"He had no choice but to tell the truth." The captain snapped in Shkoden. "You yourself gave the Command."
"I know." But she could see the inner struggle going on in the man before her and while it might be nothing more than the realization that he had doomed himself, she had to be sure. For Annice's sake if no one else's.
"Very well " In victory, Otik could afford to be generous. "Ask as many questions as you like. You, of all people, should know it won't change things."
"… next spring, bring an army through." Pjerin remembered saying it, but the memory seemed somehow removed as though it belonged to someone else and as he repeated it, the shape felt wrong in his mouth.
"Are you satisfied?" Otik asked. Many of the due's people were weeping openly.
"Not quite," Stasya replied, although she personally had no doubt remaining.
"Olina i'Katica, you will speak only the truth."
"… and I reminded him of his liege oaths and he said that he didn't give a rat's ass about King Theron. That he was Due of Ohrid."
Pjerin remembered the conversation. But it hadn't been like that. It hadn't been treason. Horror growing, he tried to rip the fog aside but found himself flailing at nothing. Found himself agreeing that those were his words.
"Bohdan a'Samuil, you will speak only the truth."
"… I don't know what they discussed." Tears ran unheeded down the old man's cheeks. "His Grace spoke only Cemandian with the trader. But it was probably nothing. Nothing at all. You see, we're storing some of the trader's packs."
"Satisfied now?" Otik prodded one of the packs with his boot. An opened bundle of crossbow quarrels spilled across the floor, metal ringing accusingly against stone.
Sick at heart, Stasya nodded. I'm sorry, Nees. But he condemned himself. Only Pjerin had known what the packs contained. Olina had been furious that the man she'd thought had been lingering at the keep for her company had actually been plotting with her nephew. Bohdan had been sobbing too hard to speak.
"Well, then." The captain moved out to the center of the Great Hall and swept his gaze over the stunned crowd. As the questioning had progressed, they'd pushed back toward the walls in a futile effort to remove them selves from their due's betrayal. "Who will be the four who witness?"
Lukas a'Tynek was the first to step forward. He had lost weight since the fire and the skin of his face hung slack along his jaw. The bruising of Pjerin's blow, although it had long since faded from his flesh, still showed in the anger in his eyes. He stood alone for a moment, then another man and a woman joined him.
"One more," Otik prodded.
Finally, a second woman shuffled to the center of the hall, her eyes and nose red from weeping.
The captain nodded his approval and pivoted briskly to face the pale and trembling Due of Ohrid. "Pjerin a'Stasiek, as of this moment, you are found guilty of high treason."
"Witnessed," Lukas' voice sounded over the other three.
"Bard?"
Stasya closed her eyes for a heartbeat. If he'd only look defiant instead of hurt and confused, it would be easier to bear. When she opened them again, nothing had changed. "Witnessed," she said.
"NO!" All at once, the fog was gone. Pjerin charged forward, hands outstretched, unsure of who exactly he was going to grab but knowing that his life depended on making them listen. "I never did those things. I never said those things! It's a lie!"
The first guard hit him low, the second swung locked fists into his gut.
He couldn't feel the pain, he couldn't feel anything but the need to make them understand that he'd been trapped, held prisoner inside his own head while something else answered for him. "I didn't do it! It's a lie!"
It took four guards to hold him down.
"You can't lie under Bardic Command," the captain told him smugly. "Although this isn't the first time some arrogant fool has thought he would get away with it. You've put your own neck on the block. For pity's sake, take it like a man."
"You…!" Rage lent him strength. Pjerin dragged one leg free and kicked out.
Captain Otik crashed backward and down, both hands clutching his left thigh.
Misjudged the safety zone, you asshole, Stasya thought, barely preventing herself from saying it aloud. But when the captain stood, drawing his sword, she decided enough was enough. "Stop it!" she told him, whirled, stared down at Pjerin, and repeated the command. "Stop it, right now." Shaking, she pushed her hair back off her face and swept her gaze over the crowd. "It's over."
In the silence that followed, Gerek twisted out of his nurse's grip and ran to his father's side. He hadn't understood much of what had happened and his nurse's tears had frightened him, but no one was taking his father away. No one.
"Don't you touch him! Not any of you!" Fists flailing, he threw himself at one of the guards kneeling on Pjerin's arms. Taken by surprise, and unwilling to hit a child, the guard rocked back and raised both hands to protect his face.
"Go away! Go away! Go away!" Half screaming, half crying, Gerek stumbled and fell.
"Gerek!" Pjerin scooped the boy up in his free arm. "Hush. Quiet."
Stasya glared the captain into silence. Then she gestured the guards away. They moved slowly and they didn't move far, but they went.
His attention solely on his son, Pjerin got to his feet, Gerek pressed tight against his chest. "Hey. Come on, look at me."
Still sobbing, Gerek raised his head.
Gently drying the boy's cheeks with his palm, Pjerin searched for an explanation. "I have to go away for a while. To see the king."
"They're going to hurt you."
"No. They're just going to take me to the king."
One grubby finger pointed at the captain. "But he said…"
"He's wrong. There's been a mistake made."
"The king will make everything better?"
"That's right."
"I want to go with you."
"I need you to stay here and look after things."
"Till you come back?"
"That's right. Until I come back. Now, we're not leaving right this moment but… uh… but we need to make travel plans. So give me a kiss and go to your Aunt Olina." Olina would keep her head, not frighten Gerek nor lie to him either. Later, when he'd calmed down, the boy could go back to his nurse.
Gerek stretched his mouth up to his father's, then allowed himself to be placed on the floor. "I don't understand," he complained and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"It's all right, Gerek." Pjerin stroked the soft black curls. "Nothing bad will happen to you."
"Witnessed."
His head jerked up and he stared at the bard, hope warring with fear. She nodded, the motion deliberate and unmistakable, and he felt as though a knife had been pulled from his heart. He could bear whatever happened, whatever the outcome, as long as none of it touched his son. Blinking back tears, he made no protest as two of the guards took his arms and led him from the hall.
Only Lukas a'Tynek met his eyes as he left.
"The block's too good for you," he snarled and spat at Pjerin's feet.
"Majesty."
Theron knew what news the Bardic Captain brought. He could read it in every line of her body, in the forced neutrality of her expression, in the somber undercurrent that darkened her perfectly modulated voice. Combined, they told him she brought death. As well as anger, for he and his people had been betrayed, he felt grief for both the betrayal and the life it would claim. He wished he could send her away, now that her message had been delivered, but the formalities must be played out. "You have a report from Ohrid, Captain?"
"Yes, Majesty." Liene drew in a deep breath and passed the roll of parchment she carried to her king. He took it and laid it on his desk, but his eyes never left her face. "Pjerin a'Stasiek, the Due of Ohrid, when Commanded to speak only the truth, did admit to dealing with Cemandia, to agreeing to open the pass to a Cemandian army, to the use of his keep as a Cemandian base."