His expression unreadable, although the tips of his ears were red, the king made no answer for a long moment. The captain began to fear she'd misjudged the timing. Bloody fool thing for a percussionist to do.
Finally, without looking up, he said, "Do you believe in destiny, Captain."
She bowed. "I'm a bard, Majesty. Destiny is my stock in trade. Why?"
"It seems as though there's been an incredible series of events to bring us to this moment." He turned the button over and over in his fingers. "Including the difficulty between my sister and myself."
"Could as easily be coincidence, Majesty." She bowed again. "Also a bard's stock in trade."
Theron looked dubious. "I've always considered myself above both."
"I can't say as I'm surprised, Majesty." It had been a long day and Liene felt she was entitled. "So does Annice."
"Annice." Pjerin had reached the end of his limited supply of patience. "Recall, if you would, that we're trying to be forgettable."
"You're the one who said I needed a bath. That," she jerked her thumb back toward the village, "was our last chance at hot water."
"And a good chance at being remembered if the guards are behind us."
"The guards still think we're in Vidor."
"You don't know that."
Annice smiled across the mule at him. "They've got horses, Pjerin. If they were after us, don't you think they'd have caught us by now?"
He jerked the mule to a stop. "Do you want to go back?" he asked, spitting the words out through clenched teeth.
"Too late." A nudge in the ribs got the mule moving again. "If we suddenly reappear now that we've wandered past, they'll definitely remember us.
Pjerin brushed his hair back off his face with a barely under control sweep of his hand. "Then maybe we could look for a campsite before it gets dark?"
"A sheltered campsite." Annice glanced up at the horizon to horizon blanket of gray-green cloud. "It looks like it's going to storm." She squinted into the gathering shadows. "We'd better hurry."
Pjerin only ground his teeth and continued to scan both sides of the road. He was well aware it was going to storm and that sleeping rough would be harder on Annice than on him. He felt obliged to lessen her discomfort as much as possible. Which irritated him right out of the Circle. She wasn't an easy person to be considerate of.
A rectangle of darkness loomed up suddenly out of the dusk.
He frowned. Although there were walls on the narrow ends, the sides were open to the night. It didn't look like any kind of building he knew. "What is it?"
Annice leaned awkwardly forward and peered around the barrier of the mule. "Flax shed. This is a big linen-producing area. It's mostly just a roof to keep the rain off while they're hackling. There won't be anything in it right now, but there should be water nearby and possibly a fire pit so they don't have to depend on the weather for drying the stalks after retting."
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes narrowed at his tone. "Yes. I'm sure."
"Good." Pjerin began turning off the track.
"I don't think so." It was a young man's voice, rough edged but not unfriendly.
Pjerin glared at Annice.
She shrugged.
Together they turned and looked back the way they'd come.
There were three of them. Although none of them were very big, they moved with an aggressive cockiness that suggested no one had better mention it. They wore breeches with ridiculously wide legs, a style gone out of fashion with the young toughs of the cities but apparently still popular in the country, and all three heads of hair had been clubbed up into greased topknots. One of them had the beginnings of a scruffy beard; the other two might not have been old enough to manage even that.
"Where did they come from?" Pjerin growled.
"They followed us from the village. I saw them hanging around outside the alehouse." Her chin rose as he swiveled around to stare incredulously at her. "I guess I forgot to mention it."
Pjerin opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn't think of anything to say. Well, that wasn't quite true; he could think of several things to say but they'd all take time and would have to wait.
"Throw us the lead rope." The suggestion came from the bearded young man and was the same voice that had hailed them initially. He stood a little in front of his companions, obviously in charge. "We'll have a look-see through your packs, pick out a few trinkets, and no one will get hurt."
Annice smiled sweetly at the trio. "Go away, we'll forget we ever saw you, and no one will get hurt."
All three of them looked confused for a moment, then their spokesman shook his head and flicked a dagger down from a wrist sheath.
Increasing darkness made it difficult to focus on a single pair of eyes, so Annice opened her mouth to Sing. Perhaps she could get the kigh to open a large, deep hole in the road under their feet.
"Annice." Pjerin's fingers closed around her wrist like a vise. "I'll handle it."
"But…"
He shoved the lead rope into her hand. "I said," he snarled, "I'll handle it."
He moved back up the track, hands carefully out from the long dagger hanging sheathed at his side. An opportunity to actually do something, to hit back at the unenclosed chaos his life had become, was an opportunity not to be missed.
The three looked smaller in comparison, Annice realized; smaller, younger, less dangerous. But there were three of them. And one of them had a blade ready.
"Should've kept her quiet," the leader said genially, flashing broken teeth. "Now, we'll have to cut you."
Pjerin returned his smile. "You've got to the count of three to run."
They looked at each other and laughed.
They were still laughing at three.
They weren't laughing at four; had anyone still been counting.
Breathing heavily and pressing the edges of a shallow slice across his forearm together, Pjerin returned to where Annice waited.
Watching as two of their attackers limped into the night, dragging their moaning leader back toward the village, Annice had to admit she was impressed. To herself. She had no intention of admitting it aloud.
"Feel better?" she asked as Pjerin took hold of the rope and began to lead the mule off the road.
He flashed a grin back over his shoulder. "Much better. Thank you."
"I'll have a look at that arm when we get settled."
"It's nothing."
"Your nose is bleeding."
"It'll stop."
Shaking her head she stepped over a muddy ditch as they left the track, heading for the flax shed. Please, she begged the life nestled under her heart, be a girl.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Ow!" Pjerin yanked his arm out of Annice's grip. "That hurt!"
"Oh, don't be such a baby." She dipped the kerchief back into the trailpot of hot water propped precariously between a pair of rocks at the edge of the fire pit. "You know that cut's got to be cleaned. I don't even want to think about what could've been on that blade."
"Then don't think about it."
"Pjerin!" He started to move away, but she grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down beside her, ignoring his hiss of pain. "This'll only take a minute if you'll just let me do it." Dragging his arm across her lap, she dabbed at the dark line of red. The flesh beneath her fingers felt both hard and yielding and very, very warm. Forget that, she told herself sternly. Those sorts of observations are what got you into this mess.