"Annice!" Pjerin entered the room much the way Stasya had, only more heavily armored. "Are you…"
Smiling up at him from the circle of Stasya's arms, Annice stroked one finger over the soft cap of dark hair, dry now and feeling like nothing else in the world. "I told you it was a girl."
Pushing off his helm, Pjerin slowly crossed the room to the bed. "A girl? A daughter?"
Annice watched him stare down at the baby and thought, I never believed in love at first sight before.
•'Have you decided what you're going to call her?" The king of Shkoder looked as besotted as everyone else as a tiny hand grabbed onto his finger.
Annice shifted the baby's weight a little and yawned. She hadn't slept in the last two days. Although Elica had taken care of much of the pain, it seemed that every time she closed her eyes, the baby started to cry. "Well, Stasya's pulling for Cecilie, Pjerin wants Evicka, and Gerek said something about naming her after a goat."
"That was before I knew she was a girl!" Gerek protested indignantly from the floor by the window.
Theron smiled and held out his arms. "May I?"
He has three children of his own, Annice reminded herself as she hesitated. He's not going to drop her. Lower lip held between her teeth, she passed the baby to her brother and attempted to relax.
"She looks like you did," Theron murmured, lightly kissing the tiny forehead. "Her hair's darker, but she has the same way of screwing up her face and turning red."
Annice felt her own ears grow hot. "Uh, Theron, that means she's…"
"I know."
As he didn't seem to mind, she tried not to.
"Have you decided what you want to do about raising her?" He looked over at her, his expression serious. "She needs a family."
"I know." Annice glanced over at Gerek, who was, he said, building a palace for his sister out of wooden blocks. "I know," she repeated. "But I'm a bard."
Theron shook his head and sighed. "I thought we were past that."
"I can't give it up."
"No one's asking you to."
"Then what?" She picked at the hem of her borrowed robe. "Stasya and I can walk together for a while, and, well, we're used to planning our lives around what we do, but what about Pjerin? I can't ask him to come to Elbasan, or the Bardic Hall in Vidor even if the captain would agree to base us there. Which she probably wouldn't because it's tiny and they've already got someone who Sings all four quarters. And it could be years before I Walk this way again." Reaching out, she stroked the perfect curve of her daughter's ear. "I'm babbling."
"If there's anything I can do…" He laid the fussing baby back in Annice's arms. "… will you ask me?"
Would she? "I don't know."
He nodded, as aware of the ten years as she was.
"Nees, she's beautiful."
Annice grinned and tweaked a long dark curl. "How can you tell?"
His smile more brilliant than she'd ever seen it, Ta-deus bent forward and kissed her cheek. "I'm blind," he said softly. "I'm not stupid."
Jazep, the baby held securely in the cradle of his hands, stared down at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "A new life," he murmured through the catch in his voice. "A new beginning"
"You are such a suck," Tadeus declared fondly. He reached over and with one finger lightly traced the moisture on Jazep's face. "I just got the best idea for a song…"
The terms of the new treaty were thrashed out much as Theron dictated.
"The world is changing," he told a glowering Due of Ohrid as they walked back to the keep from the huge tent that had been set up at the midpoint in the pass. "We can not close ourselves off from it because if we do it's not only trade we prevent, but the spread of knowledge and new ideas. Ignorance breeds intolerance. Intolerance breeds war."
Pjerin snorted. Kings and princes both he'd discovered over the last few days, were much given to that type of pronouncement. "I don't trust the Cemandians, Majesty. Suppose they suddenly decide to start developing the kigh as weapons."
"It isn't that easy for an entire people to change their beliefs, Your Grace." Or, Theron added silently, for one stubborn due to change his.
"Will he give us what we want?"
"We're negotiating from a position of strength. There's no reason why he shouldn't."
"Will he give me what I want?"
"I think so. He has no reason to protect her and every reason to distrust her. There's an old Riverfolk saying: 'A snake on the left bank is still a snake on the right.'"
"And Albek."
"No. By Cemandian standards, Albek is a patriot. Prince Rajmund is no fool. He'll let it be seen that he protects his own people." Theron raised a hand to cut off a growled protest. "You'd do the same. Don't push on this, Your Grace. You won't win."
"What about Adelka?"
Stasya shook her head. "Nees, she doesn't look like an Adelka. What about Cecilija?"
"That's almost the same as Cecilie," Annice protested, wincing as the baby nursed. No one had told her that it was going to hurt—although everyone was telling her now that it would soon stop, she'd decided not to believe them. "What do you think, Pjerin?"
Pjerin turned from the window, brows drawn in. "I don't trust the Cemandians," he said. "Prince Rajmund still hasn't agreed to all the terms of the treaty."
The two bards exchanged identical expressions.
"We know that," Stasya sighed. "But what do you think about Cecilija as a name for the baby?"
"Even when he does, I don't think they're going to stop trying." His hands curled into fists. "They need to be watched."
"Fine. Watch them." Stasya used just enough Voice that she was sure of gaining his attention. "But first, tell us what you think about Cecilija before your daughter reaches her first name-day without a name."
"Cecilija?" Frown lifting, he crossed the room to sit on Annice's other side. "I don't think so." He enclosed a flailing hand in his. "What about Kornelia?"
"Yuk!" Stasya made a face. "I had an Aunt Kornelia. She smelled like seaweed all the time."
"The Cemandians need to be watched…" Annice stared at nothing, her attention distracted from the ache in her breasts.
"Nees, don't you start. He's bad enough. What about Tasenka?"
Pjerin snorted. "Forget it. What about Milena?"
The Cemandians need to be watched. Annice smiled. She had an idea.
"Theron? Can I talk to you?"
"Of course." He gestured his valet from the room and closed the door behind him. "What is it?" he asked. "Does my niece finally have name?"
"Well, yes." Annice settled gingerly into a chair. "I pulled rank as her mother and we settled on Magda."
"Magda," Theron repeated, pleasantly surprised. "Grandmother's name. Magda i'Annice a'Pjerin. Maggi. I like it." He perched on the edge of a parchment covered table. "But that's not why you've come?"
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "No.
Did you mean it when you said, if there was anything you could do?"
"Shall I have it Witnessed?"
Half-smiling, she wiped her palms against her shift. "In a way, I suppose you already did." Ten years. Will he understand? "I've thought of something you can do."
"A Bardic Hall here? In Ohrid? In the keep?"
Theron hid a smile at the tone of Pjerin's voice. "You have plenty of room, Your Grace.
"Yes, Majesty, but…"
"A Bardic Hall here will serve a number of purposes. The Cemandians need to be watched. Ohrid has been promised closer ties with the rest of Shkoder. Your people need to learn that the kigh are no threat. And I would just as soon not have our next war with Cemandia be a religious crusade. The more contact the Cemandians have with the kigh and with bards the better—this way, every Cemandian through the pass will have contact."