"You mean, to drink, saiyett?"

When Maia had drunk the water she said, "You say Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion's here in the palace?"

"Yes, saiyett."

"Take me to him, please."

Another woman might perhaps have asked questions or argued, but it had no doubt occurred to Lokris that she could not be blamed for doing as she was told and also that in the circumstances that would be the least troublesome thing to do as far as she herself was concerned. Picking up a lamp, she walked half-way to the door and turned, waiting for Maia to join her.

The doctor touched Maia's arm. "I trust you won't lay blame on me, saiyett. I assure you I did all that was possible."

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "No, you needn't worry."

Making their way down the passage, neither she nor Lokris spoke. Maia had little awareness of their surroundings. Once a middle-aged woman-seemingly some kind of upper servant-coming out of a doorway, stopped short and cried in a low voice, "Oh, Lokris, what's happened?" Lokris caught her eye, shook her head and walked on.

On the landing where Maia had taken down the curtains a lamp was now burning. Lokris picked it up and handed it to Maia.

"I think you may need this, saiyett." ›

"Shall I? Why?"

But Lokris only nodded, leading her up the staircase to the second story. Maia could hear a murmur of voices behind a door, but this they passed, entering a colonnade like the one in Kembri's house where she had attended the Rains banquet. At its far end they came to another closed door, ornately carved, with recessed panels and a great latch of bronze, the stop cast to resemble a hound and the fall-bar a bone clenched in its jaws. Here Lokris stood to one side, inclining her head.

"Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion, saiyett."

In the terrible distress and grief consuming her, Maia's self-possession was like a frail raft on a swirling flood. In imminent danger of being overwhelmed, it still remained afloat, though barely.

"But I must see him alone, Lokris. Are you sure there's no one with him?"

"Yes, saiyett."

"How can you be sure?"

"I am sure, saiyett."

"Well, then, will you please go in and tell him as I'm here?"

For a moment Lokris hesitated. Then she said, "Saiyett, I think it'll be better if you simply go in yourself; and take the lamp with you."

Maia stared, but Lokris merely averted her eyes, looking down. After a moment Maia raised the latch, putting her shoulder to the heavy door. It yielded and she stepped inside.

The room was not quite in darkness, for it faced west and was still faintly twilit. One would not have expected to find anyone in it, however, unless they were either asleep

or making love. Yet this was not a bedroom. No; this, with its profusion of stools and small tables, its sideboard covered with silver dishes and goblets and its trophies hung on the walls, had the appearance of some kind of anteroom, perhaps adjoining a hall next door. Holding up her lamp, she looked round her in perplexity.

"Elvair?" she said timidly; but there was no reply.

She turned this way and that, looking round the big, shadowy room in apprehension, and was just going to hurry out again when she realized that someone)-a motionless figure-was sitting on a tall, armless chair by the window. The back of the chair was towards her and its occupant seemed gazing out towards the darkling west. Maia, carrying her lamp, crossed the room and stood beside the chair. The figure was, indeed, Elvair-ka-Virrion.

He looked as a man might who had spent days in prison. He was hollow-cheeked, pallid and unwashed and his hair and beard were unkempt. She could smell his stale sweat. His torn, travel-stained clothes must be those in which he had come back from Lapan. One of his boot-straps was broken and trailing on the floor. Beside him stood a tray on which were plates and the remains of untouched food. She saw mouse-droppings and a fretted, nibbled crust.

He did not move as she touched his shoulder.

"Elvair? Elvair, it's Maia."

He looked up for a moment. "Maia. Oh, yes." Dropping his chin on his hands, he resumed his abstracted staring towards the west.

She knelt beside his chair and put her hand on his wrist.

"Elvair, I'm so sorry-I'm very sorry that I've only come to add to your troubles. I wouldn't do it if I hadn't got to, honest."

It would be easier, she thought, if only he would ask her what her news was and she could answer him. But as she waited he put aside her hand, stood up, took two or three steps across to the window and continued gazing out into the near-darkness.

Maia, still kneeling on the floor, began to cry-for Mil-vushina, for Tharrin, for Sphelthon, for her own terror of death, for the loss of Zenka, the fallen darkness and the hopelessness of the entire world.

He seemed unaware of her weeping; but she was weeping from the heart, and for some little time continued without any attempt to control herself or to speak again;

while he stood silently, his back turned, both of them as it were isolated in separate cells of suffering. At last Maia recalled that she had come in fulfillment of the promise she had made to Milvushina.

"Elvair? Elvair, I've brought bad news; but you must hear it."

For all the response he made he might not have heard her. In a sudden passion she jumped up and ran across to him, tugging at his arm and beating her fist on his chest.

"She's dead, Elvair; Milva's dead! She told me I was to come and tell you she loved you and she didn't blame you for anything. She didn't blame you for anything!" As he still said nothing she stood in front of him, put her two hands on his shoulders and cried, "Do you hear me? Milva's dead, I tell you! The baby's dead and Milva's dead!"

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.