78: SUPPER WITH NASADA

Nasada sat facing Maia in the soft lamplight. She could smell the light, honey-like bouquet of the Yeldashay in the goblet at his elbow. She had given him a supper fit for the High Baron and he had obviously enjoyed it. She would have given him her jewels, her house, herself if he had wanted them. Whatever Ogma's limitations in other directions, thought Maia, thank Cran she could at least cook when she put her mind to it.

She had threaded her hair with more than fifty gold beads and coiled it in plaits round her head (it had taken over an hour), and was wearing her diamonds and a plain, quite unrevealing robe of white and pale-pink silk with a pleated skirt, and white leather suppers with a gold leopard on each toe. Against all reason and probability she felt elated and full of confidence. There was that in the mere presence of Nasada which banished anxiety. Looking at him—gnarled and gray-headed, yet robust and infinitely reassuring—she was reminded of some huge-branched old tree of magic properties; such as had been revered time out of mind by Tonildan villagers, on which womenJiung dolls for fertility and bunches of herbs and flowers for the recovery of the sick. You could hang your troubles on him all right: he wouldn't break.

She had refused Eud-Ecachlon: she was probably going to die. (Often, the young face this prospect with more courage and acceptance than the old, for they have more vigor to do it with, little empty time to reflect and less of the past to lose.) Well, let it come. Meanwhile, for the present it fairly warmed her heart to be able at last to show her gratitude to old Nasada and let him see her, just for this once at least, as the Serrelinda, the idol of Bekla and the heroine of the empire. But then again, looking at him, she found her mood changing to one of illogical conviction that of course her troubles would come right, somehow or other. His very existence was like an assurance to this effect.

He broke the silence. "It's nice, isn't it, to see something made by men which is as beautiful, as something made by the gods, and with no more harm in it than a flower or a bird?"

He was holding Randronoth's cabinet of the fishes between his hands, turning it this way and that in the lamplight, admiring it by touch as well as by sight. That was what she used to do herself—she delighted in the feel of it, its smoothness and squared, panelled symmetry—and he had needed no suggestion from her to discover the same pleasure.

"I've often wondered, U-Nasada," she said, "why they chose to carve it with fish particularly. I mean, you know, the one who made it and them as it was made for."

"Perhaps because it's made of fish."

"Made of fish? You're teasing me!"

"I'm not: I meant the bones of a fish."

"You've picked on the wrong girl, U-Nasada. I'm from Serrelind, remember? I know about fish and fish-bones. A fish would have to be the size of this room before you could cut panels like that."

"Oh, yes, at least; possibly bigger. I've never seen them myself, but I know they exist; a thousand miles from here, in waters far bigger than Serrelind. Some of these carved fish are strange to us, too, you see. But obviously they must exist."

Anyone else she would have told to go and jump in the Barb. Being Nasada, she felt that what he said, or something like it, must be true. Anyway, she didn't care: it was enough to be in his company. He evidently believed it and she knew he wasn't making fun of her, even though she'd started by saying he was.

He put the cabinet back in its place. "Beautiful things seem even better when they come from far away, don't you think? They're like the stars, then: we don't know how they began, but we do know they're beautiful and do no harm."

"But isn't Bekla beautiful, too?"

"Yes; and that's just the difference. It is beautiful, but it's like a poisoned well with lilies growing round it It's become a death-trap. What used to be natural has been—" He paused, then shrugged. "Made evil."

She waited for him to go on. "Oh, yes," he said at length. "I know the people in Suba are ignorant and dirty and stupid. They get ill from the climate, too, and most of them don't live as long as people here; at least, I shouldn't think they do. But they don't cheat and rob and murder one another. Do you know that Suba—I still can't help thinking of it as part of the empire—is about the one place left where people can travel in safety and don't have to go armed, and lock everything up? And you know why I've come here, too, don't you? To try and stop even more blood being spilt. We've got that much in common, you and I." He. sighed. "But you succeeded in your attempt and I haven't in mine, I'm afraid."

She was eager to speak of something else. Indeed, she had been determined to.

"U-Nasada, I want to tell you something as I haven't told to anyone else in the world."

He looked up quickly, as though already half-guessing what it was that she was going to say.

"I'mSuban! What d'you think of that? Nokomis was my mother's sister."

Then she related all that Tharrin had told her about her father's murder, her mother's flight and her own birth. He listened in silence, but she could see tears in his eyes and, remembering how he had once spoken to her of Nokomis, could feel how deeply he must be moved.

When she had finished he did not at once reply, seeming to be weighing all that she had told him and considering how to answer. At last he said, "I'll say something you may not like to hear. You're the most beautiful woman in the empire, the most admired and the most—well, prized, I suppose. A sort of princess, really. But even so, and setting aside all question of your safety, I myself believe that you'd be happier —that's to say, more fulfilled and more likely to live naturally and well—in Suba."

She gazed out the window at the gentle, scented night, the moonlit sky, the rippling Barb and the slopes of Crandor beyond: then round at her elegant, luxurious room.

"Do you think they'd accept me, U-Nasada, after what happened at Melvda?"

"Well, the short answer's yes, although the details might need a little working out. I don't mean that you'd live a life entirely without troubles and problems, you know."

She nodded. "I know."

Suddenly she was kneeling at his feet, her head in his lap, sobbing her heart out.

"Oh, Nasada, if only you knew how I long for peace and for an end to being afraid all the time! People as you can't trust and you wonder what's in their minds and what they're on about behind your back—"

He stroked her hair and took her hands between his own.

"Has someone been offering you marriage?"

How incredibly startling and instant his penetration was, she thought; just as it had been in Suba. It was disconcerting; yet such swift, outspoken understanding was very comforting, too. With him, talk never went in circles, nor yet stayed in one place. That was the nature of his truth: he never wasted time making kindly noises. He was like the seeker of the hidden treasure in old Drigga's story, whose tongue, enchanted, had the power of a sharp sword.

"Yes: Eud-Ecachlon of Urtah. He said his father's dying, and I'd be High Baroness when he succeeded. I refused him."

"Do you want to tell me why?"

She hesitated, and at once he said, "You don't have to. I said 'Do you want to?' and that's all I meant."

"I want to."

So then it all came pouring out—Zen-Kurel and the daggers; their passionate exchange of promises at Melvda: her determination to forestall the whole business of the night attack, to save Zenka's life and the lives of the Tonildans: her ignorance of what had become of Zenka, her longing for him, her sense of loneliness and loss in the midst of Bekla's adulation. Her avoidance of accepting a lover, Kembri's false suspicion of her motives for doing so, the priest's cryptic words at the temple, the death of Tharrin, Randronoth and the money, Sednil's mission and what he had found out. She wept herself into exhaustion, ending at last, "And I don't care if Kembri kills me or Forms kills me or what they do, the whole damned lot of them—I won't, I won't run away and leave Zenka in that woman's hands. Either I'll save him or else I'll die trying."

There was another silence, and again she knew that he had entered into all she was suffering.

"I—was wrong," he said after a time, 'I see that, now— about something I said earlier." She waited. "I said I thought beautiful things were better when they came from far away, and then I said Bekla was a place where what used to be naturally beautiful had been spoiled. Some of it hasn't."

With his admiration behind her, she felt, she could attempt anything. Even if she failed, her integrity would have earned his respect—an incomparable honor.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, suddenly and briskly, with a complete change of manner.

Once more he was pressing ahead. That her love for Zen-Kurel and her (most would say) hopeless purpose were right and un-questionable—with him, all that went without saying. Now, as naturally as though they had been engaged upon some matter such as a journey or a purchase, he was down to considering ways and means.

"I don't know, U-Nasada: I don't know what to do. I've thought of going out by myself to meet the Palteshi army and offering to ransom Zenka."

"With anyone but Form's that might have worked. But once bitten, twice shy, don't you think? If I were you I shouldn't go paying any more ransoms to the likes of her."

"Then what?"

He bent and kissed her cheek, raised her to her feet and himself remained standing until she had sat down once more in her own chair.

"For the time being it all depends on the fighting, doesn't it? I don't know what Kembri's plans are,' of course, but obviously he'll have to send some sort of troops against her, and I think you can only wait for the outcome."

"But the priest said, 'You'll find him if you seek him yourself and then he said, 'Opportunity's everything.'"

"But that works both ways, you know—like a lot of things those sort of people say to you. It could mean 'Wait for the opportunity', couldn't it? And as things stand just at this moment, I don't think you've got one. You're young— eager—brave—you find inaction hard to bear—you want to feel you're doing something—anything. I know that feeling. But I think you must wait and see what comes of the fighting."

"But by then it could be too late, U-Nasada!"

"No, I don't think so. Your Zen-Kurel's a Katrian hostage: that's to say, he's being held by Fornis to ensure that Karnat won't attack Paltesh. People are usually reluctant to kill hostages, you know. It's not like spending money or using soldiers: it's very much a last resort. Once you've killed a hostage, that's that: you've antagonized the other side and got nothing for it. So I'd say, wait here and Zen-Kurel will probably come to you, one way or the other: and that'll be where your opportunity begins. Waiting can be the hardest work in the world, you know. You are doing something for Zen-Kurel, simply by waiting here."

She forced a smile. "Shagreh."

"Shagreh."

"What does it mean, U-Nasada? Every time I thought I knew, next time it seemed to mean something different."

He laughed. "It can mean almost anything you like, including Yes' and 'No', and 'I don't know.' But as you're Suban, at least you'd better learn to pronounce it properly. It's not 'Shagreh': it's 'Shagreh'."

"Shagreh."

"No! 'Shagreh.' "

"I said 'Shagreh.' "

"I know you did. You're still saying it. It's 'Shagreh.' "

"Oh, Nasada, what's the Suban for 'I love you: you cheer me up'?"

"No Suban would phrase it like that. Let me see—"

For the next three-quarters of an hour Maia tied her voice into knots of Suban articulation and inflection, laughing delightedly at Nasada's comic pretenses of impatience and inventing more and more absurd or outrageous phrases for him to teach her. He entered into the game as gaily as though he had been the same age as herself, so that she wondered with admiration and even with regret what he could have been like when he was. After her soldiers had left to take him, in her jekzha, the short distance back to his quarters, she went to bed feeling more hopeful and encouraged than for many days past.