Glasswrights' Journeyman (2 page)

“They're your people, Rai.”

“They're not mine!” Rani heard her voice ratchet higher, and she reminded herself to breathe, to relax her throat. “I'm a merchant girl, not a noble.”

“Merchant girl, guild girl, noble.” Mair shook her head. “You're whatever you decide to call yourself. The fact remains that the people need you. Your king needs you.”

Rani snorted. “If he ‘needed' me, he would have included me in his discussions with the ambassador from the Pepper Isles.”

“You're still upset about that?”

“If I'd been there, we would have negotiated for more spices. We could have taxed the cinnamon and the pepper – we could have raised the salt tax. We'd have money to rebuild the city by the end of summer.”

“Rai, he obviously didn't see it that way.”

“Of course he didn't! He doesn't understand how to bargain!”

“He understands how to be a king.” Mair shrugged. “He's overlord of the Pepper Isles. If he demands too much of them, they'll rebel. Morenia can hardly fight a battle now, not to keep its outlying territories in line.”

Rani did not bother to respond. If
she
had been involved in the negotiations, the matter would never come to open rebellion. She was more skilled than that.

After all, she had been born into a merchant family. In her earliest days, she had learned how to manipulate her older brothers and sisters, how to lure customers into the family shop, how to hone the barest edge of a bargain. Negotiating was in her blood.

“In any case,” Mair conceded, “the king says he wants you there tonight.”

“Tonight! He's meeting with the Holy Father. He'd banish me before a messenger from the Pepper Isles but permit me to stand before the worldly representative of all the Thousand Gods?”

“Of course the king wants you there. You were the First Pilgrim.”

Rani had been selected for that honor almost five years ago, when she had been caught up in the mystery of Prince Tuvashanoran's death. She had been snared by the evil Brotherhood of Justice, a cabal that had conspired to get her taken into the royal household, to have her adopted by the then-king as the First Pilgrim. The Brotherhood had wanted her to execute Halaravilli, to end his life and advance the cause of so-called Justice. Rani had freed herself from the Brotherhood a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

“The church hardly needs to be reminded of mistakes it made five years ago.”

“The church made no mistakes. They got you in the palace.”

“For all the good it's done Moren these past few weeks! Why does Hal want me? The Holy Father's so old that
you
could go in my place, and he wouldn't know the difference.”

Mair ran her fingers through her always-tangled dark hair as she peered at Rani's blonde tresses. “I think he'd notice.”

“He might,” Rani admitted. “But Hal certainly wouldn't. He's forgotten what I look like.”

“Is
that
what this is all about?” Mair clicked her tongue as she crossed the room. When she perched on top of a high stool, she looked like a benevolent bird of prey. “Rai, he's worried for the kingdom, for all of Morenia's future.”

“Worried enough that he had to entertain that slattern of a princess from Brianta?”

“Worried enough that he sent her away.” Mair's voice was surprisingly gentle. “She's not able to give him the funds he needs; her dowry isn't enough. He was put out with her, Rai, outright rude. He'll be lucky if her father doesn't revoke our right to travel along the Great Eastern Road. She left the palace this morning, and the rumors say the guards at the city gates learned a few new words, listening to her swear.”

Rani had not heard that the princess was gone. Even as a victorious smile began to curve her lips, she managed to shake her head in a simulation of disgust. “That's what we need. Warfare on the eastern front. Any fool could see that this is not the time to provoke our neighbors.”

“So now you're calling your king a fool?”

“If he acts like one, that's what I'll call him.” Rani tugged at the sleeves of her gown, forcing her attention back to the formula for silver stain.

Mair laughed. “Treason, and within the palace's very walls.”

“Is it treason if it's true?”

“It is treason if you speak against your king. It is treason if you leave him alone in his apartments and let him be outfoxed by the Holy Father, who was negotiating contracts before King Halaravilli was born. The church now says that we'll have to pay a delivery fee of one gold ingot for every shipment of food they bring in.”

“An ingot! Why only an idiot –”

“Mind your tongue,” Mair interrupted, laughing. “His Majesty commands you to attend him in his apartments.”

Mair's words shot through Rani, jamming against her spine and stealing away her breath. “He asked for me?”

“Directly.”

“So, now that he needs me, he can keep a civil tongue in his head.”

“Let it rest! You pushed him this morning. You know that you did. Your feelings were hurt that he sent you out of the room while he spoke privately with the ambassador from the Pepper Isles.”

“He dismissed me like a servant.”

“He dismissed you like a friend. Like a trusted comrade who would understand that he needed to honor a guest who is narrow-minded, pompous, and rich.” Mair hopped down from her stool. “Oh, stop frowning at me. You know perfectly well that the king can't take any chances on tonight's negotiations with the church, especially after he came up short dealing with the Pepper Isles. He needs more money, and faster. There are more than two hundred children who have firelung now, and the number of new cases increases every day. The Touched are going to die if they continue to live in dilapidated tents. The Touched, all of them, and other castes too. They need shelter, and food, and clothing. And if the merchants don't get trade goods for the summer fairs, it will be even worse come the autumn.”

“You don't need to explain the marketplace to me, Mair.”

“I'm not explaining it to you. I'm reminding you that your stubbornness can kill. Your stiff neck will hurt children, mothers, fathers, all of Morenia.”

“This isn't my fault!”

“The fire isn't your fault. Anything you do to keep Morenia from rebuilding … now that's another tale.”

“Mair, you're not being fair!”

“Nothing is ever fair, Rai. Your king needs you to attend him.”

“It's hardly necessary –”

“It's hardly necessary for you to sulk up here with your glass and your treatises. You need to leave this tower. You need to walk down the stairs, to your own apartments. You need to put on your mourning gown and attend your king and his guest in his apartments.”

Rani sighed and shoved away all her other arguments. There had been no reason for Hal to embarrass Rani in public. There had been no reason for him to turn his back on her, no reason for him to treat her like a dismissed servant, while he primped and preened for that Pepper Isles lackey, for the Briantan princess.

Nevertheless, in her heart, Rani knew that Mair was right. Hal was frightened. His kingdom needed to rebuild immediately. He needed to protect his subjects. If Hal could not, there were too many restless border lords who would try. Border lords, or foreign kings from the lands to the east and the south, restless neighbors who would look at Morenia's troubles as a wide-open door to opportunity.

Rani could show Hal just how wrongly he had treated her if she helped him complete his negotiations with the Holy Father. She held on to that thought as she accompanied Mair down the stairs. She let the Touched girl help her into her stiff gown of black mourning silk. As Mair combed out Rani's gleaming hair, arranging it to fall straight and clean like a maiden's, Rani reminded herself that Morenia deserved her negotiating skill.

She'd show Hal. She'd show him just how narrow-minded and foolish he'd been to ignore her, when she only had Morenia's best interest at heart. …

“Thank you.” Rani managed to smile at her friend.

“My pleasure, yer ladyship,” Mair drawled, slipping back into the Touched patois of her youth. “If ye think ye're prepared t' take on yer king. …”

“I'll let you know how the dinner goes.”

“Oh, no!” Mair leaped for the door of Rani's chamber. “I'm coming with you.”

“Mair, you said yourself that this is a private dinner, in Hal's own apartments. He won't have time to attend to you –”

“Aye, the king isn't likely to waste his time on the likes of me. But who's to say the king's
men
won't spare a lady a few kind words?” Mair curtseyed deeply, lowering her gaze in a gesture that might have been humble, if not for the carnal glint in her eyes.

“You're still after Farsobalinti?”

“‘After him' makes me sound like a bitch in heat.”

“Attending to his interests, then? Sparing time for a loyal supporter of the king?” Rani grinned. “Is that better?”

“He's a good man, Rai. He's a good man, who cares for his king and his kingdom.”

“And he just happens to care for dark-eyed wenches, with hair to match.”

Mair laughed, running a stiff-fingered hand through her hair. “You say that as if it's a failing.”

“No failing, Mair. No failing at all. The green in your gown sets off your eyes.” She bit off a laugh as those eyes flashed rebelliously. “Mair, there's nothing wrong with making yourself attractive to a man! Nothing wrong with snagging his attention as he moves between his soup and his meat.”

“A man's meat, I know. Now where's his soup?”

Rani smothered a laugh, reminding herself that she was about to enter the king's apartments as an advisor, as a lady. She had to swallow a few choice comments,, as she and Mair made their way through the palace hallways. The Touched girl tugged at her green gown repeatedly, jerking the fabric about as if it had offended her in some way. She might have lived in the palace for five years, but she had yet to leave behind all the ways of a street urchin.

Rani found it easier to remember her mission when she stepped into the king's receiving room. A great candelabra blazed against the wall, the finest beeswax candles giving off a gentle fragrance. Farsobalinti inclined his head graciously as Rani entered the chamber. “My lady,” he said, taking the hand that she offered and raising it to his lips as he helped her over the threshold. “Lady Mair.”

Rani read unspoken volumes in the glance that the knight gave to Mair, in the hand that lingered on the Touched girl's arm as he gestured both of the women into the chamber. Farsobalinti had been elevated from squire to knight the year before, and little remained in his voice or his bearing of the boy who had served his king so well for the first five years of Halaravilli's reign.

Giving Mair a chance to respond to the man's attentions, Rani crossed the room, pausing by the door to the inner chamber and catching her breath, the better to hear the conversation within. She recognized Hal's voice immediately, knowing well its serious, earnest tones. But the response, was not made by the ancient Holy Father. It was a younger man, a strident man. Rani knew that she had heard that voice before; she knew that she'd met the speaker. She started to turn to Farsobalinti to inquire about his identity, but the door to the inner chamber crashed open.

“My lord,” a page gasped, “the king is demanding to know – Lady Rani!” The boy stopped his breathless question and managed a quick bow. “King Halaravilli is demanding to know where you are.”

“I'm here, Orsi, just waiting for you to announce my presence.” Rani immediately regretted her flippant tone as the boy looked confused. After all, the page was one of Hal's cousins, the king's heir, in fact. It would not be proper to tease the child. Rani glanced at Mair for reassurance. “Shall we?”

“Go ahead,” Mair said, her smile for Farsobalinti alone. “The king asked for you, not for a dark-haired Touched girl.” Rani almost snorted; the young knight did not even wait for the inner door to close before he sidled closer to Mair. Rani's belly flipped as she watched Mair raise a hand to straighten the nobleman's band of mourning, but she forced herself to set aside the picture of Mair's fingers on the man's firm arm, of Farso's widening smile. Rani did not have time to speculate on what the couple did in the shadows.

Instead, she focused on the room in front of her. Orsi – Orsomalanu – Rani reminded herself, held the door open. The boy cleared his throat before addressing his liege lord. “Your Majesty.” Hal looked up expectantly, and the page bowed to his king and the visiting dignitaries. “Holy Father, Your Grace. The Lady Rani arrives.”

Hal crossed the few steps toward Rani, his dark eyes immediately registering the single ruby around her neck. A flush rose in her cheeks as she remembered him giving her the stone, presenting it to her at the end of the summer in celebration of her eighteenth birthday. He had insisted that she wear it, and she had felt his fingers against her flesh, warm and dry. He had fumbled at the closure, and the ruby had started to slip down the front of her dress. She had caught it before it slid away, and they both had laughed easily, comfortably.

Now, Hal looked as if he would never laugh again. In the five years since he had ascended to the Morenian throne, Hal had come into his man's height. He was a full head taller than Rani, and over the past winter, he had increased the breadth of his shoulders, spending day after day practicing his fighting forms with his broadsword and shield.

Half a decade of ruling had aged the king in other ways as well. Rani could see dark smudges beneath his brown eyes, smears of sleeplessness that indicated his suffering over the latest disaster to strike his city. His cheeks were gaunt, standing out beneath his unruly chestnut hair, hair that only half conceded to the weight of a crown. Hal continued to wear the black mourning that he had donned the day after the fire, and Rani wondered if Farso had needed to fight to get Hal to place the bejeweled crown across his brow. Even in the best of times, Hal was inclined to wear only a thin golden circlet, a brief reminder of the status that he insisted was proven in words and actions more than jewels.