by V. Briceland
For a moment, the small crowd looked wildly about to find the song’s heroine. When Ricard reached her, he knelt down at her feet. Applause gave way to silence. “Aid me to rise, fair Cazarra,” he said, in a voice intended to carry to the edge of the crowd, “and I shall perceive if my chronicle of your triumph meets with your pleasure.” He extended his hand in her direction, obviously waiting for her to clasp it and pull him to his feet.
If she did, the crowd would coo and clap their hands. She would be mortified. At that moment, she felt no generosity toward the would-be bard. The sight of him prostrating himself as would a lover only made her chest tighter and her breathing more furious. Before she knew what she was doing, she placed her foot on his shoulder. With a mighty heave, she propelled the brightly clad poet backward. He sprawled on the stones with a grunt.
“It does not please me!” she barked.
The people assembled around her fell silent. Ricard looked up from the ground, utter surprise written on his face. There was a chuckle from one of the onlookers. Then another. Soon others joined in, until finally the whole crowd roared with laughter. For a moment Risa felt a savage stab of satisfaction.
Ricard glanced around the crowd, seeming embarrassed as he struggled to his feet. Then he began to laugh, himself, as if the joke had been his. “I always fall for ladies with spirit!” He twirled and lifted his hands up to the heavens, once more making for Risa.
Milo leapt to Ricard’s side to move him away, but the twirling made it difficult for him to approach. When Ricard came to a stop in front of her, leaning forward for a kiss, Risa completely lost her temper and slapped him. The crowd burst into laughter again, but Risa knew better this time. They were not laughing at Ricard. They were laughing at the both of them, and at the illusion they were a quarreling couple. Any denial she made would only make it worse.
So while Milo grappled with the troublesome rhymer, she turned and walked across the upper bridge as fast as her feet could take her. She tried to maintain a semblance of dignity, though her face burned like fire.
20
—
The street performer is a sort of vermin, in a way.
They spring up in the most damp and squalid of conditions,
feed hungrily, and when they are squashed,
another dozen scamper to take their place.
—Charloco da Speranza,
A History of Theatrical Traditions
Go away!” she said for the third time. Her image danced in the plates and bowls displayed around her room. She noticed for the first time that her hair had once more come undone.
“It’s me—Milo,” she heard through the door.
She could imagine him on the other side, his face knotted with worry. She bore Milo no grudge, but she couldn’t bear to let him see her in a fit of temper.
And temper was exactly what she felt at that moment. Only the fact that the glass objects at hand were of her own making prevented her from seizing and throwing them, just for the satisfaction of the noise and the confusion. “Go away.”
“I’m not leaving. You may as well let me in.” Her fury did not abate during the moment of silence after his plea. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, if you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not crying!” she yelled. Her anger was too hot and her emotions too confused to weep. Her face was flushed and scarlet, but so far she had not shed tears. “I just want to be left alone!”
“I have to explain about Ricard,” he said. “Please let me in.”
It was vain to pretend she was angry with Milo as well, when he had only minutes before tried to defend her against Ricard’s excesses. “I can’t let you in my room unchaperoned,” she told him, searching for any excuse to send him away. “It wouldn’t be seemly.”
“Camilla is with me.”
Risa heard his sister’s voice scolding in the hallway. “I only walked away for ten minutes. Ten minutes! I don’t know how you could let that happen. Honestly!”
Apparently they were determined to come in. It took but a moment to unlatch the door. “Before you ask again,” Risa warned them, “I’m not crying. I’m just angry.”
“And I don’t blame you!” Camilla followed her into the room and shut the door behind her. Her expression was cross. “Ricard’s been bothering her since yesterday, Milo. Why do you encourage him?”
“I didn’t encourage him! You know how he is!”
“Regardless.” Camilla sat down on the settee next to Risa. Obviously annoyed though she was, her voice was surprisingly gentle—much more so than usual. “Ricard’s a little intense for most people.”
“He was singing that new song of his and it upset her,” Milo explained.
Camilla appeared confused for a moment. “The bad one about the female pirate?”
“It was a bad one about me,” Risa said with heat. “About the brave and fearless glass maker’s daughter, a goddess in white.”
Camilla had the courtesy to look dismayed. “No. Really? Oh gods. Milo! That’s enough to upset anyone.”
“He came along with Amo! I didn’t invite him here!” Milo sounded defensive. “You were right there with us when he started writing it!”
“I don’t pay attention to that boy or his songs.” It was the most peevish opinion Risa had heard from Camilla. “Neither should you,” she said more gently. “He really is a fool.”
“I hate the way he looks at me. He acts as if he’s in love!”
“It is only acting,” Camilla assured her.
“What’s wrong with him looking at you?” Milo’s voice was on edge. “Is someone outside the precious Seven and Thirty not allowed to look upon a Divetri?”
“That’s not it at all. You know what I mean,” Risa retorted, angry he could think such a thing.
“I just don’t think that a cazarra should act so … standoffish.”
“Milo,” Camilla said in warning.
“I’m sorry Ricard upset Risa, honestly I am. But he just admires her for the hero she is.”
“I am not a hero!” For a moment Risa nearly wished to strike Milo. Again she felt frustration at him telling her how the Seven should behave. “Three cazas were ruined last night. People were hurt! My parents were kidnapped! This is real life. It’s awful and ugly, and all Ricard can do is make bad rhymes about it—bad rhymes about me!” She pounded her chest for emphasis. “He’s using me to collect coins. It’s not right!”
“You are a hero,” Milo protested, his own voice raised. “You saved this caza last night. Whether you like it or not, the gods favor you!”
“They do not! The gods did not want me at the insulas. My glass is worthless. My father turned his face from me—and now he’s gone and I’m here … coping. There is nothing about me that is remotely in favor.”
Milo was shouting now. “If you just stopped acting like a child with her feelings hurt, and began to think like a cazarra, you would see. The priests said you were not needed at the insulas. It was because the gods knew you would be needed here.” His normally friendly face had gone red with frustration. “You are needed, Risa. Everyone in this caza needed you last night! Do you think the brother and sister moons didn’t know what Prince Berto would do? Only you could have blown your family’s horn last night. Only you! Your cousin was worse than useless. If you had been chosen during the festival, you would have been imprisoned at one of the insulas last night and this caza wouldn’t be here. Your family would no longer have a place among the Seven!”
His speech hit her like a savage blow. She staggered and sat down in a chair as tears sprang to her eyes. As she breathed, something fluttered in her chest. It was the barest glimmer of hope, alive for the first time. Scarcely without realizing it, she took one of her bowls from the table beside her and began to stroke its surface, letting the smoothness of the glass soothe her. He had
no right to lecture her—and yet she wanted desperately to believe him.
“Milo.” Camilla’s voice was low, as if warning him of something.
“I’ll have my say with her.”
“We discussed this last night.”
Milo stood erect in challenge. “I know the limits here, sister,” he said. Risa felt as if she was listening to a conversation she was not supposed to hear. Camilla took a step back and crossed her arms while he continued. “Risa, I’m sorry to be blunt, but you know I’m right. I have never known a girl so blessed by the gods as you. You might have convinced yourself that you are unneeded, but every person alive in this caza today would testify otherwise. I wish you would believe them. Gods, I wish you would believe in yourself! That’s all I have to say.”
During the last portion of his speech Milo’s voice had returned to its softer, normal tone. Emotion had made him slightly hoarse. He looked away from Risa at his sister, apology written plainly on his face. His shoulders sagged.
I can’t take much more of this.
Though a heavy silence hung over the room after Milo’s appeal, the woman’s whisper was barely audible. Risa saw Milo’s head whip around. Camilla looked just as surprised as he.
When will it be over?
“Who is that?” Milo asked. He strode in the direction of the balcony. Camilla put a hand on the dagger she kept sheathed at her waist and moved for the door.
A deeper voice answered the first, equally faint: … as long as it takes. It was her father’s voice.
I know I must be strong. I know it, my dearest, but I worry so—
“Where are they?” Risa cried in anguish. For a moment she thought she had imagined the voices, but when both Milo and Camilla also heard them, she knew they were real. “It’s my mother and father! Where are they?”
“Shush,” said Camilla, cutting off Risa’s cries with a gesture.
—fine. She’s fine, said Ero’s voice again. Don’t raise your voice. The others might hear.
I cannot believe those Dioros, urging us to grant Berto the Olive Crown on the prince’s promise to return their caza!
You know I will never agree, said Ero. At least Urbano Portello is on our side, even after last night. He won’t give in.
“It’s there!” Milo pointed at Risa. For a shocked moment she thought he was accusing her of producing the voices herself. He was pointing to the item in her lap, however—Risa’s most recent bowl, the one she had shown to Pascal the shopkeeper only days before.
“Careful,” warned Camilla, as he raced across the room to retrieve the fragile object.
I’m sorry. Giulia sounded distant and far away, but her words were clear. But I’m suspicious that the king was interred so quickly. Never before in our country’s history has a royal burial taken place without ceremony.
I praise Muro for Fredo, said her father. If he had not been present last night to complete the rite—
Hairs raised on Risa’s neck at the words, but she was distracted as Milo knelt before her. “This is definitely it.” With Risa, he peered into the bowl of blue glass, tipping it backward and forward to catch the light. “Look!”
Frustrated that his voice was obscuring the barely audible voices of her parents, Risa for an instant just wished that Milo would keep silent. The room’s light was puddling at the bottom of the bowl, shifting around its sloped edges as Milo adjusted it. —can survive within the insula walls. But what of Risa? When she took the bowl from his hands, the shadows took on sharp edges. In the pools of light she saw not her own reflection, but those of her parents. She was looking up at them from below, as if they were hovering over her. Giulia’s fine nostrils flared as she asked her question.
Beside her, his arm around her shoulder and his mouth near her ear, Ero sighed. You worry too much. Our little lionkit will be fine, my love.
Giulia’s hand reached toward them, causing Risa to catch her breath. Milo and Camilla continued to observe the shadows over her shoulder. “Do you see it too?” Risa breathed.
“It’s amazing,” whispered Camilla.
But I worry about her, all alone. Giulia’s fingers obscured most of the image as she traced a circle in the middle of the bowl.
Fredo will look after her, just as he is looking after the rest of the caza.
“How are you doing this?” Milo asked. “Is this Divetri enchantment?”
We don’t know that it was Fredo who completed the rite last night, Risa heard Giulia murmur.
“It must be one of my parents doing it,” said Risa. “It’s not me.”
Who else could?
The image flickered and died. Nothing but a splash of white light and their own reflections remained. “Come back!” she cried, shaking the bowl. Despair rose in her chest. It was too late.
“What happened?” Camilla also took hold of the bowl’s edge. “How did we see them, from so far away?”
“I don’t know,” said Risa. Two emotions held her in their grip. The joy of seeing her parents, hearing their voices, and knowing they were together and alive, grappled with the anguish of having them so suddenly vanish. “I just don’t know. Ferrer Cassamagi said that his ancestress used to work such enchantments, but my parents cannot.”
“It is a wonderful thing,” said Milo. “You saw the Cazarra and Cazarro. And you still believe that you do not walk in the gods’ favor?”
“The gods must be fickle,” said Risa with some bitterness. “They show me that my mother and father do not believe I can care for myself, much less the caza.”
Camilla’s voice was reprimanding. “They said no such thing.”
Did Camilla, too, think she was a child to rebuke? The sour taste on Risa’s tongue did not diminish. “My father would rather die than have a female put her lips to the Divetri horn. I wish that he would hear Ricard’s … oh no.” Risa held a hand to her mouth. “Ricard.”
“What about him?” asked Milo.
“His song! Ferrer Cassamagi warned me to be careful and to keep a low profile—if any of the Thirty who took the prince’s side were to hear that blasted song, I would be a target!”
Milo whistled. “Gods forbid the prince himself hear it!” Risa looked at him with widened eyes.
Camilla wasted no time in speculation. With quick strides across the room she crossed the hall to stick her head out an open window with a view north. In mere seconds she returned, shaking her head. “There’s no sign of Tania and Ricard in the piazza. You must have frightened him away, Cazarra.”
“I’ll look for him,” said Milo. “He’s probably searching for a midday meal.”
“Or sleeping away the hottest hours of the day,” Camilla replied. “Tolio would never let you out on your own. I don’t have to ask permission, with my rank. I’ll go.” She touched her dagger lightly, as if to make certain it was still at her side. To Risa she said in a soft voice, “Don’t worry. Stay here and do not leave the caza. And you,” she said more sharply to Milo. “See that you stay by her side at every moment.”
“Tell Ricard that he’s got to stop singing that song.” There was urgency in Milo’s voice.
“Believe me,” said Camilla with a grim smile. “I have quite a list of things I plan to tell Ricard.”
21
—
For centuries it was thought that the citie-state of Cassafort
was poised to aim its speares at the Azure Islandes,
so firm was its hold on the northernmoste coast of the Azure Sea. Either their feare of our noble armies or their lacke of ambition, however, has kept them at bay.
—Anonymous, A Briefe and Compleat
Historie of the Cassafort Citie
You’ve taken him down a few pegs. He’s been quiet all afternoon.” Mattio leaned his large frame close and nodded in Fredo’s direction. “But your cousin’s b
een acting like he’s the chief craftsman here, lately.”
Risa pretended to check over her father’s inventory notes, written in spiky italic. It had been just days since she’d last witnessed his hand dancing across the page. The last line ended in a scrawl; Ero had hastily aborted his record-keeping in the middle of a word. Had he abandoned his quill at the news of the king’s death? What was he doing now? Her sea-blue bowl sat on the old desk beside her. Look as she might in its reflective surface, his visage had not once appeared since she’d seen it in her chambers. She had intended to ask Mattio if he had ever seen her father work such an enchantment into glass, but she knew that his answer would be a surprised negative. So she asked instead, “How is Amo doing?”
“He’s a good and hard worker,” Mattio admitted. It was his highest praise, Risa knew. “Technically I’d say he’s better than Emil, and he’s not too high and mighty to get his hands dirty, the way your cousin sometimes can be.”
“Can he stay here?”
“Until your father gets home, that’s up to you,” said Mattio. “I wouldn’t mind an extra craftsman about the place in Ero’s absence.” Risa cast a smile in Milo’s direction. Sitting by the side of the desk on a stool, he was listening to every word they said—though for once he refrained from offering his own opinions. “But when your father is cazarro once more, the decision will be his. That reminds me,” he added, his face blank. He had followed the direction of Risa’s glance. “Let me show you something.” With one of his arms around her shoulder, Mattio began to escort Risa across the room toward the bins where they stored sheets of glass in an upright position. “We’ll be right back, lad. No need to worry,” he assured Milo. The guard relaxed slightly, though he still sat alertly on the stool.