Glasswrights' Apprentice (31 page)

“Half the men!” Rani exclaimed, unaware that she was parroting the prince.

“Yes. Last week, I worked it out with three-quarters of the knights, but I still needed all of the footmen, all the footmen, all the poor footmen.”

“What did you do?”

Hal looked at her appraisingly for a moment, as if she might be teasing him, or as if she might steal his secrets. “Aye,” he said after a long glance. “I suppose you might be interested. It makes a good tale, doesn't it - and any bard should add to her store of tales, right?”

“Of course,” Rani agreed, so pleased that he seemed inclined to forget about Zarithia that she did not notice the end of his sing-song speech.

Her conversation with Hal lasted for the better part of the afternoon. The prince told her about the original plan for the ancient battle, moving his tin soldiers into place. Then he showed her the innovations he had introduced. Twice, Bashi tried to interrupt, but both times he was driven away by Hal's chanted comments, by dancing words that concealed angry barbs. The princesses floated in and out of the discussion, and Hal took time to answer their flowery questions, but his attention remained fixed on Rani.

“And so,” Rani said at last, as he showed her his final configuration for the battle, “your goal is to get your horsemen on that ridge before the foot soldiers can be cut off.”

“Precisely! The bard reads the signs, reads the signs.” Hal grinned, clearly excited that someone shared his interests.

“Well, what if you tried.…” Rani chewed her lip, trying to envision the necessary pattern. This game of the battlefield was really nothing more than the work she had done back in her father's stall a lifetime ago, when she had set forth trinkets of tin and pewter and silver, arranging them to best suit the needs of potential buyers.

Before she could suit action to thought, though, the door to the nursery flew back on its hinges. All of the children and their attendant nurses sprang to attention. For just an instant, Rani had a flash of premonition, a hint of cold danger flowing into the room.

A man swept over the threshold, surrounded by an icy azure robe, paradoxically sharpened by its glistening ermine lining. The rich garment set off the man's fox-red hair and his long, twisted mustache. Rani wasted little time studying his raiment; her glance was immediately drawn to his frozen gaze. Larindolian stared down at her, his face as impassive as if he had never seen her before.

“Your Highness,” the courtier made a stiff little bow toward Hal, then turned to the opposite side of the room, where Bashi had regrouped with the princesses. The nobleman spared a tight smile for the younger prince, and Rani thought it was the sort of look a fox might give a chicken. “My lord Bashanorandi. My ladies.”

The princesses squealed their greeting, but Hal's voice was deadly serious as he inclined his head. “My lord chamberlain, lord of the chamber, chamberlain.”

Larindolian permitted himself another dangerous smile. “So serious, Your Highness?”

Hal did not bend. “What duty brings you to the royal nursery, the nursery, Lord Larindolian, what duty to us?”

A flicker of annoyance pulsed along the noble's jaw, but his voice remained smooth as silk. “May I not check on my wards' safety? For you children are, of course, part of my responsibility here in the Palace.” Afterward, Rani could not have explained how that simple declarative sentence sounded like a threat. Her arm set to throbbing beneath her tunic, and she imagined that her bandage was soaked through with blood from her wound. “But we should not forget our manners, Your Highness. I have not made the acquaintance of your guest.”

Hal flushed at being caught in his rudeness, and he turned to Rani with a furious expression on his face, as if she were responsible for Larindolian's chiding tone. Rani curtseyed before the lord, ignoring her throbbing arm, telling herself to act as if she had never seen the man's narrow face, never seen the feral glint in his eyes. Larindolian performed his own role, nodding shrewdly as Rani regained her feet. “Welcome to the Palace, First Pilgrim. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more … rewarding. You will, of course, need frequent access to the cathedral, beginning tonight, I suspect. Such is the lot of the First Pilgrim.”

Ah! So that was the plan! That was how Rani was supposed to reach Roat, the god of justice. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Rani wished that she could leave now, run to Roat's altar, and Bardo.

“My pleasure, Marita Pilgrim.” Larindolian smiled once more, a tight exposure of his eye-teeth, and then he left the nursery.

Hal stared after him with open hatred, and Rani caught the prince muttering, “Damned
nobleman,” and something that sounded like “a curse on his house.”

Before she could comment, the nurses sprang into action, ushering the children to their suppers, and then their evening prayers. Rani took her cues from Hal and Bashi, hanging back as the princesses were readied for bed. Each of the boys had a private sleeping chamber, little more than a closet off of the main nursery. The nurses fluttered about their charges like a flock of fat pigeons, but Rani decided the women were a mean substitute for parents.

That verdict was only qualified slightly when the queen made a quick visit to the nursery at the end of the day: the nurses were a mean substitute for
Rani's
parents.

Queen Felicianda sailed into the nursery like a high-prowed ship, her exotic looks heightened by the chamber's dim candlelight. She settled a cool hand on the brow of each princess before floating to the two princes, where they huddled in the doorways to their separate chambers.

“Halaravilli,” she intoned to her husband's son, to the Crown Prince with whom she shared no blood.

“My lady.” The prince looked solemn in the shadows, strained and stiff.

“And Bashanorandi.” A warm smile flooded the queen's features, and her voice melted at last as she settled her fingers on her son's shoulder. “You've had a good day, my boy?”

“Fine,” Bashi agreed, flashing a victorious smile toward his half brother. “Once things settled down with the First Pilgrim.”

“The -” A small frown puckered the queen's brow, and then she seemed to notice Rani
for the first time. “Ah, Marita Pilgrim. I bid you welcome.” Rani sank into the expected deep
curtsey and tried to remind herself not to think ill of the queen, of the cold mother who could
spare a smile for only one of her children.

Rani even found the courage to exchange a few pleasantries with her liege lady before Queen Felicianda withdrew, rationing out one last lilting smile for Prince Bashanorandi. By the time Rani contrived to slip out of the nursery, she was exhausted by the hustle and bustle, grateful to escape the press of attention and observation. Perhaps she had been as smothered in her own family, in the narrow streets and rough surroundings of the Merchants Quarter, but she knew she had never felt so alone, surrounded by brothers and sisters who loved her.

Brothers and sisters… Like Bardo, who even now waited for her in the Cathedral. Trying to fight down her excitement, Rani gathered her cloak and her Thousand-Pointed Star close about her narrow shoulders, making sure that the holy symbol flashed importantly when the nurses attempted to guide her to her bed. When she got to the Palace's massive iron gate, she was challenged by the guard, but she gave her assumed name and the soldier stepped aside, making a holy sign and offering an avuncular warning to be cautious in the City streets. “In fact, young pilgrim, would you like an escort to the cathedral? I can call one of the household guard to join you.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Rani chafed at the intrusion. “It's early enough, and I'll be on the major streets.

“But, little one, this is not a village, or even the small town of Zarithia. You are in the City now - it can be dangerous, even on a major street.”

“I know how -” Rani started to leak some of her exasperation into her words, but then
a shadow glided forward from the darkness in the Palace courtyard.

“Is there a problem here?” Rani's skin crawled as she recognized Larindolian's voice.

“No, Lord Chamberlain.” The guard's response was tinged with a fearful respect. “I merely suggested that the lass might want an escort to the cathedral. I never intended to interfere with her worship.”

“And a fine suggestion it was, man.” Larindolian raised a gauntleted hand, and another dark shape emerged from the clinging night. “You must indulge us old men, Marita Pilgrim. We do not have your youthful confidence in the protection of the Thousand Gods. Marcanado here will see you to the cathedral and back. He's a fine man, in the brotherhood of soldiers.”

Rani heard the hint behind the words, and she accepted the soldier's company without further protest. After all, it was not as if she would need to see Marcanado after this night; she was never coming back to the Palace. As the kindly gatekeeper watched them go, though, she could not resist hissing to her escort, “I
could
have gone alone.”

The soldier blinked impassively. “My lord Larindolian thought you deserved the honor of an escort. Who am I to argue?”

Those were the last words from the stolid guard. Rani was not a fool, she knew he must be a member of the Brotherhood, or he would not have been trusted with accompanying her to her secret meeting. Nevertheless, she felt no kinship toward the silent man, and she resented his presence, resented his intrusion upon her reunion with Bardo.

She did not have long to sulk, however. Within a few short minutes, they were on the porch of the massive cathedral. Marcanado pushed open the door, impervious to the eerie creak of metal hinges, and then he took up a guardsman's position on the threshold. Rani waited for just a minute, willing her eyes to adjust to the shadowy darkness inside the building, and then she stepped over the portal.

At first, she was relieved to see that the cathedral was not in total darkness; a few of the largest tapers still burned at the altars set against the stone walls. As Rani progressed down the nave, though, she wondered if it would not be better to move through the cathedral in absolute darkness - the flickering shadows spawned ghosts in her mind.

She needed to walk the entire perimeter of the cathedral, seeking out the altar dedicated to Roat. She knew it would not be one of the large, exposed platforms beneath the glasswrights' handiwork; Bardo would choose a more secluded corner. Nevertheless, it took her a second trip around the cathedral before she spotted the god of justice's altar, really little more than a carved prie-dieu. She might have missed it the second time, if there were not a newly lighted candle burning in the center of the rough-carved platform.

Adding her own votive to the freshly burning one, Rani knelt and folded her hands on the low railing. Her heart pounded as she tried to form words in her mind, tried to structure a prayer to the god who was going to reunite her with her brother, with the last remaining member of her family. The words were hard in coming, though; her devotion was diluted by her memories of Bardo. For weeks now, Rani had sought him, desperate to be reunited with her own flesh and blood, with the older brother who had always smoothed over the rough patches of her childhood.

Bardo, though, was more than her brother. As much as Rani hoped and prayed that he would make everything right, she could not forget that Bardo belonged to the Brotherhood. Even as Rani framed her prayers to Roat, her fingers crept to the black bandage that bound together Larindolian's wound. Years ago, Bardo had slapped her for looking at his tattoo. What would he do now, now that she had sworn fealty to the Brotherhood itself? What would Bardo do, now that she had killed Dalarati? Forcing back her fears, Rani retreated to the familiar prayers of childhood, the memorized recitations that had brought peace in the past.

“Great god Roat, look upon me with favor. Bless me, great god Roat.” The words rang hollow, but she repeated them again and again, finding solace in the blunt familiarity of the simple sequence.

“Ah, Rani, ever my most devout sister.” She started, and whirled around to face the cathedral's yawning darkness. The candles at her back lent a flickering eeriness to the vast room, and she imagined swooping night-demons waiting just beyond her vision. Before she could dwell on such horrors, though, there was a shift of cloth, and her brother stepped into the wavering pool of light.

“Bardo!” Rani exclaimed, launching herself across the short distance. His arms were strong and solid. “Bardo! I've been trying to find you for so long!”

“Ah, Rani,” he ruffled her hair and led her to one of the low benches that crouched near the altar. “We don't have much time. People will become suspicious if you're away from the Palace for too long.”

“What!” His words amazed her. If he had spoken in anger, she would have understood.
She was braced for the explosive rage he had harnessed in the past, for matters concerning the
Brotherhood. This was different, though. Bardo sounded solicitous, but firm. She protested: “Why am
I going back to the Palace? Why can't I come with you?”

“With me!” The surprise in his voice was real, outweighing any anger that Rani feared to hear. “You can't come with me!”

“Why not? You're my brother, the only family I have left.” She tried to make her words sound reasonable, even as a sob threatened to close her throat.

“But that's precisely the reason that you can't come with me now.” Bardo spoke in the treasured tones she remembered. “You are too valuable to me, to risk in the places I must go. You must stay in the Palace, in the cathedral, in places where you'll be safe.”

“But I don't want to be safe! I want to be with you!” She buried her face in his tunic, clasping her fingers about his arm.

He let her sob for a few minutes, and then she became aware of his fingers smoothing her hair, of his voice crooning her name, over and over. “Rani… Rani.…” The two syllables strung together like poetry, and she realized how long it had been since anyone had called her by her true name - not her assumed identity as a Touched girl, not her laughable guise as an apprentice.… She heard her name, spoken by one who loved her, and she knew that she would do as her brother bid. She snuffled loudly and dragged a hand across her nose before she pulled away from Bardo's embrace.