"Uh, yes, well, I'm sure you're an excellent bard, but this will be a long trip with much of each day spent in the saddle and, well, you're…"
"Blind?" Tadeus flashed a brilliant smile in the king's direction. "As long as the horse can see, Majesty, I'll be fine."
"More importantly, Majesty, Tadeus Sings a strong air and will be able to keep you in contact with both Stasya and myself."
"Then he'll have to know what's actually going on."
"I took the liberty of informing him already, Majesty."
"Liberty, indeed," Theron growled.
"Majesty?" Tadeus took half a step forward, an expression of intense sincerity visible around the fringed scarf. "Please don't be angry. I made such a nuisance of myself that the captain had to tell me why she wanted me to see you in order to shut me up." The smile blossomed again. "Let me go with you, Majesty. I know I can do what you need and it would mean so much to me."
"Well…" Apparently enthralled by the graceful movements of Tadeus' hands as they danced in the air, Theron sat listening to the young bard explain why he was the best bard for the situation. "It could be dangerous," he managed to interject at last.
"More dangerous for you, sire. Could I send my monarch into a danger I'd avoid myself? Besides, if Stasya hasn't found the traitor when we arrive, I can be very useful." His voice deepened. "No one ever suspects me of anything."
Don't lay it on too thickly, Liene thought acerbically as Tadeus sketched possibilities. And although it seemed to be working at present, and had certainly gotten her out of a sticky situation, she would have to tell him later to stop flirting with the king.
There were no footprints, no mule prints, no trail of any kind in the mud. With the rain in the night and the ground not yet dry from First Quarter thaw, there should have been a trail a child could read.
Otik scratched at the stubble on his jaw and stared through the dusk toward the mountains.
With Captain Luci and her troop still quartering
Vidor, he'd followed the fugitives to Turnu and through the village. He'd found the flax shed where they'd spent the night. Then he'd lost them.
They hadn't gone back to the track.
They hadn't gone over or around the new shoots of flax surrounding the shed.
It was as though they'd sprouted wings and flown away.
But if they had, they were still flying to Ohrid.
And so was he.
"Annice. They're still doing it." Pjerin stepped forward and the ground rippled behind him, absorbing the imprint of his foot.
"Oh, center it, I forgot to tell them to stop." She lifted her head, wet hair dripping down her face, and softly Sang a gratitude. The earth rippled one last time, then settled into stillness. "I guess they thought it was a good idea."
"Thought?" Pjerin bent and picked the trailpot off the fire. "I didn't know the kigh could think."
Annice shrugged. "I'll tell you what the captain tells the fledglings; all living creatures think." She bit her lip as she remembered Stasya's incredulous, "Even men?"
Don't be dead, Stas. I couldn't bear it.
It wasn't difficult to read her emotions from her expression. Pjerin knew he should say something but didn't know what. As there wasn't any comfort he could give, he gently pushed her head forward and poured the warm water in the pot over her hair. "That got the last of the soap. Come over by the fire so you don't get chilled."
"Bards don't get chilled." She rubbed the water off her shoulders and accepted his offered hand. At his snort of disbelief, she pulled herself to her feet and said, "No, it's true. We're incredibly healthy, especially when you consider that we're always so exposed."
His brows went up and she shook her head, pulling on her smock and buttoning it. "That's not what I meant!" But he'd made her laugh and in a much lighter frame of mind she walked over to sit in the small lean-to Pjerin had built upwind of the fire. The reflected heat off the cedar boughs made it almost warm inside.
Although they'd stopped in early evening—rather than a stop to eat and a final stop hours later when they'd nearly lost the light—Annice was tired and she contentedly watched Pjerin refilled the pot from the spring and begin to prepare a meal. Her hands twitched. She wished she'd thought to bring some knitting. "Maybe it's something to do with the kigh."
"Maybe it's the fresh air and exercise."
"Maybe." She yawned. "What are you making?" Before he could answer, something screamed off in the bracken.
Annice jerked erect, but Pjerin raised a hand and smiled triumphantly. "Rabbit stew," he said. "I set the snares earlier."
"Are you sure you're ready?" They were face-to-face, cross-legged under the lean-to, knees touching, the fire just high enough for Annice to see his eyes.
No. He wasn't ready. The last thing he wanted was to once again find himself trapped in his own mind. The loss of control terrified him as much as it enraged him. Wiping his palms on his thighs, he snarled, "Go ahead."
She knew that not all the shadows on his face were caused by the night but knew as well that he'd shake off any offer of reassurance. "I'm going to use the exact wording of the Judgment, even though you obviously won't be able to step forward."
"Just do it."
Annice nodded and locked his gaze with hers. "Pjerin a'Stasiek, step forward."
Pjerin jerked as the compulsion hit.
"Pjerin a'Stasiek, you will speak only the truth."
He swallowed, waiting.
Annice took a deep breath. "Did you betray your oaths to Cemandia, agreeing to allow a Cemandian army passage into Shkoder through Defiance Pass?"
It was happening. "Y… yes."
"Is that the truth?"
The pounding of his blood between his ears nearly drowned out the question. "Y… yes."
Annice frowned. "Let's try that another way. When you say yes, are you telling me the truth?"
"No." Pjerin's eyes widened and he stared at her in astonishment. "No. No, I'm not telling the truth! I d… di …" But the momentary control was gone. "I betrayed my oaths."
Hurriedly grabbing his hands, Annice leaned toward him. "Calm down," she said as his chest began to rise and fall with frightening speed and the air barely whistled through his teeth before it whistled out again. Sweat plastered the hair to his temples, reflecting flame as it ran down the sides of his face, and tension radiated off him in a palpable force. "Pjerin! Calm down!"
Pjerin closed his cold fingers around her warm ones. Slowly his breathing steadied, making time with hers, and his heartbeat quieted. "Why," he asked, ready to close his teeth on the words if they began to slide out of his control, "could I answer that?"
"I think because it's not a question that you'd ever be asked during Judgment because everyone knows you can't lie under Command. There was no need to guard your answer. Do you want to keep going?"
"Yes!"
As he was still under Command, she couldn't doubt his desire, but she watched him closely. She had no wish to provoke the kind of internal conflict that might kill him. "Are your memories of this betrayal true memories?"
"Y… yes."
"Pjerin, please stop fighting this. The answers aren't as important as the questions."
He couldn't look away, but there was nothing to stop him from scowling. "Then ask the right questions."
"I'm working on it." Annice thought for a moment. She had to stay far away from anything that might be asked during Judgment. Considering what they were trying to find out, that shouldn't be hard. "Who told you these are true memories?"
"Albek!" Pjerin's lips drew back off his teeth in a wolfish grin. "Albek," he repeated.
"Interesting when you consider that he essentially made himself useless for any further intrigue by setting himself up as your Cemandian contact."