He had no doubt that Annice had helped Ohrid escape and two theories as to why she'd done it. The first, that she'd fallen in love with young Pjerin during her Walk and had acted on that emotion, he found difficult to believe. Love was one thing, but—even for Annice—treason something else again. Besides, her continuing relationship with Stasya seemed to indicate that her emotions were already engaged. No, it wasn't love. He suspected that she, too, had reason to disbelieve the due's testimony and he looked forward to hearing what those reasons were.
He had no trouble at all believing that she considered her opinion of greater value than the entire justice system of Shkoder.
As soon as he set her straight on that score—and he looked forward to the opportunity—she could retrieve the fugitive and together they could begin the unpleasant task of getting at the truth—the whole truth, not just the words spoken under Command.
And then?
He took a deep breath and found himself considering Annice in conjunction with the terrifying possibility that, if the young due were innocent, someone had found a way to manipulate a mind under Command. This held the potential for such chaos that royal pain, royal pride, and royal anger could not stand against it.
For the first time in ten years, Theron found himself smiling as he thought of his sister. Somehow, he didn't find it at all surprising she was in the middle of the greatest crisis he'd faced since he'd taken the throne and that this crisis would place the full responsibility of a reconciliation squarely on his shoulders. Annice never did anything by halves.
"Do you think she's a good bard?" he asked suddenly.
Liene started. Why is he worrying about that when she seems to have just helped a condemned traitor escape execution? "Yes, Majesty. Annice Sings all four quarters and…"
"I know what she can do, Captain," Theron told her dryly. "I am not without resources. I was asking for your personal opinion."
"In my personal opinion, Majesty…" The Bardic Captain bowed, thinking, Resources? What in the Circle does he mean by that? Of course he has resources, he's the king. "… she's a very good bard. If a little impulsive at times."
"Impulsive?" Theron repeated with a bark of laughter. "I suppose that's one word for it." A gentle knock at the door stopped him before he could voice any others. "Come."
"The bard you sent for is here, Majesty."
"I sent for two."
The young page looked confused and a little frightened by the tone. "Only one came," he offered, tugging nervously on the hem of his tunic.
Which one? Theron wondered, but all he said aloud was, "Send her in."
"Yes, Majesty."
Stasya had never been this far into the palace before. The senior of the guards flanking the door into the royal apartments had questioned the page and checked her for weapons before allowing her entry. And we haven't been at war for three generations. These guys are paranoid.
The private areas were a lot less ornate and more comfortable looking than the public ones. She only wished for different circumstances so she could've enjoyed the tour.
The whole place smells like beeswax and whitewash. They must've just finished First Quarter cleaning. Bardic Hall usually smelled like damp wool and ink.
The page who'd accompanied her from the Hall handed her over to another who told her to "wait right-exactly" where she was as he knocked on one of the carved wooden panels that made up the door. He slipped inside and Stasya tried to come up with something coherent to say.
One thing was certain; the truth was about to take a beating.
She wondered if the king would put her under Command.
Still, we now believe it's possible to lie under Command, don't we. Wish I knew how Pjerin managed it. If he managed it. I think I'm going to puke.
The page returned and stepped aside. "His Majesty says you may enter."
Well, this is it. Show time. Drying damp palms on her breeches, she stepped forward and hid a wince as the door swung closed behind her. It was such a depressingly final sound.
The king's private office was a surprisingly small room. It had a fireplace in one of the inner walls, a tall window looking out into an interior courtyard, and, instead of exposed stone, richly polished wood paneling. A portrait of the king's grandmother, Milena III, hung over the fireplace—Stasya had seen the artist's sketches and two preliminary portraits in the archives. The furniture—a large desk, three wood and leather chairs, and a set of shelves—sat on a plush burgundy and cream patterned carpet that could only have come out of the Empire.
Having run out of things to look at, Stasya surrendered to the inevitable and finally turned her gaze on the people. The king was sitting at the desk. He looked… actually, he looked amazingly like Annice when she was anticipating something that could easily turn out to be unpleasant. While their features were very little alike, the expression was nearly identical. Stasya hadn't been expecting that. It would be harder to lie into the face of a friend.
The Bardic Captain stood by the window. Stasya really hadn't been expecting that.
Oh, shit. I wonder whose side she's on.
As far from the desk as protocol allowed, she bowed, trying to remember if it was right leg forward, left leg back or the reverse and if, under the circumstances, it really mattered anyway. When she lifted her head, the king was staring at her, his expression unreadable.
"So," he said grimly. "She went with him."
He knows. Stasya was as certain of that as she'd been of anything in her life. The question now became, how much did he know? With no point in lying to keep Annice in the clear, Stasya decided she'd better move on to her alternative plan. Just evolved, it involved answering all questions as truthfully as possible and then, the moment the king seemed susceptible, throwing herself—and Annice—on the mercy of the crown. When it came down to it, she wasn't too proud to beg for both of them. "Yes, Majesty."
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the captain's incredulous reaction and fought to keep from smiling. It has to be nerves, she told herself sternly. This isn't funny.
Liene jerked forward. "How could you let her…" she began, then stopped, unwilling to be the one to define Annice's condition before the king.
Theron ignored the interruption. "Do you realize the position you're in?"
Stasya swallowed. "Yes, Majesty."
"Do you realize that you have assisted in the committing of a treasonous act?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Do you realize that the penalty for what you have done is death?"
She briefly closed her eyes. "Yes, Majesty."
"Then why…" Theron surged up out of his chair and slammed both palms down on the desk "… by all that's in the Circle, did you do it!"
Because Annice asked me to. She couldn't say it. It felt too much like betrayal.
Theron read the answer off her face, sighed, and sank back into his chair. "Never mind. I understand why you helped her, Stasya; I'm sure she put you in a position where you weren't able to do anything else." He stared into memory for a moment, then lifted his gaze once more to her face. "I would, however, like to know why she saw fit to break into my dungeon and release the Due of Ohrid."