He hadn't asked her why. Why did she believe in him when everything she should believe in said he was guilty? He was suddenly afraid he knew the answer. It was the first detail in a long time that made perfect sense.
"Annice, is… I mean, you're… and we…" This was ridiculous. He wasn't some teenager presented with the evidence of a Second Quarter Festival too enthusiastically enjoyed. "Am I the father?"
Annice watched emotions rise and fade and rise again on Pjerin's face as he realized and reacted to her pregnancy. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking—that everything she'd done, everything she believed about him had its root in the paternity of her child. As though my womb's making decisions for me. All that matters is that he's the father. What an ego. She didn't have to tell him. She knew she could make him accept a lie.
"Annice. Am I the father?"
"Yes." As the word left her mouth she knew for that instant how Pjerin had felt listening to himself speaking without conscious control under Command. When did I decide to tell him?
He nodded grimly. "This changes everything."
Annice snapped her fingers, lifting his gaze up off her belly. "How many times did they hit you on the head?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This changes nothing."
"You're carrying my child."
"You're due to die at noon." She thrust her chin toward him, daring him to dispute her. "I'd like to at least have you out of the palace by then. Turn around and start walking."
Caught up in the discovery of a new life, he'd forgotten that he was due to lose his own. He frowned as the thought snagged on a memory. "… and if you dare a new life/then you're doomed to lose your own …" Why were bits of bad doggerel suddenly chasing themselves around in his head? And then he remembered. "Does His Majesty know about this?"
"I already told you, we don't talk."
"This baby, it's treason."
"You're hardly one to point fingers."
"Annice!" he grabbed her shoulders and hurriedly released her when her expression picked up an unpleasant edge. "How could you do this?"
"As I recall, I didn't do it alone."
"I didn't know what I was doing."
"Then you're obviously a fast learner because you certainly seemed fully aware of where everything went."
His face darkened. "Don't twist my words. I've had enough of that."
Shadows seemed to crowd around the flickering light from the lamp. Annice stared at the tiny flame dancing lifelessly on the oil-soaked wick then looked up and met Pjerin's eyes. There were deeper shadows there.
"I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "Look, I decided to keep this baby. I decided to take the risk. I'll face the consequences."
"But you won't face them alone. How many treasons can His Majesty forgive? The treason of the child. Of the child's father. Of tonight."
Annice had been doing her best not to think about that.
"If you'd been any other bard," Pjerin continued, his eyes holding hers, "you'd have gone to your captain with your suspicions and then the two of you would have gone to the king. This is too important for a midnight visit to a condemned man's cell. Why didn't you, Annice? Because you're carrying treason around in your belly and the punishment for treason is death. We both know that."
"So you're free and he won't know. The only problem I see now is the time we're wasting. Turn around and start walking."
"Not until I have your word you'll come with me."
"What?"
Pjerin folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not leaving without my child."
"You're crazy."
"He'll find out. Soon or later. Frankly, I'm amazed no one's told him already. He'll want to know who the father is, and when you refuse to tell him he'll put you under Command. When he knows I'm the father, he'll ask you how I escaped. It's treason times three, Annice. What do you think he'll do?"
She turned her head away.
"You know what you believe. If you didn't, you'd have gone to him."
She didn't really believe Theron would execute her and her baby. Did she? Then why was she stumbling about between the walls of the palace in the middle of the night? "I'm not going with you." That much she was sure of.
"I'm not going without you."
"Oh?" Lip curling, she faced him again. "What're you going to do? Go manacle yourself to the wall and wait for the block?"
"Why not? It lifts one treason off you—maybe with me dead, His Majesty will be merciful."
"Maybe with you dead, His Majesty will decide to complete the set."
"Either you give me your word you'll come with me, or I'm going back to that cell."
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
He would, too; she could hear it in his voice. "This is insane!"
"You're the one holding us up."
"I'm not waddling all over the country with you."
"And I'm not leaving without my child, so I'm not leaving without you."
"You'd rather die?"
"Than risk the life of my innocent child? Yes!"
"Oh, very noble!" What had she ever seen in this man? "All right, all right, I'll go with you!" Anything to get him moving. Once she got him to Bardic Hall, he wouldn't be able to find his cell again.
Pjerin smiled. "Swear."
"Why?"
He sighed. "Stupidly arrogant, I might be. Just plain stupid, I'm not. Swear."
"Okay, I swear on my mother's grave."
"Nice try, but I have been to court; the late queen was cremated and her ashes scattered, there isn't a grave. Swear on your music."
If she swore on her music, her word would bind her. If she didn't, Pjerin would die and she'd have to face his child knowing she could've saved him.
Eyes narrowed, she snarled, "I swear on my music. Happy?"
"Yes. Now, let's get out of here. Tell me when I have to turn."
Following Pjerin down the passageway, Annice fought the urge to Sing his pants alight. Unfortunately, that sort of reaction had been covered under a previous oath. And the way things were going, the kigh probably wouldn't answer.
"What took you so long?" Stasya growled as she yanked the trapdoor open. "The servers are going to be awake any minute."
Annice passed the lantern up and began to awkwardly mount the ladder. "I ran into a bit of a complication."
"What does that mean?" reaching down, Stasya tucked a hand into the other woman's armpit and lifted. "You couldn't find the cell? You had to subdue a guard? You had to convince His Grace you couldn't take him with you? What?"
Breathing heavily, Annice sagged against the wall of the potato bin. "You were closest on the last one."
"Closest? Oh, Nees… you didn't."
Pjerin, twisted diagonally to fit his shoulders through the opening, came up out of the tunnel like an ancient god of the underworld. His eyes were deep pools of shadow, the lantern flame reflecting as a single gleam of gold. Brilliant white teeth were bared as he fought to free himself from the confining stone. When he tossed his head, he tossed a mane of darkness, barely separated from the night around him.
Stasya broke free of the image with a curse—although she tucked it and the minor chords accompanying it away for future reference. Inspiring the greatest song in bardic history wouldn't be enough to make this reality any more palatable. "Annice! Are you out of your mind! I thought you were just going to talk to him."
"I did. And talking convinced me that he couldn't have done what he's accused of. Once I believed that, I couldn't let him die."
She should've seen this coming. She should've put her foot down right at the start. "Nees, this belief of yours is based on air. The fact is, you can't lie under Command."