Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER NINE

"Can't you move any faster?"

Annice shifted the straps of her pack and wished she was back in bed with Stasya curled up warm and protecting around her. "No. I can't. And you'll just attract attention if you try to hustle me along."

Unable to see around the edges of his much larger pack, Pjerin swiveled from side to side, trying desperately to pierce the surrounding shadows—there could be a guard in any one of them. Six times he'd escaped on the way to Elbasan, six times they'd captured him again. He wasn't going back to that cell. "The longer we stay on the streets," he ground out through clenched teeth, ignoring the pain from newly stressed ribs, "the more attention we attract."

"Not if you'll stop acting like a fugitive." Her voice which had been pitched for Pjerin's ears alone, shifted slightly to cover a broader audience. "And I don't care how much you think you can make in Vidor, profits are less important than the health of your unborn child!"

Pjerin started, glared at her, followed her line of sight, and glared at the guard on the bridge.

"And furthermore," Annice continued, beginning to enjoy the performance a little in spite of the circumstances, "you have no business making bets with your cousin that involve me. Leaving Elbasan in the middle of the night, indeed. We'll be in Riverton before the sun's even up. Pay the toll."

"What?"

She sighed. "The toll. Remember? Oh, never mind." As she rummaged in her belt pouch, she looked directly into the guard's eyes and favored him with a smile. "He's the hardest man to get coin out of I've ever met, believe me."

The guard, wisely deciding to stay out of what looked to be a nasty domestic battle in the making, stepped silently aside.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" Pjerin growled a few moments later when they had River Road to themselves again. "Why couldn't we slip quietly out of the city by a back way?"

"What did you have in mind, swimming the canal?" A deliberate waddle thrown into her walk emphasized the protruding curve of her belly. "Frankly, I don't think I'm up to it."

"Then why the bullshit? Why not tell the guard to forget he ever saw us?"

"He'd remember me doing it if they put him under Command. This way, he'll only remember two traders leaving the city in the middle of the night—one of them charming, one of them cheap. And since no one but Stasya knows I'm with you, they've no reason to assume that you were one of those traders." If she was going to have to explain the reasoning behind every little thing she did all the way to Ohrid, it was going to be one unenclosed walk.

Pjerin could feel the guard's eyes on his back, even through the bulk of the pack. He fought the urge to turn. "Next time, let me know what part I'm playing before you start."

"If you can just remember you're a trader on your way to Vidor, I can work grunting and glowering into any situation."

"This isn't one of your ballads, Annice. It's real life and all three of us are dead if we're captured."

"All four of us," she reminded him. "If we're captured, Stasya will go to the block with us."

"So, we've got to get away from here!"

The catch in his voice surprised her. "I know." Sighing, she reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. The muscles beneath her fingertips were rigid. "Really, Pjerin, I do know. You want to run and hide. Put as much distance as you can between you and that cell. You're feeling frightened and vulnerable, so am I. You have every right to be in a bad mood."

"I'm not in a bad mood. I'm just…" Feeling frightened and vulnerable. He shook the thought off. It wouldn't help. "We need to move faster. It's almost morning."

Annice let her hand fall from his arm. So much for understanding. "I don't go any faster," she snapped.

"What is it, Theron? You've been tossing and turning all night."

Theron glanced over at his consort, her face a pattern of shadow on shadow against the pillow. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. Perhaps I should get dressed and go for a walk."

"The king roaming about the halls in the middle of the night? You'll give your guards spasms." When he didn't respond, Lilyana sighed and sat up, propping the pillows against the crowned ship carved into the headboard and pulling the heavy linen sheet up over her breasts. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" she prodded gently although she suspected that she already knew.

"It's young Ohrid." Theron heaved himself up beside her. "Something about his testimony felt wrong."

That he was concerned about Ohrid and the upcoming execution was no surprise. But how could the testimony feel wrong? "He was placed under Command by the captain herself."

"I know. That's what's bothering me." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "The greater part of our justice system is based on the belief that only truth can be spoken under Command, but every instinct says that something wasn't right yesterday in that Assembly Hall."

"You know how you hate to order executions."

"That's part of it," Theron admitted. For weeks after his first Death Judgment, every time he closed his eyes, he saw the ax fall. He'd despised himself for a weakling until his brother, on a rare visit to Elbasan, had pointed out that a king with a conscience was hardly a liability for the kingdom. "But this time, there's more. I just wish I could work out exactly where the problem lies. It might be nothing, but…"

"It might not," Lilyana finished thoughtfully. "Should we summon the captain and have her do a recall?"

"No, I'm sure it has as much to do with me as anything that actually happened."

"All right, then." She settled back against the pillows and laced her fingers together on top of the sheet. "You do a recall. Tell me everything you remember happening and how you felt about it from the moment you entered the hall until you left."

"Are you sure?"

"I wasn't sleeping anyway," she pointed out with a smile. Then she sobered. "That boy goes to the block at noon, Theron. You've got to be completely certain that he's guilty."

Perhaps because it had been a Death Judgment, Theron remembered more than he thought possible. He remembered how the rose scent that his chamberlain always wore clung to the area around the throne. He remembered thinking how the crowds had sounded like the sea, building to a storm. He remembered staring past the stocky, black figure of the Bardic Captain at the young Due of Ohrid and knowing that this one would not beg for his life. He remembered every word that was said.

"It matched the recall of what happened in Ohrid, essentially word for word. Then, when I asked him why he would betray his oaths, he asked me in return what his oaths had gotten him from Shkoder. My greatgrandfather promised him an end to isolation and, though it irks me to admit it, that promise hasn't been well kept."

"Justifiable treason?"

"Certainly in his mind. You should've heard the passion as he accused me of sending tax collectors and…" Theron frowned, murmuring, "Passion…" He twisted on the bed to face his consort. The room had begun to lighten with the approach of day and he could see her staring at him expectantly. "The man who made those accusations was a different man than the one who spoke before and after. Those words had a ring of truth that had nothing to do with being under Bardic Command."

"A sincerely held belief is likely to hold more passion than a mere admission of guilt, regardless of the circumstances they're spoken under."

"But a man of that passion, knowing he was caught, would have been defiant, daring me to do my worst."

Lilyana nodded slowly. "He insists he's innocent. The general opinion around the palace, and around the city for that matter, is that he's too arrogant to know when he's defeated."

"Where did you hear that?"

She shrugged.- "Servers talk. I listen. It makes a nice change."

"Well, he's an arrogant pup, that's for certain, but he's not that stupid. And there's more." Theron wrapped one of his hands around both of hers. "After a Death Judgment, I've been looked at with hatred, fear, numb acceptance, and complete incomprehension, but the expression on young Ohrid's face was, just for an instant, almost identical to the expression he wore when swearing his oaths."

"Which was?"

"You are my liege. No emotional loading, just a bald statement of fact."

"You said almost identical. Perhaps yesterday he was thinking, You are my liege, drop dead."

Theron smiled. "No. You are my liege, do something about this." He reached up and yanked on the cord that would summon his valet then he swung his legs off the bed.

"So what are you going to do?"

He paused at the door to his dressing room. "I'm going to have to talk with our passionate young traitor. After that, we'll see."

They reached Riverton just as the sun crested the horizon and gilded the rooftops with light. A few lines of pale smoke drifting into the dawn showed they were no longer the only ones awake. As River Road carried them into the town, a pair of half grown dogs, deep-chested and short-legged, bounded out to greet them, tails slamming from side to side.

"Some guard dogs you are," Pjerin muttered, dropping down to one knee. "No, I don't want my face licked, thank you very much."

Annice rested her pack against the corner of a building, glad of the chance to rest, and watched him dig his fingers deep into fur, reducing both dogs to abject adoration. From the look on his face, this was the most important thing that had happened all night. There's so

much I don't know about him. She'd arrived in Ohrid only days after both his elderly dogs had been killed by a mountain cat. He'd fought tears when he'd told her what had happened. A person that animals trust so absolutely can't be capable of the kind of betrayal Pjerin was accused of. Cliche, perhaps, but it further convinced her that she'd done the right thing.

Pjerin bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to hide his emotions. More than Annice appearing in his cell, more than the midnight trip through secret passageways, more than disguises and leaving Elbasan in the middle of the night, this told him he was free. This was one of the things he believed he'd never do again.

The dogs sensed the desperation in his touch and kept pushing their noses at his face.

"Sandy! Shadow!"

Two pairs of ears perked up and Pjerin knelt abandoned in the middle of the road. He stayed there for a moment, unable to move, hands pressed against the ground so hard his knuckles went white. It had been a child's voice. He forced himself to breathe. If he wasn't going to die, he'd see his son again.

Teeth clenched, he surged to his feet. "Let's go."

Annice snagged the back of his pack as he went by. "Hold on! Try to remember I'm walking for two." He shortened his stride and, smothering a yawn, she fell into step beside him. "First inn we come to that's open for business, we stop for food and a rest."

"No." Pjerin shook his head, eyes squinted almost shut against the sun but locked on the east, locked on Ohrid.

"What do you mean, no?" But they had time to scratch dogs?

"What I said, no." There was no room for compromise in his tone. "We eat while we travel."

"Then you can travel without me. The kigh will spot you and you'll be back in that cell faster than I can find a rhyme for door hinge." She knew she sounded equally unreasonable, but she was tired enough and hungry enough not to care.

"Annice…"

"You can growl my name all you want to, but it's not going to change anything. You need me to hide you from the kigh, which means we have to stay together, which means you have to travel at my pace." Grabbing his arm, she pulled him around to face her. "Or have you forgotten about your child?" The sarcastic tone clearly suggested just how much value she placed on that possessive pronoun. "You remember; the one you wouldn't leave without?"

His mouth worked and she waited for the explosion. It never came.

"They'll have told Gerek I'm dead."

Oh, shit. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. You and your big mouth. "Pjerin, I'm sorry."

"We have to find out who did this to me." Every muscle of his body stood out in rigid delineation.

Annice sighed. Considering everything he'd been through, he was remarkably stable, but considering everything he'd been through, he had every right to go completely to pieces.

"Not now," she told him gently. "While a pair of traders arriving at dawn will attract no attention, that same pair of traders standing in the middle of River Road in a Command trance would give the whole game away." Linking her arm in his, she tugged him firmly down the street. "We'll need privacy and quiet and we'll have plenty of both before we get to Ohrid."

"… so I ask her what she's doing with my shield and she says that they're diggin' a hole in the commons and they don't got a shovel. She's gonna use my shield as a shovel. Well, I give her a cuff up the side of the head and tell her it's not my shield, it's the king's, and if she wants a shovel she can just hoof it over to her grandad's place. And she tosses her braid back over her shoulder, and I've got a good idea where she picked up that motion, and says ever so indignantly…" The guard lifted his chin and pursed his lips, continuing in a piping imitation of a small child's voice. "… but, Papa, you wasn't usin' it."

Aliute grimaced and thanked every god the Circle contained that the night was nearly over. Guarding the door to the dungeons was a dull assignment at best, but spending it forced to listen to story after story about a five-year-old removed it from the Circle entirely. This wasn't what she'd expected when she joined up. She'd wanted excitement, adventure, and never in her wildest dreams did she see herself standing guard so that prisoners, who were both shackled and locked in their cells, could have no chance of escape.

Escape; yeah, right. She rubbed an itchy shoulder blade against the rough stone wall and wondered if her partner was awake yet. What am I thinking, the nun's up. The kids probably got her out of bed ages ago. Her helm shifted forward slightly as she yawned. At the risk of sounding dissatisfied with the job, it sure is boring being a guard.

Footsteps sounded, coming down the spiral stairs that led to the upper levels of the palace. At first, Aliute thought they belonged to the drudge who came every morning to empty the pots, but there were too many of them and they were moving too fast.

The first set of feet that descended into sight wore boots and, over them, greaves enameled with the royal sigil of Shkoder.

The two guards stared at each other in shock.

Inspection? he mouthed, eyes wide and near panick.

At dawn? Aliute returned, shoving her helm straight.

As a second set of identical greaves appeared, they snapped to attention, pikes properly at rest, the effect somewhat ruined by identical expressions of disbelief. Ceremonial armor was worn only by the four members of the guard assigned to accompany the king.

Theron came down the last few steps, a second pair of guards on his heels, and acknowledged the two at the door. "I wish to speak with the Due of Ohrid," he said quietly.

"Sire!" As senior, Aliute set her pike against the wall and lit a lamp off one of the three tallow candles. Pinching off the smoldering end of the taper, she motioned for her companion to open the door. Shoulders back, head up, heart pounding, she moved into the passageway between the two rows of cells; however peculiar this visit might be, it was her chance to look good in front of the king and she wasn't going to blow it.

At the cell door, she set the lamp in the bracket and heaved up the bar. Motioned aside by one of the other guards, she watched as he picked up the lamp and went into the cell. He rushed back out a second later, his face pale, the flickering light illuminating the superstitious fear in his eyes.

"Majesty, the prisoner is gone."

"What!" Theron snatched the lamp from the guard's hand and charged forward. Just inside the door, he stopped. The shackle—closed and locked—was lying on the braided straw pallet which was lying flat on the bench. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he squatted and peered into the shadowed recess between the bench and the floor.

Off to one side, Aliute strained to see, her mouth dry, blood throbbing in her temples. If a prisoner was missing, she was responsible. She had no idea what the punishment would be. They'd never lost a prisoner before. Perhaps she'd have to take his place at the block.

"Spirited away," murmured a guard.

"Always knew those mountain folk were unenclosed," muttered another.

Yes! Aliute grabbed at hope. Spirits from outside the Circle took him! It wasn't my fault.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Theron snapped, stomping back out into the corridor, nearly knocking over the two guards, who'd followed him in. "There's a perfectly logical explanation." His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "During the night someone let him out and then locked everything behind him."

Five pairs of eyes turned to glare at Aliute.

She backed up a step, and then another.

"N-no one came in here last night, Majesty," she protested. "I swear it. No one."

Still holding the lamp, Theron half turned and pointed with his free hand. "You, Janyte, I want the Bardic Captain down here, now."

"Sire!" Janyte took off at a full run, aiming for the rectangle of light that marked the entry into the corridor.

"Karlis, go back and get the other lamp. Then I want that cell inspected for loose stones or some indication of an exit other than by the door."

"Sire!"

The two remaining guards flanked their sovereign and lowered their halberds, the implication plain. If Aliute had cooperated with a traitor, she herself was a danger to the king.

Aliute looked down at the weapons and swallowed. Like the ceremonial armor, the halberds were highly ornate, but not even the intricate engraving that extended nearly to the edge of the blades could make them look any less deadly. Without intending to, she scuttled backward another three or four paces.

They let her go. They were, after all, between her and the only way out.

She was at the edge of the lamplight now, the shadows closing in around her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pale, translucent streamer against the wall. Her heart leaped into her throat. The spirits!

In spite of her terror, she moved toward it. If it was a spirit, the king would know she'd had nothing to do with the prisoner's escape.

Not a spirit. Something better.

"Majesty…" She licked her lips and tried again. "Majesty, I think I've found the answer."

Indicating that the guards should stay where they were, Theron came forward.

Aliute laid the end of the torn and filthy spiderweb carefully across Theron's palm.

Together, they turned and stared at the place it entered the wall.

"We've paid for it, you might as well eat it."

"I'm not hungry." Pjerin pushed his meal aside. All he could think of was the time they were wasting. Time that could be better spent by increasing their distance from Elbasan. "How can you eat eels for breakfast?"

Annice shrugged and swallowed. "I like eels. The Riverfolk eat them all the time."

"You're not Riverfolk."

"So?" She yawned, scraped the bottom of her bowl, and reached for his. "No point in wasting it."

"Something wrong with the food?"

"Not a thing." Annice smiled up at the innkeeper, "Jorin's just in a rush to get to Vidor. He's got a bet on with his cousin."

Dimpled arms folded over a featherbed bosom, the innkeeper clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "He makes a bet, and you've got to rush. And in your condition, too."

"Oh, I don't mind. After all, half the profits are mine."

"Health first, profits second," she declared. "Why didn't you wait for the river? Current'll be down and they'll be able to hoist sail by the new moon. You could go to the festival—there'll be a bard to Sing up the wind—then ride to Vidor in comfort."

"Riverboat passage costs coin." Pjerin opened his mouth and Annice kicked him under the table. She didn't know what he was about to say and she didn't want to. The story would be easier to keep track of with only her telling it. "Besides, we haven't the time to wait."

"Traders. Rushing here, rushing there. When are you due?"

"Just into Second Quarter."

"So soon? You don't look big enough. When I was that far along, I was much bigger. And you're carrying too low. You don't get enough rest, that's the problem." She turned a dark gaze on Pjerin. "You've got to see that she rests more. Look at those circles under her eyes. Now then, my sister's boy, Bartek the carter, he's heading for Vidor this morning. If you leave now—and I only suggest this since you seem to be in such a hurry—you can still catch him. It'll cost you coin, but you won't have to wait, and you," a sausage finger jabbed at Annice, "won't have to trot along under a double load."

"Thank you." Annice's smile had frayed a little around the edges. "That's a big help, believe me." She finished the last mouthful of what was supposed to have been Pjerin's breakfast and stood. "Good business, innkeeper."

"Good business, trader."

A few moments later, they were hurrying toward the carter's yards.

"I wish you'd stop telling people to believe you," Pjerin growled.

"Why?" Annice belched and began to think the second bowl of eels had been a mistake. "It's the easiest way to allay suspicions."

"I don't like you putting ideas into people's heads." He half turned and glanced behind them. "I know what it's like from the other side."

"This isn't the same thing."

"Isn't it?" In memory, he heard his mouth speaking with someone else's voice. How much difference was there between that and being charmed into a false belief? "Even you agreed that what happened to me could have been done by a bard."

"Yeah?" She was too tired to be diplomatic. "In balance, try to remember that it's a bard saving your butt."

"From the kigh!"

"So?"

"The kigh are controlled by the bards!"

"You still think the bards had something to do with this?"

No. He didn't. "I'm sorry." He brushed his hand over his eyes. What was his point? He suddenly realized he didn't have one. "Whenever I remember what was done to me, I get too tangled up in anger to think clearly."

She had enough energy left for half a smile. "Apology accepted."

Her smile suddenly reminded him of better days in Ohrid and where her smile had led them. He searched for a safer subject. "Why did you call me Jorin?"

"I don't know." They turned down a street of small shops—apprentices opening shutters for the start of the day's business, artisans calling greetings to neighbors—and Annice pitched her voice so as not to be overheard. "I had to call you something and that's close enough to your name you'll probably answer to it."

"Then what should I call you?" Without her skills, he felt exposed every time he opened his mouth and could only mumble, hoping her ears had been trained as well as her tongue.

"I've always kind of liked Magda. It was my grandmother's name."

"Think you'd answer to it?"

"Probably no… oh, boy."

"What's wrong?" Pjerin jerked around. The street behind them was empty except for a yawning teenager in a wrinkled smock and an equally disinterested black and white cat.

"Baby just stretched out its little pointy toes and booted me up under the ribs."

Releasing a breath he couldn't remember taking, Pjerin snorted. "It was probably the eels."

"It was not. It's just getting crowded in there."

"The innkeeper seemed to think you're too small."

"I am not too small!" Annice practically spit out the protest. "Everyone who's ever had a baby suddenly thinks they're an expert! I'm not too small, I'm not carrying too low, and of course I look tired, I've been up all night dragging your ass out of a dungeon."

"Why not tell the world?" Pjerin snarled. But no one appeared to have noticed, in spite of the vehemence. Sweat trickling down his sides, he turned and checked behind them again.

She shifted her pack. "What do you keep staring at back there?"

"They must know I'm gone. The drudge comes for the slops at sunrise."

Annice grinned at him. "But you vanished out of a locked cell. First they'll have to drag His Majesty out of bed and then they'll have to question the guards. We won't see any sign of pursuit for hou…"

The sound of at least three sets of shod hooves spun them both around. Pjerin flung out a hand to keep Annice on her feet as her shifting pack threatened to pull her over. Sight blocked by a curve in the road, the sound echoed between the buildings.

"You were saying!" Heart slamming in his chest, the sound of pursuit almost drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears, he searched for a place to hide.

"No!" Annice dug in her heels, throwing her weight against his. "Stay here! Turn your back to the road, the pack will hide you. You're a trader. Remember that!"

There wasn't time to argue. Pjerin turned just as three horses galloped into view, his hands closing around Annice's, her touch the only thing keeping him from running.

They were on them. They were gone.

"Nothing to do with us," Annice said soothingly, her voice trembling a little in spite of her best efforts. "Nobles."

Pjerin couldn't get his muscles to unlock. "Nobles?"

"Young ones. The kind who think it's funny to gallop through town and make everyone jump out of their way."

"Nobles," Pjerin repeated a second time. He remembered how to breathe.

"Assholes!" bellowed a candlemaker stepping out of his shop and shaking a scarred fist at the clouds of dust. "Unenclosed guards are never around when you need 'em."

"Ain't it the truth." Annice pulled her hands out of Pjerin's loosened grip and flexed the fingers to make sure they still worked. "Come on." She reached up and slapped him gently on both cheeks. "Let's catch that ride to Vidor."

"Well, Captain?"

Years of practice kept Liene's voice and facial expression totally noncommittal although below the surface calm her thoughts churned. "The trail does lead to Bardic Hall, Majesty, but we should consider the possibility that it was made by other than a bard."

Theron stared across the desk at her, his hair and clothing bearing mute testimony to his explorations within the walls. "Do you honestly believe that, Captain?"

She frowned. "Not for a moment, Majesty."

"Then let's leave the realm of fairytales behind, shall we, and cut right to the facts." He raised a grimy finger. "One: the passageways through the palace are not exactly secret and have long been explored by the younger members of the royal family. Although, I might add, that particular passageway is going to be filled before we're all very much older. There's no reason," he growled, "for any of them to have been built in the first place."

The captain decided against mentioning that Kristjan II, the king who'd commissioned the building of the palace, had been referred to by the bards of his time as "out of his royal mind" and there were scrolls and scrolls in the library concerning how best to deal with his "enthusiasms." At the moment, the information would only serve as an unnecessary distraction.

"Two:" Theron continued, "you have such a… person currently in residence at Bardic Hall. Three: she was the last bard to go to Ohrid before this whole situation came up."

Four: she's not going to want to see the father of her child executed. The sudden realization hit Liene hard enough to set up echoes between her ears. She'd known from the moment the king had so tersely laid his dawn discovery before her that Annice had to be involved. That Pjerin a'Stasiek had fathered her child could be the only logical explanation for her to save him from the block. Not for a moment did the Bardic Captain believe that Annice had sold out to Cemandia.

Quickly recalling the conversation they'd had after the Due had been accused, she realized that Annice had never denied sleeping with the due although she'd done her best to misdirect suspicion. I must be getting old not to have seen through your innuendos. You told me exactly what I wanted to hear without ever telling me an outright lie and when I get my hands on you, I'm going to wring your neck. How could you put me in this position!

"Captain! I realize this has given you plenty to think about, but try to pay attention."

"Your pardon, Majesty." Liene sketched a bow. Theron snorted. "As I was saying, there is another bard who recently spent time with the due and who may have, over the years in close proximity, been told the secret ways of the palace."

"Stasya?"

The king nodded. "I'll send for them both and we'll see what kind of an explanation they can give us. I'm sure they'll be a credit to their bardic training."

"But, Majesty, shouldn't the guard be sent after the fugitive immediately?"

"No." The word was both denial and a warning not to argue further.

Liene drummed her fingers against her thighs. At this hour of the morning, she didn't deal well with disaster and she couldn't read the king's mood at all. "If you'll forgive me saying so, Majesty, you're taking this escape—and the implication of your sister in that escape—very calmly."

Theron leaned back in his chair and brushed at the cobwebs on his sleeve. "I have my reasons, Captain. Page!"

The door flew open. "Sire!"

"Take a message to Bardic Hall…"

Stasya scrambled into her good tunic and searched amidst the mess on the table for a comb. Things were not going as planned.

"How did he find out so quickly?" she muttered, sifting through a pile of slates, a box of chalk, three scrolls, and a breastband with a broken strap. "There was nothing to connect that escape to Annice. Nothing."

The summons had been for them both.

"Maybe I can say she's in the privy. All things being enclosed, she'd been there often enough lately I can probably make it sound like the truth."

She found the comb at last and dragged it through her hair.

"Maybe this has nothing to do with last night."

One of her boots was under the bed.

"Maybe he's found out she's pregnant and wants to know if it's mine."

The other was propped up in the otherwise empty fireplace.

"Maybe he wants us to sing him a duet over breakfast."

She paused in the doorway and glanced back at the familiar mess. This might be the last time she ever saw it—an execution had already been planned, all it lacked was the guest of honor.

One hand went to her throat as she pulled the door closed with the other. At least Annice was safely away.

"And now off I go to compound treason with lies." She couldn't believe the risks she took for love.

Without appearing to be watching him at all, Liene watched the king carefully as they waited for the two bards to arrive. This would be the first time in ten years he'd seen his youngest sister face-to-face. What was he thinking? Given the circumstances, what could he be thinking? Given Annice's condition on top of everything else, this was likely to be an interview of historic proportions and Liene rather wished that someone else were Bardic Captain during it. I'm getting too old for this.

In her opinion, he looked too calm. She wondered what he was hiding.

Theron continued to brush at the dust on his sleeve. He could remember only two times he'd been this angry; the first when the sister he'd all but raised had made him look a fool at his father's deathbed, the second when she rejected his offer of forgiveness and demanded he apologize for what she had done to him. And now, she defies me once again. This time, she has gone too far.

He had no doubt that Annice had helped Ohrid escape and two theories as to why she'd done it. The first, that she'd fallen in love with young Pjerin during her Walk and had acted on that emotion, he found difficult to believe. Love was one thing, but—even for Annice—treason something else again. Besides, her continuing relationship with Stasya seemed to indicate that her emotions were already engaged. No, it wasn't love. He suspected that she, too, had reason to disbelieve the due's testimony and he looked forward to hearing what those reasons were.

He had no trouble at all believing that she considered her opinion of greater value than the entire justice system of Shkoder.

As soon as he set her straight on that score—and he looked forward to the opportunity—she could retrieve the fugitive and together they could begin the unpleasant task of getting at the truth—the whole truth, not just the words spoken under Command.

And then?

He took a deep breath and found himself considering Annice in conjunction with the terrifying possibility that, if the young due were innocent, someone had found a way to manipulate a mind under Command. This held the potential for such chaos that royal pain, royal pride, and royal anger could not stand against it.

For the first time in ten years, Theron found himself smiling as he thought of his sister. Somehow, he didn't find it at all surprising she was in the middle of the greatest crisis he'd faced since he'd taken the throne and that this crisis would place the full responsibility of a reconciliation squarely on his shoulders. Annice never did anything by halves.

"Do you think she's a good bard?" he asked suddenly.

Liene started. Why is he worrying about that when she seems to have just helped a condemned traitor escape execution? "Yes, Majesty. Annice Sings all four quarters and…"

"I know what she can do, Captain," Theron told her dryly. "I am not without resources. I was asking for your personal opinion."

"In my personal opinion, Majesty…" The Bardic Captain bowed, thinking, Resources? What in the Circle does he mean by that? Of course he has resources, he's the king. "… she's a very good bard. If a little impulsive at times."

"Impulsive?" Theron repeated with a bark of laughter. "I suppose that's one word for it." A gentle knock at the door stopped him before he could voice any others. "Come."

"The bard you sent for is here, Majesty."

"I sent for two."

The young page looked confused and a little frightened by the tone. "Only one came," he offered, tugging nervously on the hem of his tunic.

Which one? Theron wondered, but all he said aloud was, "Send her in."

"Yes, Majesty."

Stasya had never been this far into the palace before. The senior of the guards flanking the door into the royal apartments had questioned the page and checked her for weapons before allowing her entry. And we haven't been at war for three generations. These guys are paranoid.

The private areas were a lot less ornate and more comfortable looking than the public ones. She only wished for different circumstances so she could've enjoyed the tour.

The whole place smells like beeswax and whitewash. They must've just finished First Quarter cleaning. Bardic Hall usually smelled like damp wool and ink.

The page who'd accompanied her from the Hall handed her over to another who told her to "wait right-exactly" where she was as he knocked on one of the carved wooden panels that made up the door. He slipped inside and Stasya tried to come up with something coherent to say.

One thing was certain; the truth was about to take a beating.

She wondered if the king would put her under Command.

Still, we now believe it's possible to lie under Command, don't we. Wish I knew how Pjerin managed it. If he managed it. I think I'm going to puke.

The page returned and stepped aside. "His Majesty says you may enter."

Well, this is it. Show time. Drying damp palms on her breeches, she stepped forward and hid a wince as the door swung closed behind her. It was such a depressingly final sound.

The king's private office was a surprisingly small room. It had a fireplace in one of the inner walls, a tall window looking out into an interior courtyard, and, instead of exposed stone, richly polished wood paneling. A portrait of the king's grandmother, Milena III, hung over the fireplace—Stasya had seen the artist's sketches and two preliminary portraits in the archives. The furniture—a large desk, three wood and leather chairs, and a set of shelves—sat on a plush burgundy and cream patterned carpet that could only have come out of the Empire.

Having run out of things to look at, Stasya surrendered to the inevitable and finally turned her gaze on the people. The king was sitting at the desk. He looked… actually, he looked amazingly like Annice when she was anticipating something that could easily turn out to be unpleasant. While their features were very little alike, the expression was nearly identical. Stasya hadn't been expecting that. It would be harder to lie into the face of a friend.

The Bardic Captain stood by the window. Stasya really hadn't been expecting that.

Oh, shit. I wonder whose side she's on.

As far from the desk as protocol allowed, she bowed, trying to remember if it was right leg forward, left leg back or the reverse and if, under the circumstances, it really mattered anyway. When she lifted her head, the king was staring at her, his expression unreadable.

"So," he said grimly. "She went with him."

He knows. Stasya was as certain of that as she'd been of anything in her life. The question now became, how much did he know? With no point in lying to keep Annice in the clear, Stasya decided she'd better move on to her alternative plan. Just evolved, it involved answering all questions as truthfully as possible and then, the moment the king seemed susceptible, throwing herself—and Annice—on the mercy of the crown. When it came down to it, she wasn't too proud to beg for both of them. "Yes, Majesty."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the captain's incredulous reaction and fought to keep from smiling. It has to be nerves, she told herself sternly. This isn't funny.

Liene jerked forward. "How could you let her…" she began, then stopped, unwilling to be the one to define Annice's condition before the king.

Theron ignored the interruption. "Do you realize the position you're in?"

Stasya swallowed. "Yes, Majesty."

"Do you realize that you have assisted in the committing of a treasonous act?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Do you realize that the penalty for what you have done is death?"

She briefly closed her eyes. "Yes, Majesty."

"Then why…" Theron surged up out of his chair and slammed both palms down on the desk "… by all that's in the Circle, did you do it!"

Because Annice asked me to. She couldn't say it. It felt too much like betrayal.

Theron read the answer off her face, sighed, and sank back into his chair. "Never mind. I understand why you helped her, Stasya; I'm sure she put you in a position where you weren't able to do anything else." He stared into memory for a moment, then lifted his gaze once more to her face. "I would, however, like to know why she saw fit to break into my dungeon and release the Due of Ohrid."

Unexpectedly warming to him, now that his expression seemed more resigned than angry, Stasya saw a glimmer of hope. If the king would listen to the explanation, maybe they'd all survive the experience. Wishing she could use just a little Voice to help her convince-—it was more the captain's presence than her oath that stopped her—she wet her lips and tried to sum up Annice's reasoning. "She helped the due escape because she doesn't think that he did what he was accused of."

"What he confessed to!" Liene snapped, wondering why nothing seemed to be making sense.

Stasya turned to face her captain. "Annice didn't think that confession was valid. She believes him when he says those aren't his words. Time to stand up and be counted. "I believe him, too."

"What!"

An imperious hand cut off the captain's protest. The king leaned forward. "Are you certain it's not Annice that you believe?"

Up until that point, Stasya hadn't been sure, but now, all of a sudden, she was. "I began by believing her," she admitted. "I ended up by believing him."

"Why?" Theron asked quietly.

"I watched him, Majesty, all the long way back from Ohrid, and Pjerin a'Stasiek is not the type to commit treason. He'd never allow anyone else to do his fighting for him. If he has an argument with you, he'll face you directly rather than try to stab you in the back."

"Even if he thinks he'll lose?"

"He wouldn't ever think that, Majesty."

"And I suppose your opinion is not likely to be influenced by his physical attributes," Theron mused, raised brows making the statement a question.

Stasya snorted. "You can count on it, Majesty."

"In your unbiased opinion then, leaving aside for a moment whether or not the due would commit treason in the first place, if he were caught, how would he behave?"

"He'd be defiant, Majesty. No question about it. He'd dare you to do your worst."

Theron nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

Stasya's eyes widened and she took an involuntary step forward. "You don't believe he did it either!"

"Your Majesty, I protest!" Liene charged around the corner of the desk so that she stood between the king and the younger bard. "The Due of Ohrid admitted his guilt not once but twice when questioned under Command. Belief doesn't come into it!"

"Your protest is noted, Captain," Theron told her calmly. "But belief very much comes into it. If I don't believe the man is guilty, I'm not going to order his death."

"But he was Commanded to speak only the truth!"

"Then, obviously, someone altered the truth."

Liene drew herself up to her full height, her eyes glittering dangerously. "Majesty, are you suggesting that one of my bards…"

"No." Theron cut her off abruptly. "I'm not."

Still scowling, the captain was left with nothing to say.

Stasya stepped into the silence. "Majesty, Pjerin said that during the time he was under Command, he felt pushed to the back of his head while someone else used his mouth, and the worst of it was that the words weren't so much outright lies as twisted bits of the truth. .He could remember most of them happening but not in the way they came out."

"He said all this to you?"

"To myself and Annice, yes, Majesty."

Theron slammed his fist down on the desk. Both bards jumped at the sudden explosion of sound. "But the arrogant fool would rather go to the block than say any of this to me! The stiff-necked young ass!" Drawing in a deep breath, he exhaled it all in a rush. "And Annice! Would rather commit treason herself…" His gold signet flashed as he waved a hand at Stasya. "… and convince you to help her with it, than come to me with her suspicions. Did they consider me such a tyrant that I wouldn't listen? Did they think I don't have eyes or ears of my own? By the Center, they deserve each other!"

Stasya couldn't help it, her nerves were stretched tight enough to strum and the last she'd seen of Annice and Pjerin they were having a low-voiced but edged argument over the best way to leave the Citadel. She snickered.

To her relief, Theron took no offense. He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I can well imagine," he said with feeling. "The irresistible opinion meeting the immovable conceit. Well, you'd better bring them back before they kill each other and we can start straightening this mess out."

"Bring them back, Majesty?"

"Yes. Bring them back. Send a kigh with a message." He glanced from bard to bard. Both were looking as though they'd just stepped in something foul and sticky. "Is there a problem?" His tone made it clear that, if there was, they'd best overcome it and quickly.

"The kigh, the air kigh, that is, Majesty, won't have anything to do with Annice at this point in time."

Theron rubbed at his temples. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. Trust Annice to make it difficult. "So," he sighed. "What's she done to alienate them?"

"Your pardon, Majesty." Stasya jumped in before the captain could say anything. "But it really isn't our place to say."

"Yes, it is," Theron told her, his temper beginning to fray again. "It's your place to answer my questions. I'm the king. That's the way the system works. Now then, what has my sister done to alienate the kigh?"

The words "my sister" seemed to hang in the air. Even Theron seemed a little startled by them.

A hesitant tapping on the door became a welcome distraction.

At the king's barked command, the page came far enough into the room to be heard, but not so far he couldn't make a quick escape if it became necessary. "I—I didn't want to interrupt, Majesty, but there's a man out here and he has one of these."

The thin copper disk resting on the boy's outstretched palm bore the highly polished, raised image of a crowned ship. It gave the bearer access to the king at any time. In his ten years on the throne, Theron had given out only three.

"Does he have a name?"

"Yes, Majesty. Leonas."

Stasya shot the captain a startled look. The captain frowned.

Leonas walked into the king's private office as though he were walking into a chamber back in Bardic Hall. Stasya half expected to see him set down a tray of food and demand to know why they'd all tried to skip breakfast. He'd taken off his apron but apparently thought that his working clothes were suitable for a visit to his sovereign.

"I heard you sent for them," he said before anyone in the room could speak. "So I figured you'd found out and I'd save you the trouble of sending for me, too."

"You helped with this?" Theron demanded incredulously.

"Well, not exactly helped, Majesty, although I tried to see she ate right. But I knew about it."

"Then why didn't you see fit to inform me?"

Leonas shrugged. "Didn't seem like my place to tell you, Majesty. Kept hoping she'd tell you herself." He jerked his head at Stasya. "Where's the princess?"

Stasya opened her mouth but no sound came out. Leonas had been King Theron's spy? Finally she managed a strangled, "You shit! Annice trusted you!"

He stiffened. "And I never betrayed that trust. I served the princess to the best of my abilities." Glaring at the bard, he didn't see Theron's brows rise, but the captain did and she wondered if Leonas was even aware of the shift in his allegiance. He didn't appear to be as he asked, "Where is she?"

Still sputtering, Stasya was unsettled enough to answer. "She helped the Due of Ohrid escape from the dungeon last night and ended up going with him."

"What!"

"I thought you knew about it?" Theron stood and came out from around the desk.

"Not about this!" The older man looked stunned. "I figured you'd found out about the baby."

"The what!"

"The baby," Leonas repeated. He turned his attention back to Stasya. "What were you thinkin', letting her go off with this due fellow? I thought that you had more brains than that!"

"Why does everyone seem to think I could've stopped her?" Stasya demanded of the room at large. "You know how she is when she gets an idea in her head. And besides, he wouldn't leave without her."

"His baby?"

"Yes." There didn't seem to be any reason to deny it. "But that's not why she went with him. Without her to block the kigh, he'd be picked up again in minutes. It was the only solution; we couldn't just let him die."

"Let me see if I have the gist of this." Theron barely raised his voice, but it filled the room in such a way that the server and both bards gave him their complete attention. "My sister is pregnant…" He paused. It was the loudest silence any of them had ever heard. "… with the Due of Ohrid's child…" Again the pause. The silence rang. "… and they are now hidden from the kigh because of her condition?"

Liene stepped forward. When it came right down to it, Annice was her responsibility, so this was her responsibility. "Yes, Majesty."

"How long have you known?"

"About the father…" She shot a glance at Stasya heavy with promise. "… I found out as you did, Majesty. About the child; since she returned from Ohrid."

Theron's brows drew in so tightly they met over his nose. "I'm only going to ask this once; why wasn't I told?"

At last, an easy answer. Liene met his eyes. "As Leonas said, Majesty, I was hoping she'd tell you herself."

"Then why didn't she?"

"I expect it's because she was afraid you'd have her executed for treason."

"Executed? Where did she get such a…"

By the will of the late King Mikus, you have permission to enter Bardic Hall. I, Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, Lord over the Mountain Principalities of Sibiu, Ohrid, Ajud, Bicaz, and Somes, do on this day declare that by doing so you forfeit all rights of royalty, that you shall surrender all titles and incomes, that all save your personal possessions shall revert to the crown. Furthermore, for the stability of the realm, you may neither join nor bear children without the express permission of the crown. To do so will be considered a treasonous act and will be punished as such.

Theron shook his head. "She couldn't have believed I'd go through with it."

"With respect, Majesty…" Too skilled to let it show, Liene was enjoying herself for the first time since she'd been jolted out of her bed by an urgent summons from the king. "… the proclamation laid it out rather clearly.

While Annice might not have believed it at first, when it became obvious that you no longer considered her a member of the family, it became easier for her to believe the rest."

"You could've told her she was wrong!"

"If you'll recall, Majesty, when I attempted, just after you took the throne, to suggest that you had been, perhaps, a little harsh, and that you might reword the proclamation to lessen its impact, you told me that it was necessary for the smooth running of the kingdom that the king's word be perceived as law."

He stared at her for a moment, fully aware of the sarcasm behind each word and equally aware that the captain had far too much control for him to call her on it. "It is also necessary for the smooth running of the kingdom that the king be perceived as able to change his mind," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And, if you'll recall, I attempted to forgive her, but she decided she didn't want to be forgiven."

"She didn't want the forgiveness of her king." There could be no fault found with the captain's respectful tone. "She wanted the understanding of her brother."

"They are the same person!"

"Majesty?" Stasya decided to explain before the king lost his temper and the bards lost their captain. "I think Annice was too proud to go to you when she thought you wanted nothing to do with her. I think she finally found something you'd have to notice, a guaranteed way for you to send for her."

"By throwing my own words in my face?"

"I don't think she thought that…"

"I doubt she thought at all," Theron snapped. "Go on."

"Well, before you found out…" Stasya hid a wince as he glared at the captain who stood listening impassively. "… this whole thing with the due happened. She couldn't tell you then. Her baby was under the weight of a double treason—hers and its father's. There has to be a limit to how much a king can forgive." She stressed his title.

"I take it you agreed with her assessment?"

"Yes, sire."

"So she couldn't come to me with her suspicions because of the child?"

"We didn't know you suspected that the due had been set up, Majesty. We didn't think you'd believe her and we couldn't take the risk only to have His Grace still go to the block."

Theron pulled at the collar of his tunic. Annice had thrown her unwillingness to compromise in his face right from the beginning. He couldn't back down from that kind of a challenge.

Now she was pregnant and on the run with a man accused of treason. He didn't doubt for a moment she was challenging him again. But this time, more than just the two of them were involved.

The collar button twisted off in his fingers and with an annoyed growl he tossed it onto the desk. "What "were you planning on telling people," he demanded of Stasya, "when they noticed she wasn't around?"

"That the execution had upset her, Majesty, and she'd gone to stay with my family down coast."

"Good. Then that's where she is."

"But, Majesty, there won't be an execution."

Theron smiled grimly. "Oh, yes, there will."

Stasya's hand went to her throat.

"Executions are witnessed by five people," he continued, "Myself, the Bardic Captain, two guards, and the executioner. They take place in an interior courtyard without an audience. The executioner is…" His lips pursed as he searched for the right epithet. "… discreet, the captain will speak with the guards, and you, Leonas, will get some fresh blood from the kitchens. The servers will expect to have to scrub the cobblestones."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, but this is beginning to sound like a fledgling's ballad." Liene's nostrils were pinched with the effort of keeping her opinion even that restrained.

"Someone has worked very hard to make us believe that the due is guilty of treason, Captain. If they think they've succeeded, we'll be one step closer to catching them." Theron perched on the corner of his desk. "The quickest way to discover who rearranged young Ohrid's memories would be to put him back under Command and ask him but, as I understand it, as long as he remains with Annice, you," he nodded at the captain, "can't find him."

"Essentially correct, sire."

"And if I send the guard out after them," he continued thoughtfully, "I've no doubt I'll alert that someone and throw away our one advantage."

"You can't just leave the princess out there, about to have a child!" Leonas protested.

The set of Stasya's shoulders said much the same thing.

"I can't send the guard after the due," Theron mused, then all at once he smiled. "But there's nothing that says I can't send the guard after Annice."

Stasya felt her jaw drop. "She'll be furious, Majesty."

The king's smile never faltered. "Good. I found out about the baby, she ran, and I want her back. There's nothing anyone can use in that."

"How're they going to bring her back without hurting her?" Leonas asked, arms folded across his chest. "She won't just come 'cause you order it, Majesty; not the princess, no, she won't."

"I could go after her, Majesty," Stasya offered, eagerly. "I know which way they've gone."

Theron thought about it for a moment then shook his head. "No. Only the four of us know what's actually going on, I can't afford to have you out of whatever plan we create to capture the real traitor." He picked up the collar button and rubbed it between his fingers. "Still, it's essential we get the due back and find out exactly what's been done to him. It'll have to be the guards."

"The ducal fight if the guards try an' take her," Leonas insisted stubbornly, "Then the guars will know who he is."

While Theron appreciated the affection the old man had for Annice, his attitude was becoming annoying. "He's not likely to identify himself," he snapped. "I've plenty of guards who've never seen the due and all they'll know is Annice has run off with the man who fathered her child and I want them both brought back to Elbasan. I think a troop of guard can handle one pregnant bard and the Due of Ohrid. They won't hurt her and if they have to knock him on his ass to get him here, maybe next time he'll consider confiding in his king."

When Leonas opened his mouth again, Theron abruptly raised a hand. "Enough. Annice is going to have to live with the consequences of her actions. If she'd come to me with her suspicions, none of this would be necessary."

"Your pardon, Majesty?" Liene recognized the tone in the king's voice and decided she'd better speak before he felt the urge for another proclamation he'd come to regret. It was time to remind him that Annice was by far the least of his concerns. "Who would want you to believe Pjerin a'Stasiek is a traitor?"

"A good question." Theron agreed to be distracted. "And there's only one logical answer. Queen Jirina of Cemandia."

Liene frowned. "Why would Cemandia want you to discover a plot involving Cemandia?"

"This is how I see their reasoning; Queen Jirina has made no secret of wanting a seaport and has to know we've heard about the mercenaries she's been importing. I know Defiance Pass at Ohrid is the only way she can bring an army into Shkoder, so I strengthen it. Unless I think I've discovered their plan and neutralized it, thereby removing the threat.

"But the plot involving the due was a blind, a setup I was intended to discover. They not only want me to believe I've taken care of the threat, but they want me to remove young Pjerin from their way." His voice hardened. "I don't like being used."

"It seems logical," Liene admitted after a moment of turning it over and examining it from all sides. "But why not let them know they've failed?"

"Two reasons. First, if the due isn't the traitor, someone else is—or Jirina wouldn't think she could get an army through the pass. I want that someone." His expression darkened. "I'm going to lay out a path to the block and dance them down it."

The sudden crack of the carved wooden button snapping between his fingers jerked everyone's gaze to his hands. Theron took a deep breath and let the two pieces fall to the carpet. "Secondly," he continued as though nothing had happened, "if the someone in Cemandia is able to work around Command, I want to know how and who and I want to know it now, not later when they've made an attempt we didn't discover."

"If the Cemandians are able to work around Command, Majesty." Liene's tone suggested that the king could believe what he wished. While she'd give him the rest, she wouldn't give him this. Not without a fight.

"If they can do it, I'm sure you can as well." It was less an observation than an order. "We'll need a way to undo it and a way to guard against it ever happening again. I'm sure His Grace will be eager to help when he's returned to the capital."

Her lips had thinned to a pale line and she barely opened them as she spoke. "Yes, Majesty. And if it can't be done?"

His smile held a warning. "Assume it can. You'll find the two dungeon guards with my four. I want all six of them Commanded not to speak of the escape but explain why before you do it—they may not have a choice, but they'll at least have the reason."

"That won't stop them from speaking the truth if they're Commanded, Majesty."

"I know that, Captain, but who's going to Command them? I'm not. You're not." His smile suggested she drop the subject. "Leonas, get the blood, then return here. You're roughly the same height as the due and no one looks too closely at the person in the Judgment robe. I'll take you into the Due's cell by way of the so-called secret passageway, then you, Captain, will show up with the dungeon guards to escort him out."

Liene bowed and turned on her heel, muttering, "I am not singing a dirge for a bucket of chicken blood," as she left.

Leonas bowed as well, with the air of a man who knew his duty even if he didn't like it.

Theron allowed them both to leave and sat staring down at the two half circles of wood at his feet.

Stasya stared at a point just over his head and wondered why he hadn't dismissed her with the others.

Finally, he glanced up. "I know you're worried about her. I wish I could send you after her."

"Thank you, Majesty." This wasn't what she'd expected. And he looked as worried as she felt. "She really wants this baby, Majesty. She won't do anything to endanger it."

"Perhaps you'd better reassure Leonas."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Stasya…" He paused, uncertain of how to go on. "Did Annice deliberately challenge my authority with this?"

"She didn't get pregnant on purpose if that's what you're asking, sire."

"An accident?" Sighing, he bent and picked up the broken button, his tunic gaping at the collar. "Trust Annice to have an accident this complicated. Is she happy about it?"

"Stasya, when I think about this baby, I feel the way I feel when the Song works; that sense of everything snapping into place and being, if only for a little while, absolutely right."

Stasya smiled. "Yes, Majesty."

"Is she healthy?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Do you really believe she did this just so I would send for her?"

"Not consciously, Majesty, but, yes; I really believe it. She misses you, misses her family, misses her past."

"I wish I'd known this sooner."

Stasya sighed. "So do I, Majesty." Because then she wouldn't be on her way to Ohrid, almost eight months pregnant, a hunted fugitive, protecting a man she wouldn't eat breakfast with. No point in saying it; there was nothing the king could do, no way he could find her. No way I can find her. Shit.

Theron remembered a little sister who followed him like a shadow. When he met Stasya's eyes again, his own were bright. "I sent for her, about eight years ago, but she wouldn't come."

"It still hurt too much, Majesty."

"I know."

Stasya bit her lip as she realized why he understood about Annice's pain, but before she could think of something to say, he continued.

"And then, when I heard that song, all I could think of was how she'd taken something that should have been private between the two of us and deliberately used it to undermine my authority throughout Shkoder."

"'The Princess-Bard'?" Stasya was so astonished, she took a step toward the king. "Annice had nothing to do with that, Majesty, and I doubt you hate it more than she does. If you'll forgive me, the two of you are a lot alike. I think that's your biggest problem. You were both too proud to bend first."

"A king cannot appear weak before his subjects. A weakness in the king is perceived as a weakness in the country." Theron sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I did what I could."

"Leonas?"

"He watched over her for me. Kept me informed." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Apparently not as well informed as I thought." A baby. He couldn't deal with the concept. The Annice of his memory was fourteen. Or five. But he didn't know this Annice at all. "I missed her."

Stasya snorted, sounding remarkably like Liene. "Tell her, Majesty, not me."

Theron nodded. "When this is over."

Recognizing a dismissal, Stasya bowed. Her hand was on the door when the king's voice stopped her.

"I'm going to want you to go to Ohrid, but we'll speak again before you leave. This deception must be closely planned if it's to work."

Annice woke, aware something was wrong but unable for the moment to determine what. Where am I? The rocking motion suggested riverboat, then the cart hit a bump and she remembered.

"Heard they had terrible trouble with mice over Fourth Quarter," Bartek the carter confided, slipping the two gulls they'd settled on for the fare into his pocket. "I got oats, barley, spring wheat, and some corn. Just so much extra here, but if I get it to market in Vidor by the new moon, I figure I can make a killing. Climb on board, make yourself comfortable. You both look like you could use some shut-eye."

With the sacks of seed grain molded to her aching back, Annice fell asleep before the cart was out of Riverton.

Now she was awake and she wanted to know why. The baby was quiet. Nothing hurt. The sun poured heat over her like molten gold.

The sun.

Directly overhead.

Noon.

She opened her eyes and looked for Pjerin.

He was sitting rigidly upright against the side of the cart, one leg raised, his forearm resting across his knee. The shirt that Stasya had found for him was a bit small and with the fabric pulled tight across his chest, Annice could see each shallow breath. There were hollows in his cheeks that hadn't been there in Third Quarter and the bruising around his eye made him seem achingly fragile. She had the strangest desire to go over to him and let him rest his head on her shoulder while she stroked the long fall of dark hair.

Out of the Circle with that! I refuse to get maternal about him.

His other hand worked against the bag of corn beside him, grinding the kernels together.

The grinding was the sound that had woken her.

Reaching out one arm, she poked him in the calf of his outstretched leg—all she could touch without moving. "Hey. You're alive."

Violet eyes found hers, dark with anger, not pain.

"And I'm going to stay alive." It was more a threat than a promise. "And when we find out who did this to me, I'm going to make them wish they'd never been born."