Glasswrights' Test (19 page)

Berylina took the parchment with a bow. She stepped back and gazed at the four soldiers who had supported her—the two who had most pressured the priest, the one who had stood fast, the one who had wavered. She nodded, and each man's hands flew in some Briantan signal. Berylina did not know the proper response, and so she only nodded.

The she walked through the murmuring crowd, trying to ignore the strange combination of awe and fear and wrath. She gained strength from Father Siritalanu behind her, strength to stand tall as the heat shimmered up from the stones beneath her feet. She tried to ignore the victorious flutter of Tarn's black-green wings as she left the holy courtyard.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

Rani watched as Mair looked up from Laranifarso, who had fallen asleep at her breast. The Touched woman pitched her voice low, obviously trying not to disturb her son, but there was an urgency behind her words. “You have to sleep some time, Rai.”

“I'm not tired.”

“You were bathing before the sun came up, and I heard you grind those colors until late into the night.”

“I'm sorry. I never meant to disturb you with my work. I'll try to be more quiet tonight.”

“You weren't
disturbing
me!” Mair lowered her voice when Laranifarso fussed. “You weren't disturbing me. It's just that you worry me. You need to sleep. You can't serve the guild, and the princess, and yourself, if you can't even keep your eyes open.”

Rani stifled a yawn as she set down the glass pestle she had been using. She stretched her fingers and tried not to grimace as the tendons and ligaments eased back into place. She could not remember how long she had been gripping the tool, how long she had scraped the glass over her smooth stone tray. Lapis, cinnabar, ochre—she had ground the colors for hours, processing each from stone to powder to dust.

She had not started, though, until after sunset. She had finished the day's labors at the guildhall, and washed the grime from her face and her arms at the ritual glasswright's bath. She had choked down a few bites of the dry bread that Master Parion permitted her, swallowed two glasses of murky water from the plain glazed mug that he had given her.

On the way back to the hostelry, she had stopped at the temple of Hern, the god of merchants. She had not been surprised by the gold and ivory and enamel trappings. Any merchant able to make a pilgrimage would have donated handsomely to the place.

Bardo would have offered up riches. Rani purchased a candle as thick as her wrist and lit it from another. She sank to her knees and tried to form words appropriate to Hern. She gave up after a few tries, though, deciding to offer cherished memories instead.

Bardo flashing a grin at their mother and father as he carried new stock into the shop. Bardo laughing as he presented her with a sweet roll. Bardo insisting that he could do better than the Merchants' Council, that he could set market policies that would foster greater profits.

Bardo arguing with their father. Bardo slamming the shop door in rage over a stolen buckle. Bardo begging her in Morenia's House of the Thousand Gods, pleading with her to join his subversive Brotherhood. Bardo looking up from the executioner's block, alone and afraid.

Rani reduced her prayer to Hern to a few repeated words: “Watch over the lost. Watch over the fallen.”

She'd slipped a handful of gold coins into a slatted wooden box as she left the temple. Her pilgrim's cloak had stifled her as she made her way through the dusty streets, past a preacher who demanded that the immodest be cast out from Brianta. She nearly ran past a wild-haired woman who shouted that witches stalked the city.

Mair sighed, bringing her mind back to their shared room. “I don't understand, Rai. You can't use lapis to paint on glass. You told me that yourself.”

Rani shook her head and caught another yawn against the back of her teeth. “It's the same skill. We glasswrights grind lampblack and lead white for our colors. The painting guild uses the other colors. Here in Brianta, there's trade between the guilds, much more than in Morenia. Master Parion has structured an arrangement with the painters. We grind colors for them. The labor teaches us what we need to know about grinding and pigments, and it puts them in our debt.”

“Puts them in
your
debt,” Mair repeated. “Why should the guild profit from your labor like that?”

“I'm a member of the guild.” Rani's voice heated in warning, but Mair did not seem to recognize the dangerous ground that she trod.

“
If
they choose to let you in. Why are you doing this, Rai? Why are you letting them force you back into jobs that you should have been shed of years ago? You said yourself that grinding colors was an apprentice's job. You're a journeyman, ready to rise to master. They should at least let you do a journeyman's work.”

“They must learn to trust me,” Rani said. Her voice was soft as she spoke, as she said all the things that she'd been thinking for so long. “We're like a family, Mair. A family that knows it must stay together, must stand against the rest of the outside world. And yet, we do not truly trust each other. Love each other, yes, because we must. But
like
each other, no. Not at all.” She pictured Bardo, smiling and shaking his head as he left her at the guildhall gates, years ago, in Moren.

“Well, Rai, I couldn't work with a group of people who all despise me.”

“They don't all despise me.” Mair merely cocked her head. “They don't! I've already become quite friendly with two of the journeymen—Belita and Cosino. They come from Zarithia; they've worked in the great glass workshops there. They were the ones who showed me how to grind the ochre fine enough.”

“Well, then. Two friends out of four score. All hail Belita and Cosino!”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I don't like to see you hurt yourself for these people. I don't like to see you working for them, when they don't appreciate you.”

Rani managed a smile. “It was all well and good when I worked for your Touched troop, years ago in Moren.”

Mair snorted, and the sound was enough to wake her son. Laranifarso opened his pink mouth to wail, and the Touched mother shifted him to her other arm, taking the opportunity to suckle him at her other breast. He quickly settled down, filling the room with his greedy sucking noises.

Before Mair could fashion a reply, there was a sharp rap at the door. “Come,” Rani called, reluctant to set aside the fine ochre dust that she was working. It was close to finished. So close. …

But would not be done for some time, she realized as the door swung open and Tovin stalked in. The player declined to brush his fingers against the prayer bell just inside the door. In fact, he glared at it for a moment before making a transparent decision not to comply with Briantan tradition. Already, Rani missed the jangle—she had been in Jair's homeland for long enough that she expected the chimes; she expected such tangible dedication to the gods. “Where have you been?” she asked, noting that he was carrying his pilgrim's cloak.

“Downstairs. Eating a meat pie and enjoying what passes for ale in these parts. I tired of waiting for you, and I was hungry. I knew you would not join me.” He swallowed, then said, “At the table.”

Rani felt a blush rise on her cheeks, and she flashed a look to Mair. The Touched girl became engrossed with her son's blankets, but a smile twitched her lips.

Tovin said, “While I sat belowstairs, a messenger arrived.”

“A messenger?” Rani kept her voice neutral, but acid fear leached into her empty belly. A dull ache pounded behind her eyes.

Tovin glanced about the chamber, as if he expected spies to lurk in the shadowy corners. “By the Fellowship.” He managed to hiss the sentence, delivering it as a secret, a true whisper, not the sort that he would utter on the stage.

Mair looked up from Laranifarso. “I wondered how long it would take for them to demand our presence.”

“Too long,” Tovin said, his copper eyes narrowed. “They've known we were here for nearly ten days. They've been planning something.”

Rani forced her voice to an even register, fighting down irritation with the man. He could at least look happy to see her. Even if she was forbidden to touch him, forbidden by the oaths she had taken to Master Parion. … The player could at least pretend as if he'd missed her. “They can't be planning anything against us. We're
members
.”

“A lot of good that did your king on the Amanthian plain.”

“That's an old story, Tovin. You players spend too much time dwelling on the past.” She had thought that she might at least harvest a smile from him, an acknowledgment that the troop did collect old stories, used them in new ways. Instead, the player merely glared at her, as if she had insulted him. Consciously setting aside her own anger, she asked, “When are we to meet them?”

“Tonight. When the bells ring for Mern.”

The bells. That had taken some getting used to, in this strange city. Each god had his own time of worship, his own exclusive hour of the day or night. Bells rang out across Brianta, cascading in complicated patterns, summoning the faithful to one shrine or another. It was quite common for pilgrims to drop to their knees in the middle of the road, dirtying their robes and lowering their heads to the dusty street in dedication to their particular god. One mark of a truly dedicated pilgrim was a sooty stain upon the brow, dirt ingrained from constant lowering to the ground.

“And where?” Rani asked.

“They will come for us here.”

“Come for us?” She did not like the sound of that; the words bore too many memories of the King's Guard run amok, invading private homes to carry off traitors.

“Aye. They say they must keep their location secret. We will be escorted to the meeting place.”

“What about Berylina? What if the princess needs us?”

“She has Siritalanu,” Tovin said, shrugging. “And she's not likely to go wandering about at night. Even
her
devotion must have its limits.”

“Very well.” Rani worked hard to keep her voice even. “I should finish grinding these colors, then. I would not want to be in the middle of the task when they arrive.” Tovin's eyes narrowed at her humble answer, and she knew that he wanted to protest, that he wanted to complain about her easy acceptance.

This was the
Fellowship
, she wanted to exclaim. This was the shadow force that could have destroyed her at any time it chose in the past eight years. She had schooled herself not to fear them in Morenia. She must not let her resolve falter here in Brianta. Even if she were leagues from home. Even if she were separated from her king, from her liege lord, from all the modes of power that she knew and understood. Even if she were hungry and thirsty and ordered to stay apart from the man she loved. She swallowed hard.

Mair rose to her feet. “I'll leave the baby with Chalita, then.”

The serving woman Chalita had come to them on their first day in Brianta. The landlord had recommended her as someone who was experienced with children; he had said that she could tend to Laranifarso if Mair needed to pray. The Touched woman had not taken the opportunity to visit temples, but she had let Chalita watch over Laranifarso each day while she caught a few hours of treasured sleep. Rani kept her eye on Tovin as she answered, “Mair, you needn't come with us.”

“I'm a member of the Fellowship. I'll come.”

“Laranifarso needs you.”

“Laranifarso is a babe. He needs someone to hold him and nurse him and keep him safe from harm. Chalita can do that for an hour or two. Better that I meet this Briantan Fellowship and know their number.”

Rani shivered, for it sounded as if Mair wanted to identify an enemy, quantify an opposing force. Rani would not argue, though. She wanted Mair by her side. She wanted known companions as she met the powerful cabal on their home soil.

Mair closed the door behind her, and Rani was left alone in the chamber with Tovin. He came to stand at her side. “Ochre?” he asked, glancing down at the powder.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, mustering her arguments, preparing to explain yet again why the task was a good one, why Master Parion had been wise to set it for her.

“Not a bad notion.” Tovin shrugged. “You get a feel for handling their equipment. They can barter your wares with the painting guild.”

Rani flashed a grateful smile. “Exactly.”

“But you're still leaving the particles too coarse. Painters require work far more fine than we glasswrights.” All of her relief turned to anger as he said, “Here. Let me show you.”

She knew that he did not have to reach across her to get the pestle. He did not need to fold his fingers around hers. He did not need to take the half-step toward her, to edge around the small table where her stone palette rested. He could have offered her instruction from across the room, in fact.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt herself lean closer to him, felt the heat radiating from his body through his rich player's silks and velvets. Without realizing it, she had closed her eyes, and she opened them, to see him more clearly.

He had taken a step back, settling his fists on his hips and measuring her with narrowed eyes. “Tovin!” she gasped.

“You would be foresworn so quickly, Ranita Glasswright?” She heard his dire tone, and she hoped that he was using one of his player's skills, that he was exaggerating his words for effect.

“Foresworn?”

“I was present in those kitchens that your glasswrights call a guildhall. I heard you agree to abandon me.”

“I agreed to refrain from unclean touch.”

“And from the touch of any man. You may think your oaths a jest, Ranita, but I can assure you that Parion did not.”

“And how would he know what we do in the privacy of my chamber?”