"Like going to bed when you're not thleepy?"
She nodded. "Just like."
"Gerek's not gonna like him," another child warned. "And he's 'sposed to be His Grace now. Maybe you could play for him 'cause he likes singin' and stuff."
"Well, I very definitely will." She knew it wasn't going to be anywhere near that easy and wondered if anyone had taken the reaction of a five-year-old due to the king who killed his father into consideration during the planning stages. If they hadn't why not; and if they had, why hadn't they told her. "You guys had better get home before your parents think you've been carried off by ducks."
"Duckth don't do that!"
Stasya screwed her face up into a ferocious scowl. "Scat anyway." She watched them race at full speed down the track that led from the keep to the village nestled against its flank, then turned to face the gate and Sang the notes of her name.
"You're Stasya,'' Olina said, stepping forward. "The bard who put Pjerin under Command."
Bowing as deeply as the weight of her pack allowed, Stasya decided that the whole unenclosed family was just too good looking. While she appreciated Pjerin's dark and brooding beauty aesthetically, her reaction to his aunt's was a little more visceral. Guess I was too distracted the last time to really notice her.
Olina sensed Stasya's response with a predator's instinct and hid a smile. Wouldn't it be interesting to discover if bards can be as easily controlled by desire as lesser folk. It appeared she'd have time to find out. "Did I hear you correctly when you told those children that His Majesty, King Theron, is coming here?"
"You heard correctly, Lady." Getting her mind back on the situation at hand, Stasya slipped into a light recall trance. "His Majesty wishes to assure Gerek a'Pjerin, the seventh Due of Ohrid, that the crime of his father will not in any way mar the historical relationship between Ohrid and Shkoder. His greatest desire now is to strengthen the ties between himself and the new due. To such end he travels to Ohrid to accept the due's oaths of fealty, rather than insisting on the due coming to him in Elbasan."
"How generous of His Majesty." Olina's tone was dry. "But why didn't he send this news with the messenger that came to tell of my unfortunate nephew's execution? He was here just…" She paused and counted. "… nine days ago."
"By the time His Majesty had come to the decision, the messenger had already left." Stasya spread her hands and smiled modestly. "Only a bard could be apprised of changing plans while on the trail."
"And when does His Majesty intend to arrive?"
"At the rate he's traveling now, he'll likely be here just after the Third Moon of the Quarter."
Olina glanced up at the rapidly darkening night sky. A crescent of moon rose on an arc of sapphire blue. Half moon in four nights and the Third Moon arrived seven nights later. Any time after that, King Theron. She needed to speak with Albek. "We have a room set aside for those few bards who manage to walk this far. My great-nephew's steward will escort you to it."
Lukas started, made as if to speak, and thought better of it.
• Well, he's up to something, Stasya decided. I've a dozen days to find a traitor before the king arrives; let's hope it's this obvious.
Lukas motioned her through the gate. His hand continued to rise as she passed and once he was safely out of her line of sight, his fingers flashed out in the Cemandian sign against the kigh.
"King Theron coming here?" Albek froze, half out of his leather vest. "Are you certain?"
"The bard was."
"But why?"
Olina smiled although the ice remained in her eyes. "His Majesty wishes to strengthen the ties between Shkoder and Ohrid so unfortunately loosened by my late nephew. He's coming here to accept Gerek's oath of fealty."
"Here…" Slowly, Albek let the vest slide off his arms. "What an opportunity. At first light, I'll have to head back over the border. If it's at all possible, the army must arrive while Theron is in the keep."
"Of course it must," Olina agreed. She beckoned him forward and extended a booted foot.
Almost absently, he bent to grasp the leather. "What about the bard?"
"No doubt sent on ahead to sniff out any remaining treason. It's what I'd do in the king's position."
"What if she discovers what you've done in the pass? That could be dangerous, all things considered."
"Not to me." Olina offered him the second boot. "I've already been cleared under Command. By this very bard as it happens. The only thing she found me guilty of was being used by a certain Cemandian trader as an excuse to visit and remain at the keep." Her voice became a warning as she finished.
Albek knelt gracefully by her chair and softly kissed the fingers of a captured hand. She has to believe she has her hooks in you. If she ever suspects for a moment you've used her, she'll dose the pass with you in it. And if Queen Jirina's army arrived at a pass he'd guaranteed open to find it closed, he didn't want to think of how Her Majesty's anger might manifest. His heart began to pound as Olina twisted out of his hold and gripped his chin painfully tight. He swallowed as she pulled his head toward hers. She has to believe it, he reminded himself. You don't.
But the voices had grown louder as he'd watched the bard approach and, now that she was in the keep, they surrounded him with constant pleading. Pain had always been used to silence the voices.
"You sent for me, Majesty?" With one hand raised to discover his headroom, Tadeus paused at the entrance to the king's tent.
Theron turned, gestured, then flushed and said, "Come in, Tadeus."
The blind bard ducked gracefully through the triangular opening, took three strides forward, and stopped. A breeze followed him in. It danced once around the tent, billowing the canvas walls, then lifted his curls on invisible fingers and left to a softly Sung gratitude.
"Kigh?" Theron asked curiously.
"Yes, Majesty." Tadeus smiled in the direction of the king's voice. "They're usually hesitant to enter even so flimsy an enclosure, but as I asked them very nicely and as they know how much of a loss I'm at when I'm in a place I've never been before, they agreed to help.
"Somehow," Theron told him dryly, "I can't imagine you ever being at a loss." Over the seventeen days they'd been traveling, certain impressive stories had filtered up as far as the royal ear.
Tadeus heard an undertone of those stories in the king's comment. Knowing full well that many of them were blatant exaggeration—because he'd been the one doing the exaggerating—his smile broadened and he graciously inclined his head.
Lowering himself carefully into the folding camp chair, Theron nodded a dismissal to his valet who disapprovingly uncorked a small clay bottle of wine, set it sharply on a tiny table beside two silver goblets, and left, nose in the air.
As the tent flap slid shut, Tadeus sighed theatrically. "He doesn't approve of the company you're keeping, Majesty."
"He doesn't approve of this entire trip," Theron corrected. "But it would've broken his heart if I'd left him behind."
"The Lady Heduicka said much the same of her servant, Majesty."
"The one always giving the Troop Captain advice?"
"Yes, that's Irenka. I believe, Majesty, that she was Lady Heduicka's nurse and moved out of the nursery with her charge.
"She must be older than she appears."
"By quite a bit, Majesty, but she's as tough as boot leather and not only passionately devoted to Hedi, uh, Lady Heduicka, but convinced the lady in question would be unable to so much as dress without her. I personally believe Irenka could take on the entire Cemandian army on her own. Just take them by the ear and march them back to their own side of the border."