Maia

"No, no! I only meant-"

He stopped. She had never seen him so hesitant and unsure of himself. This was not the haughty, frigid lord of Suba whom she had come to know so well.

"I-" Then, suddenly, "Maia, what I want to say to you is that I've done you wrong. I've done a very grave wrong to your honor and integrity as a Suban, and I'm extremely sorry for it. May I ask your forgiveness?"

"Why, how's that, then, my lord?" This was disconcerting-embarrassing, too.

"Please don't call me that. Use my name,"

"Well, then, Anda-Nokomis, there's nothing to forgive."

"Oh, yes, there is. If you had treated my honor as a Suban as I've treated yours, I believe it would have driven me to-"

She put her hand on his. "Ah, well, but that's different, in't it? I'm not the Ban of Suba, am I?"

"I've slighted and insulted you on account of what you did before ever you knew yourself to be Suban. I've altogether failed to realize the depth of your loyalty to me or your feeling for Suba."

I can't disabuse him, she thought. What good would it do? It'll be better for both of us if he goes on thinking I've been acting on account of being Suban. Zirek could see the truth, but not Anda-Nokomis, thank the gods.

"Well, dun't matter, Anda-Nokomis, honest. You needn't get so worked up; you're making me feel that awkward. Let's just say n'more about it. Reckon I'd 'a felt the same

as you if I'd bin shut up all that time in that old fortress."

"If only you'd learned earlier that you were Suban-"

"Ah, well, but I didn't, did I? What's gone's gone; and now's now."

"Yes," he said agitatedly, "now's certainly now; very much so. That's the rest of what I felt I had to say."

She waited-truth to tell, with some little apprehension, for she knew her man, and this loss of self-possession was so much unlike him as to be disturbing. He seemed to need time to choose his words; hanging his head, plucking at the grass and once or twice looking up as though making a false start. Finally he said, "To decide'to go back to Suba: that shows exceptional courage, too."

Another silence. "You see, there'll be those who don't know what you and I know. They'll only know about the- about the Valderra."

"Doesn't matter," she answered listlessly, her thoughts already straying.

"It would matter to me if they killed you; it would matter very much, Maia."

But not to me. O Lespa, I believe my heart's breaking! Why do I have to undergo all this talk of Suba and what's going to happen when Zenka's gone? Can't I find some way to get this man to go away?

Just as she was about to thank him for his kindness and ask him to leave her to sleep, he spoke again.

"Your loyalty to Suba-your loyalty to me, too-they do you more credit than I can express, Maia. I've come to realize that you're like me-you're not a person who asks for favors, are you? You prefer to let deeds speak for themselves. But I can't believe that it hadn't already crossed your mind that in choosing to go back to Suba you'd be in danger."

Why can't he go? she thought.

"I felt sure it must have been worrying you, even though you're too courageous to talk about it or let anyone see it. That's why I came to speak to you tonight; to spare you any further worry as quickly as I could."

As she shook her head uncomprehendingly, he took her hand in his.

"Maia, I love you. I've come to admire you and love you more than any woman I've known since my mother died. I've come to ask you to marry me-to be my wife

in Suba. You'll be safe then; and happy, too, I sincerely hope and intend."

She was taken so utterly by surprise that she could only stare at him. The idea of Anda-Nokomis as a lover-as any woman's lover-now seemed so incongruous, so anomalous as to seem totally out of character. It was as though he had said that he had decided to sell himself into slavery or become a priest of Cran. She realized now that she had never-no, not even at the time when Kembri had first put her in his way-thought of Anda-Nokomis as a sexual being; as someone naturally capable of feeling desire. Yet she felt no impulse to laugh, as Nennaunir might have. Whatever else he might or might not be, Anda-Nokomis was a man of the most dutiful responsibility, a man of his word, who never spoke more than he felt, or intended to perform. If he said he loved her, what he meant was that he had formed the purpose of committing himself to being her loyal husband for the rest of his life: and also, as he had made clear, that he had considered the position she was bound to find herself in if she returned to Suba, and was ready to identify himself with it and make it his own personal concern.