"Good." Theron scrubbed at his face with both hands and hoped they wouldn't need her. "Please sit down, Tadeus." He gestured to the second chair and flushed again but before he could speak, Tadeus had crossed the tent—deftly avoiding the hanging lamp—swung his lute around to rest in his lap, and sat.
Wondering how long it would take him to remember both the bard's blindness and how little it hindered him, Theron bent forward and poured the two goblets full of dark wine.
Under the black silk scarf he wore over his eyes, Tadeus' nose twitched. "Is that one of the bottles you were given in Caciz, Majesty?"
"Kind of distinctive, isn't it?" Theron smiled as he watched the younger man carefully lift the offered goblet to his lips. "I had a feeling it wouldn't travel well."
"You're probably right," Tadeus agreed after a moment's serious consideration. "But, that aside, it's actually quite good."
Theron lifted his own cup and settled back in his chair.
They drank in silence for a moment, then Tadeus asked quietly, "Was there a reason you wanted to see me, Majesty?"
"Not especially," the king sighed. "It's just that you're the only person in the company I don't have to lie to. You know why we're going to Ohrid and you know what's likely to happen when we get there."
"Stasya will point out the traitor, you'll pass Judgment, the sixth due will pop out of the forest with Annice, who'll present you with a healthy niece or nephew, the Cemandian army will realize they can't win by treachery, sue for a treaty, and go home."
"Do you always look for the best to happen?"
Tadeus shrugged elegantly. "It's just as easy as looking for the worst, Majesty. And it lets you sleep at night."
"And if Stasya hasn't found the traitor?"
"Then we will."
"And if Annice…" He couldn't finish the thought. The heavy embossing on the goblet cut into his fingers as he tightened his grip.
"Healer Elica says she was perfectly healthy when she left, Majesty, and that there should be no reason she isn't perfectly healthy still." Tadeus chose not to mention the obvious reasoning behind Elica being chosen as the king's healer for the journey over the elderly man who'd been Theron's personal healer all the king's life. "Bards spend most of the cycle walking and Annice was never one to overdo it, regardless of her condition."
Theron took a long swallow. "I can't believe the guards missed them in Vidor."
Tadeus could, but he chose not to mention that either. "Bards can take care of themselves, Majesty. You've no need to worry about either Stasya or Annice."
"And should I not worry about a Cemandian army marching through an open pass with only a troop of guard and an ex-nurse to greet them?"
Dark brows rose from behind their palisade of silk. "And what am I, Majesty? Fish guts on the pier?"
Theron couldn't prevent a smile at the injured tone. "Bards are forbidden by oath to use the kigh against other people."
"And what about the water kigh at the battle for the
Broken Islands?"
"That was a bluff they chose not to call."
"And what about using kigh against enemies of the state?"
"Too easy to split hairs over the definition of enemies, as you very well know."
Tadeus drained his cup and flashed the king a brilliant smile. "Then I shall charm their army, capture their hearts, and send them all home prisoners of love."
There was such an absolute lack of doubt in his voice that Theron started to laugh and continued to laugh until tears ran down his cheeks and his ribs ached. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "Thank you. I feel much better."
Rising, Tadeus bowed. "I live to serve," he murmured. "Now, Majesty, if you'll get into bed, I'll ensure that for tonight the cares of the future will have no power to keep you awake."
Theron rose as well, one arm pressed to the stitch in his side. "What did you have in mind?"
Silently commending himself for his restraint, Tadeus resisted temptation. "I thought perhaps I could sing for you."
Still smiling, Theron crossed to the narrow cot and shrugged out of his robe, wondering if he should be insulted at not being given a chance to turn the young man down. "Singing would be fine."
Holding the base of the lamp steady with one hand, Tadeus blew out the flame, and checked to be certain it was out with a string-callused finger. Returning to his chair, he settled his lute, briefly tightening one of the pegs which had a tendency to slip.
Before he could begin, however, Theron quietly muttered, "When I get my hands on my sister, I'm going to wring her neck."
"Begging Your Majesty's pardon…" Tadeus stroked his thumb over the strings. "… but you haven't had any contact with your sister for ten years."
"Are you saying I haven't the right to throttle her?"
"No, Majesty, I'm just saying that there are others with stronger claims and you may have to wait in line."
"If I thought I could find that bird," Pjerin muttered at the dawn, "I'd wring its neck and make stew."
"It hasn't done anything for a few minutes," Annice pointed out, yawning. "Maybe it's done for the morn…"
The three note sequence was not only loud but had the same piercing quality as an infant's scream. It couldn't be ignored; it certainly couldn't be slept through. Annice surrendered and let the kigh roll her up onto her feet. Oh, well, I had to pee anyway.
When she got back from the designated privy, Pjerin was kneeling on his bedroll, shirt off, lifting the makeshift bandage wrapped over and around his shoulder.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking for infection." He didn't look up.
''Let me." Annice lowered herself carefully to her knees in front of him. His cheeks above the edge of his beard were pale and there were deep purple half circles under his eyes. "I'm really looking forward to cauterizing this if it gets infected," she muttered, peering under the dressing and sniffing. "Hot irons, searing flesh. What fun. I can't smell anything but sweaty Due of Ohrid, so I guess it's all right."
Pjerin captured one of her hands. "Has anyone ever told you that personality-wise you're a lousy healer?"
"Has anyone ever told you that a person who gets shot through the shoulder by a crossbow quarrel—oh, and then rips it out of his body with one mighty tug—can't go on acting like nothing happened?"
"You've told me, Annice." He released her. "With every other breath. All day yesterday."
"And I'm likely to keep telling you today because I don't think you're listening. After all the effort I've put into getting you this far, I don't want you to die." She sat back and gently pulled his remaining shirt up over the bandage then settled his injured arm into its sling. "Do you think we lost them?"
Pjerin began a shrug, regretted it almost immediately, and arrested the motion. "You can't move a troop of guard through the bush, especially not up the slopes we've been climbing without making some noise. You haven't heard anything; I haven't heard anything. I think we've lost them for now." He stood and reached down with his good arm. Annice took it and -he helped her haul herself back to her feet. "But I think we're going to have to keep losing them every day until this is over."
"Oh, great," Annice grumbled, glancing up at the sky. On top of everything else, it looked like rain.
After a hurried breakfast—fortunately goat cheese had a flavor distinctly different from the milk it was made of—Pjerin loaded Milena and Otik's horse while Annice had the kigh erase all traces of their camp. She couldn't be sure of it, but it seemed that the squat brown bodies were increasing in girth even as she did. Their new shape disturbed her and she hated thinking she appeared as unappealing to others as they did to her.
As unappealing to Pjerin? she wondered, as they started walking east, slowly climbing higher into the mountains. No. That's ridiculous.