Having been distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of recalling his message for a little boy, he fidgeted with the edge of his tabard, the crowned ship over his heart warping first one way then the other. "Yes, Lady, it did."
"Then give the message to me." Her smile held the promise of deliverance.
He clutched at her offer. "Yes, Lady."
Under her scrutiny, it took him three tries to slip into the memory trance that the bards had taught him and he thought, for the first time since he was found to have the ability, that maybe the quiet, stay-at-home life of a crier might have been the better idea. "Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, Lord over the Mountain Principalities of Sibiu, Ohrid, Ajud, Bicaz, and Somes, did sit in Death Judgment on Pjerin a'Sta-siek, sixth Due of Ohrid, and did find him guilty of treason, condemned by his own mouth. Pjerin a'Stasiek, sixth Due of Ohrid was executed according to law on the twenty-first day of the third moon of First Quarter. Gerek a'Pjerin is as of that day the seventh Due of Ohrid. His Majesty expresses the desire that, treason routed out and destroyed, Ohrid and Shkoder will continue to observe their historical loyalties."
When his eyes focused again, his heart leaped into his throat and he suddenly knew how a mouse felt under the unblinking stare of a stooping hawk.
"So. It's official. My nephew is dead."
"Yes, Lady."
"He was…" The deep magenta curves of her mouth twisted and one brow rose. "He was an idiot."
Mesmerized by the ebony arch of brow, the messenger nodded. "Yes, Lady. I mean; no, Lady. I mean…" Under the heat of her gaze, he didn't know what he meant, so he sputtered into silence.
Olina studied him. He wasn't frightened of her, merely tongue-tied. More's the pity. There was evidence of a wiry strength it might have been interesting to explore. "Do you return to Elbasan immediately…?"
"Damek i'Kofryna, Lady. And no, I go on to Cemandia with further messages."
"Cemandia? You go on, then, if I grant you the use of the pass."
"I am a King's Messenger, Lady."
"Of course you are. I was merely making an observation. You'll stay the night?"
He glanced toward the small, thick panes of the window. The day had fulfilled its promise of rain. "If I could, Lady."
"You can."
Only an idiot would miss the dismissal in both voice and manner. Damek bowed and hurried from the room, vaguely aware he should be grateful, not wanting to probe too deeply into what he should be grateful about.
Alone, Olina looked down into her laced fingers. Pjerin was dead. She remembered the day Stasiek had brought him home; she'd been fourteen and just becoming aware of her power, he'd been three and willing to follow her like a puppy. She'd gone away, to Marienka, to Vidor, to Elbasan, and when she'd returned he'd become a beautiful young man, realizing the family potential. She remembered taking him to her bed when his father died, that year the only time his guard was ever lowered far enough for her to get past it.
Pjerin was officially dead.
It made little difference; she'd essentially buried him when the guard had taken him away.
Actually, at the moment, she had more interest in the messages Damek i'Kofryna was carrying into Ohrid. Fortunately, she had a way to find out what they were.
"I bet you're glad you're inside."
Damek turned, wiping drops of rain off his face. A server had led him to an upper room in the original part of the keep and he was sitting with his elbows on the wide stone sill, staring out at the storm pounding the valley. "I do prefer being dry," he said neutrally, studying the young man in his doorway.
Albek stepped forward, fist held out. "Simion i'Magda." His accent was pure Shkoder, educated but not noble. "Traveler, trader."
Standing, Damek touched the other man's fist lightly with his. "Damek i'Kofryna. King's Messenger."
"I know." Albek smiled broadly. "I saw you come out of your audience with the new due's great-aunt. She's one terrifying lady, isn't she?"
"Not exactly terrifying," Damek protested. But something in his visitor's voice made him add, "Although she's a bit like a serrated blade, isn't she?"
"Well put!" Laughing, Albek sat on one end of the windowseat, making it the most natural thing in the world for Damek to sit beside him. "I hear you're heading for Cemandia tomorrow."
The messenger nodded.
"… has a message for Shkoder's ambassador to take to Her Majesty, Queen Jirina. His Majesty, King Theron, and so on and so on, regrets to inform her that not only have his people apprehended a spy—the unfortunate Leksik—but that her ambassador is, for the time being, under house arrest. He's requesting an immediate response."
"Well, he's likely to get one, isn't he?" Olina turned from the window. She'd been contemplating the city that would rise to cover the valley when Shkoder and Cemandia were one. The city she would control. "Will the army be ready to move when His Majesty's messenger arrives?"
The Cemandian frowned as he worked out times and distances. "It'll already be moving."
"Will they kill him?"
"Do you care?"
"No." Ice-blue eyes glittered. "I wondered."
"Probably not. The ambassador from Shkoder has been under house arrest since the pass opened. Damek i'Kofryna will be company for her."
"And after?"
Albek smiled. "We'll all be one big happy country."
"So we will." Olina crossed the room and dropped gracefully into a chair, long legs stretched out and booted feet crossed at the ankle. "How nice."
Recognizing her expression, Albek felt his pulse begin to race. A serrated blade. If the initial thrust doesn't kill you, removing it will. His Majesty's messenger has a way with description. He took a step forward.
"Don't presume, Simian. If I want you, I'll tell you. Interest isn't always invitation." She smiled up at him, well aware of his reaction. "As it happens, I'm expecting someone. I'm taking your advice and appointing a new steward."
Lukas a'Tynek had been marking time since the fire that had destroyed his house and killed his only child. When Hanicka, his partner, left him and returned to live with her mother, Lukas flicked his fingers out in the sign against the kigh and bid her good riddance. It was her blood that had forced their child out of the Circle, not his. No one had ever been able to Sing the kigh in the entire history of his family and no one ever would be. His family knew what belonged in the Circle and what didn't.
Unlike Pjerin a'Stasiek, the sixth Due of Ohrid. The dead Due of Ohrid.
"The coward gave me no chance to defend myself. Couldn't be a hero, so he took it out on me." Lukas repeated the whispered insinuations that drifted through the village and made them his own.
Then the coward was found to be a traitor as well and his hatred of the due made Lukas more than happy to witness. While he personally had no objection to a Cemandian presence in Ohrid—was, in fact, pro-Cemandia if only because Cemandia was anti-kigh—he had even less objection to the arrogant Pjerin a'Stasiek going to the block.
"You told them what kind of a person he was, but they wouldn't listen."
He didn't know who said it to him first. It didn't matter. "I told you what kind of a person he was," he pronounced grimly. "But you wouldn't listen."
Some of them began to listen.
Now, he'd been called to the keep.
After hanging his dripping cloak on the hook indicated by a less than approving server, he combed his fingers through his beard and tried to make himself presentable. He looked forward to the meeting with equal parts anticipation and dread. The Lady Olina preferred younger men. He was five years her junior. While he fit no other observed preference, why else would she have sent for him?