Glasswrights' Progress (7 page)

“Then I say the soldier ... dies.” Serena's eyes grew wide at the release of pent breath from the children. She smiled as if she'd just discovered a new game. “Kill him at dawn.”

 

All through the night, Shea lay on her cot, listening to her own slow breathing. She had been a fool to bring the matter before Serena, before a six-year-old child who had no concept of life and death. What had Shea been thinking? Why had she thought that Serena would have the maturity, the grace, of a grown, trained swan? Certainly, Serena was not
evil
, she just did not recognize the power that she held in her silver-winged tattoo. She had had no swans to teach her, to show her the way.

It had taken Shea hours to get the excited children into bed, to calm them after the confrontation on the hearth. She had finally resorted to brewing a posset, surreptitiously adding a fistful of slumberleaf to the dregs of the day's thin milk. She covered the taste of the sharp herb with a generous dollop of honey, the last in the bare pantry. Even Tain had not suspected her duplicity.

Now, Shea dragged herself to the door, grabbing her ragged shawl against the night's chill. The Lion was low in the sky.

Sunchildren gave way to the sky in all things. So many suns were born, born to toil in the daylight hours. Born to a hard life of labor, simple, good labor, like the simple, good light of the sun.

Sun, then Lion, then Owl, and Swan, that was the order of the stars, the order of the world. That was the truth that Shea had lived since she was a girl. She had taught that truth to Hartley and Tain, to Pom and Larina, to all her skychildren.

Another star rose on the horizon, the first tip of the Swan's wing unfolding into the night. Shea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she exhaled slowly, she turned back to the cottage. The floor creaked as she walked toward the hearth, but she knew that the drugged children would sleep through any disturbance.

Crestman was watching her, his eyes glinting above his gag. His scar stood out against his pale flesh, glistening reminder of King Sin Hazar. As Shea knelt beside the youth, she could smell the sweat on him, the cold, adult fear that slicked his flesh beneath his bonds.

“I can't let you go back to the king,” she hissed into the still night. He blinked, as if he understood. “I can't let you lead that man to my babes.”

Shea thought of the river that flowed through the woods, the cool, clear water that could steal this boy's life. Her hands shook as she knelt beside him. She could not trust him alone in the world; he'd surely bring King Sin Hazar's men. Even if the boy did not intentionally seek out the king's soldiers, he'd be found, tortured.

He needed help. He needed Shea.

The lion's eyes were bright as she tugged at his bonds, and she shook her head as she slipped off his gag. “Silence, boy,” she hissed. Then, almost to herself, she muttered, “It's time we changed things.”

Change. So much would be different. The other children would be on their own. Alone. Abandoned.

No, she told herself. Not abandoned. Shea had trained Tain and Hartley. She had raised her oldest sundaughter and lionson to protect her other children. She had prepared them, in case she died in the night. Shea's brood could survive without her.

If the king's men did not come and take them. If Crestman did not harm them.

Shea had no choice.

She would have to decide which road to take. She would have to decide when they should eat, when they should move, when they should lie low. So much would be frightening, and terrible, and necessary.

Shea picked free the last knot, and then she helped the lion to his feet. She steadied him as the blood flowed back into his legs. “Wait a minute. Wait until you can feel your feet.”

Ignoring her, Crestman bolted for the door. He stumbled on his blood-starved limbs, though, and she caught him before he fell. Her fingers were tight on his arm as she jerked him around to face her. “I'll have none of that, lionboy! If we're going to survive on the road, you'll listen to me.” Shea swallowed hard and raised her chin. “You'll do as
I
say.”

Crestman stared at her for a long minute, and she read the emotions on his face as clearly as if they were stars in the sky. He wanted to speak out. He wanted to remind her that
he
was a lion, that she was only a sun. He wanted to put Shea in her place, a laborer, a worker. Not a thinker. Not a soldier.

Shea stood her ground, though. She tightened her grip on the lionboy's arm, her fingers pinching until she felt bone. At last, Crestman nodded, a single, taut bob of his head that told her he understood. He knew that things had changed.

They disappeared into the forest as the Swan crested over the horizon.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Rani stood on the deck of the ship, looking out at a shoreline that seemed a lifetime away. As the ship pitched forward, Rani was forced to grab for the railing to keep her balance. For the past three days, whenever the sailors had bothered to speak to her, it seemed that they commented on how smooth the ocean was. In fact, the wind had been still enough the previous day that the captain had been forced to employ his sweepers, teams of four men who walked giant, hinged oars back and forth across the deck, driving the boat forward through the water. The shuffle of the seamen's feet had been drowned out by the songs they sang, stirring chanties like soldiers at their drink.

Today, though, the wind was back, and the ship lurched up the coast with a renewed speed. Rani's belly turned as the craft crashed down into yet another ocean trough. The salt smell of the ocean spray hung at the back of her throat, sharp and caustic.

That morning, Mair – despite her broken arm – had forced Rani to gnaw on a slice of rough bread. Rani had given in after only a few minutes of cross argument. Despite the agony of being tossed on the ocean, she
was
hungry. She had even managed to keep her rebellious belly under control as she chewed the tough crust. Managed, that was, until Mair passed her a slice of ripe cheese. The creamy texture of the stuff made Rani's skin crawl, and when the musky odor hit her nose she scrambled out of the tiny cabin, desperately climbing hand over hand for the deck and the railing and the open water that carried away her meager breakfast.

Now, Rani stared into the freshening breeze and forced herself to take deep breaths. Seven days, Bashi had said. Seven days from Moren to Amanth, the capital of Amanthia far to the north. They had already been traveling for three – they were nearly halfway there.

“Feeling any better?”

Rani turned to see that Mair had crept up behind her. That was another problem with this cursed ship. It creaked so much, and the wind thumped against the sails so loudly that Rani could not hear anyone approach. “Not much,” Rani admitted. “I can't understand why you aren't as sick as I am.”

“You sound as if you'd like me to be.” Mair sounded exasperated, but Rani only shrugged. The motion was easier than speaking. There was a long pause, and then the Touched girl said, “I thought it would be cooler up here. It's so close in that cabin, I thought I'd faint.”

Rani turned to look at her friend sharply. The cabin had been warm, but the deck was actually chilly. Immediately after being sick, Rani had settled a cloak over her shoulders, and she was alarmed to see that Mair bore no protection against the stiff breeze. “You'll catch cold.”

“Not I.” Mair grimaced.

Rani brushed the back of her hand across the other girl's brow, ignoring her own angry scab from Maradalian's talon. “You're burning up!”

“I'm better than I was.” Mair shrugged off the attention like a restless child. “It's just a bit of fever. Nothing important.”

“Nothing important!”

“It's just because of my arm, you know.” Mair shrugged with one shoulder, only to make a face against the obvious pain that the movement caused her.

“It's still hurts, then.”

“A little,” Mair conceded.

“I knew that cursed soldier didn't know what he was doing! How could you let him set your arm?”

“What else was I supposed to do? You don't have the strength to have done it, especially when your own palm was still bleeding. ‘That cursed soldier' may not have known the first thing about medicine, but at least he did what I told him to do.”

Rani's belly flipped again as she remembered their rest stop at the edge of the River Yman. At least Bashi had been true to his word – he had let them stop and set Mair's arm. But even he had not been prepared for the pain the injury caused her. The prince had blanched almost as white as Mair when the girl cried out, and he had nervously scooped up water from the river to bathe her face. Rani had pushed him aside, though, before he could provide that service. She did not want him anywhere near her friend, anywhere where he could work more harm. She did not want to hear that he had not meant to hurt them. He had not meant for everything to spin out of control.

“But will it heal properly?” Rani asked, forcing her voice to a calmness that she did not feel.

“How can I know?” Mair let her voice shrug and spared her shoulders. “I've done all I can. After all, I'm just a Touched brat from the City streets, not a chirurgeon. Maybe Bashi will let us see a healer in Amanthia.”

“Something to look forward to.” Rani spat into the water. “That and getting off this miserable boat.”

“We might be wishing for this boat, before all this is over.” Mair looked back at the coastline, at the shore that unrolled beside them. It was odd, Rani thought. They were close enough to see the land, close enough to see the distinct line where earth met sea. But they might as well be leagues and leagues away for all the good it did them. They could not make out any settlements along the water's edge, and they were too far away to see any people. They were as lost as if they wandered in a forest.

As if to underscore their isolation, the seamen took that opportunity to sluice down the deck of their creaking craft. Bashi had explained to Rani the first night that they had boarded the boat – the ocean water made the wood swell, tightening the joints and keeping the craft seaworthy. Rani understood the logic, but she deplored the need. The tang of the ocean water, fish and salt, was enough to raise acid again at the back of her throat. The water seemed to leach out the stench of the tar that sealed ropes and joints about the craft. Resignedly, Rani clambered onto a coil of rough hemp, trying unsuccessfully to keep her leather soles dry. After she had helped to steady Mair against the sea bath, Rani turned back to the deck and the railing.

The breeze of their passing really
did
make her feel better, she reminded herself. Breathe deeply. Again. They would gain the shore eventually.

Rani forced herself to watch the ocean-water split open by the boat's prow. The craft created an ever-changing wake, a constantly emerging pattern that Rani could never hope to capture in the stained glass that had been her work, that remained her dream. The sea leaped and swirled like billows of white lace, like the fine garments of the delicate wardrobe that Rani had eschewed in King Halaravilli's court.

Squinting into the froth, Rani could make out dark shapes that skipped across the ship's wake. At first, she could not decipher what she was seeing – there were only dark shadows against the white, white water. Then, Rani cried out in surprise.

The shadows were fish!

Almost against her will, Rani found herself smiling. The giant fish leaped over the boat's wake, skipping on top of the water and then diving deep beneath the craft. The morning sun glistened on their sleek bodies, reflecting off their black and white flanks. When Rani leaned out over the prow, she could see that each fish had a long nose; each appeared to grin at his fellows as the creatures slipped through the boat's feathery wake.

“Look!” Rani exclaimed to Mair, but before the Touched girl could step up to the prow, Prince Bashanorandi strode forward, pushing his way to the point of the ship's deck. Rani had long since stopped being startled when the prince materialized from nowhere on the ship. Besides, she was so taken with the playful beasts that she was willing to set aside her anger momentarily.

“Bashanorandi.” She nodded in greeting. Since the violence on the hillside, she had been careful to give Bashi his full name.

Mair was not so forgiving, though. The Touched girl shifted her arm in its sling, wincing at the pain as the ship chopped its way through a particularly high wave. “Your Highness,” she gritted through set teeth. “Rai, I beg your pardon,” she said, pointedly turning her back on the prince. “I'm going below deck for a rest. The air is not as fresh up here as I had hoped.”

Rani stared after her friend, her jaw loose as she watched Bashi register the insult. What was Mair thinking? How could she dare be so rude to Bashi when he commanded the troops that held them captive? Even as Rani admired Mair's courage, she shook her head in despair. It would do no good to anger Bashi now. Not when he held the only key to their bonds. Not when he was the one who would decide if they would go forward into unknown lands or back to the comfort of the City.

Prince Bashanorandi stared after the Touched girl with a look of true hatred in his eyes. “You'd do well to stay away from that one, Ranita Glasswright.”

“What do you mean?” Rani exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that Bashi called her by her guild name out of mockery. “She's my friend!”

“She's no friend to anyone but herself. She's Touched. You know they can't be trusted.”

“She's the only family I have, Bashanorandi.” Rani's anger was stirred by the prince's superior tone. “Surely you haven't forgotten how difficult it is to live without family.”

The jibe was a deep one. Rani had lost her family two years ago, but the fault had not been her own. Her brother had dragged her mother and father and all her siblings into the king's dungeons, and not one had emerged alive. But that was different from Bashanorandi's loss. Rani's family had only been
accused
of being traitors. In truth,
her
family had been innocent victims.