Sing the Four Quarters (41 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stasya went.

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

"What?" Stasya stared at the cook, who'd been forced to speak with her in order to prepare for the coming of the king.

It hadn't been hard to twist the subject to the new steward as the old staff despised him. "How?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Albek had to have tampered with her memories as well, for under Command, Olina's testimony had matched Pjerin's.

If Stasya could Command the older woman again, she might be able to find out how he'd done it and who the actual traitor was he'd left behind. Was it Lukas? Had Olina appointed him because of something Albek had left in her mind?

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

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

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

Four days later, she heard about Simion.

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

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

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

The room was suddenly very warm.

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

"My bed is drier."

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

Complimented by the comparison, Olina regally inclined her head.

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

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

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

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

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

"Center it!"

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Are you out of your mind?"

Her tone was ice and iron, and Lukas shrank back, knowing as he did that distance would be no protection from the implied threat. "She was at the high tower, Lady. Looking down
into
the pass! I had to stop her!" His hand flicked out in the sign against the kigh.

"Looking down into the pass?"

"Yes, Lady."

And things had been going so well
… Frowning, she prodded Stasya's limp body with the toe of her boot. The dark hair was matted and sticky with blood and the back of the bard's tunic showed a crimson stain. "You're certain she's still alive?"

Lukas dropped to his knees beside the crumpled body. "Yes, Lady. She breathes and her heart beats."

So much easier
, Olina reflected,
if he'd just killed her outright
. Had Lukas killed the bard, she'd merely have him confined, convinced that she'd arrange his escape before the king arrived to sit in Judgment. During that escape, she'd have him killed. The kigh could go ahead and tell the bard traveling with His Majesty everything they saw because none of it would arouse suspicion.

To ensure an easy and early victory, Theron must be in the keep when the Cemandian army arrived. It was vital he not receive any information that would make him cautious enough to postpone the end of his journey.

While the kigh
might
have seen Lukas strike the blow, Stasya would very definitely Sing everything she knew the moment she regained consciousness. Therefore, she mustn't be allowed to Sing. Olina remembered being told that a bard's death attracted the kigh. She had no memory of who had told her or how true the observation might be, but now that she could be implicated in was a risk she had no intention of taking. Stasya would just have to be put where the kigh couldn't reach her.

"Carry her to the old section of the keep," Olina commanded at last. "If you let anyone see you, I will be
very
angry.

Do you understand?"

Very angry. Thankful that he remained on his knees, for they would have surely given out, Lukas nodded. "Yes, Lady."

"I'll meet you in the small chamber at the north end of the Great hall." She fixed her gaze on him and was pleased to see him tremble. "Remember, no one is to see you."

Gerek had spent a wonderful morning pulling weeds from the fields autumn-sown with corn. It was a task that all the village children participated in from the time they were strong enough to beat the weeds until they were strong enough to move to larger tasks. Each child had a row—some of the smallest children were paired—and there were races and singing and trophies passed from grubby hand to grubby hand as a particularly long rooted foe was vanquished.

Although Gerek had been able to stay for the midday picnic and a lovely mud fight that had been too quickly broken up, he wasn't allowed to remain for the afternoon's fun.

"
You're the due now
," his Aunty Olina had told him. "
And you have responsibilities the other children do not
."

He'd settled back on his heels and stared up at her. "
It's the 'sponsibility of the due to share in the work and know
what's going on
." Experience had taught him not to preface such announcements with, my papa said.

Aunty Olina had smiled. "
Very well. But only for the morning
."

"And the picnic."

Her brows had risen, but after a moment she'd nodded. "
Of course
."

Urmi, the stablemaster, had come to get him and the pleasure of riding home on Kaspar, his pony, had almost made up for having to leave. From the stable, aware that he was going to be late and knowing how his aunt felt about that sort of thing, he'd take a shortcut through the old section of the keep.

Still a spiral staircase and a narrow corridor away from the nursery, the sound of boots ringing against the floor froze him in place. Only his Aunty Olina walked like that, like she was slapping the stone with her feet. Was she looking for him? Was she maybe angry with him? Gerek looked around for a place to hide.

Dropping to his stomach, he squirmed under a carved stone bench and tucked himself as tightly as he could against the wall. The footsteps grew louder, then he saw a pair of black boots stride past his hiding place. Grinning broadly, he hugged his knees as they passed.
You don't know I'm here
, he thought.
You don't
… Then he frowned as a tooled leather strap dragged by. Why was his Aunty Olina carrying the bard's stuff?

"Did anyone see you?"

"No, Lady."

"Good. And the bard?"

Wrapped tightly in the folds of an old horse blanket, Stasya moaned. Lukas stared down at her, then up at Olina. "She lives, Lady."

"So I can hear." She shifted the weight of Stasya's pack, hastily stuffed behind closed shutters with everything the bard had brought to Ohrid. "Follow me."

Heaving his burden back over his shoulders, Lukas followed.

Leading the way through the ground floor of the keep, Olina took a moment to light a torch with flint and steel and then descended into the cellars, the steward with his burden treading closely on her flickering shadow.

"Are we going to leave her down here, Lady?'

She didn't bother to answer.

They crossed two rooms, long unused even for storage. In the third, she stopped, and let pack and instrument case slide to the floor. "Put her down and open that," she said, gesturing at an iron grate set flush with the rough-cut stone.

In the end, it took both their strength thrown against the grate to lift it.

Lukas stared through the narrow opening into a darkness so complete it seemed solid. "What is it?" he panted, mouth working against the dank smell of ancient decay rising into the cellar.

"It's an oubliette," Olina told him, scrubbing her palms together. At his blank expression, she added dryly, " A hole in the ground. An old Cemandian custom."