"Everything in this place has two meanings," she muttered, her thoughts in such turmoil that she had no idea she was being followed.
By the time she reached the top of the tower, her pulse beat hard in her ears and she sagged gratefully against the stone. There were no kigh around, and she thanked whatever parts of the Circle were responsible. She had neither the energy nor the inclination to deal with the kigh right now.
Her weight on her elbows, she leaned out over the pass, staring toward Cemandia. No armies approaching. That, at least, was mildly encouraging. Then she sighed and looked back along the outer wall of the keep.
Frowning, she straightened and moved around the arc of the tower for a better look.
"Center it!"
She pursed her lips to call the kigh, but the only sound that emerged was a soft grunt as Lukas smashed the rock in his hand down on the back of her head.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Are you out of your mind?"
Her tone was ice and iron, and Lukas shrank back, knowing as he did that distance would be no protection from the implied threat. "She was at the high tower, Lady. Looking down into the pass! I had to stop her!" His hand flicked out in the sign against the kigh.
"Looking down into the pass?"
"Yes, Lady."
And things had been going so well… Frowning, she prodded Stasya's limp body with the toe of her boot. The dark hair was matted and sticky with blood and the back of the bard's tunic showed a crimson stain. "You're certain she's still alive?"
Lukas dropped to his knees beside the crumpled body. "Yes, Lady. She breathes and her heart beats."
So much easier, Olina reflected, if he'd just killed her outright. Had Lukas killed the bard, she'd merely have him confined, convinced that she'd arrange his escape before the king arrived to sit in Judgment. During that escape, she'd have him killed. The kigh could go ahead and tell the bard traveling with His Majesty everything they saw because none of it would arouse suspicion.
To ensure an easy and early victory, Theron must be in the keep when the Cemandian army arrived. It was vital he not receive any information that would make him cautious enough to postpone the end of his journey.
While the kigh might have seen Lukas strike the blow, Stasya would very definitely Sing everything she knew the moment she regained consciousness. Therefore, she mustn't be allowed to Sing. Olina remembered being told that a bard's death attracted the kigh. She had no memory of who had told her or how true the observation might be, but now that she could be implicated in was a risk she had no intention of taking. Stasya would just have to be put where the kigh couldn't reach her.
"Carry her to the old section of the keep," Olina commanded at last. "If you let anyone see you, I will be very angry. Do you understand?"
Very angry. Thankful that he remained on his knees, for they would have surely given out, Lukas nodded. "Yes, Lady."
"I'll meet you in the small chamber at the north end of the Great hall." She fixed her gaze on him and was pleased to see him tremble. "Remember, no one is to see you."
Gerek had spent a wonderful morning pulling weeds from the fields autumn-sown with corn. It was a task that all the village children participated in from the time they were strong enough to beat the weeds until they were strong enough to move to larger tasks. Each child had a row—some of the smallest children were paired—and there were races and singing and trophies passed from grubby hand to grubby hand as a particularly long rooted foe was vanquished.
Although Gerek had been able to stay for the midday picnic and a lovely mud fight that had been too quickly broken up, he wasn't allowed to remain for the afternoon's fun.
"You're the due now," his Aunty Olina had told him. "And you have responsibilities the other children do not."
He'd settled back on his heels and stared up at her. "It's the 'sponsibility of the due to share in the work and know what's going on." Experience had taught him not to preface such announcements with, my papa said.
Aunty Olina had smiled. "Very well. But only for the morning."
"And the picnic."
Her brows had risen, but after a moment she'd nodded. "Of course."
Urmi, the stablemaster, had come to get him and the pleasure of riding home on Kaspar, his pony, had almost made up for having to leave. From the stable, aware that he was going to be late and knowing how his aunt felt about that sort of thing, he'd take a shortcut through the old section of the keep.
Still a spiral staircase and a narrow corridor away from the nursery, the sound of boots ringing against the floor froze him in place. Only his Aunty Olina walked like that, like she was slapping the stone with her feet. Was she looking for him? Was she maybe angry with him? Gerek looked around for a place to hide.
Dropping to his stomach, he squirmed under a carved stone bench and tucked himself as tightly as he could against the wall. The footsteps grew louder, then he saw a pair of black boots stride past his hiding place. Grinning broadly, he hugged his knees as they passed. You don't know I'm here, he thought. You don't… Then he frowned as a tooled leather strap dragged by. Why was his Aunty Olina carrying the bard's stuff?
"Did anyone see you?"
"No, Lady."
"Good. And the bard?"
Wrapped tightly in the folds of an old horse blanket, Stasya moaned. Lukas stared down at her, then up at Olina. "She lives, Lady."
"So I can hear." She shifted the weight of Stasya's pack, hastily stuffed behind closed shutters with everything the bard had brought to Ohrid. "Follow me."
Heaving his burden back over his shoulders, Lukas followed.
Leading the way through the ground floor of the keep, Olina took a moment to light a torch with flint and steel and then descended into the cellars, the steward with his burden treading closely on her flickering shadow.
"Are we going to leave her down here, Lady?'
She didn't bother to answer.
They crossed two rooms, long unused even for storage. In the third, she stopped, and let pack and instrument case slide to the floor. "Put her down and open that," she said, gesturing at an iron grate set flush with the rough-cut stone.
In the end, it took both their strength thrown against the grate to lift it.
Lukas stared through the narrow opening into a darkness so complete it seemed solid. "What is it?" he panted, mouth working against the dank smell of ancient decay rising into the cellar.
"It's an oubliette," Olina told him, scrubbing her palms together. At his blank expression, she added dryly, " A hole in the ground. An old Cemandian custom."
"I never knew this was here."
"Why should you?" She jerked her head toward the pack. "Get that down there and then her."
"Down there?" Lukas backed a step away from the hole.
Olina's eyes narrowed as signs of incipient panic began to appear in the steward's manner. She didn't have time for this. "Try to remember that killing or attempting to kill a bard means a Death Judgment and that you struck the blow. I am only trying to help you stay alive." Icy blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on his face.
After a moment, Lukas picked up the pack with visibly trembling hands and shoved it through the hole. He threw down the instrument case, listened to it land and bounce, and turned to stare at the feebly moving body of the bard.