by Tanya Huff
“I already told you, we don’t talk.”
“This baby, it’s treason.”
“You’re hardly one to point fingers.”
“Annice!” he grabbed her shoulders and hurriedly released her when her expression picked up an unpleasant edge. “How could you do this?”
“As I recall, I didn’t do it alone.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Then you’re obviously a fast learner because you certainly seemed fully aware of where everything went.”
His face darkened. “Don’t twist my words. I’ve had enough of that.”
Shadows seemed to crowd around the flickering light from the lamp. Annice stared at the tiny flame dancing lifelessly on the oil-soaked wick then looked up and met Pjerin’s eyes. There were deeper shadows there.
“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I decided to keep this baby. I decided to take the risk. I’ll face the consequences.”
“But you won’t face them alone. How many treasons can His Majesty forgive? The treason of the child. Of the child’s father. Of tonight.”
Annice had been doing her best not to think about that.
“If you’d been any other bard,” Pjerin continued, his eyes holding hers, “you’d have gone to your captain with your suspicions and then the two of you would have gone to the king. This is too important for a midnight visit to a condemned man’s cell. Why didn’t you, Annice? Because you’re carrying treason around in your belly and the punishment for treason is death. We both know that.”
“So you’re free and he won’t know. The only problem I see now is the time we’re wasting. Turn around and start walking.”
“Not until I have your word you’ll come with me.”
“What?”
Pjerin folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving without my child.”
“You’re crazy.”
“He’ll find out. Soon or later. Frankly, I’m amazed no one’s told him already. He’ll want to know who the father is, and when you refuse to tell him he’ll put you under Command. When he knows I’m the father, he’ll ask you how I escaped. It’s treason times three, Annice. What do you think he’ll do?”
She turned her head away.
“You know what you believe. If you didn’t, you’d have gone to him.”
She didn’t really believe Theron would execute her and her baby. Did she? Then why was she stumbling about between the walls of the palace in the middle of the night? “I’m not going with you.” That much she was sure of.
“I’m not going without you.”
“Oh?” Lip curling, she faced him again. “What’re you going to do? Go manacle yourself to the wall and wait for the block?”
“Why not? It lifts one treason off you—maybe with me dead, His Majesty will be merciful.”
“Maybe with you dead, His Majesty will decide to complete the set.”
“Either you give me your word you’ll come with me, or I’m going back to that cell.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
He would, too; she could hear it in his voice. “This is insane!”
“You’re the one holding us up.”
“I’m not waddling all over the country with you.”
“And I’m not leaving without my child, so I’m not leaving without you.”
“You’d rather die?”
“Than risk the life of my innocent child? Yes!”
“Oh, very noble!” What had she ever seen in this man? “All right, all right, I’ll go with you!” Anything to get him moving. Once she got him to Bardic Hall, he wouldn’t be able to find his cell again.
Pjerin smiled. “Swear.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Stupidly arrogant, I might be. Just plain stupid, I’m not. Swear.”
“Okay, I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Nice try, but I have been to court; the late queen was cremated and her ashes scattered, there isn’t a grave. Swear on your music.”
If she swore on her music, her word would bind her. If she didn’t, Pjerin would die and she’d have to face his child knowing she could’ve saved him.
Eyes narrowed, she snarled, “I swear on my music. Happy?”
“Yes. Now, let’s get out of here. Tell me when I have to turn.”
Following Pjerin down the passageway, Annice fought the urge to Sing his pants alight. Unfortunately, that sort of reaction had been covered under a previous oath. And the way things were going, the kigh probably wouldn’t answer.
* * * *
“What took you so long?” Stasya growled as she yanked the trapdoor open. “The servers are going to be awake any minute.”
Annice passed the lantern up and began to awkwardly mount the ladder. “I ran into a bit of a complication.”
“What does that mean?” reaching down, Stasya tucked a hand into the other woman’s armpit and lifted. “You couldn’t find the cell? You had to subdue a guard? You had to convince His Grace you couldn’t take him with you? What?”
Breathing heavily, Annice sagged against the wall of the potato bin. “You were closest on the last one.”
“Closest? Oh, Nees … you didn’t.”
Pjerin, twisted diagonally to fit his shoulders through the opening, came up out of the tunnel like an ancient god of the underworld. His eyes were deep pools of shadow, the lantern flame reflecting as a single gleam of gold. Brilliant white teeth were bared as he fought to free himself from the confining stone. When he tossed his head, he tossed a mane of darkness, barely separated from the night around him.
Stasya broke free of the image with a curse—although she tucked it and the minor chords accompanying it away for future reference. Inspiring the greatest song in bardic history wouldn’t be enough to make this reality any more palatable. “Annice! Are you out of your mind! I thought you were just going to talk to him.”
“I did. And talking convinced me that he couldn’t have done what he’s accused of. Once I believed that, I couldn’t let him die.”
She should’ve seen this coming. She should’ve put her foot down right at the start. “Nees, this belief of yours is based on air. The fact is, you can’t lie under Command.”
Annice snorted. “The fact is, I don’t believe he did it!”
“So your emotional response wipes out centuries of historical precedent?”
“Yes. You said yourself that selling out seemed at odds with his character.”
“So?”
“So if there’s even the slightest chance he’s innocent, we can’t let him die.”
“We can’t?” Stasya sighed, and turned to Pjerin. Over the brooding shadow, she laid her memory of the horrified disbelief she’d seen in his eyes when his mouth had spoken the words that had first condemned him. “Oh, all right,” she snapped, “we can’t.” She scooped the lantern off the floor and handed it to Annice. “Light this off the lamp and let’s get out of here. I refuse to commit treason in a potato bin.”
“Wait.” While Pjerin realized that Stasya had in no way been responsible for what had happened under her Command, she brought back memories of the trip down the mountain—memories he would rather have not had to confront. He found himself uncomfortable in her presence and he had no intention of following her blindly. “Where are we going?”
“Our rooms, I think.” Annice handed the lantern back to Stasya and blew out the lamp. Losing the ability to confidently Sing fire was an irritating inconvenience. “No one will find it odd to hear voices from there in the middle of the night.”
* * * *
“No.”
“Stasya, I gave him my word.”
“Tough. You’re not going.”
“I’m not going without her.”
Stasya whirled around and Pjerin stepped back a pace. “Fine. Die, then. But you’re not taking her with you.”
“I’m not leaving her here.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Your Gra
ce, she’s seven months pregnant.”
“With my child.”
“Your child?” Stasya glared at him. “Oh, so you were the one puking your guts out from Ohrid to Elbasan. You’re the one on the pot every second breath. You’re the one who spent the last four months being poked and prodded by healers. You’re the one who gets heartburn so bad you turn blue, screaming pains in your hips and butt, and nosebleeds every other sniffle. And you’re the one who hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep for the last three months. And here I thought she’s been going through all that.” She swept a gesture over Annice on the appropriate pronoun, then stood, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed, lip curled in a disdainful sneer. “Your child, my ass. You may have fathered it, but you don’t own it.”
“I’m thinking of its safety.”
“And what about Annice’s safety?”
Pjerin managed to keep a fingernail’s grip on his temper. “She’ll be in danger if she stays behind.”
“She’ll be in more danger if she goes with you, you moron! You don’t honestly think the king will execute his own sister, do you?”
“Yes. And so do you, or you’d have convinced her to take her suspicions to the king.”
Annice swallowed the mouthful of black bread she’d been chewing. As much as she’d been enjoying the argument, the time had come to put an end to it. “We’re not going to the king—but not for my sake, for Pjerin’s. We have no proof he didn’t commit the treason he admitted to. His Majesty won’t want to believe in the possibility of lying under Command, Stas, no more than you do. The difference is, you love me and you’re willing to take a chance on what I believe. He won’t be. Pjerin’ll end up back in his cell, and I’ll …” She sighed. “How many treasons can Theron forgive, Stas? I don’t want to risk it. Besides, I’m the only chance Pjerin has of getting away.”
“What? He’s going to hide behind you?” Stasya threw both hands into the air. “Maybe we should steal him a horse; you could hide them both.”
“Stas, how would you hunt for someone you can describe in detail?”
She shrugged. “I’d ask the kigh.”
“You’d ask the air kigh,” Annice corrected. “Because water is confined and fire is self-absorbed and earth keeps its own council. Only air has enough curiosity to be of any use in something like that.”
“Yeah, well, I’d also ask air because that’s all I Sing but I get your point.” She jerked her chin at Pjerin. “The moment he steps out of a building, or even too close to a window, they’ll spot him.”
“I can change how I look,” Pjerin grunted, pulling at the gray Judgment clothing like he wanted to begin the change immediately. “Cut my hair, grow a beard …”
“Change the color of your eyes? The way you speak? The way you move?” Stasya snorted. “The captain herself has you on recall from the Judgment. You couldn’t change enough to fool the kigh.”
“But the air won’t go near me. Tadeus said they’re so jealous of me Singing earth that they’re going out of their way to ignore me and anyone with me.” Annice spread her hands. “If I go with him, he has a chance to stay free long enough to find out who did this to him and how. And we have to find that out, Stas, before it happens again and someone dies.”
“I’ll have to have a bard for that.” Pjerin suddenly realized it himself. “I’ll have to have someone who can try to get behind the lies.”
Stasya ignored him. She slipped to her knees by the side of Annice’s chair and gathered both the other woman’s hands into hers. “Nees, love, it’s too dangerous. You’ll be on the run, living the life of a fugitive. You can’t expose yourself, or the baby, to that kind of risk.”
“So do I just let an innocent man die?” Annice tightened her fingers. “I can’t do that, Stas. You can’t either.
“Then I should come with you.”
“You have to cover our tracks.”
“But you’re only two months from delivery.”
“A lot can happen in two months.”
“Maybe if you convinced the captain …”
“That it’s possible to lie under Command? We’d have more luck convincing the king.”
“Fine.”
“No.”
“He’s your brother, Nees.”
Annice pulled Stasya’s hand forward until it rested under hers and pressed against the movement of the baby. “And he’s the one who said that this is death.”
Stasya laid her head on what remained of Annice’s lap. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I hate it when that happens.” She rubbed her cheek gently against the knee of Annice’s breeches. When she continued, the clipped and matter-of-fact tones rang out in direct contrast to her position. “Well, after Vidor you can take to the countryside and there won’t be enough people in all of Shkoder to find you, but getting to Vidor means the River Road, and that means we’ll have to hide you in plain sight. How much money do you have?”
“I’ve been Singing earth for the city gardens.”
“Good. I haven’t had a chance to spend anything in months, so if we pool our coin, you should have enough. There’s enough junk in the cellars to turn the two of you into a fairly believable pair of traders, but we’ll have to hurry—we can’t pull this off if you’re not out of the Citadel by dawn.”
“What are you talking about?” Pjerin growled. “Why are we going to Vidor?”
“We’re not,” Annice told him, her fingers stroking the velvet nap of Stasya’s dark hair. “We’re going to Ohrid. You told me that you haven’t been farther into Shkoder than Lake Marienka in years, so if we’re going to find out who’s done this to you, we’re going to have to look closer to home.”
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.