"What!" Theron snatched the lamp from the guard's hand and charged forward. Just inside the door, he stopped. The shackle—closed and locked—was lying on the braided straw pallet which was lying flat on the bench. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he squatted and peered into the shadowed recess between the bench and the floor.
Off to one side, Aliute strained to see, her mouth dry, blood throbbing in her temples. If a prisoner was missing, she was responsible. She had no idea what the punishment would be. They'd never lost a prisoner before. Perhaps she'd have to take his place at the block.
"Spirited away," murmured a guard.
"Always knew those mountain folk were unenclosed," muttered another.
Yes! Aliute grabbed at hope. Spirits from outside the Circle took him! It wasn't my fault.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Theron snapped, stomping back out into the corridor, nearly knocking over the two guards, who'd followed him in. "There's a perfectly logical explanation." His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "During the night someone let him out and then locked everything behind him."
Five pairs of eyes turned to glare at Aliute.
She backed up a step, and then another.
"N-no one came in here last night, Majesty," she protested. "I swear it. No one."
Still holding the lamp, Theron half turned and pointed with his free hand. "You, Janyte, I want the Bardic Captain down here, now."
"Sire!" Janyte took off at a full run, aiming for the rectangle of light that marked the entry into the corridor.
"Karlis, go back and get the other lamp. Then I want that cell inspected for loose stones or some indication of an exit other than by the door."
"Sire!"
The two remaining guards flanked their sovereign and lowered their halberds, the implication plain. If Aliute had cooperated with a traitor, she herself was a danger to the king.
Aliute looked down at the weapons and swallowed. Like the ceremonial armor, the halberds were highly ornate, but not even the intricate engraving that extended nearly to the edge of the blades could make them look any less deadly. Without intending to, she scuttled backward another three or four paces.
They let her go. They were, after all, between her and the only way out.
She was at the edge of the lamplight now, the shadows closing in around her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pale, translucent streamer against the wall. Her heart leaped into her throat. The spirits!
In spite of her terror, she moved toward it. If it was a spirit, the king would know she'd had nothing to do with the prisoner's escape.
Not a spirit. Something better.
"Majesty…" She licked her lips and tried again. "Majesty, I think I've found the answer."
Indicating that the guards should stay where they were, Theron came forward.
Aliute laid the end of the torn and filthy spiderweb carefully across Theron's palm.
Together, they turned and stared at the place it entered the wall.
"We've paid for it, you might as well eat it."
"I'm not hungry." Pjerin pushed his meal aside. All he could think of was the time they were wasting. Time that could be better spent by increasing their distance from Elbasan. "How can you eat eels for breakfast?"
Annice shrugged and swallowed. "I like eels. The Riverfolk eat them all the time."
"You're not Riverfolk."
"So?" She yawned, scraped the bottom of her bowl, and reached for his. "No point in wasting it."
"Something wrong with the food?"
"Not a thing." Annice smiled up at the innkeeper, "Jorin's just in a rush to get to Vidor. He's got a bet on with his cousin."
Dimpled arms folded over a featherbed bosom, the innkeeper clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "He makes a bet, and you've got to rush. And in your condition, too."
"Oh, I don't mind. After all, half the profits are mine."
"Health first, profits second," she declared. "Why didn't you wait for the river? Current'll be down and they'll be able to hoist sail by the new moon. You could go to the festival—there'll be a bard to Sing up the wind—then ride to Vidor in comfort."
"Riverboat passage costs coin." Pjerin opened his mouth and Annice kicked him under the table. She didn't know what he was about to say and she didn't want to. The story would be easier to keep track of with only her telling it. "Besides, we haven't the time to wait."
"Traders. Rushing here, rushing there. When are you due?"
"Just into Second Quarter."
"So soon? You don't look big enough. When I was that far along, I was much bigger. And you're carrying too low. You don't get enough rest, that's the problem." She turned a dark gaze on Pjerin. "You've got to see that she rests more. Look at those circles under her eyes. Now then, my sister's boy, Bartek the carter, he's heading for Vidor this morning. If you leave now—and I only suggest this since you seem to be in such a hurry—you can still catch him. It'll cost you coin, but you won't have to wait, and you," a sausage finger jabbed at Annice, "won't have to trot along under a double load."
"Thank you." Annice's smile had frayed a little around the edges. "That's a big help, believe me." She finished the last mouthful of what was supposed to have been Pjerin's breakfast and stood. "Good business, innkeeper."
"Good business, trader."
A few moments later, they were hurrying toward the carter's yards.
"I wish you'd stop telling people to believe you," Pjerin growled.
"Why?" Annice belched and began to think the second bowl of eels had been a mistake. "It's the easiest way to allay suspicions."
"I don't like you putting ideas into people's heads." He half turned and glanced behind them. "I know what it's like from the other side."
"This isn't the same thing."
"Isn't it?" In memory, he heard his mouth speaking with someone else's voice. How much difference was there between that and being charmed into a false belief? "Even you agreed that what happened to me could have been done by a bard."
"Yeah?" She was too tired to be diplomatic. "In balance, try to remember that it's a bard saving your butt."
"From the kigh!"
"So?"
"The kigh are controlled by the bards!"
"You still think the bards had something to do with this?"
No. He didn't. "I'm sorry." He brushed his hand over his eyes. What was his point? He suddenly realized he didn't have one. "Whenever I remember what was done to me, I get too tangled up in anger to think clearly."
She had enough energy left for half a smile. "Apology accepted."
Her smile suddenly reminded him of better days in Ohrid and where her smile had led them. He searched for a safer subject. "Why did you call me Jorin?"
"I don't know." They turned down a street of small shops—apprentices opening shutters for the start of the day's business, artisans calling greetings to neighbors—and Annice pitched her voice so as not to be overheard. "I had to call you something and that's close enough to your name you'll probably answer to it."
"Then what should I call you?" Without her skills, he felt exposed every time he opened his mouth and could only mumble, hoping her ears had been trained as well as her tongue.
"I've always kind of liked Magda. It was my grandmother's name."
"Think you'd answer to it?"
"Probably no… oh, boy."
"What's wrong?" Pjerin jerked around. The street behind them was empty except for a yawning teenager in a wrinkled smock and an equally disinterested black and white cat.
"Baby just stretched out its little pointy toes and booted me up under the ribs."
Releasing a breath he couldn't remember taking, Pjerin snorted. "It was probably the eels."
"It was not. It's just getting crowded in there."