Sisters of Glass

by Naomi Cyprus

  Clutching her bag, she took a deep breath and knocked on the imposing wooden door.

  A moment later the door opened, and Zachary Tam stood there, an expression of polite surprise on his face.

  “Hello,” Nalah began, feeling suddenly awkward.

  “Nalah—I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How delightful. Won’t you come in?”

  “Oh, um. All right.” She stepped into a cool, empty courtyard and waited for Tam to shut the door before she patted her bag and said, “You forgot your . . . You forgot it. At our house.”

  “Oh my,” Tam’s hands flew to his pockets. “Thank you for bringing it back! Please, come in. You must be parched after walking all the way up here.”

  Tam led her through a door into a long corridor, and Nalah hesitated, gazing up at the walls in shock.

  The corridor was lined with Thauma metalwork. There were curved scimitars fanned out and pinned to the walls, their blades humming with energy. There were helmets on plinths, and a chain mail shirt that glimmered with an inner light. She turned to look at it, and found her fingers itching to pull it on.

  “These things,” she breathed, hardly daring to speak above a whisper. “They’re all illegal.”

  “Of course,” said Tam casually, as he pushed through a door at the end of the hall. Nalah followed, and found herself in an enormous, rather dusty kitchen. Tam opened a freezer and pulled out a tray of cherries frozen in a sticky-looking juice.

  Nalah sat down at the table and took one. It was incredibly sweet and refreshing. Before she could take another, she suddenly remembered why she was there. She removed the box from her bag and slid it across the table to Tam, who had sat down across from her.

  Tam laid his hand on the box and looked up at Nalah, studying her. “I’m so glad it was you who brought this back to me,” Tam said at last. “There is so much of your mother in you. I wonder, have you done much glasswork?”

  Nalah blushed, both at the comparison to her mother and at the reference to glasswork. “I’m . . . not really supposed to,” she said.

  A slow grin crossed Tam’s face. “Ah, but that’s not a ‘no,’ is it?”

  Nalah looked away, but found herself smiling. “I’ve done a little. I’m quite good,” she added, feeling boastful. “But you saw how Father is.”

  Tam’s eyes flashed. He took a frozen cherry and gave it to her with a conspiratorial wink. “I certainly did. It’s a shame, though. I sense such talent in you.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then stared at Nalah as if an idea had just struck him. “Would you make my mirror for me?”

  Nalah nearly choked on her cherry. “Me? I’ve never done anything like that before.” She clasped her gloved hands tight in front of her, visions of shattered glass swirling through her mind.

  “Please. I’ll double the fee.”

  “D-double?”

  Twenty thousand dinars. We could run all the way to Svalberg if we wanted.

  “This piece means so much to me. It’s an heirloom, you see. It’s all I have left of my family. Perhaps your father doesn’t believe you have the power, Nalah, but I do. Even if you fail—at least you’ll have tried.”

  He slid the box back across the table toward Nalah.

  She shouldn’t. It was illegal, and worse, her father would kill her if he found out. Still . . . no one had ever trusted her to make such a complicated piece of glasswork before. And she knew she could do it. Could prove that her power was more than just a curse. That it could create—not just destroy.

  Once again, she could hear its intoxicating song, calling out to her.

  She looked at it for what felt like a very long time.

  “Nalah! There you are, thank the stars!”

  Nalah stopped cold on the road back to town. Had someone seen her leaving Tam’s mansion? But it was only Marcus Cutter, hurrying toward her, a basket piled with folded cloth pinned under one arm.

  “Where have you been all morning? I thought you might have, you know, gone to visit your relatives,” he said, his eyes widening meaningfully.

  “Oh, no, I was just running an errand for Papa, fetching supplies and such.” She shrugged her shoulder and the slender wooden box in the bottom of her bag shifted. She gave Marcus what she hoped was a casual smile.

  “Oh, right, I see.” Marcus nodded. “You’ve got a bit of something red, just there.” He tapped at the corner of his mouth. Nalah flushed.

  “Cherries,” she said.

  “Did you stop at a café for lunch? Here . . .” Marcus fished in his bag and tossed her a handkerchief. Nalah wiped her mouth gratefully.

  “Thanks! I did, I stopped at the café by the acacia tree. I was in a hurry, so I just bought a handful of cherries. And speaking of hurry, I ought to get home. Papa will be waiting for me.” She wiped her mouth again and pulled a face. This corner of the handkerchief smelled of peppermint, so strongly it made her eyes water. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, probably,” she said, handing the handkerchief back.

  Marcus took it and stuffed it into his pocket. “Sure,” he said slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye!” Nalah said, forcing herself to give him a cheerful wave as she hurried away. She hated to lie, but it was necessary. Marcus would understand, if he knew. Not that he, or anyone, could ever know.

  I’ll tell Papa when I’m done, for better or worse. He might be angry at first, but then I’ll hand him the money, and it will all be okay.

  She smiled as she thought about what they could do, where they could go. How they could finally be free.

  I’m going to save us both.

  Chapter Four

  Halan

  In the chaos after the end of the war, after the destruction of the Year of Storms, the survivors emerged from the rubble to restore the kingdom. With their newly intensified powers, the noble Thauma families assumed leadership over this new world and began to rebuild in their own image. It was those Great Thaumas who wove, forged, carved, and shaped the Magi Kingdom we know today. It was the greatest display of magic ever seen: the four clans supplied water and sustenance, rebuilt the city, and made a new way of life. The common folk were glad to have the firm hand of the noble Thauma to guide them into a bright future, where Thaumaturgic activity was restricted to those who knew best how to wield it, for the safety of all.

  Legend has it that the Fifth Clan went into exile after the war, but all true scholars understand this as further evidence that they never existed. After all, they would have been most able to help rebuild the kingdom. Where would they have gone at such a time, and why?

  Lady Fulvia Helavi, A History of the Magi Kingdom

  Halan stood in the middle of her room in her undergown, feeling like the eye of a storm. She wasn’t sure how servants always found so many things to do on these big occasions. She was only one, relatively small, princess—how many women could it take to put a dress on her?

  “If you would raise your chin just a little, Your Highness,” said Lilah, holding up a glass bottle with a long spout. The bottle was filled with swirling, gold-flecked oil. Halan obeyed—and remembered to hold her breath just in time. Lilah uncorked the bottle, and misted gold perfume across Halan’s neck and shoulders. Halan blinked against the musky scent of jasmine and sandalwood.

  When her eyes stopped watering, she could see two of the other servants opening chests and drawing out her best robes, the ones she always wore on these occasions.

  Halan drew herself up to her full height, trying to project a sense of command. “No, not those, Lilah. I shall wear the gown and jewels presented to me by Master Eshaq the metalworker on his last visit to the palace.”

  Lilah looked surprised, but she bowed low, and fetched the parchment-wrapped package from the chest. As Lilah unwrapped it, Halan heard her intake of breath. She guessed what her handmaiden was thinking: Really? This?

  Lilah unfolded the gown carefully, and two of the other servants held it up between them.

  The base layer was a white skir
t, which flared as it moved, and a matching white vest. Over the top flowed layers of red, orange, and yellow Thauma silk. They waved and fluttered like a living flame, even though there was no breeze. Lilah reached into the package and held up a necklace of polished metal shards that shone like a rainbow on the surface of an oil slick.

  “Your Highness,” said Lilah carefully, “you know the king doesn’t approve of such . . . such flamboyant garb. If you would like to wear color tonight, perhaps I could fetch a nice lavender?”

  “My father will not be at the feast,” said Halan, drawing herself up as regally as possible. “In fact, he isn’t even in the kingdom. How can he object to a gown he will not see?”

  Lilah still hesitated. Halan saw her glance at the other servants, as if consulting them, and felt a little affronted. It was her dress, wasn’t it? And wasn’t she the princess? True, this may have been the first time that Halan the Powerless ever exerted a little bit of force, but there was a first time for everything.

  Halan felt her resolve begin to wither under the gaze of the servants, but she resisted the urge to back down. Stand your ground, she told herself.

  “If my father is angry, he will be angry with me, not you.” she said, addressing all of the servants at once. “So if you would rather leave than obey my orders, please do so.”

  One of the eldest women carefully put down the pair of silver slippers she had been holding, bowed deeply, and left.

  Halan, trying to disguise her shock, watched the woman go. “Anyone else?” she asked, making an effort to keep her voice even.

  None of the other servants moved. “Your wish is our command, Princess,” Lilah murmured, though she didn’t meet Halan’s eyes. The bustle in the room resumed.

  Halan nodded, and prepared herself to be dressed. One step closer to my goal, she thought.

  A few minutes later, Halan smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She stood on a pedestal, half hypnotized by the rippling colors of her gown and the flashing metal at her throat. Lilah had brushed her hair into a shiny black curtain, and one of the other servants had drawn lines of kohl around her eyes.

  She looked like a living, slowly undulating flame. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

  This evening was going to be everything she had hoped; she could feel it.

  But Halan’s smile froze on her face as she saw, in the reflection over her shoulder, the door to the room open and a figure step inside.

  It was Queen Rani: her mother.

  The servants immediately stopped what they were doing, turned to the queen, and bowed low. Halan didn’t move. She gave her mother a small, hopeful smile. Don’t I look pretty? But the smile wasn’t returned. Halan wondered if the chill in her mother’s eyes would extinguish her fiery dress.

  “Thank you all,” said the queen. “I wish to speak to my daughter before the feast. Please leave us.”

  Halan sucked in a deep breath, trying to steel herself for the conversation that she knew was coming. Trying to salvage some of the rare excitement and happiness she’d felt just moments before. She watched in the mirror as the servants scurried out. When they had gone, Queen Rani closed the door and silently sat down on the foot of Halan’s bed.

  “Will you face me, Halan?” she asked.

  Halan didn’t want to. Somehow, it felt safer to talk to her mother through the mirror—the same way that, on the few occasions she had something to say to her mother, it was easier to ask Lady Amalia to pass on a message. She just felt more comfortable with something in between them.

  But she guessed that being rude would be a bad idea right now, so from her place on the pedestal, she turned and looked her mother in the face.

  Queen Rani’s eyebrows twitched as she took in Halan’s dress. The queen herself was dressed in a gold-edged lilac silk coat that was tied with black sashes at her waist, and a lilac headdress crowned with a circlet of gold. She looked like she always did—regal and stiff, like a statue who’d been brought to life and wasn’t entirely happy about it.

  Halan stood up straighter and tried not to fuss with the silk overlay of her gown. It was a gift from a Thauma master, on a royal occasion, she thought. I dare you to forbid me to wear it.

  But, as always, Halan was wrong about what her mother was thinking.

  “I met Lord Helavi in the library yesterday afternoon,” the queen said. “When you should have been in your lesson.”

  “Oh?” Halan replied lightly, not trusting herself to say anything more.

  “He threw himself on my mercy, as soon as he saw me,” her mother went on, pinning Halan with a sharp stare. “He was so sorry for offending you, he seemed convinced I might have him arrested.”

  Queen Rani paused. Halan tried not to squirm.

  “So, where did you go, once you had got rid of poor Lord Helavi?” the queen asked.

  “Nowhere,” said Halan at once. “I sat in his study and read. Then I left and went for a walk in the Sun Garden. I didn’t go anywhere else.”

  “You knew that Lady Amalia would be there to join you when your lesson was finished,” her mother said. “Why didn’t you wait?”

  “I forgot,” said Halan.

  Queen Rani sighed. “It’s for your own protection, Halan. Nobody knew where you were! If something had happened—”

  “What could happen?” Halan interrupted. “This is the palace, there are guards everywhere!”

  “Well, apparently not,” her mother replied, “because none of them saw you again until dinner! If the rebels—Don’t roll your eyes at me, Halan!”

  Halan hadn’t meant to. She clenched her fists at her sides. “Mother, there are no rebels inside the palace walls.”

  “You don’t know that!” Queen Rani exclaimed. Her shoulders sagged, as much as they could in the stiff silk coat. She spoke slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. “They hate your father, do you understand? They would do anything to hurt him, including hurting you, and I can’t guarantee your safety if you give your protectors the slip whenever you get bored.”

  “You can’t keep me in here forever!” Halan insisted. “When I’m queen, I’ll need to know the world outside my own palace, won’t I?”

  “When you’re queen,” her mother countered, “you won’t be able to keep shaking off your responsibilities like this.”

  “What responsibilities?” Halan asked indignantly. “You know Lord Helavi’s not teaching me anything useful.”

  “Well, if we could teach you metalworking or glassworking, we would,” the queen snapped.

  Halan reeled back. She felt like she’d been slapped.

  Then the queen seemed to realize what she’d said. Pain deepened the permanent crease of worry between her brows, but it was too late. The words stood between them like a wall.

  To hear those hurtful words from servants or nobles was one thing. But to hear it from your own mother was devastating. Up till now, it had only caused Halan pain. But something new was happening inside her. She was getting angry.

  The queen took a deep breath. “If you had your own power, we could give you more freedom. I know it’s not fair, but it’s just the way it is. You’re twelve years old, Halan—you are still a child. Without power, you’re defenseless.”

  “I am not defenseless,” Halan said, through gritted teeth. She hated when people spoke about her like she was a helpless kitten, just because she didn’t have magic! She got to her feet, her cheeks burning, her voice rough and full of emotion. “I am not . . . nothing! I have my wits, Mother, I can look after myself. I’m not broken!”

  Queen Rani’s eyes sparkled with tears, just for a moment; then she blinked and they were gone. “Never accuse me of thinking nothing of you, Halan. Every waking hour, I . . .” She got to her feet and turned away from Halan. When she turned back, the emotion had drained from her face. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You will be protected. Whether you like it or not.”

  That’s right, Halan thought. Go back to being a queen—you’re much better at that than
at being a mother. She opened her mouth, tempted to say it aloud. But then there was a tentative knock on the door, and it opened just far enough to let Lilah look in, her face creased with discomfort.

  “My queen, the feast is beginning,” she said quickly, and then ducked back out and shut the door again before Rani or Halan could reply.

  Halan took a deep breath and forced herself to paste on her brightest, most insincere princess smile.

  “Shall we go, Mother?” she asked. “We shouldn’t keep our guests waiting. That’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

  Queen Rani didn’t reply. She simply left. Halan trailed after her, allowing her elbow to be taken by one of the guards waiting outside her rooms, only just registering the surprise on the guards’ faces as they looked down and saw the wonderful dress. Their reactions should have made her happy, but all she felt inside was empty.

  She stared at the back of her mother’s head as they were escorted down the halls.

  I just don’t want to end up like you. The thought caught Halan off guard and she felt sick for even letting it cross her mind. But it was true.

  Queen Rani had no friends. She had subjects and servants, nobles who scraped and bowed for her favor, a daughter she looked at with more fear than love, and a husband . . .

  Well, Halan guessed they must love each other, but sometimes it was difficult to tell.

  But Queen Rani had no friends. She was too busy, too important, too far above everyone to have friends. And already Halan was feeling a little too close to becoming just like her. I won’t let it happen, Halan reassured herself. I won’t.

  Halan thought that her mother must be as lonely as she was—but unlike Halan, Queen Rani seemed happy in her cage. Halan had long ago given up hoping that her mother would ever reach out to her. You’d think that we’d find comfort in each other. But no . . .

  The golden doors to the banquet hall opened slowly. A buzz of conversation flowed over Halan, and then died away as she and the queen stepped inside, flanked by guards. Halan watched the crowd of nobles inside the hall—a sea of colorful robes, glass and metal shining in the shifting light from the floating light orbs above their heads. They rose to their feet, every face full of polite respect or fear or excitement, before every head bowed toward the queen and her daughter—the powerless heir to the throne.