Sing the Four Quarters (22 page)

"Well what?"

"What about a light?"

Annice picked the lantern down off the ledge where she'd set it for safekeeping and thought about denying she had it with her. Unfortunately, they'd never find their way out in the dark. Because there wasn't anything else she
could
do, she fumbled for flint and steel, unwilling to risk fire not answering her Song.

Pjerin closed his eyes as the lantern flared, reasonably certain that she hadn't tried to blind him on purpose. Turning his back to the flame, he opened them a crack, then, with most of the light blocked by his body, opened them the rest of the way. Cobwebs hung like the ghosts of tapestries against the walls, torn and tattered by Annice's earlier passage. He glanced down at his shoulders, saw he already wore the life's work of several spiders and decided not to bother brushing them clean. Better to unwrap them, like a winding sheet, when freedom was finally achieved.

"All right." Pjerin pivoted back around to face her. "Where to n…" It took a moment for the full implications of what he saw to sink in.

"I
came because 1 needed to talk to you. I'm willing to believe you didn't do it. I'm willing to believe something or
someone made you lie under Bardic Command
."

"But all your training says that the man under Bardic Command is the true man."

"I can't just let you die."

He hadn't asked her why. Why did she believe in him when everything she
should
believe in said he was guilty? He was suddenly afraid he knew the answer. It was the first detail in a long time that made perfect sense.

"Annice, is… I mean, you're… and we…" This was ridiculous. He wasn't some teenager presented with the evidence of a Second Quarter Festival too enthusiastically enjoyed. "Am I the father?"

Annice watched emotions rise and fade and rise again on Pjerin's face as he realized and reacted to her pregnancy. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking—that everything she'd done, everything she believed about him had its root in the paternity of her child.
As though my womb's making decisions for me. All that matters is that
he's
the father.

What an ego
. She didn't have to tell him. She knew she could make him accept a lie.

"Annice.
Am
I the father?"

"Yes." As the word left her mouth she knew for that instant how Pjerin had felt listening to himself speaking without conscious control under Command.
When did I decide to tell him
?

He nodded grimly. "This changes everything."

Annice snapped her fingers, lifting his gaze up off her belly. "How many times
did
they hit you on the head?"

"What are you talking about?"

"This changes nothing."

"You're carrying my child."

"You're due to die at noon." She thrust her chin toward him, daring him to dispute her. "I'd like to
at least
have you out of the palace by then. Turn around and start walking."

Caught up in the discovery of a new life, he'd forgotten that he was due to lose his own. He frowned as the thought snagged on a memory. "…
and if you dare a new life/then you're doomed to lose your own
…" Why were bits of bad doggerel suddenly chasing themselves around in his head? And then he remembered. "Does His Majesty know about this?"

"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 Grace
, 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 her-self 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."