Pjerin had no intention of dispensing sympathy. From the moment he'd faced Command in his own ancestral hall to the moment just past when they'd left the carter's yard, he'd been swept along by events beyond his control. It seemed he was as helpless to affect his destiny now as he had been when beaten and bound by the
King's Guard and there was nothing he hated more than feeling helpless. "At least," he spat, "you had a choice!"
"A choice?" Annice stared up at him in astonishment. "Oh, sure I had a choice; I could've chosen to let you die!" She spun away from him and started walking again, not caring at that moment whether he followed or not.
He watched her go, remembered the kigh, swore, and hurried to catch up. The worst of it was, he'd heard the genuine sorrow in her voice when she'd said she couldn't sing or play. "Annice? I'm sorry."
Oh, no, you're not. You're angry because you've got to depend on me, can't be His high-and-mighty Grace the Due of Ohrid standing alone on his mountaintop. Well, tough shit. Half-turning, she glared up at him. "If we don't act like traders, no one will believe we are traders. They'll start asking questions. Questions we don't want. Ohrid is on the other side of Vidor so, since we have to go through town anyway, we're going to get rid of some of the expensive luxury items we've been packing from Elbasan and pick up things that'll be of more value where we're going. If we make enough of a profit, we can pick up a pack mule."
Pjerin's glower shifted into astonishment. "A what?"
"Well, I personally would prefer a good-sized caravan," she said sarcastically, shifting her weight from foot to foot as the baby started to kick, "but as the whole idea is to disappear into the wilderness after Vidor, I'm willing to compromise."
"What's wrong with horses?"
Annice sighed dramatically and took a certain satisfaction from Pjerin's reaction to it. "I have walked from one end of this country to the other in all kinds of weather, carrying everything I needed on my back and in my voice. I'm willing to walk beside you to Ohrid carrying this baby, but I'll be unenclosed if I carry a pack as well. I realize," she held up a hand as he tried to interrupt, "that you'd rather gallop off in a cloud of dust, but you're stuck with me and I'm not putting this body, in this condition, on a horse. Even if we could afford one—let alone two—which we can't. While you're thinking about it, and realizing I'm right, I'm going to go find a privy."
He caught up to her again in four paces. She thought she could hear his teeth grinding.
"If you weren't carrying my child," he growled. "I'd take my chances with the kigh."
"Your child?" Annice turned to face him again. Their conversations traveling River Road had been nearly nonexistent; they'd never really been alone. The carter hadn't exactly been intrusive, but he'd always been a presence they'd had to account for. "Let me tell you something, Your Grace…" Almost biting her tongue with the effort, she broke off as a chattering cluster of teenagers pushed past them. Overhead, a pair of neighbors leaned out third-floor windows and discussed the weather. "Never mind. This isn't the place. But when we get on the road again and it's just you and I, we're going to have a little chat."
"I'll be looking forward to it."
"I wouldn't," she advised tightly.
How do you know about all this trading stuff?"
They were the first words he'd spoken to her in hours and, although he still sounded more annoyed than interested, Annice found she was actually glad he'd finally broken the silence. They might as well make an effort, if only a superficial one, to get along.
"Bards and traders often travel together for short distances," she told him as they circled around the perimeter of Vidor's smaller permanent market, trusting the babble of voices buying and selling to cover hers. They had almost everything they needed—their packs lighter by a considerable amount of trade goods and their purse heavier by a reasonable amount of coin—and as soon as she found some halfway decent jerky, they could get the mule and get out of town. "I can recall most of what I've been told over the… Oh, shit!"
Pjerin froze, his hand dropping to the hilt of the long, heavy dagger now hanging at his side. It wasn't a sword, but traders didn't carry swords and he wouldn't carry any of the twisted timber they called bows in the lowlands. "What is it?"
"Crier. There's a Bardic Hall in Vidor and there's always someone there who can Sing air. They've probably got your description from the captain and given it to him. Don't run." Her voice teetered on the edge of Command as he tensed for flight. "The last thing you want to do is attract attention."
"Fine." A muscle jumped in his jaw but he stood where he was. "What's the first thing I want to do?"
"Keep your head down and try not to look like yourself." Fingers wrapped around his, Annice guided him slowly between the two outside rows of stalls and toward the nearest exit from the square. It only took a moment for her to realize they weren't going to be away in time. Passing a meat pie vendor, she paused long enough to hand over a half-gull and shove one of two pies at Pjerin. "Eat this."
"I'm not hungry."
"You don't have to be, it'll distort your face."
Even with six days' growth of beard, clothes that didn't quite fit, and dirty hair clubbed back at the nape of his neck, Pjerin's looks attracted attention. It didn't help that a disproportionately high number of the crowd seemed to be Riverfolk and he towered over them.
Maybe we should've gone around Vidor. Hiding him out in plain sight is one thing, but maybe this was an unnecessary risk. Annice fought for calm as the baby reacted to the turmoil, twisting and pushing against the flesh that confined it. And it's a fine time to think of unnecessary risk now.
"Oy-yay! Oy-YAY!" The ambient noise of the market dropped slightly as the crier began. Trained at the Bardic Hal! in memory technique and voice projection, the criers kept the largely illiterate public informed and Annice had completely forgotten about their existence in Vidor.
How could I be so stupid? She couldn't hope to Command a crowd this large.
But the crier never mentioned the escaped Due of Ohrid.
"I don't understand," Annice muttered, tossing the remains of the pie at an emaciated orange cat.
"He must've already done it."
"No." She shook her head. "It should be called every day until you're caught."
Pjerin stepped aside as a burly server, his basket loaded with fernheads and frostpeas, pushed past them.
The mix of meat and pastry had congealed into a fist-sized lump just under his ribs. "A trap, then." It was the only answer. "To lull us into a false sense of security."
"Too complicated. Why would they bother when…" She frowned as she caught a floating scrap of conversation.
"Annice?"
Still frowning, she lifted a hand to silence him and cocked her head toward the babble of voices rising out of the center of the market.
Pjerin was getting more than a little tired of her imperious attitude. He opened his mouth to tell her so. He never got the chance.
"Wait here." Sliding out of her pack, she shoved it into his hands with enough force that he took a step backward between two tottering piles of willow baskets and could only watch, fuming, as she pushed her way into the crowd.
Although he never actually lost sight of her, by the time she returned a few moments later he'd worked an edge up on his temper. "You walk off on me again like that," he snarled, "and I won't be there when you get back."
Annice shot a glance at the basket seller. Deep in a spirited defense of his bottom-weave with a less than satisfied customer, he wasn't likely to overhear anything she said. Shoving her hair back off her face, she glared up at Pjerin. "Maybe you won't be. The fishmonger said a troop of King's Guard rode into Vidor about mid-morning."