Sing the Four Quarters (45 page)

This mood can't last
, she mused, as he shooed Gerek away and left her tucked behind a bush, braced against the flat side of a boulder. When she finished, she managed to stand by herself and, using the rock as a support, came back around it into the sun. The sun.

"Pjerin, how long…"

Squinting, he followed her line of sight, then gave her his arm so she could lower herself onto a shelf cut out of the side of the ravine. "Almost a full day."

That explained how stiff she was but not much else. "How's Gerek?"

"Gerek's fine." Pjerin dropped to one knee beside her. "How are you?"

"I feel as though I've been… peeled. Like an apple. My core is exposed and bits of me are turning… brown and mushy." Her voice dragged itself through the ruin of her throat. "And I seem to have become a… bass-baritone."

Pjerin shook his head, his nose wrinkled with exaggerated distaste. "What a wonderful analogy," he said, then he grew serious. "Annice, there's no way I can thank you for what you did and I meant what I said. You've given me back my son, so I'll step aside. This baby is yours."

Annice drew in a long breath, tasting the scent of running water, of the pines that towered over the edge of the ravine, of the sun-warmed rocks, of the man by her side. Just on the edge of awareness, she could hear the Song that held everything together. She wasn't even really worried about her voice. Considering the extremes she'd forced it through, she'd have been more surprised had it not sounded like a dull saw ripping soft wood. And now, Pjerin had offered her the only thing she wanted from him; her child. Hers. With no danger of him ever winning its heart and taking it away.

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him. "This isn't my baby anymore than it's yours."

He looked confused as she took his hand and placed it on the arc of her belly.

"Ours," she said softly. Her baby deserved the kind of father Pjerin had proven himself to be and he had as much right to its love as she did.

Pjerin swallowed and she laid her ringers around the curve of his jaw. He turned his head and pressed his lips against her palm.

"Papa?" Gerek's head poked out of the cave. "Can I come now?"

Not trusting his voice, Pjerin nodded and Gerek launched himself across the distance between them, careening into the circle of his father's arm—Pjerin winced at the impact against his wounded shoulder but only pulled the boy closer.

Gerek peered up at Annice with brilliant eyes and, as far as she could see, he seemed none the worse for his ordeal.

"Are you okay, Nees?"

"Mostly."

"Papa was real worried." Suddenly becoming aware of the position of Pjerin's other hand, Gerek frowned. "Hey, I wasn't allowed to touch."

Annice smiled. "You can touch now."

"Really?" His small hand pressed against her. "Is it a baby?"

Briefly, she wondered what else he thought it might be. "Yes. It's your sister."

"Brother," Pjerin corrected absently.

Annice contemplated smacking him. "Don't start."

Stasya was alive! Stasya was alive! Annice's heart Sang the words, Sang the notes that made up Stasya's name, Sang the words again.
Stasya's alive
! However Theron and hence the guard had discovered that she and Pjerin were traveling together, it hadn't been through Stasya. And whatever questions Theron and the Bardic Captain had asked, Stasya hadn't been put under Command, hadn't been charged with treason, hadn't been executed.

"Annice, are you listening?"

She started. "Of course I'm listening. The king is coming to Ohrid. Stasya brought the news." Stasya was alive!

Pjerin rolled his eyes. "I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that the king coming to Ohrid is going to destroy our plans."

Annice let go of her joy long enough to snort. "Pjerin, we didn't have a plan. You were going to go to Ohrid and clear your name. That was the full extent of it."

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

"You were going to make a plan when we got closer," she reminded him. Although still hoarse, she'd regained sufficient control of her voice to layer on a fine shading of sarcasm. "I don't want to rush you, but this seems like a good time."

"A little difficult to make plans without information," Pjerin growled staring at the dusty, cracked leather of his boot tops.

"Well, you might have made a plan to get information."

"I thought I'd leave that up to you." He glowered at her. "Isn't that what
bards
do?"

"Yeah? Well, bards also…"

"I'm not done," Gerek interrupted indignantly.

They were sitting just outside the cave, soaking up the late afternoon sun, listening to Gerek's story. Annice had been pleased that Pjerin had waited until she could hear it as well and understand when it became obvious he hadn't made a conscious decision.

"
He was alive
," Pjerin had explained as Gerek squirmed out of his arms. "
And I was alive. And the beard scared
him… Between that and your condition, we didn't have time for anything else
."

"Anyway," Gerek continued as both adults returned their attention to him, "I was mad at Stasya the bard 'cause she took my papa away back when it was cold. But Aunty Olina said I couldn't yell at her 'cause I was the due and that's not what dues do." He paused to consider that. "Papa, you yell at people."

"Not at guests."

"Oh." He looked for a moment like he wanted to argue but decided against it and went on. "The bard told me that you weren't dead. That it was a mistake like you said and the king was coming to make it better so I came to find you and Nees and bring you your sword so you could fight the bad guys."

"Gerek, why didn't you tell Olina that I was alive?"

"Bard made me promise not to." He looked down at his toes digging holes in the dirt. "I was s'posed to tell Bohdan, but he's sick."

"Why did Stasya make you promise not to tell Olina?" Annice asked, sure she knew the answer. Pjerin wasn't the traitor. Someone else had to be.

Gerek sighed. " 'Cause Aunty Olina put her in the hole."

"What?!"

"The hole. In the cellar. It's dark and I don't like it there."

Pjerin's hand snaked out and grabbed Annice's wrist. "You can't help her if you fall over three paces from where you're standing."

Numbly she nodded and sat back down. She wasn't going anywhere before tomorrow at the earliest. And Stasya was in a hole.

Pjerin waited until he was certain Annice was going to stay put, then he asked, "Gerek, why did Olina put the bard down the hole?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Lukas helped."

"Lukas? Lukas a'Tynek?"

"Uh-huh. Bohdan got sick and he's the steward."

"Lukas a'Tynek is the steward! Has Olina lost her mind?"

Gerek shrugged again. "I dunno."

Annice slid forward until she was sitting cross-legged on the ground, the kigh cradling her, her eyes at a level with the child's. For Stasya's sake she had to find out exactly what was going on. "Gerek, we need you to tell us everything that happened at the keep since your papa went away."

"Everything? I don't 'member everything."

"Yes, you do. Gerek, look at me."

"Annice!" Suddenly realizing what she was about to do, Pjerin gripped her shoulder and half turned her around. "No. I won't allow it."

"We can't go in there blind." She kept her voice calm. The last thing they needed was Gerek choosing sides in an argument. "We have to
know
who your enemy is."

His face grew bleak at her emphasis. "Olina," he muttered.

"We have to know," Annice repeated. "It won't hurt him. I promise." Olina. Eyes closed, Pjerin nodded.

Annice came out of the cave after singing Gerek to sleep and made her way carefully to where Pjerin stood holding the Ducal sword in both hands and staring at nothing. Her knees still had a disturbing tendency to buckle and she wouldn't want to Sing anything for a few days, but tavern crawling with Tadeus had left her in worse condition. "Any sign of the guard?"

He shook his head. "Never around when you need them. I went back as far as the mouth of the ravine. We could be the only three people in the world."

The name of a fourth person hung in the air between them.

After a moment, Pjerin sighed and let the sword point drop to the ground. "She always said I wasted the power I had.

She never understood the power that came from belonging. Of
being
the Due of Ohrid."

"How could she?" Annice asked softly. "She never
was
the Due of Ohrid. But Ohrid was important to her, or she'd have left it long ago."

"And gone where?"

"Court. Either in Shkoder or Cemandia. She'd have made a fine politician."

"You don't think much of politicians, do you?" Annice shrugged. "They're a necessary evil."

"She was my family, my father's sister. We were tied by blood. I could almost understand her killing me cleanly because I was in her way, but she set me up, made me appear to be a traitor, an oathbreaker. Dishonored me.

Dishonored Ohrid." He swung the sword in a sudden vicious arc and a young alder fell behind the stroke. When he spoke again, he ground out the indictment from between clenched teeth. "She would have raised my son to think I was a traitor when
she
plans to give Ohrid over to Cemandia without a blow being struck."

Turning, he held out the sword for Annice's inspection. "This sword has been the sword of the Dues of Ohrid for seven generations. The first due brought it with him out of Cemandia and he was probably the only one who ever used it as a weapon. The balance stinks, the grip is too small for my hand, and the last time it was sharpened was when I took the title and had to be blooded." His brows drew in and the violet of his eyes darkened. "I'm going to pin Olina to the doors of the keep with it."

Stasya forced herself to stop sucking at the floor. Still thirsty, all she could do was wait for more moisture to seep up through the stone.

Shaking with the cold, she crawled back to her pad of clothing and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. It had only been one day—perhaps a little longer but she doubted it. For a while at least, eliminating wastes would give a fairly good idea of the passage of time.

And for a while at least, the oilskin of her pack would keep those wastes contained.

One day.

How was she going to survive another nine?

"Still no message?"

"No, sire." Tadeus turned to face the king, his expression frankly worried. "I haven't heard from Stasya since sunrise yesterday." He waved a hand toward the west, toward a setting sun he couldn't see. "This is too long. Something has to have happened."

Theron frowned. "Is she dead?"

Tadeus blanched. "Dead? No, sire. The kigh would know that. They just can't find her."

"Can't or won't?" Theron asked thoughtfully. "Perhaps Annice and the due have arrived in Ohrid, and whatever it is that's keeping the kigh from Annice is now covering Stasya as well."

The blind bard's smile was enough to make Theron believe the number of conquered hearts supposedly laid at the young man's feet.

"I'd forgotten all about that, Majesty." Tadeus brushed a curl of dark hair back over a scarlet shoulder and visibly relaxed. "That's very likely the case and given how long they've been apart they'll probably…" He paused. "No, probably not considering Annice's condition."

Theron cleared his throat. He didn't need to hear speculation on his sister's… physical relationships. "Suppose Annice hasn't reached Ohrid. Could there be any other reason that the kigh would have trouble reaching Stasya?"

"It has been storming a lot lately, and sometimes that makes them less willing to cooperate." His tone belonged to someone who preferred silk but who'd spent most of three consecutive days wrapped in oilskin. Then he sobered as he weighed the alternatives. "Or she could be unconscious. Or locked far enough inside that the kigh can't get to her. But I can't see how that could happen without her Singing at least a quick call for help."

"If they knocked her unconscious first?" Tadeus looked miserable again. "Yes, sire, that could work."

Thumbs hooked behind his belt, Theron paced to the edge of the rocky outcrop and stared down at the camp. Three days out of Marienka they had only one remaining official visit to slow their arrival at the Due of Ohrid's keep.

Thanks to Tadeus, he was as fluent as he was likely to get in the local dialect. And he was very tired of subterfuge.

"I'm sending a rider out to Lady Dorota's. We won't be stopping after all. I'll meet with her briefly as we pass and explain."

"You think that Stasya's in danger, Majesty?"

"I think that there's someone in that keep who's already arranged to have one person die and thousands of others killed in a war of conquest. All things being enclosed, I think it's time we hurried."

"Pjerin, wait." Annice sagged against the side of the mule. "I've got to rest."

"Is it happening again?"

Teeth clenched, she nodded.

"Gerek, take the animals into that clearing and let them graze."

"Is Nees going to have the baby now?"

"No!"

As a wide-eyed Gerek led the mule and Otik's mare away, Annice transferred her weight to Pjerin's arm. "No?" she said as the kigh created a hillock for him to lower her to. "How can you be so sure?" If she herself hadn't been worried about exactly the same thing, his look of near panic would've been hysterical.

"Annice, by tomorrow night you'll be safe with Bohdan's daughter. Can't you wait?"

"I don't exactly have a choice." She decided that hysterical definitely described how she felt and she fought to remain calm as the pain in her abdomen briefly intensified. "Trust me, you're not my first pick for a midwife."

His hand gesturing impotently, his expression struggling toward supportive, Pjerin swallowed hard and asked, "What should I do?"

"How should I know!" Annice stared up at him incredulously. "I've never done this before!" Then she burst into tears, hating herself for what was rapidly becoming her habitual response but too tired to fight it.