Glasswrights' Journeyman Read online

  “Too soon? Have you forgotten that I left a burned and dying city back in Morenia?”

  “Do you think I could forget, my lord?” Rani snapped. “Do you truly think that I do not remember Moren?”

  She would have been wiser to stay at home. At least in Moren, she could have guarded against the Fellowship’s tricks. She could have watched over Dartulamino’s consolidating power as the new Holy Father, measured out the meaning of the church ascending to such heights within the organization. That monitoring might have helped Hal, might have let him calculate an appropriate time to formally announce his own ambitions to the secret group.

  By staying in Moren, she might have served her king without the pain that pounded in her chest, without the frustration.

  When Hal did not reply, Rani forced her voice to a level tone, prying her attention from the future. Back to Liantine. Back to Moren. “Every day that we are gone, Your Majesty, I think about firelung. I think about starving children. I think about shipments of lumber arriving in Moren, and how we are to pay the waiting tradesmen. Why else do you think that I accompanied you across that Kel-cursed ocean?”

  Before Hal could reply, King Teheboth called out, “Ho there! What secrets are you Morenians sharing? Are you placing wagers on my knightly contestants?”

  Hal looked up guiltily. “Wagers? Nay, my lord.”

  With unsuspecting irony, Teheboth said, “That leaves your purse full then. Full and ready to place a bet with me.”

  “You have an unfair advantage, my lord.” Hal had recovered enough to lighten his tone. “You know your men. You know their skills.”

  “Come judge them for yourself, then. Each man will take one pass through the course, and then we’ll lay our bets. Come! Stand beside my Berylina, that you might judge who is the best.”

  Hal stretched a smile over his teeth and edged past Rani. She resisted the urge to tangle her fingers in his cloak, to grip his arm and pull him close. She wanted to whisper a warning, to remind him that everything he said, everything he did was under scrutiny. He might think of the Little Army as a separate matter from Berylina, a separate matter from that spiderguild wench who had eyed him all too closely during last night’s feast. They all were interwoven, though. They all were part of the tangled, twisting pattern that was Liantine.

  She restrained herself. She said nothing and stepped aside so that Hal could watch the course unhindered. She crossed to Crestman. The Amanthian glanced at her quizzically, as if he wanted to know the words she had exchanged with their king. His expectation annoyed her, but she held her tongue, even when she felt him shift beside her. She was painfully aware of the sidelong glances that he stole, the way he moved his arm to feel her by his side. She focused on the knights below.

  The riders on the field seemed well matched. One rode a spirited little mare, and he used her speed to dart beneath the figures, managing to capture six of the seven quintain rings. The other rider favored a far heavier horse, a battle steed that pounded powerfully around the course. That man also caught six rings, but he wrestled with his mount to make tight turns.

  Hal watched seriously, fingering the gold-fringed pouch at his waist. When the exhibition was completed and servants darted out to restore the targets’ rings, Teheboth said, “Well? What say you, my lord? What will you wager on a triple run?”

  Rani suspected that Hal should place his money on the heavier horse. The little mare had completed the course once, but there was no knowing if she would have the energy for another three passes. Nevertheless, Rani’s heart instinctively went out to the rider of the smaller beast.

  Crestman scarcely breathed his own reply. “The battle mount.” Rani turned to question him, but the soldier’s face remained impassive; he might never have spoken.

  Hal found a different solution. He bowed to Berylina and said, “My lady? What say you?”

  All eyes locked on the princess, who was clearly astonished to find herself the center of such attention. Her crossed eyes darted up to Hal’s face and then away, casting unevenly across the playing field. She licked her chapped lips, calling unfortunate attention to the protruding tips of her white teeth. When no one else spoke, she managed to whisper, “My lord?”

  “Come now.” Hal’s voice was as soft and intimate as if they stood alone; Rani could scarce make out his cajoling words. “Your father has permitted me a single demonstration, but I must be protective of my coin. I’d rather have the knowledge of an expert in this court. Who shall I support, my lady? Who will win the triple round?”

  Berylina stared out at the riders, her chin quivering. Hal edged closer, taking her plump hand between his own. “Come, my lady. Help a visitor to your father’s court. Tell me how to play my wager. I trust you. I trust your knowledge.”

  Berylina stared down at her trapped hand as if it belonged to another child. She swallowed hard, and then she raised her eyes to Hal’s face. She stared at him intensely as she said, “The one that is blessed by Par, my lord.”

  Hal’s smile was quizzical. “By Par?” he asked. Berylina nodded, unable to summon further words. “By the god of the sun?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Those last three words proved too great a strain, and Berylina tugged her hand away from Hal, using it to hide her face. Hal appeared not to notice as he turned to King Teheboth. “Very well, then. My lady has spoken. I’ll place my wager on the blond man.”

  The little mare.

  “On Charion,” Teheboth bellowed. “And will you hold our wagers, daughter?”

  Rani thought that the princess would faint away from the attention. Nevertheless, she managed to find the strength to collect a gold coin from her father. When Hal offered his own stake, he took care to place the coin squarely in her palm, folding her fingers around it. “I hope the Thousand Gods have not misled us, my lady,” he said with a solemn nod. Berylina blushed the color of Hal’s crimson tunic, but she did not pull her hand away.

  Rani swallowed hard and turned her attention to the tilting field. Of course Hal needed to court the princess. He needed to please her. He needed to do all in his power to pry her from her shell of shyness. Of course, of course, of course.

  Crestman shifted beside her, and Rani scarcely managed to keep from snapping at him. The figures on the field were oddly blurred. The spring breeze was stiffer than Rani had suspected – it must have whipped dirt from the arena into the corners of her eyes. She stealthily swept a hand across them, rubbing them dry. She dared not look, though, to see if Crestman saw her motion.

  Whether Berylina had some special knowledge or Hal was lucky, Charion won the competition. The knight manipulated his little mare with daring, snatching twenty of the rings and ducking beneath the last quintain’s heavy bag. The other rider managed only eighteen rings and was nearly tossed from his mount by the hearty buffet of a mis-struck figure.

  Crestman snorted, muttering beneath his breath that the heavier horseman could have won, if he’d sat his horse with greater skill. Hal whooped in pleasure at his victory, his eyes shining with bright fire. Teheboth’s automatic scowl turned to a calculating grin as he watched his daughter hand over both coins to the Morenian king. “Well done, my lord,” Teheboth said.

  “Only through the grace of your daughter,” Hal replied courteously.

  “Only through the grace of Par,” Berylina insisted, with enough force that both men looked at her in surprise.

  Rani did not have a chance to talk to Hal again until the end of the riding displays, when the party climbed down from the viewing stand and began a leisurely walk back to the palace. The nobles were expected to refresh themselves in their chambers for the afternoon. Another feast and dancing would be held that night – the players would perform again. Rani looked forward to seeing the glass screens, to studying the fine workmanship.

  In the meantime, as Berylina was hustled away by her nurses, Rani purposely dropped back. She hoped that she would have a few moments to conclude her conversation with Hal, and she ges
tured for Crestman to go on ahead. She was relieved when the Amanthian complied; however, she saw him glance over his shoulder as Hal fell into step at her side.

  “Sire,” she began, as soon as she was certain they would not be overheard. “You know I do not argue with you to be difficult.” She swallowed hard. “I know that I have no great grace, and I have no special learning. I try your patience more often than not. But you must let me help you when I can. I should have been the one to treat with King Teheboth about the Little Army.”

  Hal stopped walking and gazed at her steadily. “Do you truly think that he would speak with you? We are not in Morenia here. Teheboth Thunderspear has little need for women’s words.”

  “He will listen when Liantine can benefit. He’d be a fool to overlook advantage solely because he does not care for the messenger.”

  “Whatever else he might be, Teheboth is no fool. Still, he will not speak with you. You may offer bargains through me, I will say your words, but he must not think you make decisions for me.”

  “I do not decide what you will do! I offer guidance. I offer counsel.”

  “He will not make such fine distinctions if you are the one who speaks.”

  “That is not fair, my lord! If Farsobalinti devised my strategies, you would keep him by your side. You would let him speak his mind before Teheboth, and you would honor him for doing so!”

  “The world is rarely fair,” Hal said. As Rani started to protest again, he raised a commanding hand. “Besides, Rani, are you prepared to bargain for Berylina?”

  Rani’s heart twisted in her chest. “Are you certain she is strong enough to meet your needs?”

  “She is the only daughter of the house of Thunderspear.”

  “She is afraid of her own shadow!”

  “She was brave enough to speak with me, last night and today. She was certain enough just now to win a gold sovereign from her own father.” Rani heard Hal’s calm logic, his growing certainty. “Rani, I remember how it felt to sit in a hall, surrounded by people who called me an idiot and thought to deprive me of power.”

  “My lord, you are no longer the boy who retreated into rhymes to survive!”

  “No, Rani. Now I am the king.”

  “And you need a queen to stand beside you, a queen who can guide Morenia back from these dark days. Is Berylina the one? Do you truly think that she can do all that you require?”

  “Who else would you suggest?”

  She could not answer that. She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists.

  She had not asked for the fire, for the firelung; she had not asked for any of this responsibility. She tried to convince herself that she wanted only to stay in Moren, only to read her books, to work toward being a journeyman. What did Davin’s book say? She should learn to pour glass, to cut glass, to set glass. She should lead apprentices and obey masters. She should contribute one quarter of all her worldly goods to her guild.

  That was all. She was a guildsman, a simple guildsman.

  “Wait, my lord.” she said. “Do not make your decision yet. Do not go to Teheboth and ask for Berylina’s hand.”

  “I’ll wait for now,” Hal said. “I’ll wait because I need your plan. I need your strategy to get the princess, along with a dowry large enough to save Morenia.”

  And then he walked away. He turned his back on her, and he walked across the emerald field, striding fast past Crestman to catch up with Teheboth, with Berylina. Rani started to follow, started to call him back, but she realized she had nothing left to say, no arguments left to make.

  A gentle breeze whispered across the grass, and she felt a gossamer touch against her ankles. She looked down and saw the scarf that Berylina had let fall, the spidersilk that had set the men to jousting.

  Before she could reach for it, Crestman came up beside her. He scooped up the fragile cloth with a smooth gesture, crumpling it in one tanned hand. “There were Amanthians on that field.”

  “What?”

  “The boys who set the quintains. They were from the Little Army.”

  She said nothing.

  “They did not even look my way. They went about their business like any servant in any noble’s household.”

  Rani did not reply.

  “It’s like they do not know us, like they have no memory of when they lived in Amanthia.”

  “Perhaps they don’t,” Rani said at last. “Perhaps their world has changed, and this is all they know. They were children, after all. They were children when the world they knew was lost.” Crestman looked at her strangely, and neither spoke again as they returned to King Teheboth’s palace.

  * * *

  “What, exactly, did you think was going to happen here in Liantine?”

  Rani huddled by the window, wishing that she could ignore Mair’s pointed question. She ran her fingers over the wooden windowsill. The guest apartments that she shared with her friend were bare and cold, even though the palace servants insisted they were the finest in Teheboth’s home. The walls were covered with fine paneling, the servants noted often, not the spidersilk trappings found in older rooms.

  Now, Rani scarcely cared if she were sleeping in a military tent. She wanted to be gone. She wanted to be back in Moren. She forced herself to answer Mair. “I don’t know. I thought that I would speak for Hal. That King Teheboth would listen to me.”

  “What possibly made you think that?”

  “Hal asked me to accompany him!”

  “He asked you to advise him. He asked you to think of strategies, like a general.”

  “This isn’t a battlefield, Mair.”

  “What is it, then, Rai? What else would you call it?” Rani did not answer; she had no reply. “You know how this will end, Rai. Let’s finish now. Bargain for your king. Tell him the best strategy for negotiating his dowry.”

  “He has not made his decision, yet. He is not certain that he’ll ask for Berylina.”

  “What else can he do? He’s waiting for you. He wants you to tell him that he may.”

  “I do not give the king of all Morenia permission to do anything.”

  “Precisely,” Mair said. “And until you do, he’ll wait.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Mair!”

  “Perhaps it’s the truth, though.”

  “That’s absurd.” Rani glared at her friend.

  “So you have tried to tell yourself since our boat landed on the Liantine shore. I don’t know why we made this journey, if you will not follow through.” Mair strode away from the window. “Well, I won’t sit here any longer.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Today is market day. I’m going to learn what Liantines use for firelung.”

  “You don’t even know that a single Liantine has ever suffered from firelung!”

  “I won’t find out sitting here.”

  Rani listened to Mair collect her cloak; she heard a handful of coins clink together. Once, the Touched girl started to speak, but she stopped herself, sighing explosively instead. Mair’s footsteps stomped across the floor, echoing off the inlaid wooden panels. The metal latch lifted free of the door, and the leather hinges creaked. Mair paused one last time, and then she stepped smartly over the threshold, grabbing the outside latch with a vicious grunt.

  “Wait!” Rani called, just before the door slammed closed. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Of course you will.” Mair waited while Rani collected her belongings.

  The market square was bustling, and Rani realized how long it had been since she had walked through a thriving trade fair. Even before the fire in Moren, the marketplace had been slow for the winter. Farmers had offered few vegetables, and trade goods were scarce as transport was delayed by snow and other harsh weather.

  The Liantine fair, though, was a bustling hive of activity. Children called to one another, and mothers summoned reluctant youths to help carry purchases. Men haggled over tinware and knives and leather belts.

  Rani saw one stand
that sold nothing but bronze amulets, star-shaped medallions with an image of the Horned Hind soldered to the center. Another table held carved wooden bowls, marked with prices higher than any Morenian merchant would be able to command. There were other wooden pieces – platters and candlesticks, spoons and decorative combs. Many bore the image of the Horned Hind, inlaid or burned into the surface. The merchant boasted that his wares were the latest fashion, the newest treasures, but even so, they were more expensive than Rani or Mair could understand.

  “Look,” Mair exclaimed once. “Over by the owlboy.”

  Rani followed her companion’s pointing finger, and both girls crossed to study the extensive display of herbs. Some were meant for kitchen work, but others were set aside for healing, for curing, for easing the ill. Mair began to question the handsome young vendor, and Rani’s attention wandered.

  Both she and Mair had recognized the owlboy, known him for an Amanthian child-scholar, even though his tattoo had been carved away from his face. There were former Little Army children scattered throughout the marketplace, some selling wares, others buying. Some were dressed in rags and had a haunted look of hunger, but most were well-clothed, cheerful, talking to companions or studiously searching out bargains.

  Mair flourished a large bouquet of dried herbs, laughing when Rani sneezed. “The man says these will help. He says they’ll ease the bone-ache and help folks cough the soot from their lungs.”

  “And if it works? How will you find more?”

  “He says it’s called lamb’s breath. It’s common to the east of here. We can find a source in Moren, or buy up his stock here.”

  Rani sniffed at the herbs again, committing the pungent scent to memory. She caught Mair’s eye as she straightened. “We both knew that was an owlboy.”

  “Aye.”

  “How? He only wears a scar.”

  “We spent enough time with the Amanthians to know. We learned their castes by living with them, seeing how they carry themselves, how they look.” Mair shrugged. “You know that I’m Touched, even when I speak like a noble in the king’s own court.”

  “Anyone would know you’re Touched, Mair.” Rani laughed.