Glasswrights' Master (10 page)

“And you are?”

“Baliman, Your Majesty. Baliman of the northern watch, and a landed man.”

Rani watched King Hamid acknowledge the name; he seemed to sit a little straighter at the final claim. A landed man? What difference could that make?

“Very well, good Baliman. Tell me what you have found.”

“These intruders were encamped in the northern forest, in an unnamed clearing just east of the Oaken Trail. They cleared a fire circle in the center of the grass, and they built shelters. We found evidence that they were fishing in your streams, Your Majesty, and that they scavenged in the forest.”

“And did you find that they hunted?”

“Not for stag, Your Majesty.”

“And did they disturb the lakes?”

“Not that we could tell, Your Majesty. We found no evidence of swans in their midst–not feather nor egg nor bone of any sort.”

King Hamid nodded slowly. Surely he was not surprised by the accusations; his advisors must have given him the main facts before he ever entered the audience chamber. Rani's impatience began to boil inside her; she wanted to set things straight, to finish with this play-acting. Nevertheless, she saw the pointed look that Hal flashed to Puladarati, the clear instruction for the lesser noble to step forward and speak. Very well, then. The duke was to serve as Morenian ambassador. Rani fought back to silence, reminding herself that Puladarati had served Hal for decades, served as a nobleman should.

King Hamid addressed his comments to the group at large. “What do you have to say for yourselves? Were you roaming in the northern forest?”

Puladarati stepped forward, inclining his head in a salute that stayed a mere hairs-breadth on the side of politeness. His words were frosty, as if he resented being challenged before Hamid's court. “We entered the forest, and we camped there, my lord. But we were not roaming, not if you mean wreaking havoc along the woodland paths. Not if you mean causing any harm to your people or your kingdom.”

If King Hamid were surprised by the leonine councillor's tone, he managed to disguise that emotion. “Nevertheless, you did light a fire in the woods.”

“A carefully tended cooking fire, only so large as we needed to prepare our food.”

“A fire,” King Hamid repeated, leaning forward slightly.

“A fire,” Puladarati conceded.

“And you made shelters from the trees in the woods.”

“Only from deadfall, my lord. We did not cut down a single branch.”

“You used the wood in our forest?”

“Yes, my lord.” Puladarati appeared disconcerted to make a second admission. King Hamid's soldiers were unsettled as well; they moved closer to the prisoners, and they placed their hands ostentatiously on their weapons. As if the Morenians needed further warnings, Rani thought. Their own weapons had been taken from them when they were rounded up in the forest. Besides, every northern man present was bound as tightly as Rani, tighter for those who had offered resistance to their captors.

How could Hal fail to make a statement? How could he submit to whatever King Hamid was going to say?

The southern king continued. “I see little reason to continue this charade. You have violated the King's Peace in the northern forest. You have strayed from the path. You have built fires in the forest. You have used wood to build shelters. The penalty is clear. From this day forward–”

“If I might be permitted to speak, Your Majesty.”

King Hamid seemed surprised by the interruption. Rani realized, though, that he was not as astonished as a northern king would be; he somehow expected his retainers to have the right to stop him in mid-sentence.

Some of his retainers, at least. The man who stepped forward was not one of the Sarmonian electors, not one of the jewel-encrusted men who had entered before the king. He was not one of the noblemen, honoring his lord's court day, not one of the suitors, intent on bringing his own case before his king.

He was Tovin Player.

Rani thought that her heart had forgotten how to beat. It froze within her chest, stopped its mundane pulse as if a hand had clenched around it. Then, it remembered its mission with all the vigor of a soldier awakened on the day of battle, squeezing so painfully that she thought she would cry out.

Tovin Player, who had fled Morenia nearly ten months before.… Tovin Player, who had nearly refused to speak with her before his departure. Tovin Player, who had blamed her for his own decision, who had insisted that
she
was the one who had driven
him
away, who had forced him to abandon peace and prosperity in Moren.…

Tovin Player, who had loved her once, and whom she had loved.

King Hamid turned to the player with a practiced look of patience. “Player, you have no standing in this court. You are neither an elector nor a landed man.”

Tovin bowed fluidly, as if the mild rebuke were praise. “Nay, my lord. But I still would speak with you, if you will. In private, if I have no license to speak before your court.”

“You and I have no dealings that must be hidden from my people.” King Hamid sounded angry at the suggestion; he looked to his gathered lords, as if he feared they might be troubled by Tovin's words. What strange patterns this king drew in his court; what odd ties he created.… Rani glanced around, beginning to understand a little more about how things worked in Sarmonia.

King Hamid had gained his throne upon the approval of his lords, and he kept that position only so long as they were content. For that reason alone, he was beholden to them, but not with the good, powerful bonds of a liege and his vassal. Rather, he was tied to his lords with darker bonds, with tighter ties.

Where Hal might have agreed to speak with Tovin in private–
had
agreed to do so many times in the past–King Hamid could not afford the appearance of any impropriety. He could not have his lords even imagine that anything clandestine might transpire with the player. If those lords felt threatened, they might summon up a new election; they might banish Hamid from his post.

And Tovin Player understood that. The man was as good at spotting patterns as Rani was; he understood bonds between those who watched his players' creations, between those who might sponsor his troop. Tovin knew that King Hamid could not agree to a private consultation. Therefore, the player must actually want his words to be heard by all in the chamber. He wanted his words to be heard by Rani.

If there could be any doubt, it was dispersed when Tovin met her gaze directly. “Your Majesty,” he said to King Hamid, “there has been a misunderstanding here. Your men thought that they stopped common intruders in your forest. Instead, they have caught important people from the north.”

No! Hal had chosen not to reveal his true identity. That much was evident from his decision to have Puladarati press his case. If Hal admitted who he was, if he said that he was king, then he would have to recount why he was in Sarmonia. He would have to admit to the invading army back in Morenia, the blockading navy. He would leave the Sarmonian monarch with no choice but to declare his intentions in the battle that had broken out back at home. King Hamid would be forced to declare himself for or against Morenia, for or against the spiritual center of Brianta, the wealthy land of Liantine.

And Rani realized that the danger was even more complicated than that. If Tovin spoke Hal's name, he might alert the Fellowship to the Morenians' presence. Who knew how many members of the cabal lurked in the great hall's shadows? Who could tell which Sarmonians wore dark hoods at night, traveling to secret meetings and promising private loyalties? The Fellowship had vowed to destroy Hal; naming him in public might be tantamount to securing his assassination.

“Tovin!” Rani heard the name torn from her throat, ripped out of her like entrails from a slaughtered beast.

Before the player could respond, King Hamid leaped to his feet, thundering questions at the player. “You know this woman? You know these criminals?”

Tovin glanced at Rani before taking a confidential step toward King Hamid. “Aye, Your Majesty. I know this woman well. She is the patron of my troop, my sponsor back in my homeland. I humbly ask that you grant her the same license that you have granted to me and to my troop, the same safe passage through the northern woods.”

Rani stared at Tovin, conflicting emotions roiling within her. At first, she was relieved that he would intervene on her behalf; given their bitter parting, she had not expected ever to speak with him again. She did not want to owe him, though; she could not bear the thought of being indebted to the player.

Obviously unaware of her turmoil, King Hamid asked the player, “And her name?”

There. Tovin would answer the question, and the Fellowship would be put on notice. They would know to find her here in Sarmonia; they would know that Hal must be nearby. Their assassin blades and poisons would find homes soon enough–and all because Tovin had sought to aid her.…

Rani closed her eyes, taking a centering breath, trying to regroup, trying to adjust to the knowledge that her end was fast approaching. She almost failed to hear Tovin's reply: “Varna Tinker, Your Majesty.”

What? Varna Tinker had been lost to Rani for nearly a decade, gone in the chaos that had followed the destruction of the glasswrights' guildhall. Even now, Rani could remember heartbreak as her best friend betrayed her to the King's Men, calling out for their assistance as Rani sought help, sought order in the midst of sudden, complete confusion. Now, in Sarmonia, she cast a frantic glance toward Mair, toward the friend that had emerged from that betrayal.

Mair, though, was not able to offer any assistance. The Touched woman was drawn into her private suffering, contorted by her bound wrists, eyeing her square of black silk as if it held her private key to the Heavenly Gates. She would be of no assistance.

Had Rani told Tovin about Varna? Had she unveiled the pain that she had suffered so long ago?

She must have. There was no way that he chose the name by coincidence. And yet, Rani could not remember having spoken of her childhood playmate, could not remember telling the tall player man about that passage in her youth.

Even as she wondered at his knowledge, she realized the answer. She had Spoken with him about growing up in the city; she had shared numerous stories of her past. She must have mentioned Varna once when she was under the strange spell that Tovin wove. She must have said something in passing, and he had remembered it. What other secrets had he cataloged to use against her? What else did he know, could he use at his will, whenever he felt the need?

And what did it matter, here in Sarmonia, with another crisis at hand?

“Varna Tinker,” King Hamid mused, as if he were trying out the syllables prior to purchasing them. “A merchant, then, by your northern method of naming. That explains how she has the funds to sponsor your troop. It hardly tells me what she's doing here, though, Tovin Player. Or what she was doing in my forest.”

Tovin smiled easily. “We were to meet–”

“Silence, Player.” The king's tone was mild, but there was no mistaking the royal command. “I'd like to hear the explanation from Varna herself.”

Rani stepped forward and cleared her throat, wishing that her hands were free, that her shoulders were eased so that she could speak without the distraction of that burning pain. “We were to meet, Your Majesty. My caravan and the players.” She warmed to her story when she was not cut off immediately. “I am a tinker by trade, and I'd hoped to discover new riches to offer in the Morenian marketplace. Tovin Player had already come south to work with his troop. I hoped that he would make contacts for me, discover sources for goods that I could bring up to Morenia and sell at a profit in the marketplace.”

“The men who travel with you hardly look like merchants.”

Rani nodded agreement. “They're not, Your Majesty. It's a long road between here and Morenia. I hoped to protect my riches against any who would attack me on the road.”

“My men found no trade goods with you. We found no evidence of your … caravan.”

“No, Your Majesty. We've made no purchases yet. We only just arrived in Sarmonia, two days, no, three days past. We were waiting to make contact with Tovin Player.”

“Then you should have wealth with you. What did you expect to trade for Sarmonian goods?”

What indeed. Rani's story was unraveling like a lie told to a parent. She had no wares with her. She had no trinkets. She did not even have a stash of coins. Before she could weave another chapter from thin, desperate air, Puladarati stepped forward. “We travel with drafts from King Halaravilli ben-Jair, Your Majesty.”

King Hamid narrowed his eyes even more than his customary squint. “Is this true, Madam Tinker? You bear scrip from the king of Moren?”

Rani forbade herself to look at that king, even to look at Tovin Player. She must answer earnestly; her future depended on her ability to play her role. “Aye, Your Majesty. We have the honor of providing cooking wares to the royal kitchens. We left Moren just before the summer silk auction, and the king gave us signed drafts to cover our debts here in Sarmonia.”

“Show me one of these drafts.”

Rani gave Puladarati a tight nod. The duke, in turn, shrugged his massive shoulders expressively. “Your Majesty?” he said to King Hamid.

“Untie him,” the Sarmonian commanded. “But keep a close watch.”

The guard complied, and Rani read volumes into the man's motions. He might have been proud of capturing his prisoners out in the woods. He might have believed that he served his lord well, gathering up intruders. But now he was disarmed by Rani's explanations; he had clearly decided that the ragtag group of northerners was innocent, safe, no threat at all to Sarmonia.

As if to foster that belief, Puladarati made a show of moving slowly after his hands were freed. He reached for his saddle bags as if he were an ancient man, taking time to uncinch the buckle, open the flap, shift his possessions with care.