Glasswrights' Progress

by Mindy L. Klasky

  “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?”

  Even with the wine swimming through her blood, Rani heard the threat beneath the words. She imagined Sin Hazar’s outrage if she agreed with Bashi, if she said that she did want to return to her chambers. The king might punish Bashi, have him thrown into a prison cell. Or worse. “Your Majesty,” Rani began, but she had to take a deep breath to concentrate. The action made her nareeth saw into her ribs, and she resisted the urge to wince. “Both Bashi and I are honored by the feast you have set for us. We would not leave until Your Majesty chooses to.”

  “Ha!” The king reached out with one long finger and traced the line of Rani’s determined jaw. “Well spoken, my lady.” He seemed to ignore the shudder that coursed through Rani at his touch, turning instead to Bashi. “Any other questions, cousin?”

  “No, Your Majesty.” Bashi sank back onto his chair, clutching his goblet and looking miserable.

  And so, Rani stayed at the feast, sitting at the table until the wee hours of the morning. Once she realized how much the wine had affected her, she tried to keep away from her goblet. Nevertheless, she could not refuse the king’s attentions entirely. She even rose from her chair to dance with Sin Hazar, although she begged to be excused after the first simple figures, admitting that she had never learned the intricate movements for the next music played.

  At last, King Sin Hazar seemed to notice that many of his subjects slumped at the table. More than a few of the nobles had fallen asleep, victim to the warm room and the ever-flowing wine. Even Bashi was blinking furiously in his chair, rubbing his eyes with a fist when he thought that no one was looking. The king turned to Rani. “Our most gracious thanks, Lady Ranita, that you have joined us this evening.”

  “The pleasure was mine, Your Majesty.” Rani was snared again by Sin Hazar’s opaque gaze. It seemed as if the man would never blink, as if he would swallow her with the midnight pools of his eyes. Rani raised one hand to her neck, as if to fan her moist flesh, but Sin Hazar caught her fingers and bowed over them, brushing the lightest of kisses across her palm. Something quivered deep inside Rani’s belly, and she suddenly wondered if she could remain standing in front of the court, in front of the king.

  “Good night, Lady Ranita. Sleep well.”

  Before Rani could reply, Sin Hazar turned on his heel and raised a hand. Two guards detached themselves from the shadows along the walls. The king nodded and stalked back to the head of the table. Rani was just able to catch the beginning of an exchange with Bashi as the soldiers ushered her from the feast hall.

  What had she been thinking? Of course Sin Hazar was not going to set her free! Of course he was not going to change his mind about his captive. Of course he was not going to move her from her tower room to the royal apartments.…

  The hallways were chilled in the late night, and a wintry wind blew through the few arrow loops that they passed. Rani felt hobbled by her nareeth, and she wondered how she’d been able to walk all the way to the feast, how she had managed to dance with Sin Hazar. By the time she reached the chamber she shared with Mair, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

  The soldiers saluted their fellows on the landing below Rani’s room. All four escorted Rani up to her door, and they stood at attention as she stepped into the chamber. Rani closed the door behind her and waited for the clanking sound of four men descending the staircase. Only then did she look toward the curtained bed on the far side of the chamber. Mair, though, was waiting for her by the fire.

  “So! You finally decided to return!”

  “I wanted to come back earlier, Mair, but I couldn’t. It would have been dangerous for Bashi. For me.” Rani heard the frantic energy behind her words, heard her slurred speech.

  “By all the Thousand Gods, you’re drunk!”

  “I am not! I only had a little wine, to prove my friendship with Sin Hazar.”

  “You’re a fool! Did I have to tell you not to drink with the king? Any idiot would know not to! Especially not tonight!”

  “What’s so special about tonight?” Rani said crossly. She was fumbling with the balkareen that restricted her chest, but she could not manipulate the tight knot across her back. Mair swore under her breath and crossed the room. She made short work of the knot, and then she started to turn Rani about, gathering up the yards of silken cloth. “Wait!” Rani cried as the floor spun up to meet her. “What are you saying, Mair?”

  “Ach! How much did you drink? And did you eat anything?”

  “I couldn’t eat. You pulled the nareeth too tight.”

  Mair swore again and stomped to the door. She tugged it open, making a great deal of noise, and stormed o
nto the landing. “Bring Lady Ranita some water,” she commanded, when one of the lion-tattooed men leaped up the landing. “A pitcher of fresh water.”

  The Touched girl turned back to Rani, leaving the door cracked so that the girls could hear when the soldier returned. “Turn about, then. Let me untie the lacings.”

  Rani moved like an exhausted child. For just an instant, Mair yanked the lacings tighter, but then the unbearable pressure eased across Rani’s ribs, her waist, her hips. For just an instant, she felt as light as a bird, and then her freed flesh started to ache. She hugged her arms about her, rocking slightly as she heard an iron tread on the stairs.

  “Quick. Behind the curtains.” Mair gestured toward the bed, and Rani complied, sliding the heavy velvet into place so that the guard would not see her undressed.

  Even as Rani gulped fresh air, her drunken dizziness began to fade. She fumbled at the mattress beneath her, clutching her hands to steady her spinning head. There were large lumps strewn across the bed, as if a field of potatoes were planted beneath the linen sheets. Trying to ignore the tears that bloomed at the corners of her eyes, Rani quickly realized that the lumps were covered with cloth; in fact, they were huge knots of cloth. She barely managed to wait until she heard the door close before she leaped out of the bed.

  “Mair! What –”

  “Hush. Drink.” Mair snagged a pewter goblet from a low table and forced a refreshing draught on Rani. “We don’t have much time. Listen to me.” The old crack of command was back in Mair’s voice. Rani thought of the troop that the Touched girl had controlled in the City streets, the children who had eaten well and survived the worst that the King’s Guard had to offer. Rani swallowed her protests along with her water, and she was rewarded with a steadying of her pulse, a slight retreat of the wine’s vapors. “We’re leaving the palace tonight. We’re climbing down from the tower.”

  “We can’t do that! It must be the height of a dozen men.”