The Glass Maker's Daughter

by V. Briceland

  determination, and the ability to see right from wrong. For these reasons, primarily, it is unlikely that they will ever become a major nation.

  —Celestine du Barbaray, Traditions & Vagaries

  of the Azure Coast: A Guide for the Hardy Traveler

  We have to make a decision, and now,” Camilla announced in her brisk, efficient manner. One of the boat people at the southernmost edge of the flotilla had offered them the use of his gondola, a large vessel with enough room to hold them all. “If we’d been able to move more quickly,” Camilla continued, “we might have been able to return you all to your own cazas. After the trouble with the guards, and since there are three of you … ”

  “What my sister is trying to say is that we have no more than twenty minutes until sundown,” Milo interjected, his expression grave. “It will be difficult enough to return to one caza, much less three. You must choose.”

  There was a short silence as they bobbed upon the waters. Around them, the boat people who had heard the speech began to murmur. Risa’s hope of homecoming jelled into nightmare. Again she had that sure and terrifying vision of all her family’s windows shattering as their enchantments were freed: her mother’s workshops becoming a death trap of razor-edged projectiles, her father’s furnaces erupting into an inferno that would be seen for miles. Centuries of craftsmanship, ruined, if they did not return to Caza Divetri.

  She looked at the other cazarri, surprised at how suddenly resentful she was of them both. Her friends had gone to enormous trouble to aid her, not them. It should be Caza Divetri that they chose!

  It felt as if history, past and future, swung upon this single moment. Through the padded sack she could still feel the complex energies that pulsed through the Olive Crown and the Scepter of Thorn. All around her, as well, pulsed the powers she had felt from her friends and the people of the Temple Bridge.

  No, she thought to herself, almost laughing at her own absurd selfishness. That’s not at all right.

  The poor and the outcast did not know her except through Ricard’s song—they had not attacked the guard to protect her interests. Camilla and Milo had not risked their own lives and careers to rescue insignificant Risa Divetri, but to uphold what she represented. Liberty. Defiance against tyranny. All her friends had gone to enormous risk to preserve Cassaforte’s freedom.

  It was for Cassaforte that they all struggled at that moment, uniting their energies to avoid Ferrer’s prophecy of war and doom. An unfettered country was a greater thing than an individual or even a family, Risa realized.

  Milo had known that all along. In that moment she admired him, and his allegiance against the darkness, more than ever. “Caza Cassamagi,” she declared, not at all regretting that she said the word. “We should save Cassamagi and its records.”

  The others all looked to Ferrer. For a moment he seemed relieved, as if he too had been struggling with the same demons. Then he shook his head. “Cassamagi is an old house,” he said slowly, “run by an old man who bores sons and servants alike with his chatter. Our records are nothing. You are Cassaforte’s destiny, young woman.” With a hand that trembled as he reached out to cup her chin, he sighed. “Let us save Caza Divetri. I think Baso agrees with me, don’t you, lad?” The boy nodded without hesitation.

  Tears sprang to Risa’s eyes at the declaration. Her skin flushed with chills and goose pimples. The old man smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You are most welcome.”

  “Caza Divetri is the closest,” Milo admitted.

  “I can’t say I’m not glad of the choice,” Mattio said, obviously relieved.

  “But what will we do when we get there?” asked Amo, ready to punt. “We need a plan. Milo? Camilla?”

  Camilla shook her head. “It is not for me to decide.”

  Milo also declined responsibility. “A matter this grave requires the decision of a true cazarro.” He nodded with respect in Ferrer’s direction. “Or a true cazarra,” he said, looking at Risa with hope in his eyes.

  He believed in her, Risa realized. He did not feel the need to instruct her—he simply believed in her. At that moment, she felt as if she could do anything.

  “I have a plan.” It had sprung, fully formed, from her joy in his confidence in her. “We will return to Caza Divetri and make it our fortress. There are countless people in the city who would have us succeed against the prince.” She gestured to the gondola people around her. They responded with vigorous cheers and applause. “There are others who will stand with us against the prince, all of them true sons and daughters of Muro and Lena! If we must, we shall make guards of them and stand them at every caza bridge and door and window. Night after night I will raise my caza’s flag and sound the horn, and night after night my city will know that against a corrupt usurper, Caza Divetri and the people stand proud.” Her determination had arrested the crowd’s attention. She felt the golden load on her back invigorate her further. “We will stand against him for weeks and months. Years, if we must! We have to! Are you all with me?”

  The ovation that arose overwhelmed her. Yet amidst the tumult, she only had eyes for Milo. In his shining face, she could read his response as clearly as if he had yelled it at the top of his lungs.

  “We’d best be on our way,” Mattio said, casting off from the Temple Bridge. “Amo, you take the other pole.”

  The canal waters appeared motionless, but when their party left the Royal Canal for the narrower waterway that would take them to Caza Divetri, the gentle course of the water’s flow toward the sea hastened their journey southward. Risa was surprised, when she turned in her seat, to find scores of gondolas from the Temple Bridge following in their wake. Strong men’s chests were puffed with pride. Women with kerchiefs over their braids punted too, as did youths eager to catch up to Risa’s gondola. Some of them sang out Ricard’s tune as they soared through the water.

  It should have been a sight to gladden Risa’s heart. Yet with every glance to the west, all she noticed was the heavy and swollen sun as it sank lower to the horizon. It seemed an ominous red as the last fingers of light began to dance across the rippling surfaces of the canals. Inwardly she began a silent chant as she watched the punters heave: Hurry! Hurry!

  So fixated was she upon the sun and its relentless descent that the sound of boots trampling in unison startled her. Milo stopped in mid-punt to point up to one of the bridges crossing at a diagonal overhead. All singing ceased. They could see a squadron of guards running in formation to the south. It felt as if the prince’s withered claw clutched her from afar at that moment, compressing her lungs and bowels. They were heading toward Caza Divetri, she was sure.

  “We can outpunt them,” Camilla assured her. Risa did not feel much comforted.

  As large and heavy as their new gondola was, the combined efforts of the punters and the water’s natural current enabled it to glide swiftly. Within a moment she could hear that they had caught up to the running guards; it took only seconds more for them to pass them entirely.

  The buildings visible from the low surface of the water became more and more recognizable to her. Many were those she saw from her window every day. After so many unfamiliar and hostile people and places, the sight of the familiar buoyed her spirits. She would arrive with time to spare, surrounded by people determined to fight by her side for city and country. There was hope. She would succeed.

  The gondola’s prow jolted against the stone berth, and it shuddered to a stop. Instantly Milo was on his feet, helping Risa to be the first to set foot on land. “Go!” he told her, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her up.

  She did not need his encouragement. Without looking back, she ran across the public dock and up the rough staircase that led to the Piazza Divetri. As she took the steps two by two, she plotted out in her mind the fastest route through the caza to the great balcony at the top. It woul
d be fastest, she thought, breathing heavily as she gained the highest stair, to take the upper bridge and then to—

  Then she stopped and stared, not comprehending what she saw. Across from her, blocking the bridge’s entrance, twenty guards stood at attention. Shoulder to shoulder they ranged, swords drawn and crossed, an impossible barrier. She turned in the direction of the lower bridge, a short run to the east. But in the long shadows of dusk, she saw another team of guards in similar formation.

  The lower edge of the sun was slipping beneath the western horizon. In the distance, from the center of the city, she heard the cry of the palace horn. Long and low it sounded against the purples and reds of the sky before fading into silence.

  There would be no answering cry from the sweet horn of Cassamagi that night. I’m so sorry, a part of her mind spoke as she thought of Ferrer. She was dimly aware that Camilla and Milo had both reached her side. Their muttered curses of disappointment brought her back to the moment.

  Though she had much to fear, she also had everything to lose. She was the acting Cazarra of Divetri. All depended upon her. Risa steadied her roiling emotions and marched up to the line of soldiers, feeling every eye upon her. She could tell that they would not hesitate to beat her down.

  Captain Tolio stood before the men with his arms crossed. As she marched closer, he took two steps forward and halted her with a hand. “That’s far enough,” he said. “I don’t want my men to have to hurt you.” Flanking her on either side, Camilla and Milo reached for their swords. Instantly four of the guards stepped forward and stopped them in mid-gesture, ready to strike.

  “You’re a traitor, Tolio,” Camilla growled.

  “The three of you are under arrest by order of Prince Berto,” drawled Tolio, obviously enjoying himself.

  “A prince cannot order arrests,” Milo countered.

  “This one can, when he is king. I gather it won’t be long.” In the distance Risa heard the sound of fireworks. She mourned to know that the popping and fizzles she heard was the self-destruction of the enchantments in the oldest of the seven cazas. “The rest of you are under arrest as well.” He nodded in the direction of those who had just come up from the dock below. Risa’s heart ached to see Ferrer sinking to his knees, clutching himself as he heard the distant sounds of his home’s devastation.

  “I can’t believe you would stoop so low.” Camilla’s rage was so fierce that she charged forward. Two of the guards grabbed her elbows to restrain her. “What has he offered you, a promotion? You were a hero against the Azurites!”

  Out of instinct, Tolio raised his hand to the old scars that criss-crossed his face. “Heroism buys nothing. A man has to know who butters his bread,” he said. “Take them away.”

  “No!” Risa did not know which emboldened her—sheer panic, or the positive energies emanating from the sack she carried. With a mighty leap she catapulted forward, ducking under Tolio’s arms. She dove for a space left by one of the guards restraining Camilla, intending to slip through and run as quickly as possible to the balcony. Had she been more quick or lucky, it might have worked, but one of Tolio’s men grabbed her by the hair and yanked her down, sending her flat to her back with a crash. The sack landed on top of her.

  It felt as if her entire head were on fire, and her eyes filled with tears. But what pained Risa most was the certain knowledge that within moments, Caza Divetri would fall. With it would fall the entire country. The explosions of glass and fire that would soon deafen her would only be the opening salvo in a century of war. Guard would fight against guard and kin against kin as darkness struggled for dominion over the land.

  She looked around, blinking away tears. Evening clouds like lace drifted above. Serene and slow-moving, despite the noise and the confusion around her, they parted to reveal the two moons. Muro and Lena, brother and sister, looked down from the heavens upon her, and only she could see them.

  Brother and sister, the closest of kin—like Camilla and Milo, she realized. Like Tania and Ricard, or herself and Petro. Once more her eyes filled as with wonder she realized what a fool she had been. You never deserted me. You sent brothers and sisters, like yourselves, to help, she thought, gazing at their luminous forms. The sea winds blew wispy clouds, shrouding them once more. With despair, Risa watched them disappear. The gods have been watching me all this time. If only I’d realized … maybe I wouldn’t have failed.

  A single note cut through the commotion. Rich and soft it was, like velvet. It flew overhead in the direction of the palace, silencing every voice around her. She felt the power in that tone. It soothed her pain. The crown and scepter within her sack thrummed in response, approving. As if grabbing on to the invisible rope of the tone, cast from caza to palace, Risa rose from where she lay. She blinked away the sorrow in her eyes and craned her neck to see.

  In silhouette, at the top of Caza Divetri beneath the family’s blue and green banner, stood the lonely figure of a man. The horn’s cry faded as he lowered the instrument back to its pillow. He stepped back down as a cheer of approval arose from the gondola people behind them, who were still filtering up from the docks below.

  “That can’t be,” said Tolio, his voice angry. “There’s no one left in the house who could possibly … only the cazarri or the king himself can sound the horns!”

  Only the cazarri or the king himself could sound the horns of Cassaforte.

  Even a child knew that.

  There was elation in Risa’s heart and courage in every atom of her body as she clutched the country’s treasures to her chest. Taking advantage of the confusion, she dashed through the line of guards and ran across the great bridge, hearing Tolio’s irate shout and cries from Milo and Camilla. Halfway across the span, she looked back and saw that the gondola people had rushed the guards, overpowering them and giving her time for a head start. Sparing only a look of thanks to the heavens, she dashed toward the residence, her mind puzzled to bursting with half-solved riddles.

  When she mounted the last of the residence stairs, flushed and out of breath, the man who had blown the horn was sitting at the edge of the balcony. At first he did not even notice her approach. It was not until she sat down beside him and reached out to touch his spotted, translucent skin that he slowly turned to regard her.

  “So much has gone wrong,” he said simply. Those had been the first words he’d said to her after she’d pulled him from the canals.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked. Hours earlier, the Olive Crown had shown him as a youth—a vibrant young man with thick and curly hair. Here he sat, decades older, a skeleton of his former self. Wrinkled. Aged. A few white strands of hair were his scalp’s only adornment.

  He shook his head. “No one believes the ramblings of a ragged old man. Who would believe me even now?”

  She knew that he was right. Had the old beggar told her that he was her king, she would not have trusted him. “They will believe you now,” she promised.

  With great reverence, she lowered herself to her knees. From the sack she withdrew first the scepter, which she placed at his feet. Using both hands, she removed the Olive Crown and lifted it to the sky. Once more the clouds parted, and they were bathed in moonlight. The relics seemed to shine as if struck by the sun.

  “It has been such a very long time since I last saw the crown,” Dom said slowly. He looked at it with longing. “When I had my first illness, my son locked me away from it and told the world I refused to see anyone save him. He knew that without the crown I would weaken and wither. He did not suspect that even at a distance, it would keep me alive for nearly two years. Many times I wished it would let me die.” His gaze caressed the golden branches as he continued to speak in his weary, whispery voice. “But he was careless. I escaped, meaning to seek aid from one of the cazas. Then I learned he had announced my death. When I heard—when I heard the rumors he had kidnapped the cazarri, I knew
they had refused him the crown because there was no body.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, unable to find words to express the pain his story inspired.

  “I prayed,” he replied, staring at her in the same dazed way as had Ferrer during their incarceration. “So many months I prayed to the gods to send me help. I prayed for them to send a miracle. And you … you have brought me the Olive Crown.”

  “It is rightfully yours.” Risa stood and helped him lift it to his head, gently settling it down until it rested there. He closed his eyes and sighed, as if feeling the same tremor of energies as she.

  When he opened his eyes once more, they were brighter and less weary. He was no less aged than he had been as Dom, but he seemed to have the beginnings of new energy and authority. He reached out to her. With a feather-light touch, he took her hand in his, pressing it to his mouth in a kiss.

  She was not unaware that a crowd had begun to assemble on the balcony behind them. Milo was there, and Camilla and Amo and Baso. Someone had helped Ferrer up the many steps. Tolio was there as well, his hands bound, surrounded by a number of people from the Temple Bridge flotilla. A baby cried somewhere in the back; Risa could not see if it belonged to the girl who had helped her. Those who had arrived early enough had witnessed her coronation of the old beggar. Those who were still crowding in now quickly caught the solemn mood and respectfully remained quiet.

  The gods had set her aside, yes, but it was to achieve this moment. As if she had suddenly inherited Ferrer’s gift of prophecy, she could see how narrowly they had all averted the darkness. She could see that the authority of the enchanted crown and scepter would return the monarch to his palace. He would exact justice for the treachery of his son, and appoint a new heir to take his place. The cazas would be rebuilt and the besieged insulas freed of their barricades. There would be no war.

  Her mother and father would return home, and Petro and Romeldo and her sisters would come. She would greet them with open arms and a story to tell.