Glasswrights' Journeyman (10 page)

Everyone? Not likely. Not Hal himself. “There have to be other options.”

“Oh, there are, Your Majesty.” The former regent agreed too quickly. “There are other girls suitable for a royal marriage. Some, though, are even younger than Berylina. A few are old enough that they might not be able to bear the heir that you need. Some come from weak families that only hope to gain power and glory by merging with your family. We've spoken about this, my lord, all your council seated here. We are agreed, Sire. Berylina is the best bride for you.”

“You've
spoken
about it –” Hal exploded in rage, pounding the table and looking at his assembled advisors. “You! Farso! You've stood in my palace and debated my bloodlines, as if I were some stallion?”

Hal began to understand why Farso had avoided his eyes at the beginning of this horrid council session. Nevertheless, the newest councilor stood by the side of the table and bowed. “Your Majesty, I've speculated on a bride who will make you strong. A bond that will strengthen all Morenia. We're all concerned for you.”

“Concerned for me? What am I, some rutting boar who might go mad if I don't tup the sow you offer?”

Puladarati stood. “Your Majesty!” The words cut through Hal's spluttering rage, and Puladarati continued in a calmer tone. “Your Majesty, you are the leader of our kingdom. You have brought us out of a time of fear and treason. You have expanded the boundaries of your kingdom by conquering the northern land of Amanthia. You have embraced our needs, met our requirements, negotiated with the church to rebuild your city.

“We have always been loyal to you, Sire, because of the crown that you wear. And now, we have come to love you. We have come to love you, and we want your line to continue. We mean you no insult, and we mean you no harm. We want you to be happy, Your Majesty. And we need you to take a bride.”

Hal listened to Puladarati's words, heard the calm logic. There was a reason that the man had been appointed regent, that Hal had left him to govern Amanthia, a reason that Hal looked to his wisdom at the council table. Puladarati was a natural leader; he was loyal and dedicated. And he spoke the truth.

Hal sank back into his chair. “I'll not pledge myself to her until we've met.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty. That's the very reason you should journey to Liantine. To meet.”

“And this cannot wait until autumn? Until Moren is well toward rebuilding?”

“Sire, the sea passage is not smooth at any time. Why take the chance that you'll end up in Liantine for all the winter? Go now. Do your business. Know by autumn if Princess Berylina is to be your queen. And if the princess is the woman you will marry, if she is the next queen of all Morenia, then you may find it easier to negotiate for your Little Army. You may be able to save the lives of children, even as you bargain for the mother of your own.”

“But
Berylina
. …”

“We believe that she is best, Your Majesty. Best for all of us.”

All of us but me, Hal wanted to say, but he knew better. He was a king, and he could not always say what he thought. Instead, he sighed and drew himself up to his full height. “Very well, my lords. I will travel to Liantine.”

Hal glanced at the scribe, who had painstakingly recorded every word that had been spoken. “Let it be noted, then, that on this feast day of Nome in the fifth year of my reign, the god of children smiled upon me, and I agreed to travel to Liantine, to determine the fate of my Little Army and to bring embassy from Morenia to the house of Liantine, to the Princess Berylina.”

The words were automatic as they spun from his tongue. But Hal glanced to his right, looking past the pleased Puladarati to Crestman. He saw the youth's tight grin, and the smooth scar that glinted on his cheek. Hal looked at Crestman, but he thought of Rani, and he wondered just how much he had forfeited by agreeing to journey to Liantine.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Rani squinted into the constant breeze that blew across the courtyard. She wished that she had taken the time to find a cloak before venturing onto the balcony. The early spring sunshine was a relief after the dreariness of winter, but the air remained chilly.

Mair was bullying the workers far below, shouting orders at a team of carpenters who had arrived late that morning. The men were arguing back, apparently disputing whether they had enough lumber to build the walls the way that Mair demanded.

Rani pitied the poor workers. They had no idea how brutal the Touched girl could be, what demands she could make. Unbidden, a smile quirked her lips as one man threw his leather cap onto the courtyard flagstones, emphasizing his point with a loud oath. Mair did not hesitate to grind her heel into the cap, and she matched his oath with three of her own, employing more creativity and a broader vocabulary. Her Touched patois echoed off the palace walls like a file rasping wood.

“Some things never change.”

Rani started at the voice, even though she knew she should have expected it. “Crestman,” she said, turning slowly.

“Rani.”

He was taller than she remembered. Taller, and his shoulders were broader. His face was the same, though – the planes of his cheeks with the white patch of his lion-scar, the hard line of his jaw, the calm depth of his dark eyes.

His voice was lower. Or maybe his words were husky because he had not said her name for three long years.

“I trust that you are comfortable in your quarters, my lord? Poor Moren has little to offer now, but you should at least have found clean sheets upon your bed.”

“Aye.”

He was not making this easy. She tried to make her voice light. “They're speaking of you in the streets this morning. You should be quite pleased – it takes a lot these days, to make folk forget their squabbles over the price of eggs.”

“I have not heard the gossip.”

“They say that you shamed the king into journeying to Liantine.”

“I did not intend to shame him. He is my liege lord, and I only hope to serve him.”

“You think that hunting down the Little Army will serve us now? When we face the aftermath of fire and disease?”

“He made a promise. Good men keep their vows.”

“King Halaravilli is a good man.” Rani answered automatically, setting aside her own doubts, her own anger. Certainly, Hal might be spiteful. He might be immature. He might be a short-tempered, pig-headed, close-minded, name-calling child, who thought that he could make all right by sending her a clutch of wilting flowers. But he was
trying
to be a good king. He was trying to save Morenia, even if he saw no path but an ill-considered loan at usurious rates. Besides, the flowers had been the blue of Zarithian glass. “The king acts as he thinks best, holding all of Morenia in his thoughts.”

Something in her words heated Crestman's reply. “My lady, if we do not find the Little Army now, it will be too late. It might be too late already. Halaravilli rules two kingdoms now – Morenia and Amanthia. And we in the northern one must know our fate. We cannot live with any more indecision. We must commit our children to the pyre or bring them home.”

“And are you prepared for what you might find, Crestman? Are you prepared to learn that all the Little Army is lost?”

“I'm a soldier, Rani Trader. I'm prepared for the reality of war.” The words chilled her more than the wind that skirled through the courtyard. She knew that Crestman had trained with the Little Army; he had told her some of what he had suffered in Sin Hazar's horrific camps. Nevertheless, his brutal resignation was frightening. It made her question her own determination, made her doubt her own mettle as she stared down at the aftermath of Moren's brutal fire.

Desperately, she reached for a brighter topic, for some note of hope and success that she could spin out on the springtime breeze. “Davin has helped us tremendously. His engines finally stopped the fire, his calculations and his orders.”

“He's a shrewd old man.”

Silence. Rani racked her mind for something else to say – something witty and entertaining. She would settle for a pithy observation, a shrewd comment about Moren. About Amanthia. About the Little Army. About the cursed workers who were going about their task, pacing off the floor plan for Mair's hospital.

Rani was spared the need for more stiff conversation when Mair appeared at her side. The Touched girl held a fur-lined cape in her arms, kin to the one that was draped across her own shoulders. “Rai,” she said, darting a glance at the northern visitor. “Crestman.”

“Mair.” Rani heard the old rivalry there, the old bonds that the pair had built around a soldier in the Little Army. Mair and Crestman had both loved the boy, but Monny had perished despite their best intentions.

The Touched girl shuddered and pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders. “You looked cold up here. I went to fetch your cloak.”

“The breeze is chilly, but I'm not actually cold.”

“I thought that you should put on your cloak,” Mair said pointedly. Rani took the garment and shrugged it over her shoulders. “You should leave the balcony, Rai. We should let the men do their work without us hounding them.”

“I'm hardly hounding –”

“By Jair, you can be difficult!”

By Jair.

Rani looked at Mair and realized that a flush painted her friend's cheeks. There was a scarce-suppressed excitement in her eyes as she cast a meaningful glance toward Crestman. All in a rush, Rani understood. The Fellowship of Jair had summoned them. A messenger must have arrived while Rani was distracted, while she was trying to speak with Crestman.

She could not imagine what the Fellowship might want. Ever since the fire, the shadowy body had lain quiet, convening no meeting, issuing no instructions. Rani had begun to fear that some of the leaders had been destroyed in the fire. After all, the Fellowship drew its members from all the castes in the city. The leader of the Moren cell was an old Touched woman – who could say that Glair had not succumbed to firelung, even if she had escaped the flames?

But someone had finally decided that it was time for the Fellowship to act. And whatever had provoked that decision must be important. It was risky for the group to congregate at any time, but it was absurdly dangerous to gather in the middle of the day, with the sun up and all the people of the city about. …

Rani swallowed a dozen questions and pulled her furred cloak closer about her shoulders. She turned back to Crestman. “I'm sorry, my lord. Mair is right. I must not distract the workmen by watching from here. Besides, I promised I would sort herbs from the new shipment that arrived this morning.”

“Duty always calls.” His words were bitter.

“I'm sorry,” she said again.

He reached out, cupping her cheek with one warm hand. “Tell me that you'll speak with me this evening, Rani Trader. Tell me that we can sit beside the fire and talk about our plans.”

We have no plans, she wanted to say. You are going to Liantine, with Hal. Traveling to a distant land that holds the remnants of the Little Army. And a princess. I am going nowhere.

Instead, she nodded once, feeling his fingers move with her. “We'll talk.”

Mair took her arm, pulling her across the room and toward the stairs, toward the palace gates before she could worry about any other words, any other promises. Rani's thoughts were roiling inside her skull as she approached the guardhouse, but she forced a smile across her lips. “Good morning, Wodurini.”

“Good morning, my lady,” the man bowed briefly, turning halfway toward Mair to include her in his greeting. “You're not going out in the city!”

“But we are. Lady Mair and I promised His Majesty that we would see how the excavation crews are progressing in the Merchants' Quarter. We cannot begin rebuilding the marketplace until the fire damage is cleared.”

Rani's tone was blithe as she invoked Hal's name, but her heart pounded. Hal would attend the Fellowship's meeting. She would see him for the first time since their disastrous fight, communicate with him for the first time since he had sent her the anemones. Annoyed with herself, she pushed aside the thought. Hal was her king, and he was her fellow in the eyes of Jair. All else was separate. All else was immaterial, in view of Morenia's plight.

“One of my men should accompany you, my lady. It's dangerous out there.”

“The danger is from falling timber, Wodurini. None of your men can protect us from that. We'll watch our step.” The guard started to scowl, but Rani shook her head and lied easily. “Besides, the engineers who work on the hospital have said that they will need assistance in raising some frames this afternoon. You'll likely need to send every man you can spare to the courtyard.”

“But my lady –”

“We'll be fine.” Rani made her voice firm, but she smiled. “We mustn't delay. The king will be asking after us if we don't hurry.”

Rani settled her fingers on Mair's arm, pulling her friend beneath the heavy portcullis. She ignored the soldier's grumbled complaints as she threaded her way into the crowds on the city streets. With so many people evicted from their fire-destroyed homes, the paved ways were bustling.

Mair took advantage of the general commotion to hiss, “It was easier to answer the group's summons when I only needed to duck away from my own Touched troop.”

“It's easier,” Rani said, “when they don't summon us in the middle of the day. How did they get a message to you?”

“I was speaking with the carpenter, and he was explaining why the king's money would be wasted on one long hall. He honestly thought that I have no idea what I was asking for. You should warn the king, Rai – that carpenter is just scheming to take his money and leave with the job half-done. He's a Briantan! He has no pride! He thinks that he can come here to Moren and exploit us when we need him most. Well, he –”