Corporal Agniya looked down and her jaw dropped. "You're… I mean, you…" The orders she'd been given didn't begin to cover this. Wondering just what in the Circle was going on, she did the only thing she could. She moved her horse.
"Pjerin a'Stasiek, Due of Ohrid." The sunlight blazed on each point of the crown encircling Theron's helm and threw the stern lines of his face into burnished relief. "I am pleased to see you got safely home." Although he spoke the local dialect with a strong accent, astonishment that he spoke it at all showed on most faces in the court, including Pjerin's.
As the tall man, bare torso streaked with blood, stepped forward to bow before the king, Tadeus translated Theron's words into Shkoden for the benefit of the guard and nobles. Several of the guard broke discipline enough to exchange astonished glances. The last they'd heard, Pjerin a'Stasiek, Due of Ohrid had been executed for treason.
"Although it seems," Theron continued, "that your welcome was not all you might have hoped." He scanned the crowd behind the due, noting those who moved closer to their lord and those who backed away. Finally, his gaze rested on the broken body lying a little apart. "I came to Ohrid to find the traitor who thought to sell our country out to the Cemandian horde. It appears I've come too late."
There was enough of a question in his last words that Pjerin, as confused as everyone else, opened his mouth to reply. Before he got the chance, Vencel shook off the hands holding him and stomped forward.
"What treason is it to want a better life?" he demanded.
Theron bent his head to meet the young man's angry eyes. "None at all," he said. "But what kind of life can be gained by the betrayal of an innocent man? Not a better one."
Vencel dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand and shot a glance at Pjerin. "But you killed…" His voice trailed into uncertainty as he realized what he was saying.
"Killed him?" Theron asked gently. He very much doubted the boy was even as old as Onele. An easy age to lead with confusion and anger.
"What about the kigh?" Beneath the king's steady gaze, Vencel fell back on the one thing everyone kept shouting about. "You listen to the kigh!"
"No." Theron shook his head an Annice was surprised to hear an undertone of disappointment in his voice. "I cannot hear the kigh. But I do listen to those who can. Don't you think it's important that we're aware of the world around us?"
"But the kigh are outside the Circle!"
"All things are within the Circle. That is the very Center of what we believe. If all things are not enclosed, then there is no Circle."
"But the Cemandians believe…"
"The Cemandians are afraid."
Vencel stiffened, resenting the implication. I'm not afraid of anything, his posture declared and others around the court mirrored it. "We were promised that the world would come to Ohrid."
"Who promised this?"
The only sound came from the horses as Vencel turned toward the corpse of Lukas a'Tynek.
Theron straightened and his voice filled the court. "I am Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, Lord over the Mountain Principalities of Sibiu, Ohrid, Adjud, Bicaz, and Somes." Above his head, a breeze spread the royal standard so that the crowned ship sailed over the keep. "Acknowledging the claims of your due, I have come to you to see that the promises made to Ohrid by the crown are kept. I will bring the world to Ohrid if you but let me."
Shaking her head, Annice couldn't help but admire how Theron had taken control through sheer force of personality. He was king. Without doubt. Without question. And by speaking in the local dialect he'd explicitly said, I am king here. Even Vencel was beginning to look impressed.
Tucked in behind her shoulder, Stasya murmured, "Practically bardic."
Annice smiled but concentrated on separating out individual statements from the muttering of the crowd.
"… means something coming from the actual king…"
"… kings can break promises as easily as traders…"
"… here, isn't he?"
"We mean enough to him, that he came here…"
Brows drawn into a dark vee, Pjerin raised his hand and gradually silence returned. Obviously, there were layers upon layers upon layers of understanding involved here but this was not the time to find out who knew what and when. The king no longer believed him forsworn and that would do for now. "Majesty, I regret to inform you that we have not actually dealt with the treason in Ohrid."
Around him, faces paled, as people remembered suddenly that they had agreed to turn this king over to a Cemandian army.
"Lukas a'Tynek…" Pjerin gestured at the body, "… was only a tool for my father's sister, Olina i'Katica."
"And where is your father's sister now?" Theron asked.
A muscle jumped in Pjerin's jaw. "Probably Cemandia. When she discovered I was alive, she ran."
"Let her run." Theron smiled and his voice rang against the stones. "And let the Cemandian army come. The keep of Ohrid holds the pass!"
As the bruised and bleeding people in the court began to cheer and Tadeus had to practically Sing his translation in order to be heard, Annice had to admit she'd never really appreciated her brother's power as king before.
When the cheer died, Theron spoke again. "There is, however, still a treason that must be dealt with." Then he turned his head and looked straight at Annice.
Annice felt her heart stop. How could I have forgotten. She tried to back up, but Stasya blocked the way.
"He's seen you, Nees. You've got to face him."
"But…"
"Nees." Stasya laid a gentle kiss on the top of the other woman's ear. "If you can't trust him, trust me. Go. I'll be right behind you."
Gerek squirmed out of her hands. "Nees, why is everyone staring at you?"
Stasya reached forward, grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward his nurse. "I'll explain everything later, Gerek."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He looked mutinous, but he went.
Annice thought she was used to people staring at her. She was a bard. People always stared at bards. But the weight of speculation, concern, astonishment, pity dragged at her, and she wouldn't have made the last few feet had Pjerin not reached out and pulled her to his side.
"Your Majesty," he began, switching to Shkoden.
"Your Grace." Theron cut him off in the same language. "Be quiet." He sighed, and pulled off his helm, resting it in front of him on the saddle. "Did you honestly believe," he asked sadly, running one hand through sweat-flattened curls, "that I would have you put to death for bearing a child?"
Annice blinked. This was not the king who had just gathered the hearts of Ohrid into his hand. This was not the man who had first threatened her with Cemandia's heir, then used his power like a sledge against her. This was the brother she thought existed only in memory. Did she honestly believe that he would have her put to death for bearing a child? And if she didn't, why hadn't she gone to him, told him what she suspected about Pjerin?
Was she so petty as to risk the life of her baby, to risk Shkoder itself just because ten years ago a king, newly crowned, had lashed out in pain. She bit the inside of her lip as, for the first time, she realized that if Theron had rejected her, she had equally rejected him and he'd very likely been as hurt as she had been.
"Answer him, Annice," Stasya whispered.
Did she honestly believe…?
She closed her eyes. "I don't know." How far would he let that mix of pain and pride take him? She couldn't know—not when hers had insisted he remain the villain for ten long years.
When she opened her eyes again, Theron had dismounted and was standing in front of her, only slightly more than an arm's length away. He still looked majestic. He still looked like the brother she remembered. Both Pjerin and Stasya fell back.