Glasswrights' Progress (18 page)

Mair only shook her head and continued her rocking. “It had to be done.”

Rani barely caught another exclamation before she could shout at her friend, bridling her exasperation but letting herself storm across the room to their window. Looking through its narrow slit, she could make out the sapphire sky of late autumn. A flock of geese flew across her narrow field of vision, and she could just hear their cries to each other. As Rani craned her neck to follow their progress, she saw the lead bird drop back, and another forged forward, taking the point position in the formation. The geese disappeared toward the south, away from the cold, away from winter, away from certain death. Rani felt more enclosed than ever, more hopeless than she'd been at any time since her falcon, Kalindramina, had flown from her wrist.

The sunlight faded rapidly, and Rani set aside her needlework when she could no longer make out the faint stitches against the soft linen background. She was getting better, she decided, folding the square in her lap. Her stitches were more even, and the background was less puckered. Nurse would be pleased with her, if the Morenian woman could see what Rani had accomplished. Still, the handicraft was a waste of good time.

No more a waste, though, than spending hours dressing herself. With the sun setting, Rani knew that she only had a little time before Sin Hazar's feast. From past experience, she knew that the northern king expected her to be robed in the complete finery of his court if she were going to come into his royal presence.

The first few times that Sin Hazar had granted the girls an audience, he had sent servants to help them dress. Mair had put an end to that, though, pulling one girl's hair when the hapless servant tugged a little too vigorously at Mair's own ragged locks. Sin Hazar had sent word that he would not have his household terrorized by uncouth southerners. Rani and Mair had been left to their own devices, then. At least they had been able to relax the robing requirements – with Mair's damaged arm, she
couldn't
pull the nareeth laces as tight as expected across Rani's hips.

Now, Rani rose and began to dress herself mechanically. First, the soft linen kirtle, draping her from head to toe. Then, the tight nareeth, already cutting into her flesh as she laced it snug. Mair came out of her stupor before the fire as Rani crossed the room, and the Touched girl reached up mechanically to snap the laces tighter. Rani reached up for the mantle and took a firm grip, and then Mair cinched the garment closer about her waist. “Breathe!” Mair ordered, and Rani puffed all the air from her lungs. Mair took advantage of that instant and tugged again, forcing Rani to cry out.

“Ow! That's too tight!”

“That's as tight as it's been all along.”

“I can't breathe!”

“If you're going to masquerade as a lady of the north, you'd best look the part.”

“I can look the part and still be able to swallow!”

Mair only shrugged and reached for Rani's balkareen. The ornate fabric draped across Rani's chest, pleated to cover her with the scantest modesty. The garment had a sash sewn in, which Mair folded with deft fingers, tying an elaborate bow across the small of Rani's back. “Raise your arms.” When Rani had complied, the Touched girl twitched the tail ends of fabric into place, taking only a moment to smooth the dozens of tight, rigid pleats. “All right.” She nodded at her handiwork. “Where's your headdress?”

Rani gestured toward the chest at the foot of the bed and watched as Mair retrieved the heavy ornament. Unlike the padded decoration that the northerners deemed appropriate for daywear, the evening headdress was a complicated affair of jangling metal, suspended over a framework wrapped with intricately woven fabric.

Rani sat on the low chair beside the fire and handed an ivory comb to Mair. The Touched girl unpinned her companion's hair and began to run the small teeth through snarls. “Ach!” Rani exclaimed. “That hurts, Mair!”

“It hurts to be beautiful. The king expects you in all your finery.” Rani started to protest, but Mair tugged harder at a particularly stubborn knot. Rani fought the reflexive tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. She endured as Mair first combed out the tangles, then tugged roughly, yanking Rani's hair into two neat plaits. Those braids were piled atop her head and secured with long, wickedly-sharp ivory pins. Rani bit her tongue as one of the pins grazed her scalp.

Mair settled the headdress carefully, weaving her fingers between the dangling ornaments. A clever arrangements of miniature clamps anchored the item to Rani's hair, tugging like a hundred babies' fists. Again, Rani sucked breath between her teeth. She could feel the flesh beside her eyes stretched tight, and she could only turn her neck partially to either side, for fear that she would upset the ornament.

“There,” Mair proclaimed. “Fit for a royal feast.”

“You shouldn't have put on the headdress. I can't help you dress.”

“I'm not going.”

“You must!” Rani cried. “You heard Bashi. This is a feast in our honor!”

“No one here wants to honor me. Besides, my arm hurts too much.”

“Mair.…”

“Go along, Rai. Just tell the guards that I'm not well.”

“But –”

“Go, Rai. It's all going to be all right. In the name of Vir, all will be fine.”

The god of martyrs. Not exactly the god Rani would have prayed to for comfort. Nevertheless, she swallowed hard and turned to the door. Before she left the chamber, though, she looked back at her friend. “I'm sorry, Mair. I shouldn't have gotten so upset, about the door being locked.”

“It's all right, Rai. It had to be done.”

Rani shook her head, but was kept from responding by the ominous metal jangle from her headpiece. She took the stairs slowly, afraid that she would trip on her unfamiliar skirts. The bone stays of her nareeth gnawed at her ribs, and she wondered if
she
was well enough to attend the feast.

Of course, the choice was taken from her as soon as she reached the landing, one flight below the chamber she shared with Mair. Four guards lounged against the stone walls, belatedly springing to attention as Rani's jangling headdress announced her arrival. “My lady,” said the first man to regain his composure.

Rani could read a great deal into those two words. The man found her attractive. She saw the instant that his eyes took in her cinched waist, the way he measured the tight folds of the balkareen across her chest. She took another step, and the headdress set to jangling, and she watched his eyes dart toward the metal, then toward her bare throat. “My lady,” he repeated, and he even managed a bow.

“Let us go to the feast,” Rani commanded coldly, mustering all the disdain she had learned in Hal's palace.

The guard cleared his throat. “Er... Where is the other one? The Lady Mair?”

“She is not well. Her arm pains her.”

“But His Majesty has commanded both of you to attend him.”

Rani cocked her head slightly, listening to the headdress' jangling music. She settled one hand over her hip, managing not to wince as she added to the nearly-unbearable pressure of the nareeth's stays. “I'll explain to King Sin Hazar.” She twisted her words with the vaguest hint of a smile, and she watched the soldier melt into compliance. Two of the guards accompanied her down the hallway, and another two stayed behind to guard Mair.

Rani marveled at the power of her costume.

It was as if Mair had cast a spell as she cinched tight the nareeth. Rani could feel the soldiers' eyes as she passed through the hallways; each member of the household guard snapped to attention as if he were on military parade.

When Rani was shown into the great hall, the musicians paused in their playing. King Sin Hazar already sat at the head of his great table, looking out at the room with palpable boredom. He stood, though, as Rani entered, and he quirked one eyebrow as she crossed the length of the hall. The flickering torchlight picked out the silvery swan wings upon his face, lending him a mysterious air.

Rani harvested glances from every nobleman she passed. More than one tattooed gaze strayed from her face; she was acutely aware of the balkareen's tiny pleats, of the grasping nareeth stays about her waist. A heat flushed over her cheeks, and she bowed her head, but that only caused her headpiece to jangle, as if she intended to summon yet more attention.

Bashi stood at Sin Hazar's right hand. He, too, had climbed to his feet as Rani made her way across the hall. Rani surprised a curious look on the prince's face, as if he had never seen Rani before, or as if he had met her only in the untrustworthy landscape of his dreams. Without her planning, her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

“My lady Ranita.” King Sin Hazar stepped forward, offering her his hand.

Inspired, Rani twisted herself into a curtsey, managing not to cry out as the motion forced the nareeth's bony fingers even deeper into her flesh. She could not keep from catching her breath, though, and her gasp tightened the balkareen's folds across her chest. She blushed as she caught the king's eagle glance, and she knew that he was measuring her unseen flesh with a practiced eye. “Your Majesty,” she managed. The headdress jangled again as she straightened.

“We hardly dare ask, Lady Ranita, lest you think that we discount the value of your presence, but where is your companion, the Lady Mair?”

“She is not well, Your Majesty. Her arm pains her.”

Once again, the royal glance knifed across Rani's body, and she knew that the king measured the precision of her stays. He knew that no servants had attended his prisoners. Mair's arm could not be as bad as she made it out to be. “We will send our chirurgeon to her again.”

“No need, Your Majesty. There are some injuries that only time can heal.”

“We would not have it said that we neglected a guest in our own house.”

“There has been no neglect, Your Majesty.” That was not enough. Sin Hazar still pinned her with his eyes. If only the king would blink.… If only he would give Rani an instant's respite from his attentions.… She felt compelled to say more. “Lady Mair and I ... quarreled this afternoon.”

“Quarreled?” The king almost choked on the word, and Rani could make out a sudden glint of merriness at the bottom of the deep pools that snared her.

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“Very well, then.” The king shrugged and seemed to dismiss the matter. “If the Lady Mair does not care to join us.…” Sin Hazar trailed off, and then he gestured to the empty chair at his left hand. “We will be more than honored by your presence, Lady Ranita.”

Rani felt the king's hand as he assisted her to her seat; his fingers blazed hot through the layers of cloth and bone that swaddled her. His touch lingered as she settled herself carefully, gingerly shifting to ease her breathing as much as possible. Then Sin Hazar was summoning servants, and Rani found her glass filled with cool, clear wine. She drank deeply, ignoring the nareeth's pinch as she swallowed.

Maybe it was the magic of the feast – the roasted birds displayed with their feathers and the endless dishes flavored with rare and valuable spices from over the eastern sea. Maybe it was the attention that King Sin Hazar paid to her, his solicitousness as she inquired about each new dish, as he answered her like a courteous suitor. Maybe it was the gazes that she felt from every corner of the room – the noblemen who seemed drawn by the delicate folds across her chest, drawn like dust motes to a beam of sunlight.

Maybe it was the bone stays, keeping her from taking a single deep breath.

Whatever the cause, Rani was intoxicated before she had drained her first goblet. And Sin Hazar saw to it that her cup did not remain empty for long. The king ordered one servant to do nothing but keep Rani's glass filled, another to keep her trencher covered. She found that she could eat only a few bites of the rich, seasoned meats. Her heart pounded too hard for more than that.

But she could sip from her goblet throughout the long evening, through course after course, where each dish was followed by entertainment – jugglers and troubadours and a funny jester in parti-colored hose who told ribald stories. As the evening wore on, Rani forgot her resolution to remember the stories, to remember how she would fit the tales into panes of glass, once she had rebuilt her guild.

During the entire feast, King Sin Hazar remained attuned to Rani. She recognized the man's interest; she had spent too much time with her older sisters in the loft of her parents' shop not to understand the looks that the king cast at her tight-bound chest, at her jangling headdress.

Perhaps, if Sin Hazar were truly snared by Rani, she could negotiate for her release, for her traveling south with Mair, or at least for the right to send a letter to Hal.… Rani took another sip of wine and leaned closer to the king, daring to rest one of her hands along the sleeve of his golden robe.

Throughout all the frivolity and flirting, though, Bashi sat at Sin Hazar's other side, frowning like an old nursemaid. The prince ate from all the dishes as well, and he drank from his goblet, but he might have been sitting at a funeral feast for all the enjoyment he showed. As soon as the last course was served – a marzipan confection, with the almond paste fashioned into a magnificent swan – Bashi rose to his feet.

“If Your Majesty will excuse me,” he muttered and bowed.

“Where do you think you're going, cousin?”

“I'm tired, Your Majesty. The Lady Ranita must be weary as well.”

“The Lady Ranita does not seem weary, cousin.” The king cast a pointed look at Rani. Confused, she withdrew her hand from his sleeve. Not knowing what else to do, she raised her goblet to her lips. When she swallowed, the room swirled crazily.

“She may not realize how taxing a royal feast can be, Your Majesty. Perhaps we should let her speak for herself.”

Sin Hazar eyed his nephew gravely for a long minute and then turned to Rani. “My lady, your protector seems to believe that you would like to be gone from our table. What say you?”