Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jazep Sang the kigh a gratitude and stared thoughtfully down at the earth that now covered the body of Captain Otik. The captain had been killed with a blow to the side of the head. That much was obvious. That alone was obvious.

Red-brown bloodstains on the bracken were still sticky. Someone besides Otik had been injured.

The kigh were little or no help. Whether that was because they considered whatever happened none of their business or because they were protecting Annice, Jazep had no idea. He sighed and Sang for the trail. With one of them injured and Annice pregnant, or Annice injured and pregnant, they couldn't be very far ahead of him even with the addition of Otik's horse. With the help of the kigh, he'd be with them by noon.

And then Annice had some explaining to do.

Sometime later, he found_ himself back in the clearing by Otik's grave. The kigh had led him in a circle.

He Sang a question and frowned. Annice had asked them not to let anyone follow and they were including him in their compliance. There wasn't anything he could do about it either—the kigh had decided to protect Annice and her baby and nothing he could Sing would breach what they considered that protection to include.

Sliding out of his pack, Jazep sat and mulled over the possibilities. Why had Otik been killed? Because he'd wounded either Annice or her companion. Simple so far. But Otik must have known he'd have a fight on his hands if he tried to take them back to Elbasan, and risking that with a man Gregor and Adrie described as both large and fit didn't sound like the captain at all.

"Then let's suppose he didn't risk it," Jazep mused aloud. "Let's suppose he tried to remove the threat, maybe attacking the man in his sleep, botched the job, and was killed." Unfortunately, King Theron disapproved of his guard conducting summary executions and Otik was far too ambitious to risk the king's displeasure. "Unless…" The bard's eyes widened. "Unless Otik was right and Jorin a'Gerek really was the Due of Ohrid, with a Judgment of Death already passed." Why was Annice with him? Jazep counted back. Because during Annice's Walk to Ohrid, the due had fathered her child. Where were they headed now?

He stood and brushed off his breeches. Given the distance and direction they'd already traveled, they had to be headed for Ohrid.

Why?

"I guess I'll have to ask them that when I get there."

"You sent for me, Lady?"

"Yes. I did." Olina leaned back against the crenellations edging the tower roof and studied the new steward. In the seven days since she'd appointed him, he'd wrapped himself in the privileges of the position and gloried in the power, all the while keeping half an eye on her lest she change her mind. She turned and waved a hand down into the pass. "This is my great-nephew's heritage. If you want to cross the mountains into Cemandia or from Cemandia, you do it here."

Lukas moved forward until he stood by her side.

She allowed it for the moment. "I believe that the Due of Ohrid has the right to exploit his heritage in such a way that all his people prosper. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Do you know what that is?"

Lukas squinted along the line of her pointing finger. "The palisade, Lady."

"There, at the base of the palisade!"

He cringed slightly under the whip of her voice. "A crack in the lowest supporting log, Lady. But it's always been there."

"Don't you think it's time it was fixed?"

"But…"

She was rapidly losing her patience. "Don't make me repeat the question, Lukas. And don't make me regret I appointed you steward." The coiled ebony mass of her hair reflected the sunlight with an iridescent shimmer. "Fix the palisade so that my great-nephew can make Ohrid prosper."

"Yes, Lady." Stroking his beard he stared down into the pass, then suddenly turned to face her. "Yes, Lady," he repeated enthusiastically. Eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and greed, Lukas bowed and hurried off.

He wasn't entirely stupid.

Olina smiled and flicked a bit of loose mortar off the top of the tower. Although she was certain he hadn't intended to, Albek had taught her the simplest way to get around Bardic Command. The truth was much more subjective than most people dreamed. "I told him to fix the palisade," she told the sky. "The palisade is an important part of Ohrid's defense."

Historically, the truth often depended on who won and, therefore, on who asked the questions. Olina intended to have as many of the right answers as possible, regardless of how much it presently looked like Cemandia would be the clear winner in the upcoming conflict.

Stasya stared up the length of the valley at the keep of Ohrid. When she'd been here in Fourth Quarter, it had brooded bleakly over a landscape of ice and snow, its high thick walls of black rock appearing to be more a grim growth on the side of the mountain than the result of a stonemason's art. She'd thought at the time that the dark impression was most likely a result of her errand.

"And I was wrong," she muttered, swinging her pack back onto her shoulders.

New growth had tinted the landscape a delicate green but nothing else had changed.

"Come to think of it, I'm on the same unenclosed errand." She shook her head and started up the track, a little surprised that the area got even enough traffic to cut the imprint of wheels into the grass.

The trip from Vidor upriver to the head of Lake Marienka had been one worth a song and the recall, when she finally got a chance to do it, would inspire fledgling compositions for generations. Among the Riverfolk, the young woman who'd risked her small boat on the chance that Stasya could out-Sing First Quarter currents had been considered a fool at the beginning of the journey and an unenclosed lucky fool at the end.

Whistling up a kigh, Stasya Sang it a short message to take back to Elbasan and the Bardic Captain. "I'll be at the keep by sunset. I'm sure they'll be thrilled." She hesitated briefly before adding, "Any news of Annice?" The guard had tracked them out of Vidor and then, as she'd predicted, lost them in the wilderness between the plains and Ohrid. Stasya wasn't sure that she wanted to be told, yet again, that there was no news, but she couldn't stop herself from asking.

By the time she reached the gates, she had a small parade of children accompanying her, dancing and leaping about to the music of her pipes. When she stopped playing, a howl of protest arose.

"Oh, so hard done by," she told them, laughing, gesturing with her empty hand at the two people waiting just outside the keep. "I'm not going to ignore the due's regent for you lot. Run along and I'll play for you tomorrow."

"Are you going to thtay?" lisped a tow-headed boy through the gap where his front teeth had been.

"I'll be staying for a while," Stasya promised, watching the edge of her vision for a reaction from either of the listening adults. "His Majesty, King Theron is coming here for a visit and I'm to wait for him."

"Is that the majesty that killed Gerek's papa?" asked a child of indeterminate sex, small brows drawn into a frown.

"Yes. But he didn't want to." Four younger brothers had taught her that, moral position aside, children might just as well be told the truth because no adult could predict how they'd react to it. "Sometimes kings have to do things they don't want to, just like other people."

"Like going to bed when you're not thleepy?"

She nodded. "Just like."

"Gerek's not gonna like him," another child warned. "And he's 'sposed to be His Grace now. Maybe you could play for him 'cause he likes singin' and stuff."

"Well, I very definitely will." She knew it wasn't going to be anywhere near that easy and wondered if anyone had taken the reaction of a five-year-old due to the king who killed his father into consideration during the planning stages. If they hadn't why not; and if they had, why hadn't they told her. "You guys had better get home before your parents think you've been carried off by ducks."

"Duckth don't do that!"

Stasya screwed her face up into a ferocious scowl. "Scat anyway." She watched them race at full speed down the track that led from the keep to the village nestled against its flank, then turned to face the gate and Sang the notes of her name.

"You're Stasya,'' Olina said, stepping forward. "The bard who put Pjerin under Command."

Bowing as deeply as the weight of her pack allowed, Stasya decided that the whole unenclosed family was just too good looking. While she appreciated Pjerin's dark and brooding beauty aesthetically, her reaction to his aunt's was a little more visceral. Guess I was too distracted the last time to really notice her.

Olina sensed Stasya's response with a predator's instinct and hid a smile. Wouldn't it be interesting to discover if bards can be as easily controlled by desire as lesser folk. It appeared she'd have time to find out. "Did I hear you correctly when you told those children that His Majesty, King Theron, is coming here?"

"You heard correctly, Lady." Getting her mind back on the situation at hand, Stasya slipped into a light recall trance. "His Majesty wishes to assure Gerek a'Pjerin, the seventh Due of Ohrid, that the crime of his father will not in any way mar the historical relationship between Ohrid and Shkoder. His greatest desire now is to strengthen the ties between himself and the new due. To such end he travels to Ohrid to accept the due's oaths of fealty, rather than insisting on the due coming to him in Elbasan."

"How generous of His Majesty." Olina's tone was dry. "But why didn't he send this news with the messenger that came to tell of my unfortunate nephew's execution? He was here just…" She paused and counted. "… nine days ago."

"By the time His Majesty had come to the decision, the messenger had already left." Stasya spread her hands and smiled modestly. "Only a bard could be apprised of changing plans while on the trail."

"And when does His Majesty intend to arrive?"

"At the rate he's traveling now, he'll likely be here just after the Third Moon of the Quarter."

Olina glanced up at the rapidly darkening night sky. A crescent of moon rose on an arc of sapphire blue. Half moon in four nights and the Third Moon arrived seven nights later. Any time after that, King Theron. She needed to speak with Albek. "We have a room set aside for those few bards who manage to walk this far. My great-nephew's steward will escort you to it."

Lukas started, made as if to speak, and thought better of it.

• Well, he's up to something, Stasya decided. I've a dozen days to find a traitor before the king arrives; let's hope it's this obvious.

Lukas motioned her through the gate. His hand continued to rise as she passed and once he was safely out of her line of sight, his fingers flashed out in the Cemandian sign against the kigh.

"King Theron coming here?" Albek froze, half out of his leather vest. "Are you certain?"

"The bard was."

"But why?"

Olina smiled although the ice remained in her eyes. "His Majesty wishes to strengthen the ties between Shkoder and Ohrid so unfortunately loosened by my late nephew. He's coming here to accept Gerek's oath of fealty."

"Here…" Slowly, Albek let the vest slide off his arms. "What an opportunity. At first light, I'll have to head back over the border. If it's at all possible, the army must arrive while Theron is in the keep."

"Of course it must," Olina agreed. She beckoned him forward and extended a booted foot.

Almost absently, he bent to grasp the leather. "What about the bard?"

"No doubt sent on ahead to sniff out any remaining treason. It's what I'd do in the king's position."

"What if she discovers what you've done in the pass? That could be dangerous, all things considered."

"Not to me." Olina offered him the second boot. "I've already been cleared under Command. By this very bard as it happens. The only thing she found me guilty of was being used by a certain Cemandian trader as an excuse to visit and remain at the keep." Her voice became a warning as she finished.

Albek knelt gracefully by her chair and softly kissed the fingers of a captured hand. She has to believe she has her hooks in you. If she ever suspects for a moment you've used her, she'll dose the pass with you in it. And if Queen Jirina's army arrived at a pass he'd guaranteed open to find it closed, he didn't want to think of how Her Majesty's anger might manifest. His heart began to pound as Olina twisted out of his hold and gripped his chin painfully tight. He swallowed as she pulled his head toward hers. She has to believe it, he reminded himself. You don't.

But the voices had grown louder as he'd watched the bard approach and, now that she was in the keep, they surrounded him with constant pleading. Pain had always been used to silence the voices.

"You sent for me, Majesty?" With one hand raised to discover his headroom, Tadeus paused at the entrance to the king's tent.

Theron turned, gestured, then flushed and said, "Come in, Tadeus."

The blind bard ducked gracefully through the triangular opening, took three strides forward, and stopped. A breeze followed him in. It danced once around the tent, billowing the canvas walls, then lifted his curls on invisible fingers and left to a softly Sung gratitude.

"Kigh?" Theron asked curiously.

"Yes, Majesty." Tadeus smiled in the direction of the king's voice. "They're usually hesitant to enter even so flimsy an enclosure, but as I asked them very nicely and as they know how much of a loss I'm at when I'm in a place I've never been before, they agreed to help.

"Somehow," Theron told him dryly, "I can't imagine you ever being at a loss." Over the seventeen days they'd been traveling, certain impressive stories had filtered up as far as the royal ear.

Tadeus heard an undertone of those stories in the king's comment. Knowing full well that many of them were blatant exaggeration—because he'd been the one doing the exaggerating—his smile broadened and he graciously inclined his head.

Lowering himself carefully into the folding camp chair, Theron nodded a dismissal to his valet who disapprovingly uncorked a small clay bottle of wine, set it sharply on a tiny table beside two silver goblets, and left, nose in the air.

As the tent flap slid shut, Tadeus sighed theatrically. "He doesn't approve of the company you're keeping, Majesty."

"He doesn't approve of this entire trip," Theron corrected. "But it would've broken his heart if I'd left him behind."

"The Lady Heduicka said much the same of her servant, Majesty."

"The one always giving the Troop Captain advice?"

"Yes, that's Irenka. I believe, Majesty, that she was Lady Heduicka's nurse and moved out of the nursery with her charge.

"She must be older than she appears."

"By quite a bit, Majesty, but she's as tough as boot leather and not only passionately devoted to Hedi, uh, Lady Heduicka, but convinced the lady in question would be unable to so much as dress without her. I personally believe Irenka could take on the entire Cemandian army on her own. Just take them by the ear and march them back to their own side of the border."

"Good." Theron scrubbed at his face with both hands and hoped they wouldn't need her. "Please sit down, Tadeus." He gestured to the second chair and flushed again but before he could speak, Tadeus had crossed the tent—deftly avoiding the hanging lamp—swung his lute around to rest in his lap, and sat.

Wondering how long it would take him to remember both the bard's blindness and how little it hindered him, Theron bent forward and poured the two goblets full of dark wine.

Under the black silk scarf he wore over his eyes, Tadeus' nose twitched. "Is that one of the bottles you were given in Caciz, Majesty?"

"Kind of distinctive, isn't it?" Theron smiled as he watched the younger man carefully lift the offered goblet to his lips. "I had a feeling it wouldn't travel well."

"You're probably right," Tadeus agreed after a moment's serious consideration. "But, that aside, it's actually quite good."

Theron lifted his own cup and settled back in his chair.

They drank in silence for a moment, then Tadeus asked quietly, "Was there a reason you wanted to see me, Majesty?"

"Not especially," the king sighed. "It's just that you're the only person in the company I don't have to lie to. You know why we're going to Ohrid and you know what's likely to happen when we get there."

"Stasya will point out the traitor, you'll pass Judgment, the sixth due will pop out of the forest with Annice, who'll present you with a healthy niece or nephew, the Cemandian army will realize they can't win by treachery, sue for a treaty, and go home."

"Do you always look for the best to happen?"

Tadeus shrugged elegantly. "It's just as easy as looking for the worst, Majesty. And it lets you sleep at night."

"And if Stasya hasn't found the traitor?"

"Then we will."

"And if Annice…" He couldn't finish the thought. The heavy embossing on the goblet cut into his fingers as he tightened his grip.

"Healer Elica says she was perfectly healthy when she left, Majesty, and that there should be no reason she isn't perfectly healthy still." Tadeus chose not to mention the obvious reasoning behind Elica being chosen as the king's healer for the journey over the elderly man who'd been Theron's personal healer all the king's life. "Bards spend most of the cycle walking and Annice was never one to overdo it, regardless of her condition."

Theron took a long swallow. "I can't believe the guards missed them in Vidor."

Tadeus could, but he chose not to mention that either. "Bards can take care of themselves, Majesty. You've no need to worry about either Stasya or Annice."

"And should I not worry about a Cemandian army marching through an open pass with only a troop of guard and an ex-nurse to greet them?"

Dark brows rose from behind their palisade of silk. "And what am I, Majesty? Fish guts on the pier?"

Theron couldn't prevent a smile at the injured tone. "Bards are forbidden by oath to use the kigh against other people."

"And what about the water kigh at the battle for the

Broken Islands?"

"That was a bluff they chose not to call."

"And what about using kigh against enemies of the state?"

"Too easy to split hairs over the definition of enemies, as you very well know."

Tadeus drained his cup and flashed the king a brilliant smile. "Then I shall charm their army, capture their hearts, and send them all home prisoners of love."

There was such an absolute lack of doubt in his voice that Theron started to laugh and continued to laugh until tears ran down his cheeks and his ribs ached. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "Thank you. I feel much better."

Rising, Tadeus bowed. "I live to serve," he murmured. "Now, Majesty, if you'll get into bed, I'll ensure that for tonight the cares of the future will have no power to keep you awake."

Theron rose as well, one arm pressed to the stitch in his side. "What did you have in mind?"

Silently commending himself for his restraint, Tadeus resisted temptation. "I thought perhaps I could sing for you."

Still smiling, Theron crossed to the narrow cot and shrugged out of his robe, wondering if he should be insulted at not being given a chance to turn the young man down. "Singing would be fine."

Holding the base of the lamp steady with one hand, Tadeus blew out the flame, and checked to be certain it was out with a string-callused finger. Returning to his chair, he settled his lute, briefly tightening one of the pegs which had a tendency to slip.

Before he could begin, however, Theron quietly muttered, "When I get my hands on my sister, I'm going to wring her neck."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon…" Tadeus stroked his thumb over the strings. "… but you haven't had any contact with your sister for ten years."

"Are you saying I haven't the right to throttle her?"

"No, Majesty, I'm just saying that there are others with stronger claims and you may have to wait in line."

"If I thought I could find that bird," Pjerin muttered at the dawn, "I'd wring its neck and make stew."

"It hasn't done anything for a few minutes," Annice pointed out, yawning. "Maybe it's done for the morn…"

The three note sequence was not only loud but had the same piercing quality as an infant's scream. It couldn't be ignored; it certainly couldn't be slept through. Annice surrendered and let the kigh roll her up onto her feet. Oh, well, I had to pee anyway.

When she got back from the designated privy, Pjerin was kneeling on his bedroll, shirt off, lifting the makeshift bandage wrapped over and around his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for infection." He didn't look up.

''Let me." Annice lowered herself carefully to her knees in front of him. His cheeks above the edge of his beard were pale and there were deep purple half circles under his eyes. "I'm really looking forward to cauterizing this if it gets infected," she muttered, peering under the dressing and sniffing. "Hot irons, searing flesh. What fun. I can't smell anything but sweaty Due of Ohrid, so I guess it's all right."

Pjerin captured one of her hands. "Has anyone ever told you that personality-wise you're a lousy healer?"

"Has anyone ever told you that a person who gets shot through the shoulder by a crossbow quarrel—oh, and then rips it out of his body with one mighty tug—can't go on acting like nothing happened?"

"You've told me, Annice." He released her. "With every other breath. All day yesterday."

"And I'm likely to keep telling you today because I don't think you're listening. After all the effort I've put into getting you this far, I don't want you to die." She sat back and gently pulled his remaining shirt up over the bandage then settled his injured arm into its sling. "Do you think we lost them?"

Pjerin began a shrug, regretted it almost immediately, and arrested the motion. "You can't move a troop of guard through the bush, especially not up the slopes we've been climbing without making some noise. You haven't heard anything; I haven't heard anything. I think we've lost them for now." He stood and reached down with his good arm. Annice took it and -he helped her haul herself back to her feet. "But I think we're going to have to keep losing them every day until this is over."

"Oh, great," Annice grumbled, glancing up at the sky. On top of everything else, it looked like rain.

After a hurried breakfast—fortunately goat cheese had a flavor distinctly different from the milk it was made of—Pjerin loaded Milena and Otik's horse while Annice had the kigh erase all traces of their camp. She couldn't be sure of it, but it seemed that the squat brown bodies were increasing in girth even as she did. Their new shape disturbed her and she hated thinking she appeared as unappealing to others as they did to her.

As unappealing to Pjerin? she wondered, as they started walking east, slowly climbing higher into the mountains. No. That's ridiculous.

"It occurs to me," she said after a while, "that talking might make this go a bit faster."

"Talking about what?"

"I don't know." She scratched through the shift at the tight curve of skin just over her hip. "But we managed to find common ground at least once before."

Pjerin glanced down at her, caught her meaning, and half smiled. "I don't remember that we talked much."

"Well, I remember you making a number of pretty strange sounds."

"Me? I wasn't the one howling."

"You could consider that a compliment."

Pjerin's smile blossomed suddenly and Annice couldn't help but appreciate the view. Let's hope he passes those great teeth on, baby.

"You know," he said, "I had no idea that you were who you are. Or were. That is, while you were at the keep, I had no idea that you were the ex-princess."

"It isn't an idea I want people to have."

"Yeah, but even after I knew, well, sometimes I still find it hard to believe."

"Why?" Annice demanded. "I don't act like you imagine an ex-princess should act?"

He laughed. "Actually, it's more that you don't look like a princess. You've got that little bump on your nose and your hair's kind of—well, no easily identifiable color, and your eyes crinkle up at the corners when you laugh, and…"

"And if you stick me in expensive clothes and drape me in jewels and surround me with courtiers, I can look pretty unenclosed princesslike, thank you very much." She snorted and pushed a strand of blowing hair back out of her eyes. Stasya said it was like poured honey. What did he know?

Pjerin sighed. He should've known better. "I was trying to pay you a compliment, Annice. You were one of the most real people I'd ever met, that's all I was trying to say. And…" His tone picked up an edge. "I'd have to say you act exactly like a princess; high-handed, always wanting your own way, always assuming you're right and everyone else is wrong."

"I don't always assume I'm right," Annice protested, deciding at the last minute not to let the branch she'd pushed out of her path spring back and smack him in the face. "It just usually turns out that I am and, oh, center it, I knew it was going to rain." She draped the lead rope over a bush and turned to rummage the oilskins out of the pack.

Thunder cracked directly overhead, the clouds opened, and within seconds they were both drenched to the skin. So early in the season, so high in the mountains, it wasn't a pleasant sensation. To her horror, Annice found herself bursting into tears as she wrapped her long cloak around her soaked shift.

"Annice?" Clumsily tying off the mare's reins with one hand, Pjerin came around the mule. "Are you crying?"

"No. Shut up. Who asked you anyway?"

"What's wrong?" He tried not to sound annoyed, but she wasn't making it easy.

"I'm wet. And I'm tired." Annice had no idea where this was coming from, but she couldn't seem to stop it. "And I'm fat."

Pjerin rolled his eyes. "You're not fat. It's a baby, remember?"

"It's a baby, but I'm still fat." A kigh rose out of the ground at her feet and lightly touched her knee. "Go away!" she sobbed. It left, but slowly. "I can't Sing any thing but dirt anymore." Rain ran down her hair and dripped off the end of her nose. "And Stasya's probably dead because of me."

Shaking his head, Pjerin gathered her up against the uninjured side of his body. The fact that she allowed the embrace gave him a pretty good idea of how upset she was. He didn't understand it, but at the moment that wasn't really important as he dropped his head, murmured words of comfort into her hair, and gave her a shoulder to cry on.

Gradually, Annice found her lost control and, cheeks flaming, pushed away. Unable to meet his eyes, she muttered her thanks into his chest.

"Hey, I'd do the same for any friend."

His voice was so gentle that she had to look up.

He smiled. "Ready to move on?"

Still uncertain of her voice, she nodded and reached for Milena's lead rope. He's really a very nice person, baby. Sometimes. And I know he's a good father. I suppose that if Stasya is dead and I need some help raising you, I could do worse.

"We'll stop as soon as we find shelter. Make sure the kigh warn us if we enter any run-off gullies. Keep the mule on a tight lead."

On the other hand, he can be a bit of an authoritarian asshole and I'd probably kill him before you were walking.

From the top of the inner tower, Gerek glared down at the lone rider disappearing between the high cliffs of the pass. It wasn't his fault if nobody listened to him. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve, the upper half of his small body wedged into one of the crenellations. He'd told everybody that the new man Aunty Olina liked was the same as the old man and they hadn't listened.

"Think I meant he was a Cemandian," he sniffed. "Think I'm a baby, don't know anything." People should listen to him now he was the due.

His lower lip trembled. He didn't want to be the due. His mama had come and asked him if he wanted to go live with her, but he didn't want that either. He wanted his papa back.

Gerek hunched his shoulders as Nurse Jany called for him down in the courtyard. Even if she figured out where he was, he knew she was too fat to climb the tower stairs.

"I'm going to stay up here for the rest of my life."

The rider was long out of sight when he heard the footsteps behind him and sullenly turned. He never got to do anything he wanted.

"You can really see a long way from up here." Stasya smiled at him and held out her fist. "You must be Gerek." She'd decided to use only his name as his title might remind him of where he'd seen her before.

Unfortunately, he didn't need a reminder. "You're the bard who took my papa!" With a shriek of fury, he launched himself at her legs.

Unwilling to hurt him, Stasya found herself at a distinct disadvantage as Gerek had every intention of hurting her. Although she managed to grab hold of his flailing arms and twist the lower part of her body back out of his way, he got in a couple of painful kicks to each shin.

"Gerek!"

The voice cut through his hysteria and left him hanging stiffly from the bard's grip. Stasya turned them both so she could see who'd spoken although she really had very little doubt.

Olina stood at the top of the stairs, head set at an imperious angle above the slender column of throat, pale blue eyes narrowed and full lips set in a thin disapproving line. "That is not the way that a Due of Ohrid behaves to a guest in his keep."

"She made my papa say bad things!"

"She made your father admit to the truth."

Cautiously, ready for a rematch, Stasya released him. When his lower lip started to tremble and his violet eyes filled with tears, she almost told him what the truth actually was.

"My papa promised he'd come back!"

Stasya felt her mouth open of its own volition and snapped it shut.

"Your father is dead, Gerek." Olina's voice had gentled. "And now the king is coming to Ohrid to fix the damage your father did."

"He's not coming here!" One booted foot stamped hard on the dressed rock. "He's not. I hate him!" Sobbing wildly, Gerek pushed past his aunt and pounded down the stairs, screaming "Hate him! Hate him! Hate him!" until his voice was muffled by distance and the comforting bulk of his nurse.

Olina turned from staring down the stairwell and met Stasya's gaze evenly. "The sooner he knows that King Theron is coming," she explained, "the sooner he can get used to the idea. I apologize, though, for the way he treated you."

"Please, don't worry about it, Lady Olina." Stasya bent and rubbed her shin, as much to break the heat of the other woman's gaze as to acknowledge the bruising. "He obviously loves his father very much, and anyway, bards develop thick skins about rejection."

Over the next few days, that thick skin came hi very useful. Half the inhabitants of both keep and village viewed her much the way Gerek did; as at least partially responsible for the execution of Pjerin a'Stasiek. The other half flashed the sign against the kigh whenever she approached and went out of their way to obviously avoid her. When she went to visit Bohdan, Pjerin's old steward, his daughter's partner stiffly refused to let her see him and finally slammed the heavy door in her face.

Many people wore Cemandian styles and she saw Cemandian influence in nearly every facet of the villagers' lives. Only one woman was openly welcoming, but as she insisted on reciting long and boring verse that she knew would sound wonderful set to music, Stasya considered that a mixed blessing at best.

She was never able to sing or play for the children again, although she put herself in places where they might have approached her if they'd dared. Gerek, she saw only from a distance as he glared at her from a window or around a corner. Finally, Stasya gave up trying to speak with him, just as happy not to have to see the accusations in his eyes.

Against such strongly held prejudices, Charm would have no effect. Although Tadeus might have been able to use it, Stasya knew it was beyond her abilities. More than once she was tempted to Command the information she needed, but Command was less than subtle and at the first hint of an inquiry, the traitor would be away out of His Majesty's reach.

She Sang the attitudes she faced onto the kigh. The king needed to be prepared.

Eavesdropping became her greatest source of information; fortunately, it was a skill bards were trained in and her presence at the keep brought up old discussions of the treason. It wasn't long before she learned that the young due's regent was considered to have ideas for the advancement of Ohrid, was strengthening the defenses in the pass, and was someone it was safer never to cross. Surprisingly enough, for a due who had supposedly made a deal with Cemandia, Pjerin's greatest fault was remembered as his being too restrictive with the border.

"Holding out for the best deal," muttered one villager within Stasya's hearing.

While Pjerin had been respected for his strength, he hadn't been feared. Olina's strength, on the other hand, generated as much fear as respect.

With a bard's right to wander where she willed, Stasya walked one day out into the pass and stared up at the huge timber palisade that held back enough rock to fill the narrowest section two body-lengths deep. Ingeniously crafted by the third Due of Ohrid, it could be triggered by releasing a single wheel which, in turn, released the tension on the entire system. It had been tested twice, Stasya recalled—amidst much grumbling when it came time to clear and refill, one rock at a time—but had never needed to be used. She squinted up at the people climbing along the top edge and wondered if the kigh could tell her what they were doing.

"You shouldn't be here," Lukas grunted from behind her. "It's dangerous."

Stasya turned quickly enough to catch the end of his sign against the kigh. She was tempted to go ahead and Sing but instead asked, "What are they doing up there?"

"Maintenance." His tone said it was none of her business. "You should go. It's dangerous."

"Isn't it more dangerous for th…" The last word got lost in a mad scramble backward as a rock the size of her head fell a body length from where she'd been standing, shooting shards of stone in all directions.

"No," Lukas snapped, white-faced and glaring up at the top of the palisade as he clutched at a gash in his forearm.

Stasya, thanking every god in the Circle that she hadn't been hit, reached without thinking for his arm. "Here, let me look at that."

The due's steward recoiled and pointed out of the pass with a bloody finger. "Go!" he spat. "I wouldn't have even been down here but for you."

Stasya went.

"He hates you because his only daughter was killed by the kigh."

"What?" Stasya stared at the cook, who'd been forced to speak with her in order to prepare for the coming of the king. It hadn't been hard to twist the subject to the new steward as the old staff despised him. "How?"

"She was Singing fire and it burned up the house with her in it. Happened early Fourth Quarter."

"But Annice was here in Third Quarter. She must've tested the girl for ability."

The cook snorted. "Lukas a'Tynek would no more let his child be tested by a bard than he'd, he'd…" She glanced around the kitchen for inspiration. "Than he'd bake a cherry pie. He follows the old Cemandian ways that came over the mountain, back when. Believes the kigh are outside the Circle."

"Why do you think the Lady Olina made him steward?"

"'Cause she can't be regent and steward both, much as she'd think things would go better with her running it all, and Lukas is someone she can push around. Lots of folk up here follow the old beliefs."

"But his daughter died because of them." Stasya sighed and shook her head. "What do you believe?"

Suddenly aware who she was speaking to, the cook busied herself with rolling pastry. "I believe," she said, her gaze fixed firmly on the job, "in keeping my own counsel."

Olina i'Katica seemed to be the only person in all of Ohrid who had no opinion on Stasya's involvement with the sixth due's treason. Stasya suspected that was because she was still so furious at Albek's betrayal, at being used by the Cemandian to gain access to her nephew.

Albek had to have tampered with her memories as well, for under Command, Olina's testimony had matched Pjerin's. If Stasya could Command the older woman again, she might be able to find out how he'd done it and who the actual traitor was he'd left behind. Was it Lukas? Had Olina appointed him because of something Albek had left in her mind?

Or was it Olina herself? Had she agreed to his tampering in order to control a child due? Stasya watched her and wondered. While she was both self-centered and ambitious, could she actually be cold-blooded enough to frame her own nephew and send him to the block?

The problem was, Olina had no more to gain than anyone in Ohrid, for Stasya doubted that Queen Jirina much cared who she set up after conquest as her puppet in the keep.

Stasya was certain of two things only; that when King Theron arrived, Lady Olina was going back under Command; and that she wasn't going to be the one who told her so.

Four days later, she heard about Simion.

"I sent him away the morning after you arrived." Olina wiped her hands and smiled across the table at the bard. "He was a very pretty Cemandian mountebank who came through the pass with the first lot of traders. I think I was using him to get back at Albek."

"Why did you send him away?" Feeling a surge of sympathy for the unknown young man, Stasya toyed with the fork beside her plate. Although common enough in the capital, she was surprised to find the utensil in use in Ohrid. The silversmith's mark was not one she knew, so the set had to have come from Cemandia.

"I just told you." Smiling, Olina pushed her chair back from the table. "You arrived."

The room was suddenly very warm.

"Before the Riverfolk discovered that the Circle encloses all beliefs, they had a Goddess." Training kept Stasya's voice steady. "She was dark and beautiful and lived in the deep still places of the river. Whenever any of the Riverfolk drowned, it was said they'd gone to the bed of the Goddess."

"My bed is drier."

"Perhaps, Lady." Stasya stood and bowed. "But I'd be just as unlikely to survive. If you'll excuse me?"

Complimented by the comparison, Olina regally inclined her head.

Needing air, Stasya headed for the high watchtower. At the far end of the keep, its base as high on the mountain as the inner watchtower's roof, it gave an unobstructed bird's-eye view down into the pass and along it into Cemandian territory. She knew the observation post stood empty as Olina had commented on it, saying, "There'll be no invasion now the traitor has been discovered."

"Everything in this place has two meanings," she muttered, her thoughts in such turmoil that she had no idea she was being followed.

By the time she reached the top of the tower, her pulse beat hard in her ears and she sagged gratefully against the stone. There were no kigh around, and she thanked whatever parts of the Circle were responsible. She had neither the energy nor the inclination to deal with the kigh right now.

Her weight on her elbows, she leaned out over the pass, staring toward Cemandia. No armies approaching. That, at least, was mildly encouraging. Then she sighed and looked back along the outer wall of the keep.

Frowning, she straightened and moved around the arc of the tower for a better look.

"Center it!"

She pursed her lips to call the kigh, but the only sound that emerged was a soft grunt as Lukas smashed the rock in his hand down on the back of her head.