of course, that's one of the delightful things about Randronoth. As Sencho once remarked to me, he's always extraordinarily easy to please. He's perfectly happy with almost anything. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, esta-saiyett." She might have replied more, but meeting the cold, green stare above the smiling mouth, fell silent for very dread. Fornis was like the Valderra: it had not occurred to her till now that she might not get out alive.

There followed a short silence. "Well," said Fornis sud-

denly, "I expect you'd like to talk about your step-father and the money, wouldn't you?"

"Thank you, esta-saiyett. I've got the money outside: ten thousand meld. Shall I ask my man to bring it in to you here?"

Fornis, still gazing at her with every appearance of sympathetic concern, nodded. Then she stood up briskly.

"No, no, I'll see to it; don't trouble yourself, Maia."

She went out the open door and Maia heard her walk down the corridor and call to Zuno. Her own pulse, she now realized, was beating very fast and she felt breathless. She wondered whether this had been apparent to the queen. Together with her fear of Fornis there had come upon her a vague but none the less disquieting presentiment-sprung no doubt from Fornis's cat-and-mouse affability-that some trick was about to be played on her. She tried to think what it could be. Fornis might say the money was short: she might take the money and refuse her the reprieve: or she-she might give her the reprieve and then have her murdered before she left the house. In sudden panic, Maia stood up and ran to the window. Perhaps she could climb down and get away before Fornis returned.

At this moment Brero came into the room-burly, familiar, smiling, the very embodiment of reassurance. In her unreasoning fear-the kind of fear Fomis so readily engendered-she had not considered what his presence here implied. Even Fornis could not hope to get away with the murder of a veteran of the Beklan regiment-or with cheating her before his eyes. True, he did not know the ins and outs of the business, but nevertheless he was-he could be-a witness.

"Brero," she said quickly, leaving the window and crossing the room to where he was standing, "I want you to stay close beside me, please, until we go. Don't leave me on any account, do you see?"

He looked surprised, aggrieved: probably he took it for a reproach. "Well, of course, saiyett; if that's what you say. I only stayed outside 'cause it was the Sacred Queen's bedroom, like. I mean to say-" He broke off, but then resumed, "Reason I come in now, saiyett, she told me to say would you please just step outside and join her?"

She nodded and smiled, and he followed her into the corridor.

Fornis was seated at a narrow table beneath one of the

windows overlooking the garden, while Zuno, kneeling at her feet beside the open box, was counting the money. As Maia approached he closed the box and stood up, nodding corroboratively.

The Sacred Queen, who had beside her sealing-wax and a lighted candle, forthwith set about affixing her seal to a small sheet of parchment lying on the table. Maia, who had never seen this done before, watched intently as For-nis, with practiced ease, melted the wax at the flame, dropped a round patch at the foot of the written parchment, wetted the seal with her tongue and pressed it down. The impress, precisely formed, depicted Airtha leaning over the sleeping Cran.

Forms picked up the parchment, shook it back and forth a few times to cool the wax and then handed it to Maia with a smile and a benign inclination of her head.

"There you are, my dear: and now I expect you'll want to be off, won't you? I certainly must be: you'll excuse me, I'm sure."

Getting up, she faced Maia for a moment, graceful, elegant and majestic. Though not an exceptionally tall woman, to Maia she seemed to rise above her like a tree, multifold, instinct with a quality of pliant, tense motion. She felt the Sacred Queen kiss her cheek and then saw her walking away with quick, agitated steps towards the stair-head.

The parchment felt cool, smooth and slightly greasy. Its very unfamiliarity seemed to confer upon it a magical, talismanic quality. Nevertheless she looked at it doubtfully, for not one word-not a brush-stroke-of what was on it could she read. Yet this alone-this thing of power- comprised all that she had sought and gained from her long night's work. Unless there was some trick, this was the actual instrument that would save Tharrin's life.

The queen was gone. Maia turned to Zuno, still standing beside her.

"Zuno, please tell me: is this really and truly an order of release for Tharrin, and is it-well, is it all right?"

He took it from her and read it through deliberately. There were no more than five or six lines in all.

"What is the prison governor's name, do you know?"

"Pokada."

"Then it's entirely correct. It's addressed to him, it says

Tharrin' and the seal's her own and no one else's. You've only to take it down there."

"Oh, Zuno, I can't believe it! Somehow or other I thought she'd-oh, I'm so glad! Oh, thank you, Zuno, thank you! Give my fondest love to Occula, won't you, and say I'm sorry I didn't see her?"

With this she turned and, closely followed by Brero, hurried down the corridor, down the stairs, across the hall and out into the garden, the parchment still clutched in her hand.

At the Peacock Gate she dismissed Brero and his mate, put on her veil and took the first jekzha she saw. To be sure, there would not be a great many idlers about the streets of the lower city this morning. Almost everyone who could would have gathered at or near the Blue Gate to watch Elvair-ka-Virrion and his men set out for Chal-con, but nevertheless she did not want to run any risk of being hindered on her way to the prison.

What would it be best to do, she wondered, once Tharrin had been handed over to her? Presumably he would simply be released to walk out through the prison gate: then she would have him entirely on her own hands. She couldn't take him back to her house in the upper city; that would never do. On the other hand, if she were to put him up at "The Green Grove" or "The Serpent" while she arranged for his return to Serrelind, there was always the risk-and no use pretending there wasn't-that he might skedaddle. Thinking it over, she decided the best thing would be to pay Lalloc to look after him for a day or two. He wouldn't be able to bunk from Lalloc's. Not very dignified, certainly, but really and truly he had no claim to expect more.

And she'd see him right. She'd see them all right; even Morca! Only, Tharrin was damned well going to do his fair share of getting the family back on an even keel again. She'd send a reasonable amount of money every month- ah! paid through Some reliable person in Meerzat an' all- always provided he remained with the family, stayed out of trouble and did his fair share of keeping the place up together. Yes, that was the sort of thing to arrange. She might, perhaps, be able to manage something through the father of that poor lad Sphelthon killed at the ford. She'd

done right by him even before she'd returned to Bekla, borrowing from Sendekar enough to pay a messenger to go to Meerzat and tell his parents; and in reply had received an unexpectedly dignified and touching letter from the father (Sendekar had read it to her) who had turned out to be a clerk in the provincial government and obviously a most respectable man.