Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER FIVE

Something had obviously happened while she was away. Annice paused at the edge of the Farmers' Market, her pack propped against the edge of a wagon, and studied the crowd. The buzz of information passing from city dweller to country dweller, as well as the opinions passing back, held too much of an edge to be merely gossip and the clouds of breath billowing out onto the cold morning air gave conversations a heated appearance.

Shrugging her pack off her shoulders, she let it slide to the ground. Although she'd intended to cut through the market and then the nobles' district—the shortest, fastest route through the north side of Elbasan to the Citadel and Bardic Hall—finding out what was going on suddenly seemed more important than getting to the Hall in time for lunch.

Scanning the square, Annice caught the eye of a shabbily dressed young man hanging about on the edges of the crowd and motioned him over. He came eagerly, hands tucked into his armpits against the cold.

"You lookin' fer hire?" he asked, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. "Someone ta carry…" then he noticed she was a bard, not a cook or innkeeper likely to be buying winter vegetables in quantity and needing help to get them home. His face fell.

Annice flipped him a quarter-gull, enough for a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread at any of the corner stalls in the market.

He snatched the small copper coin out of the air with cracked and bleeding fingers and looked a little more cheerful. "What kin I do fer you, Bard?"

She jerked her head toward the scattered clumps of buying and selling and gossip. "I've just come in from a Walk. What's everyone talking about?"

"Troop of King's Guard rode out this mornin', 'fore dawn."

"Going?"

He shrugged and a hank of greasy, dark blond hair fell forward into his eyes. "Mountains, they say."

"Where in the mountains?"

"Dunno. Just mountains. Unenclosed time of the year ta go ta the mountains, ya ask me."

Annice had to agree. While Fourth Quarter on the coast could be cold and unpleasant, in the mountains it could be deadly—if the mountains could be reached at all. "What could be so important that King Theron would send his guard out in the winter?"

The young man didn't disappoint. "Treason."

"What?"

"His Majesty didn't give me no details." He began to inch away, eyes on a deal just being concluded. "Now, if ya don't mind, Bard, I got other things to take care of."

"How much to carry my pack up to the Citadel Gate?" Her own extra bulk would be more than enough for her to haul around the streets.

He glanced down at the pack, then squinted up at the stone bulk of the Citadel visible over the roofs in the center of the city. "Three gulls," he said at last. "I go that far I won't get no more work today."

A half-gull, Annice knew, would get him a place in a crowded but warm dormitory room in any of the inns down by Dockside. A full gull would get him out of Dockside and into a place where he not only wouldn't have to guard his back but would be fed a heaping bowl of porridge the next morning. Bards stayed in both kinds of places, to keep them honest—a number of songs contemplated whether it was the bards or the inns that were to be kept honest—and Annice knew which she preferred.

"How about two gulls and a Song?"

His eyes narrowed. "What good'll a Song do me?"

"It'll get you past the gate, to the Hall, and into the kitchen where they'll feed you. Cast your lines right and you might even make up that third gull. Cook's always complaining about being shorthanded."

Stomping his feet in a valiant but doomed effort to keep warm, he didn't have to think about it for long. As she watched him make his way around the edge of the market, her pack perched high on his shoulders, and a kigh riding unseen over his head, Annice decided not to mention the incident to Stasya who, coming from a south coast fisher family that argued over every quarter-gull, would not understand.

"I know, he'd have done it for half that," she murmured, settling her instrument case across her back. It wasn't that she couldn't barter, it was just that she hated to do it with people who had so little. Not everyone can be equal in wealth, but no one should have to starve. Theron had said that, back when he was Heir, and he was doing what he could as king to stand by his word. He was a good king and a popular one, loved and respected by his people.

Annice rubbed at her eyes with the back of a mitten and ground her teeth. She couldn't seem to stop herself from suddenly becoming stupidly sentimental about the most commonplace of things. Of course, Theron's a good king, she snarled silently. And now he's a good king who's sent a troop of guards into the mountains, so let's find out what's going on, spend our last coin on lunch, and go home.

Information wasn't difficult to come by as every conversation in the market either began or ended or was solely concerned with the guards riding out at dawn. Annice took a slow stroll, filtering out the story as she walked.

"That unenclosed bastard up at Ohrid has agreed to let a Cemandian army through the pass!"

"This Cemandian nobleman, well, he was hardly more than a baby really, he broke down and, well, just told everything to one of the bards, don't you know."

"King Theron's sent a troop of guards to Ohrid to arrest the due."

"No, no, no! The king's sent a bard to question him, and when the bard finds out the truth, then the guards who are with the bard will arrest the due."

"We're all going to be murdered in our beds, I tell you."

"They'll take his head. They will. He broke his vows. Only one punishment for treason. Death."

Annice found herself wrapping both arms protectively around her belly. All of a sudden, I'm not so hungry. How about you, baby?

Almost everyone believed the Due of Ohrid guilty of treason as charged. A few allowed that the Cemandian spy—regardless of what said spy thought was going on—might have been planted to sow discord in Shkoder. "To test our defenses!" declared one elderly, ex-soldier-turned-innkeeper, waving his cane with such vigor his granddaughter took it away. Everyone suddenly remembered how many more Cemandians there'd been around over the last year. And they all believed that the bard sent into Ohrid by King Theron would find out the Truth because, after all, that's what bards did.

Training stepped in and Annice held her tongue. Pjerin a'Stasiek, Due of Ohrid, a traitor? It didn't seem possible. It couldn't be possible. While she could call him a number of uncomplimentary names, traitor wasn't one of them. All at once it became very important that she reach Bardic Hall without delay. Someone, somewhere, had made an incredible mistake.

The summons activated as Annice slipped through the Bard's Door, her own Song unlocking then locking it again behind her. Her heart pounding, she listened, glaring at nothing. When it finished and the last note had faded into silence, she hoisted her instrument case and strode purposefully down the narrow corridor, the soles of her boots slapping against the dressed stone. So the Bardic Captain wanted to see her immediately—good, because she wanted to see the Bardic Captain just as badly.

"Pjerin is not a traitor." She'd been muttering it in varying tones of disbelief all the way through the city. The very idea would be laughable if it weren't so serious. "I'll have a few things to say to whatever idiot brought in that information."

She was passing the training rooms, absently noting that one of the fledglings must have started trance work without her, when a sudden realization brought her up short and she stood, frozen to the spot, breath caught in her throat. The sound of approaching footsteps pushed her into an empty room and she sagged against the door as she closed it behind her. She couldn't face anyone, and least of all the captain, until she worked this out.

Still leaning against the door, she Sang fire, lighting the lamp that stood on the table in the center of the room after her fourth attempt. All the training rooms were identical, tiny and windowless, and as soundproof as the Builders' Guild and bardic ingenuity could make them. Distractions were the last things fledglings needed.

Annice dropped her instrument case on the floor and dropped herself into one of the two padded chairs. The captain could read nuance off a brick. She couldn't help but draw the correct conclusions from a hysterical declaration of Pjerin's innocence.

Allowing her jacket to fall open, Annice rubbed at the itchy skin of her swelling abdomen through sweater and shirt. "The Due of Ohrid has been charged with treason—it's ridiculous, but the charge will stand until he's questioned under Command. The Due of Ohrid is the father of my baby. By having this baby, I'm committing treason. She sighed deeply. "What a mess. I couldn't have got knocked up by some pretty shepherd. Oh, no—it had to be the Due of Ohrid.

Pjerin was innocent, Annice was as certain of that as she'd ever been of anything—he didn't need her help. All her efforts had to be concentrated on not exposing her baby's paternity to the Bardic Captain because, the moment that happened, the king would be told. Theron was a proud man; no one knew that better than she did. For him to discover she'd committed treason was one thing, for him to discover she'd committed it with a man accused of selling out his oaths was something else again. She had to protect her baby.

In order to do that, she'd have to discuss this whole situation and the Walk she'd made to Ohrid without giving anything away.

Impossible.

So she'd just have to give something else away.

"And your personal opinion of the due, Annice?" Liene's tone made it very clear she'd tolerate no further dancing around the subject. Annice, after skimming a copy of young Leksik's testimony, had given opinions on the political situation, economic prospects for the region, and the feelings of the people on everything from government to the weather, but had mentioned Pjerin a'Stasiek only in passing. The captain had strong suspicions about that omission; if she didn't get a straight answer soon, she'd Command one.

Annice shifted in the chair, searching unsuccessfully for a position that would take the pressure off her lower back. "The due," she said levelly, "is loved and respected by the majority of his people. Not only because of the hereditary position he holds but also because he's cast in the heroic mold. He, in turn, cares very much for his people and very much considers them to be his responsibility."

"All that was in the recall, Annice." Liene leaned forward, taking in the way the younger bard's fingers had closed over the arms of the chair and tightened while she spoke of the due. "And you edit your recall of personal material more tightly than any other bard Singing in Shkoder. I want to know what you thought of him."

"What I thought of him." Annice drew in a deep breath and released it in one short burst, obviously aware she wouldn't be able to put it off any longer. "First and foremost, I thought he was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. After a few hours under his roof, I soon came to realize that he's incredibly strong-willed, stubborn, opinionated…" The words tumbled out as though the dam that had been holding them back had burst. "… arrogant, abrasive, pigheaded, mannerless, self-important, overbearing…" She sputtered to a stop at Liene's upraised hand, panting slightly.

"Put it to music," the captain suggested, her eyes narrowing. "Did you sleep with him?"

Annice lifted her chin defiantly. "I wanted to."

It didn't take a bard to read the implication. "But he didn't want to sleep with you. Why not?"

"He's the Due of Ohrid." The emphasis came without effort. Even stripped to the waist and wrestling a stubborn colt into a halter, Pjerin i'Stasiek had been definitively the Due of Ohrid.

The captain, as intended, misunderstood.

"And you're only a bard." Liene finished the thought silently. And you've always gotten what you wanted, haven't you, Princess? If he only knew who you really

were; not that pride would allow you to tell him. You must have been furious. "The father?"

"Someone willing."

"I see." And she could see it. Exactly. Annice had probably stormed away from the due and kicked the feet out from under the next person she met. Liene spared the fellow a moment's sympathy and hoped his heart had been up to it. Then she spared another moment to Sing a silent and heartfelt gratitude that the fear she'd nursed had been unfounded.

"So…" Leaning back, Liene drummed her fingers against the edge of her desk in a martial rhythm. "Do you think the due has agreed to open the pass to a Cemandian army?"

Annice tossed her head. "Only if they were willing to put him in charge of it," she snapped.

There could be no mistaking the ring of truth that statement carried. Satisfied, the Bardic Captain nodded and relaxed for the first time since the kigh had contacted her with Tadeus' news, the knot of worry that had settled between her shoulder blades easing away. "You've had quite an eventful couple of quarters, haven't you? You bring a baby back from Ohrid, then you discover young Jurgis while Walking up coast. I think I'll keep you around the Hall for a while before you inundate us with children."

"Jurgis is…"

"Jurgis is fine. Petrelis is beside himself. They're still getting to know each other, of course, but the boy has fit himself into the Hall like a missing puzzle piece and soaks up music like a little sponge. We have a percussion lesson, he and I, every other morning."

The thought of Jurgis finding a place where he belonged so perfectly combined with the sudden realization that she'd done it and her baby was safe jerked Annice's emotions from one extreme to the other and shoved them right over the edge. To her horror, she burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she gasped, both hands waving in the air as if they were searching for her lost control. "It's just… I mean, I don't… He was so…"

Liene cleared her throat, at a loss for something to say. Raw emotion, unconfined by verse or chorus, made her profoundly uncomfortable. "You're tired," she said at last, coming around the desk and gathering up Annice's outerwear and instrument case from the floor. "I think you should go and lie down. We'll discuss this latest Walk of yours after you've had a chance to rest."

Annice struggled to her feet. "But recall…"

"Recall can wait. This interview is over." The captain accompanied her to the door and whistled a piercing summons down the corridor.

Leonas appeared almost instantly. He gave the captain a cursory nod and glared at Annice who was scrubbing at her cheeks with her palms. "What's wrong?" Concern leaked out around the brusque tone. Not even in the early days, at her most lost and confused, had he ever seen the princess cry.

"Nothing," Annice began indignantly but Liene cut her off.

"She needs to rest."

He snorted. "She's expecting a child. She needs to rest. She needs to eat properly. She needs to not be out tramping around the countryside." He pointedly took the clothing and instrument case from the captain, every movement a criticism. "Probably walked since dawn, skipped breakfast, skipped lunch."

"I had breakfast."

"But not lunch," he concluded triumphantly, shoving the end of her scarf up under one arm and starting down the corridor. "Come on."

Annice shot an apology at the captain who merely rolled her eyes and said, "I'll see you when you're rested. I'm looking forward to hearing Jurgis' story from you."

All at once, as tired as everyone seemed to think she should be, Annice fell into step beside Leonas. She essentially played parts of the truth so loud they'd drowned out the bits she didn't want heard and the performance had exhausted her. But it wouldn't have worked if I hadn't been playing a tune the captain wanted to hear. When Tadeus got back to the Hall, she'd have to see what she could do to start clearing the whole mess up. He had to have misunderstood what the Cemandian meant.

"I lit a fire in your rooms when I heard you were in the building," Leonas told her as they moved in slow procession up the stairs. "It should be nearly warm in there by now."

"Isn't Stasya back from her Walk yet?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Didn't who tell me what?"

"Stasya's the bard they sent into Ohrid."

"They sent Stas?" The disappointment hit her as almost a physical blow; she'd been looking forward to the other woman's company for days. Blinking back yet another unexpected rush of tears, Annice fought to let only the annoyance show in her voice. "She'll be gone for months."

"Needed a bard who Sings a strong air to travel that far in this weather."

"I know that, Leonas."

"Stasya was the strongest in the Hall at the time." He snickered. "Got a good blunt Command on her, too. Yours, now, it works because you expect it to. Hers works because she dares it not to. Due of Ohrid won't know what hit him."

"The Due of Ohrid," Annice ground out, trying to determine which of them she was so suddenly jealous of and why, "can take care of himself."

"You've been this way before?"

Stasya smiled tightly at the guard riding beside her, leading her horse. "I've Walked this way, Nikulas. It's not the same thing."

Nikulas nodded. "You move a lot faster on horseback."

"You see less and it hurts more," she amended.

"I thought they fixed that at the Healers' Hall in Vidor?"

He looked honestly concerned, so Stasya allowed her smile to relax a fraction. "The memory remains painful," she told him, shifting in the saddle. A bard on foot took eight to ten days, Elbasan to Vidor and, on the way, they talked with the people, observed the minutiae of the kingdom, sang, laughed, made love. The troop she traveled with had done the same distance in four days, pounding down the frozen River Road, pounding past many of her favorite inns, pounding the insides of her thighs raw. Drifting snow between Vidor and Caciz had slowed the pace, even though she used the kigh to push through a path, but the Troop Captain seemed determined to make up the lost time.

Speak of something unenclosed and lo, it appears, she thought as Captain Otik galloped back to fall in at her other side.

"I don't like the look of those clouds," he grunted without preamble. "Could be a storm forming up."

"Could be," Stasya allowed, squinting into the distance where the sky seemed to be resting its weight on the horizon.

"Best Sing it away."

"Excuse me?"

Her tone pulled him around in the saddle and he glared at her from under the fleece-lined edge of his helm. "That is one of the reasons you're riding with us, Bard. To control the weather so we can reach this traitor before he's warned and gets away."

"First of all, Captain, I can't control that storm, I can merely redirect the results. Secondly, I won't even do that unless it actively threatens our route. Thirdly, we don't know that the due is guilty of anything until I arrive and ask him."

"You don't seem to understand the seriousness of this expedition, Bard."

Stasya caught his gaze and held it. "And you don't seem to understand that I take my orders directly from my captain and she takes hers directly from His Majesty the King. So go away and stop bothering me before I Command you to stuff your head up your ass where it seems to belong."

The realization that she could do exactly as she threatened spurred the captain back to the head of the double line, temper barely held in check only because lack of reaction made it obvious he'd been the only one to hear her.

"You don't like Captain Otik much, do you?"

Stasya carefully turned. "What gave you that idea?"

Nikulas grinned at her, the ice in his mustache cracking. "Oh, not hearing the last thing you said to him, I suppose. The captain's really not such a bad sort. He's just a bit pompous and he desperately wants to do something heroic. Scooping a traitor out of his mountain stronghold and dragging him back to Elbasan in chains is probably the best chance he'll have."

"We don't know he's a traitor until I ask him," Stasya reminded.

"Oh, come on, you don't believe that, do you? I mean, from what I heard, that Cemandian was pretty specific when you guys questioned him. The due's head is on the block."

"Does everyone feel that way?"

The guard shrugged. "Pretty much. They figure you're along as a kind of formality; you know, the icing on the cake."

There wasn't much Stasya could say to that, so she concentrated on clinging to the horse as, up ahead, Captain Otik waved the troop forward into a trot. Go ahead, take your revenge, you asshole. I should've kept my big mouth shut.

She'd tried to contact Annice the morning they'd left the city, but the kigh had disappeared with her message and not returned. Obviously, unfortunately, the pregnancy had advanced to the point where earth had completely superseded air. She'd wanted to ask Annice about this man whose head had so suddenly become so perilously attached. She'd wanted to ask what she could expect him to say and how good were the chances of her word being the one that sent him to the block.

She'd wanted to say good-bye.

"As you know, Majesty, the messages the kigh carry are less than explicit without a strong emotional content." The Bardic Captain reluctantly moved away from the fire as a server approached with a load of wood. "I have, however, received reports that the troop is making excellent time and they expect to be in Ohrid in twelve to fifteen days, weather permitting."

Theron nodded and looked up from the map spread out over his desk. Behind him, the frost coating the inside of the windowpanes sparkled in the sun. "They're still following the Hijma River?"

"It's the best route in Fourth Quarter, Majesty. Everything beyond Lake Marienka is frozen solid and, as far as the gorge, it makes a better road than what goes by that name in the area." She spread her hands. "The problem, of course, will be storms."

Stasya woke just before dawn, the sound of the kigh scrabbling at the shutters pulling her up out of sleep. "All right, all right," she muttered, "I heard you the first time."

Crawling out of bed, aching in muscles she hadn't known she had until she'd been ordered up into the torture device sadists on horseback called a saddle, she-stumbled across the common room, over and around the sleeping guards. While a chorus of protest rose behind her, she cracked open the door, and looked out.

"Shit."

A short while later, as the sun touched the horizon and the whole troop clattered out of the inn yard, she wrapped both hands tightly around the saddlehorn and began to Sing.

By mid-morning, they'd left the original storm behind them. By noon, they'd ridden into another. By mid-afternoon, when they arrived at a tiny hamlet tucked up tight against the riverbank, their path an eerie eddy of calm defined by Stasya's Song, it became obvious they'd be staying for a while.

Stasya Sang a gratitude and slid off her horse into the waiting arms of a guard. The storm, free of constraint, howled at full strength around them. Astounded villagers, brought to their doors by the final notes of the Song, muttered about stupid lowlanders and hurriedly began to divide mounts and riders into the available shelter.

Still cradled in the guard's arms, Stasya watched as Captain Otik fought the wind to her side.

"Why are we stopping?" he yelled, clapping his hand to his head as a gust threatened to rip off his helm. "We've still got hours of daylight."

Stasya smiled at the three kigh who were trying to knock the captain over. "Look behind you," she told him hoarsely, her voice barely rising over the storm. "What do you see?"

Struggling to keep his balance, he turned and squinted into the blowing snow. "Nothing."

"Well, that's Ohrid. Trust me on this one, Captain, the due isn't going anywhere."

"Expecting someone, Olina?"

Scraping away the ice her breath had laid on the tiny pane, Olina stared out into the courtyard. "I'm watching the storm."

"Yeah?" Pjerin snorted and stretched his feet out nearer to the fire. "What's to see?"

"Passion. Strength." Her voice caressed the words. "Blind and uncontrollable fury wrapped in beauty like a dagger in a diamond sheath."

Gerek scrambled up from his place by the hearth, raced across the room, and pushed under her arm. "I only see snow," he signed after a moment.

Olina's sigh echoed his as she pushed him gently back into the room and let the heavy tapestry fall into place over the window embrasure. "You are so like your father at times."

"Really?"

Unable to resist his smile, she nodded, smiling down at him in turn. "Really."

"I'm going to be just like my papa when I get big'."

Not if I can help it, Olina promised silently as he ran back to the fire. You're going to be civilized. You'll be the first Due of Ohrid to realize the worth of the title. No drafty, cold stone keeps for you, boy. You'll have glass in all your windows, carpets on all your floors, and a city built at your feet. You'll control crowds of rich and powerful people. She dropped back into her chair. And I shall control you.

If she had a tail, Pjerin thought, watching his father's sister from the corner of one eye, she'd be lashing it. I wonder what she's up to? The storm had confined them all day in the keep and the desire for warmth had kept them together in this one small chamber. Only Olina's bedroom and the nursery had been modernized to the same extent and there were reasons for not gathering in either of those places. He personally couldn't believe that in his grandfather's time the entire household had gathered in the Great Hall where the high, narrow windows remained open to the winter and the central hearth had thrown either too much or too little heat and coated everyone in a fine patina of smoke. With most of his people in houses of their own down in the village, smaller rooms and inset fireplaces made a lot more sense and he had to give Olina credit for forcing the changes on his father; no matter how much he disagreed with the changes she tried to force on him.

Attention still apparently on the half-finished carving in his hands, he studied her as she lifted a stone game piece from the small round table beside her. She rolled it between long, pale fingers, its polished surface reflecting firelight, candlelight, and, he'd be willing to swear, the gleam in her eyes.

Without warning, her fist closed around the stone and she flung it into the fire.

Startled by the sudden spray of sparks, Gerek tumbled backward, rolled, and stared at her accusingly, protest cut off by his father's lifted hand.

"Next year," Pjerin said quietly, forcing the words through clenched teeth, "why don't you travel to Elba-san with that tame trader of yours. You could take rooms in town for a couple of quarters. Your rank would ensure you a position at court."

She twisted lithely hi her chair, facing sideways to stare at him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not in the least," he replied. "But you seem… bored."

"And with what should I pay for a house in Elbasan, Your Grace; have you considered that?" Her eyes narrowed. "With favors from the king given to honor our historical duty in holding the pass? That should get me nothing and the cup to drink it from. Thank you, no. I'll stay here and make the best of things."

Pjerin straightened and, for the first time, turned to look directly at her. "I will not operate a tollgate between Cemandia and Shkoder."

Her voice was a gentle contrast to the sharpened edge in her smile. "I'm not asking you to."

"No fighting!" Gerek stomped between them, hands on his hips, frowning alternately up at them both. "I'm not allowed to fight. You're not allowed to fight."

The two adults exchanged a startled glance.

"Nobody's going to fight anybody," Pjerin told his son.

The stiff, indignant posture relaxed slightly. Papa had never lied to him, but Gerek wasn't entirely satisfied.

"Well, you sure looked like you were going to," he muttered.

Pjerin's mouth twitched. He caught the disbelieving look on Olina's face, threw back his head, and roared with laughter.

A heartbeat later, Olina joined in.

He is such a beautiful man, she mused as he scooped Gerek up and tossed the boy into the air. She loved to watch the way his muscles moved beneath the heavy, distracting layer of winter clothing. Such a pity he's in my way.

Alone in the common room, quitara balanced on her shrinking lap, Annice absently worked through the fingering for a sea chantey. From where she sat, she could see out into the courtyard and watch people scurrying about from building to building, heads bent and shoulders hunched against the driving rain. The days were definitely getting both longer and warmer although it hardly seemed possible that Fourth Quarter was two-thirds over.

Stasya should be at the keep in Ohrid by now. Although Annice knew that the kigh brought daily reports to the captain, she hadn't been able to come up with a reason for those reports to be shared with her. Her ability to Sing air had completely deserted her and not even with Jurgis' cheerful help had she been able to command the kigh.

If it hadn't been for the distraction offered by Jurgis, the middle third of the quarter would've been unbearable. She had no idea how one small boy could so completely fill a building the size of Bardic Hall, but he seemed to manage it with no apparent difficulty. As he was far too young to choose commitment as a bard, his training so far consisted of nothing more than control over his talent and the kind of lessons any six-year-old might have. The former, his father took care of. The latter, he took with the other children of the Citadel.

Annice had never noticed the number of children around before although she supposed they'd always been there. With Ondro and his mother gone for the quarter, there was only the one other bardic child—Or was Bernardas at two still an infant? Annice had no idea.—but a number of the servers had children as well as some of the healers and a few of the guards. Now that she was aware of them, they seemed to be all over the place—running, shouting, laughing, living pretty much incomprehensible lives.

She shook her head as a familiar flutter drummed against the inner curve of her belly. And it's far too late to change my mind. The baby only served to remind her of Ohrid and Ohrid reminded her of Stasya and thinking of Stasya reminded her of how lonely she was without the other woman around. This was the first time they'd ever been apart that the kigh couldn't bridge the distance. Helping to train the fledglings kept her fairly busy, and Jazep, who had been going over the Songs of earth with her, filled in some of the gaps, but nothing could relieve the emptiness of the night.

"I had no idea that tune could be played as a dirge."

"Tadeus!"

The blind bard rocked back on his heels as Annice flung herself up out of the chair and into his arms. "Hey, I missed you, too, but…" then he paused, took hold of her shoulders, and pushed her gently an arm's reach away. One hand dropped to trace the swelling at her waist.

Annice stifled the urge to jerk away. Tadeus was one of only two she'd allow that kind of license. Tadeus, Stasya, and herself had all learned to Sing air together as fledglings. Poor Jazep, with only earth to Sing, had been odd man out that year.

Brows appeared for an instant like the single beat of ebony wings above the edge of the brilliantly yellow silk scarf tied over his eyes and Tadeus lifted his fingertips to her face. After a moment he smiled. "I guess this explains why the kigh kept insisting you didn't exist. I wondered what you'd done to piss them off although I have to admit this never occurred to me."

He waited until he felt her smile in turn, then dropped his hand, using the other, still on her shoulder to guide her around to the cushioned bench by the wall. "Let's hope they haven't rearranged the furniture on me."

"They wouldn't dare.

"Good. Sit." He dropped gracefully down beside her, one leg tucked up so that he was half reclining in the high carved corner of the bench. "Explain. Start with why you didn't send me a message through someone else. I assume Stasya knows?"

"She was there when I found out. You know we always try to end our Walks at the same time. And I could hardly send you a message about it when we're trying to keep the whole thing quiet. In case you've forgotten, His Majesty expressly forbade me to have children."

"Children?" He recoiled. "Nees, tell me it isn't twins!"

"Tadeus!" She pushed his name out through clenched teeth.

His whole manner became abjectly, and unbelievably, apologetic. "I'm sorry, really." Then he dropped the pretense. "But it was a stupid, impossible condition for him to put on you and I'm glad you're challenging it." He reached up and tugged on a bit of her hair. "That is, if you're glad…?"

Annice glanced nervously around the common room, suddenly aware that at any moment someone could come in from the library or the hall. Neither door locked; in damp weather one of them barely closed. "Tadeus, can we go somewhere more private and talk?"

"More private? Nees, the best place to tell a secret is out in the open. That way no one suspects you're hiding something." He cocked his head, obviously listening. "There're three people in the library and no one in the hall. I'll let you know if anyone's on their way in."

"But the kigh…"

"Are avoiding you as if you were tone deaf. Talk."

"I need to ask you about that charge of treason against the Due of Ohrid."

"You need?" He pounced on the word. "Is this to do with Stasya going into the mountains? Are you worried about her?"

"Of course I am. You know what travel in Fourth Quarter is like. And I hate being out of contact." She took a deep breath and fought to relax her jaw. "But that's not it. Is there any chance you could have misinterpreted that Cemandian? I mean, you can't Command…"

"No. But the captain can and did and there's no mistake. Leksik believed, heart and soul, that the due had sold out to Cemandia and would open the pass to an invading army."

"He might have been made to believe that. Lied to."

Tadeus shrugged. "Why bother when we can just ask the due for the truth?"

"I don't know. But it's just not something Pjerin would do."

"Pjerin?"

"The Due of Ohrid." Picking at the tasseled corner of a cushion, she watched the expression that flickered across Tadeus' face and disappeared behind the band of primrose silk. His mind worked on circular paths and he knew that she'd done a long Walk into the mountains because he'd gone as far as Riverton with her. With Stasya gone, she needed desperately to share her fears; but she couldn't tell him the one thing that would make him understand. The words just wouldn't come. He has to ask.

After a moment of thought, it seemed he'd followed the circle around to its logical conclusion. "Nees." He paused, and pulled her hand off the tassel, folding it in both of his. "Is the Due of Ohrid the father of your baby."

She nodded, remembered, winced, and said, "Yes."

His grip tightened. "What a mess."

"It's not that I love him, because I don't—I don't even like him very much—but treason is punishable by death and…"

"You don't want him to die."

Her mouth twisted and she pulled his hands over so that they rested on the swelling below her heart. "It's more than that, actually; I don't want us to die with him."