Glasswrights' Progress

by Mindy L. Klasky

  “Very well, then,” the Holy Father said after an expectant pause. “Don’t stand on ceremony for an old man.” Rani swallowed several sharp retorts before she managed to reach for her goblet.

  Dartulamino appeared to take refuge in his wine as well. After a sip, the young priest raised an appreciative eyebrow toward his host. “Defender, you honor us by serving Liantine red.”

  “This is the last that survived – our cellars were flooded by the storm that stopped the fire. I’m grateful for the opportunity to share it with you.” Hal inclined his head. Rani took a sip of her own wine, but the fine bouquet was lost on her. What was Hal thinking, admitting that the storm had caused such damage? If he intended to negotiate for a loan from the church, he should hardly start by admitting desperate need.

  “Of course, we expect to purchase more stock, now that it is spring, and the sea passage is safe between here and Liantine,” Rani said. Hal glared at her, and she buried a tart reply beneath a bite of carrot. Dartulamino certainly did not miss the exchange; he studied her closely. Rani swallowed hard and forged ahead. “We intend to trade a great deal with Liantine in the coming year.”

  Hal was clearly furious, but he did not have a chance to make additional bidding mistakes before the priest said, “That surprises me, lady, after the blow the gods have dealt fair Moren.”

  “Was it the gods?” Hal finally asked. “It seems to me that we men and women made mistakes. I hear now that the fire may have been started by a smith’s flame, left unattended as the breeze picked up.”

  “And could that not be the work of Ith, Defender? Or of Pron?”

  “Why would the god of blacksmiths rise up against all Moren? Or the god of wind?” Hal asked. “What could the entire city have done to have angered those righteous gods?”

  “Prayer!” the Holy Father exclaimed, and Rani was not certain if he was responding to Hal’s question or if he was replying to words that only he heard. “Prayer is the answer to all the people of Moren, to all Morenia, to all the world!”

  “Aye, Holy Father. Prayer is always advantageous,” Hal replied courteously, pausing to see if the ancient priest would continue. The old man, though, returned to his roast fowl, forking a huge bite into his mouth and chewing with relish.

  When it became apparent that the Holy Father was not going to comment further, Hal said, “We prayed, of course, after we toured the city, after we saw the damage done by the fire. It will take much to rebuild from this loss.”

  “The church has offered up many prayers of gratitude that it was spared the flame.” Dartulamino made a holy sign across his chest, his hand standing out like a skeleton’s claw against the green cloth.

  Rani waited for Hal to continue. As much as she disliked making an opening bid in any transaction, she realized that she was likely to have no choice. After all, the priests were the ones who had everything to offer here. Hal had admitted as much. After swallowing a crust of bread, she said, “All of Moren is grateful that the church was spared. Otherwise, we could not turn to you in our need.”

  Hal set his goblet on the table with a crash. Rani refused to meet his gaze, even when his hands rose from the table. She knew that he would be adjusting his crown, using the movement to remind her that he was her king, her sovereign and her overlord. He was the one who should be conducting the conversation.

  Well, if he were so determined to run the negotiations, when was he planning to begin?

  Rani saw the priest barely hide a smile as he said, “All of Morenia may turn to the church in need. That’s why we exist, to offer succor in the name of all the Thousand Gods.”

  Again, Hal did not take advantage of the opening, and Rani sighed, setting down her ivory fork. She eyed the priest steadily and said, “We are pleased to hear you say that, Father Dartulamino. Because we asked the Holy Father to supper so that we might negotiate a loan of the funds that we need to rebuild Moren.”

  “Rani.” Hal merely spoke her name, but there was an entire argument behind his words.

  She braced herself and met his gaze. “Your Majesty?”

  “I am certain that the Holy Father did not intend to barter bars of gold over his pheasant.”

  “I am certain, Your Majesty, that the Holy Father did not realize the straits of his flocks. He did not realize our need, our desire to help the faithful who would offer up their thanks eternal to Jair and all the Thousand Gods, if only they had a roof to shelter them and food on their tables and wine to drink.”

  Hal’s fury was clear; his jaw turned to stone. Rani knew that she had overstepped her bounds. She would have to argue with him later. She would explain so that Hal understood, so that he knew that she was right to begin the bargaining now. She turned back to Dartulamino, to the man who clearly would decide the church’s role in the rebuilding of Morenia. “Surely, Your Grace, you have heard about the firelung in the camps. Two hundred children stricken, and more falling ill every day. Their parents are succumbing as well, good Morenians all, who need our help, our support. The Touched have been harmed the greatest of all, for it was they who maneuvered Davin’s machinery into place, they who made the sacrifice that ultimately saved what is left of Moren. The Touched, of course, have the fewest resources to fall back on in times of trouble, the least food and shelter. We must help them if they are to survive.”

  “My lady,” Dartulamino began, and Rani could see quite clearly that he did not intend to give her what she asked. The church would not help unless Hal paid dearly – paid with money, paid with loyalty, paid with prayer. … She drew a breath to cut off the priest before he could make an argument that she could not answer.

  “Dartulamino,” the Holy Father said, and Rani was shocked to realize that she had forgotten the old man. “Help me, son.” The ancient priest fought to push back his chair, to stagger to his feet. “Where. …”

  Dartulamino hastened to assist the elderly cleric, settling a familiar hand under the Holy Father’s elbow. The younger priest smothered a flash of annoyance as he said to his king, “Excuse us for a moment, Defender. The Holy Father inquires about the location of your nearest garderobe.”

  If Hal were surprised by the request, he managed not to reveal his emotion. Instead, he rose to his feet, gesturing toward the outer door of the chamber. “You’ll have to help the Holy Father down the hall. There is a curtained alcove, around the corner to the right.” The old man began to shake his way to the door, leaning on both his oaken walking stick and Dartulamino’s arm.

  The younger priest looked over his shoulder as they reached the threshold. “We’ll finish this discussion when I return. If you cannot agree to the church’s terms, Defender, I trust that Jair will provide.”

  Rani heard the hidden message from the Fellowship, and she caught her breath before she could ask if Dartulamino’s words were a promise or a threat. Even Hal was spared the need to find civil words when the Holy Father clutched his aide’s arm more tightly. Dartulamino leaned forward to help the elderly prelate through the doorway. Rani was vaguely aware of Farsobalinti jumping to attention in the outer room, and she saw a dark flutter that she suspected was Mair, ducking into a shadowed corner of the antechamber. Before Rani could be certain, Hal slammed the door closed.

  “What in the name of the Thousand Gods do you think you’re doing?”

  “What did you think you were gaining by making that poor old man walk all the way down the hall? You could have let the Holy Father use the garderobe in the inner room.” Rani gestured toward the door that led to Hal’s private apartments.

  “I wanted them down the hall so that they didn’t hear me order you back to your chamber like the manipulative child you’re acting tonight.”

  “You’re not ordering me anywhere! You don’t know what you’re doing here. You need me!”

  “For what? To exaggerate and lie? To lead them to the conclusion that I don’t need their help at all? To let them decide that all of Moren can die of firelung?”

  “My lord, they
know you’re desperate. Anyone who’s walked through the city knows that you’ve lost more than half of Moren. Your people are dying. They’re starving and they’re sick. Your borders are bracing for an attack like peasants fearing wolves. You need the church’s help.”

  “And you think I’m going to get it by boasting of my supposed wealth?”

  “We have to boast of something!” Rani’s voice broke as she shouted out the last word, and she forced herself to lower her volume. “We have to come to them from a position of strength. You know that. You’re just afraid, because of the fire, because of all that we have lost. My lord, the fire was not a judgment upon you. It was not some vengeance of all the gods. It was an accident, and now we have to make things right.”

  “I’m not sure I believe it was an accident. I heard a new rumor today, Ranita Glasswright, one that I chose not to share with our religious leaders.”

  Her blood was chilled by his using her guild name. He never called her that. “And what was that?”

  “I heard that the fire started on the grounds of the old glasswrights’ guild. I heard that it was set to teach all future glasswrights a lesson. To teach the crown a lesson, for consorting with the guild that cost Morenia her rightful king.”

  The accusation stole Rani’s breath away, and she could do nothing but gape for several heartbeats. She had fought that battle. She had paid dearly to clear her name, to salvage the reputation of her guild, to identify the true killers of Prince Tuvashanoran. “My lord, you cannot believe –”

  “I’m telling you what I hear, Rani. And if I’m hearing it, you can be certain that the church is, too. Just think of how they could use that tale, if they decide that you hold too much power in my court. Even you should understand enough statesmanship to understand the danger.”

  “Even –” she started to repeat, shocked by the scorn in Hal’s voice.

  “I need hardly tell you that the Holy Father is not my vassal. I cannot control the church. I cannot rein it in. You’ve heard Dartulamino – he has not called me by my royal title this entire evening. He addresses me as ‘Defender’, as a subordinate of the church. If the priests want command over all of Morenia, I’ll have no choice but to give it to them.”

  Still reeling from the angry accusation behind Hal’s words, Rani made her voice stiffly formal. “Your Majesty, you will always have choices.”

  “Like what?” Hal hissed. “Borrowing from the Fellowship? You know that I have worked toward a position of power there, but I have not gained their complete confidence yet. Can you possibly be so poor a merchant that you think they should hold my note?”

  “Why are you so angry with me? My lord, you summoned me here! I came to help you!”

  “You embarrassed me! You made me look like an impotent fool. Morenia has no place for a so-called guildmistress who doesn’t even understand how to work with her king.”

  Guildmistress. Rani began to understand the true threat behind the gossip that Hal had heard. He was linking all of this to the glasswrights’ guild – the fire, the disease, his fears for his kingdom. He was going to take out all of his frustration, all of his hopelessness, on her one dream, on a dream that was so distant that she had yet to complete her first step, achieving the rank of journeyman. Anger stiffened her spine like steel bracing a stained-glass window.

  “It was not my intention to embarrass you, Your Majesty.”

  “Intention or no, that’s what you’ve done. That’s what I get for thinking a caste-jumping merchant would help me negotiate.”

  Hot tears threatened to scald Rani’s cheeks. “You’ve no right to call me names, Your Majesty. You’ve no right to question the choices I’ve made in the past – choices that benefitted the crown. I’ve helped you, and I will again, once the glasswrights’ guild is reformed.”

  “If the glasswrights’ guild is reformed! How do you think I’m going to pay for that, Rani? How do you think I’m going to finance a guildhall and masters and the finest Zarithian glass? Or were you planning on charming that out of the church as well? Or maybe you were planning on undercutting me with the Fellowship and asking them to pay for your guild! Is that what this is all about?”

  The accusation shocked Rani, slicing through her rage like the sharpest sliver of glass. “You’re mad! Is that truly what you think of me, Halaravilli? Do you honestly believe that I would whore the glasswrights’ guild to the first party wealthy enough to build me a hall?”

  Hal’s eyes blazed at her, fiery above the smudged hollows of his exhaustion. “I really don’t know what to think any longer, Ranita Glasswright.”

  She was across the room before she consciously heard his words; her hands were on the iron latch. She registered the sneer in his last word, the disdain he held for her name, for her. She started to turn back, started to ask one more question, but she was stopped by the king’s bitter voice: “Perhaps my father was right, after all. Perhaps he needed to destroy the glasswrights’ guild. Perhaps he needed to see it torn stone from stone, to protect Morenia itself.”

  Rani’s fury was a physical thing, shaking through to the pit of her stomach. She pulled on the door latch with all of her strength, sending the oak planks crashing against the wall. Then she ran through the antechamber, past the astonished embrace of Farsobalinti and Mair, past the shocked pair of returning priests. She lifted her skirts as if she were a child, and she fled through the palace corridors, taking the steps to her tower room two at a time, until she was safe, secure behind another oaken door.

  How dare he?

  How dare Hal drag her into that dinner, force her into negotiations, only to betray her? How dare he imply that she would sell herself, sell her guild to the Fellowship? How dare he think that she would turn from him, turn toward the church, abandon him?

  How dare he?

  Only when she had torn the ruby necklace from her neck, only when she had ripped the band of mourning from her sleeve, did she force herself to sit at the table that was spread with fiery glasswork. She sat on her stool, and she rested her hands on the book she’d been studying. She tried to concentrate on the words, tried to measure her skill, tried to convince herself that she had learned enough to call herself a journeyman.

  As the Pilgrims’ Bell tolled its mournful count long into the night, Rani found that she could not think past the tears that slicked her cheeks, could not reason past the sobs that tore her throat. Without a guild, without merchants’ wealth, without the trust of her king, she was very, very alone in the center of a dying Morenia.

  About the Author

  Mindy L. Klasky learned to read when her parents shoved a book in her hands and told her that she could travel anywhere in the world through stories. She never forgot that advice.

  Mindy’s “travels” took her through multiple careers. After graduating from Princeton University, Mindy considered becoming a professional stage manager or a rabbi. Ultimately, though, she settled on being a lawyer, working as a litigator at a large Washington firm. When she realized that lawyering kept her from writing (and dating and sleeping and otherwise living a normal life), Mindy became a librarian, managing large law firm libraries. Mindy now writes full time.

  In her spare time, Mindy quilts, cooks, and tries to tame the endless to-be-read shelf in her home library. Her husband and cats do their best to fill the left-over minutes. Connect with Mindy online: http://www.mindyklasky.com

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2001, 2010 by Mindy L. Klasky

  Cover design by Open Roa
d Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-2052-0

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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