"Annice, by tomorrow night you'll be safe with Bohdan's daughter. Can't you wait?"
"I don't exactly have a choice." She decided that hysterical definitely described how she felt and she fought to remain calm as the pain in her abdomen briefly intensified. "Trust me, you're not my first pick for a midwife."
His hand gesturing impotently, his expression struggling toward supportive, Pjerin swallowed hard and asked, "What should I do?"
"How should I know!" Annice stared up at him incredulously. "I've never done this before!" Then she burst into tears, hating herself for what was rapidly becoming her habitual response but too tired to fight it.
Relieved, Pjerin slipped his injured arm from the sling, sat beside her, and gathered her up against his chest. This, he could deal with. "Don't worry," he murmured into her hair. "We'll manage. You're a bard, remember? You must be able to recall something about having a baby."
She rubbed her nose on his shirt. "Yeah. I guess."
"And I'm not a city due. Remember, I've helped mares foal and cows calve and goats…" He paused, trying to think of what it was goats did, then realized that Annice had pulled away.
"Oh that," she declared with scornful emphasis, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, "makes me feel much better! Should I go down on all fours and moo? Will that help?"
"Annice, I didn't mean…"
"What? That I look like a cow? Well, thanks for nothing! Oh!"
"What!"
"It's stopped."
Pjerin closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Don't do that," he said quietly when he opened them again. "Or by the time we get to the keep, I'll be too gray for anyone to recognize me."
"Nees?' They turned as Gerek held out a cupped hand, the fingers stained a brilliant red. "I picked some strawberries to make you feel better."
Annice felt her eyes grow dangerously wet. "You are
not going to cry again," she told herself sternly. "Thank you, Gerek."
He dumped the squashed fruit onto her palm and smiled at his father. "It's okay, Papa. I tied up the lead ropes to a bush."
"Why don't you show me," Pjerin said, standing and taking his son's sticky fingers in his. "And then maybe we'll both pick some more berries for Annice." He reached back with his free hand and gently stroked her cheek. "Are you going to be all right?"
She nodded. "I just need to sit for a minute or two."
She watched them walk away and began to slowly eat the warm fruit, trying to calm the frightened pounding of her heart and wondering why she hadn't told Pjerin about the blood.
Three days or four, Stasya wasn't certain. Night and day had no meaning in such utter blackness and time became too unstructured to hold.
The water continued to seep up through the stone. She was thirsty but not desperately so, not yet. More than anything, she was cold. The chill ate through clothes and flesh and settled in bone. She tried to keep moving, but it didn't seem to help. Her muscles were knotted and her feet and hands had begun to ache. Sleep came fitfully if at all.
She'd had one screaming panic already, throwing herself against the stone, stopping only when the injury to her head exploded orange and yellow lights behind her eyes and brought her to her knees. She didn't know how much longer she could prevent another one.
She sang. She told herself stories. She recalled her last few Walks. She thought about Annice. She began to pick the embroidery off the sleeves of her shirt.
And it had only been three days.
Or maybe four.
Lukas opened and shut his mouth a few times, but no sound emerged. Finally, he managed a strangled, "But, Lady, if a Cemandian army comes through the pass…''
"It will be followed by wealth and power." Olina traced the carved sunburst in the arm of her chair, her eyes half closed as she thought of how close success lay to hand. The end of isolation. The end of near barbarism. Although the woodworker had likely not intended it as such, the sunburst was a symbol of the Havakeen Empire. The first Emperor started with less. "I will control the only route between West and East Cemandia. Any merchants desiring to use their newly acquired access to the sea trade must travel through Ohrid and will have to pay dearly for the privilege."
"Every merchant," Lukas repeated, his tongue appearing between beard and mustache to wet his lips.
She could see him adding up the possibilities. He'd had a taste of power over this last quarter and wouldn't be willing to give it up. Nor would he be likely to realize that her plans were a great deal more complicated than she'd allowed him to see and that they included the removal of Lukas a'Tynek the moment the dirty work was done. But if he wanted to believe she'd be content operating a tollgate, or more precisely having him operate a tollgate for her, she had no intention of correcting him.
"But His Grace," he began hesitantly, a wary eye on her reaction, "the due—that is the last due—was executed for agreeing to open the pass to Cemandia."
"And what does that have to do with the current situation?" Olina asked him, steepling her fingers and staring at him over their tips. "Pjerin a'Stasiek broke his oaths. I swore no oaths to Shkoder and neither did you." No point in mentioning that the due's oaths were expected to hold the people as well. "I would have thought you'd prefer a Cemandian overlord."
Dark spots of color burned on Lukas' cheeks. "They admit the kigh are not part of the Circle."
As far as Olina was concerned, Cemandian religious beliefs were of no importance next to their potential for economic exploitation, but she recognized the strength of their influence on the people. Especially after she'd worked so hard behind the scene to promote the usefully bigoted opinions of her new steward.
Lukas leaned forward, his eyes darting from side to side. Olina wondered if he were searching the room for hidden listeners or if it were the habitual action of a thoroughly unpleasant man that she'd just never noticed before. "There are still those," he said softly, "who will not want Cemandian rule."
"Really?" She sat back in her chair. "Do you know their names?"
"Yes, Lady." Lukas took an eager step towards her. "I heard Nincenc i'Celestin say the Cemandians were an intolerant bunch of superstitious louts and he'd personally remove them from the Circle if they set foot on his land and Dasa i'Ales said she wished there were more bards and…"
The list was surprisingly short. Without a leader to continuously remind them that Cemandia was the enemy and with Cemandia pouring money and goods into Ohrid, most of the people really didn't care. After all, what had Shkoder done for them lately except execute one due and run off with another? The moment she had Theron safely in the keep and it no longer mattered what the kigh reported to him, she'd have Lukas arrange accidents for those too shortsighted to see where their best interests lay. If it could look like the kigh were involved, so much the better.
"I want you to speak to…" She paused and considered the numbers that Stasya had said were accompanying the king. Forty people on horseback, crammed into the outer court could easily be taken care of by half that number. "… twenty of those who have no wish to see Ohrid remain a backwater province of a tiny country. Archers may bring their bows, but I will arm the rest." Albek's crossbows and quarrels were still in the armory. "The moment that King Theron's party is sighted at the end of the valley, they're to come to the keep. Once His Majesty has been disarmed, he will be held until the Cemandian army arrives.
"I don't want the kigh reporting a plot to His Majesty, so you will speak to these people in ones and twos and have them come to the keep individually—keeping weapons covered. Once they're here, it will matter less what the kigh tell him as he'll be expecting a crowd to gather.
"When Theron is safely in my control, I will speak to the people of Ohrid, tell them we have the chance to prevent a long and bloody war and profit immediately from the proper use of the pass."