Annice didn't have breath enough to answer.
They reached the curved wall of the building not very much ahead of the guards. As Annice began circling right, Pjerin shouted, "Where are you going?"
"Around!" she answered.
"No!" He headed for the double doors under the fire sigil. "Go through."
Annice turned and ran after him. They burst through the doors and into the round chamber, their pounding footsteps echoing under the high arch of the vaulted ceiling. A quartet of priests turned from the altar as they passed but weren't in time to stop them. By the time the following guards came through, they were at the water door and the priests had moved out and were ready to intercept. They were outside again with a little more time bought.
Annice spun to her left and Sang. A narrow door swung open where a moment before there'd been only stone.
"Wha…" Pjerin came to a dead stop.
"Bard's Door!" she gasped, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward. "Go on!"
He dove through the opening and she threw herself in behind, Singing it closed as she moved.
Tumbled together on the stairs, they heard shouted questions, pounding footsteps, and then, mercifully, silence.
Pjerin felt her weight fall against him and dropped her pack to grab for her. Together, they sank down to the stairs. "Annice! Are you all right?"
What a stupid question. She wanted to smack him. "I'm not… exactly in shape… for much running."
Half-cradling her against his body, he twisted around, wincing as his pack straps dug into still tender ribs. While they sat in semidarkness, the top of the stairs were lit by diffused sunlight. "What's up there?"
"Balconies, for Singing from. A gallery around. Not much else." Fingers trembling with the effort, she clawed at the buttons of her smock. The air in the narrow stairway was cooler than that outside but she could feel rivulets of sweat running down between her breasts. Elica had told her she could walk all she wanted, but she wasn't to overheat. Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I couldn't… there wasn't… don't…
A sudden cramp threw her head back and it slammed into Pjerin's chest. The noise she made was more from fear than pain.
"Annice?"
She could feel his breath warm against the top of her head as he bent over her and she swatted ineffectually at his hands until he caught her wrists.
"Annice, calm down and tell me what's wrong."
There was a note of command in his voice she'd never heard before and a strength that had nothing to do with ego. She caught her breath on another cramp and then, to her horror, burst into tears. "The b… baby…"
"Open the door." He started to rise. "We're getting you to a healer."
"No!" She pulled him back down and fought for control. "Just let me rest."
"Are you sure?" He didn't sound like he believed her.
She didn't believe herself, but if they went to a healer now everything would be lost. Baby, I'm sorry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Yes, I'm sure."
Pjcrin settled back down on the step, sliding his arms out of his pack straps but leaving it behind him. He had to trust that Annice knew her body. Gently, he pulled her back into the circle of his arms. "All right. Rest."
She sniffed again but didn't pull away. After a moment, she let her head fall into the curve of his shoulder and sucked in a long shuddering breath as a third cramp twisted the muscles of her lower back.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world for his free hand to come up and stroke her hair. "I'm sorry I got you into this," he murmured.
"Me, too." Her heart had slowed a little so that it wasn't slamming so frighteningly hard against her ribs. "When we catch up with whoever's responsible, you owe me a piece of them."
He smiled and brushed a sweat-damp strand of hair up off her forehead. "Agreed."
"A pregnant woman cannot just disappear, Corporal."
The corporal kept her eyes locked on a point just over the captain's shoulder. "The man with Her Highness was a trader, he must have contacts in the city."
"The man with who?"
"Uh, I mean the bard, Captain." The corporal could feel the blood burning in her ears, and knew they were an embarrassingly brilliant red.
The captain snorted. "Remember that. She made her choice a long time ago."
"Yes, Captain."
"Well, don't just stand there. You know what section of the city you're supposed to be searching."
"Yes, Captain." The corporal spun on her heel and hurried from the room, the warning verses from the "Princess-Bard" echoing in her head. She didn't really believe His Majesty would execute his sister for treason. Not really. But she'd taken her squad the long way around the market just in case.
The captain, fully aware of where the sympathies of most of her troop lay, watched her go and sighed deeply. Not for the first time, she wished she could share the private orders His Majesty had given her.
"Don't listen to anything they say and tell them, when you catch them, that all is forgiven."
"You look like you've had pleasanter duties."
She started and snapped her attention back to the here and now. "Otik. What are you doing here?"
"I'm on leave," Otik explained coming into the room. "I've family in Vidor." He sauntered over to the table she was using as a desk and peered down at the maps of the city spread across it. "Nicely done. Must be bard work."
"They are." She folded her arms as he bent over and began tracing the streets with one finger. He wore civilian clothes like he was still in uniform. And moves like he's got a poker up his butt. "I meant, what are you doing here!"
"A troop of King's Guard rides into Vidor and I'm not supposed to be curious why?" Otik snorted. "Please, Luci, you'd have checked it out, too."
"Yeah, I guess." But she admitted it grudgingly. Self-interest had motivated too many of Captain Otik's previous actions and he was now clawing his way toward commander with what she considered a disgusting amount of ass kissing. If there was a way to get in good with the brass, he headed straight for it. On the other hand, as he'd likely make commander some day, she couldn't afford to alienate him too badly. More's the pity.
"So." He pushed the maps aside and perched on the corner of the table. "What are you doing here?"
Unfortunately, there wasn't any reason not to tell him. "We're looking for His Majesty's sister, the bard. It seems she's committed bodily treason."
Otik blinked. "What?"
"She got knocked up. His Majesty found out and we've been sent to bring her and the proud daddy back to the bosom of her family. As long as you're around, you might as well make yourself useful." Luci reached over and picked up a piece of paper closely covered with cramped writing. "They were spotted this afternoon."
"Your penmanship stinks," Otik muttered, scanning the description around the blots of black ink. Then he read it again. He'd started it a third time when Luci plucked it out of his hand.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain," she said pointedly, "I have work to do."
"Yes, yes, of course. Good hunting, Captain."
He's onto something, she thought as he strode out the door. Fortunately, I don't give a shit what it is.
It's impossible. He's dead. Unaware of anything around him, Otik kept turning the description around in his mind, fitting pieces of it into memory, trying to understand what could possibly be going on.
The Due of Ohrid was executed, it was witnessed. It happened.
So why did the trader with His Majesty's sister appear to be the same man?
Coincidence? He brushed past a friend of his mother's without seeing her or hearing her speak. No. He's too unenclosed distinctive looking for it to be coincidence. It's him. I know it's him. I gave him that black eye he's still wearing the shadow of.