Stasya Sang the kigh a gratitude and watched as it swooped down to run its fingers through the pinfeathers of an annoyed pigeon, spun up to swirl once around the pennants flying from the top of Bardic Hall, then finally raced off to Elbasan to tell the captain that her message had been received.
Shivering a little in the cool dawn air, Stasya looked out over the sleeping city and wondered if behind one of the half-timbered walls, Annice was stirring, complaining about being roused, racing for the privy. Or were they already on the road?
Are you seeing that she eats? she asked the due silently, grinding the question between her teeth. Are you making sure she rests? If you're giving her a hard time, I can guarantee I'll find out about it, and you'll pay.
Stasya had arrived at Bardic Hall very late, directly from the riverside celebrations marking the safe arrival of the first boat. She knew that the guard troop Theron had sent after Annice and "the father of her child" still hadn't caught them, but she didn't know much else.
"And I hate not knowing."
Although she knew she'd get the same response she'd gotten on other mornings, she whistled up a kigh. It appeared almost instantly, frisking around her like an ethereal puppy, eager to please until she Sang the notes that made up Annice's name, then its elongated features twisted with distaste and it tried very hard to drag her off the balcony as it left.
Fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the rail, Stasya tried to calm the pounding of her heart. "I don't think I'll try that again," she muttered, forcing herself to release her grip. "At least not unless I'm on solid ground." Brow furrowed, she backed in off the small balcony and pulled the shutters closed behind her—a First Quarter sun, just up, shed nowhere near enough heat to leave them open.
The king was going to Ohrid to take the liege oath of the new due.
Tymon would receive a similar message later in the morning and by noon the criers would be telling all of Vidor.
"And I'm to prepare Ohrid for His Majesty's arrival." She sighed. "As quickly as I can."
Vidor to Ohrid at the less than frenetic bardic pace would take her about twenty-eight days. Unfortunately, the message had stated, as explicitly as was possible with the kigh, that she had about half that much time.
"Good thing the ice has moved out of the rivers." She pulled her tunic off the pile of clothes she'd dropped on the floor when she'd finally headed for bed the night before. "Sounds like I'm going to be Singing another unenclosed riverboat all the way to Marienka."
"But why must you leave so soon, Theron?" The paneled door closed behind the server and Lilyana picked up a piece of cheese. "By law, the new due has four full quarters to swear the oath."
"Two reasons." Theron reached for his soup, head bent so that he wouldn't have to meet his consort's eyes. It had been her suggestion that they lunch alone—no servants, no courtiers, just the two of them—and he strongly suspected it was because she knew he hadn't told her everything and wanted to give him one last chance. He'd managed not to actually lie to her, but he'd done it by not telling her the full truth. He didn't count the Due of Ohrid's faked execution because she'd believed the lie he'd told the country. "I want Queen Jirina to see Shkoder's immediate presence in Ohrid now that her plot has been discovered. We must make her realize that we control the pass. And secondly," He paused, took a mouthful of the chowder, and took his time swallowing. "Secondly, things are quiet in all other areas—there's nothing Onele won't be able to handle if I leave now. Who knows what the Circle'll contain if I wait—or if I take my time on the way."
"Who, indeed," Lilyana murmured at a delicate crescent of clam.
They ate in silence for a few moments.
"You'll have to take four nobles, to witness the oath," she pointed out at last.
"I know." Theron ripped a roll in two, spraying poppy seeds over his desk. "The chamberlain's informing the four I want." Three of them carefully chosen from a list of those both politically expendable and likely to consider it an honor to die in a hopeless cause at the side of their king should the worst occur; the fourth, although equally expendable, not likely to consider it an honor to die in any cause and so might just ensure that they didn't. "I'll be talking to them this afternoon."
"Will the chamberlain be telling them they'll be expected to spend thirty days in the saddle?"
"Only parts of thirty days," he protested. "If a bard can walk from Elbasan to Ohrid, from one edge of the country to the other, in thirty-six, thirty with horses isn't setting a killing pace." Theron hadn't actually been pleased at the time the journey would take. The messenger he'd sent to inform Gerek a'Pjerin, the seventh Due of Ohrid, of his father's execution would cover the distance in sixteen. Travel arrangements for kings, however, were more complicated.
Lilyana thoughtfully sectioned an orange, imported into Shkoder from the southernmost reaches of the Empire. Theron watched, fascinated, as she pulled the pieces apart with strong, sure twists of her fingers and hoped she wouldn't do the same to the story he'd had to tell her. But all she said, as she wiped her fingers on the linen napkin, was, "Are you sure one troop of guards will be enough?"
No. "Any more and we'll have to take supply wagons. There's a limit to the number of people I can expect to have fed on route in First Quarter."
"I'm rather curious about you leaving Mathieu behind."
Theron studied her expression but saw nothing that gave him any clue as to what she actually meant. "Mathieu is Constable of Shkoder. Why would he accompany me on a state visit?"
"Because you need four nobles, he's one of your oldest friends, he'd enjoy the chance to get out of the capital, and you'd enjoy his company."
"Unfortunately, I need him here."
"Oh?" Her head tilted to one side, Lilyana placed the empty lunch dishes back on the silver tray. "Why?"
"To calm the Council. Onele will need his help." He tried not to think about how much Onele would need the constable's help if he didn't succeed at stopping the Cemandian army at the border. It was a little like not thinking about a blue goose—his mind kept circling back toward it. But if the possibility of disaster showed on his face, Lilyana gave no sign.
"Then why not take Antavas?"
"Antavas?"
"Our son. He'd old enough to be no trouble and young enough to think the whole trip a grand adventure."
"No." He saw her brows go up and merely shook his head. "I can't."
Lilyana sighed and stood. She took a moment to smooth the folds of her skirt, then she lifted her head, caught the king's gaze, and held it. "Theron, I trust you and I trust that whatever it is you're up to is for the good of Shkoder, but if you get yourself killed up in the mountains, there is nowhere in the Circle your spirit can hide from me. Do you understand?"
Theron smiled and stood as well. He stepped around the desk and took her shoulders in his hands. "I understand," he said softly. "I love you, too."
She lifted her mouth to his but broke the embrace when a knock sounded at the door. "You won't be leaving for a few days," she said pointedly as he tried to pull her back against his chest. "We'll have time."
With not entirely exaggerated reluctance, Theron stepped away. "Come."
"Bardic Captain's here with another bard, Majesty. Uh, Majesties," the page corrected hurriedly.
"Tell the captain I'll be with her in a moment."
"Yes, sire."
"You'd better have that bard doing recall every step of the way," Lilyana warned him. "When you get home, I'm going to want a full and complete accounting." She reached out and straightened his tunic, then turned and swept from the room.
A moment later, Theron stared across his desk at the beautiful young man standing beside the Bardic Captain.