Glasswrights' Journeyman (31 page)

“Again?” the knight asked, clearly speaking before he could stop himself.

“Aye.”

Hal had called for the priest often in the past two weeks. In the aftermath of his … encounter with Mareka, he had sought the comfort of the church that he had known since childhood. He longed for the reassurance of all the Thousand Gods, even though he was too ashamed to admit to the young religious precisely how he had yielded to temptation, how he had endangered his embassy.

“Sire, if you'd rather that
I
stay. …”

“I'd rather that you help me where you can do the most good, Farso. Don't look so worried. I'm a bridegroom, or at least I plan to be. It is only natural that I seek the guidance of the Thousand Gods before I go to Princess Berylina.”

Farso clearly disagreed with Hal's assessment, but years of serving his lord won out against further protest. “Aye, Sire.” Farso bowed again and left the chamber.

Grateful for the man's devotion, Hal crossed his apartment to the small prie-dieu that huddled in the corner. He lowered himself to the wooden kneeler and touched his head to the carved oak upright, calling upon First Pilgrim Jair for guidance. He had spoken to his forefather often in the past fortnight, addressing him as a familiar.

“Jair, you founded my house, and you carved out a line of kings. What temptations did you face? What tests did you fail?”

Hal's prayers were silent, repeating the questions he had asked himself for two full weeks. Even as he settled down to wordless contemplation of his sins, he was interrupted by memories – by the flash of Mareka's eyes in the grey light of his chamber, by the gleam of her supple arm as it whispered from beneath her spidersilk gown. Hal forced himself deeper into his prayers, but he could not forget the heat of his fever, the strange, heady passion that had overtaken him so inexplicably. He lost himself in the recollection of Mareka's kiss, of the heat that had burned from her body into his.

“You called for me, Sire?”

Hal jerked away from his reverie. Father Siritalanu hovered just inside the door, his hands hanging heavy inside their emerald sleeves. The priest was young, as young as Hal – that was one reason that Hal had accepted the cleric into his entourage. Like all the noble priestly caste, Siritalanu was a distant cousin, kin so vague that Hal would need a herald to be certain of the ties that bound them.

“Aye, Father. Thank you for coming,” Hal said. “I wanted you to guide me in my prayers.”

“Certainly, Sire.” The priest closed the door behind him with precision. With the same precision Mareka had used when she had locked out the outside world. … Hal sucked in his breath, as if he had burned himself on his memories. He would
not
conflate the priest's actions with those of the spiderguild apprentice; he would not sin that gravely.

Siritalanu came to stand beside the prie-dieu, running his hand over the top of the prayer bench. “It is good that you call me when you wish to pray, Your Majesty. It is good to reach out to the Thousand Gods at this changing time in your life. The gods watch over all their children with pride, but they are particularly pleased when we turn to them at times of celebration.”

“I am far from home, Father, and I feel the need for comfort.”

“Let us pray, then.” Hal bowed his head before the young priest. “Let us pray in the name of Fen, the god of mercy.”

Hal clenched his hands on the back of the prie-dieu, trying to collect his thoughts. He tried to remember that he was the Defender of the Faith, invested with that office at the same time that he was crowned king of all Morenia. The Thousand Gods should look upon him with favor. With forgiveness.

The priest whispered, “Hail Fen, god of mercy. Forgive us our transgressions, Fen, and find a path for us back to the ways of righteousness.”

Hal forced himself to repeat the words, trying to anchor himself upon their familiarity. He let Siritalanu move him from Fen, to Kom, the god of courage, to Lum, the god of love, and – finally – Rit, the god of marriages.

The priest was right, of course. Why not enlist Rit's help before Hal spoke with Berylina? Why not embrace the power of every one of the Thousand Gods? Hal forced himself to relax in Siritalanu's prayerful words. He let himself be lulled by the priest, by the familiar petitions that washed over him, that flowed from his mouth. There was comfort in the prayers, comfort in kneeling humbly, comfort in the familiar silence of the Thousand Gods.

When Hal had completed his appeal to Rit, he left his head bowed for several long minutes. Siritalanu remained kneeling beside him; his presence barely measured by his breathing. Silence enfolded the two men, bonding, comforting, protecting.

But Hal knew that he could not stay at the prie-dieu forever. He could not stay in the paneled apartments that had been assigned to him by King Teheboth, in the chamber where Rani had left him, where Mareka had come to him. The warm coverlet of comfort woven by the prayers began to fray, and Hal forced himself to breathe deeply, as if he were a soldier settling into his gear and heading off to battle.

It was time. Time to go to Berylina.

He stood shakily and leaned against the back of the prie-dieu. The priest clambered to his feet as well, reaching out a hand to steady his liege. “Are you all right, Your Majesty? You look pale.”

“I am fine, Father.” Father. The priest was a boy; what could he know of Hal's trepidation? He was no one's
father
. The word shivered through Hal's guilty memories as he remembered Mareka's touch, as he remembered her flesh melting into his. No! Hal was not a father, either. Hal could not be a father. Not yet. Not until he had taken a proper bride. The gods could not be so cruel.

“Your Majesty!” Siritalanu gasped as Hal's knees began to buckle.

“I am fine,” Hal repeated, gasping sharply and forcing his head to clear, forcing the dizziness to abate. In the distance, a bell began to toll, and he swallowed hard. “I am expected in Princess Berylina's solar, Father.”

“Perhaps you would like me to send her a message, Your Majesty. I can tell the princess that you are not well enough to join her.”

“No, Father. That is not possible.”

“I'll come with you, then.”

Hal started to dismiss the earnest young man. After all, what more could the priest do for him? What more could he do, with his round eyes and his smooth cheeks, his boyish good nature? Siritalanu could never understand all the issues at hand.

What could it hurt, though? A priest was proper. A priest belonged on the fringes of a courtship – more than a merchant did, more than an apprentice. A religious presence would be … appropriate.

Hal raised a hand to the circlet on his brow, as if checking to make sure that the weight was centered. His head ached, but that might be from the weight of the fillet, or from his sleeplessness, or his hunger. …

“Come, then, Father,” he said grimly. “We mustn't keep the princess waiting.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.” The priest made a small bow and followed him out of the chamber.

They passed others in the hallways, Liantines intent on their daily work about the castle. Hal nodded when he should, looking left and right like the king he was. No one stopped to stare at him. No one stopped to ogle. His blemished conscience was not apparent on his face, not marked on his fine robes. For all these Liantines knew, Hal was the same man he'd always been, the same moral suitor king.

Even Berylina's nurses were unaware of how he had changed in the past two weeks.

“My lord!” the youngest said, as soon as he stepped into the solar. Both attendants dropped into pretty curtseys.

“My lady,” Hal replied courteously, waving both women to rise. “Please! Do not stand on ceremony for me!” He forced a smile across his lips. “Father Siritalanu and I thought that we would come and partake of the warm spring sunshine here in the solar.” He turned to Berylina and braced himself. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning, my lord,” Berylina replied without prompting – a fine sign. She licked her lips nervously, though, drawing unfortunate attention to the rabbit teeth that got in the way of her tongue.

Hal crossed to the windows, looking down at the Liantine harbor. He wanted to be on his own ship. He wanted to carry Mair's firelung weed back to Morenia, to supervise the difficult labor of tearing down the old city, building up the new. He could not leave yet, though. He must finish his mission here. He forced himself to concentrate, to turn back to the child he was courting. “Have you been drawing today, my lady?”

Berylina flushed shyly, ducking her head to study her hands. Nevertheless, she darted a glance toward her easel, and Hal crossed to study the work in progress.

She had begun the drawing with black charcoal, outlining the figure with determined, heavy lines. The man's cloak fell in neat folds. His legs were sketched with skill, making it appear that he strode off the parchment. A fillet circled his brow, capturing a glint of light, and a heavy chain was strung around his neck. Hal stepped closer to study that chain, and he saw that it was fashioned of interlocking Js. J for Jair. J for the Defender of the Faith. He immediately looked at the figure's face, his stomach tightening as he expected to see his own features reproduced. Berylina had not yet finished her work, though. The drawing's visage remained blank.

Hal swallowed hard and darted a glance toward Siritalanu before choosing the safest conclusion. “It's Jair, then.”

“Aye,” the princess confirmed, apparently grateful that he had been able to identify the portrait. “The First Pilgrim.” Hal thought that the girl would not manage any further words, but then she closed her poor, crossed eyes and said, “I thought to draw him as a gift for you. I thought to give him to you when you return to Morenia. When will you be leaving, my lord?”

Hal was touched by her earnest tone, by her naive hope. She must sense that time was disappearing, that Hal's mission was coming to a head. Now, he must speak honestly. He must destroy the princess's fragile hopes and make her recognize her future. He knew now that he would wed her; there had never been any real doubt.

He made his voice as gentle as he could. “Soon, my lady. Soon, we both will leave. I intend to bring you to my home, as my bride.”

There was a rustle among Berylina's nurses. Certainly
they
could not be surprised by Hal's announcement. Speculation had been running high throughout all Liantine, from the moment his boat had docked in the harbor. Nevertheless, this was the first time that he had dared to speak of his plans directly to the princess. She blushed furiously and looked away, twisting her hands in her skirts.

Hal felt an answering heat rise in his own cheeks. He should have planned this conversation more completely. He should have figured out precisely what he would say, not left an awkward silence where the princess must respond. Foolishly, he had confessed his intentions on the spur of the moment, inspired by Berylina's drawing and her pathetic question, but now that he had begun, he was bound to continue. He sank to one knee in front of her, capturing one pudgy hand in his. “That is, my lady, if you will have me. If you will allow the crown of Morenia to settle on your brow.”

Poor Berylina's fingers were slick between his own, and she looked as if she would dearly love to flee somewhere, anywhere. She glanced at the easel, at the stack of parchment beside the stand, at her expectant nurses. Her throat worked, but she seemed unable to make any sound emerge.

Hal waited patiently, looking up at his intended. The longer he paused, though, the more flustered the princess became. She closed her eyes, and her breath came fast, so fast that he began to fear that she would faint. Her lips trembled, as if she were about to weep. “My lady!” Hal exclaimed, transferring some of his own nervousness to his exclamation.

The cry proved too much for the princess; she pulled her hand from his and whirled away. Before Hal could rise up, Berylina had fled to the far corner of her solar, flinging herself onto her knees. She bent her head and made a holy sign across her chest. Her lips moved in frantic, desperate prayer.

Astonished, Hal clambered to his feet, but he restrained himself from crossing to the distressed child. Father Siritalanu refused to meet his eyes; the priest studied the drawing of Jair as if it held the secrets of all the Thousand Gods. Both nurses looked at their charge with pity, and then the older once said, “I'm sorry, my lord. Her Highness is not well today. She was up quite early, making her drawings, and she must be overtired.”

Hal heard the attempt to spare his royal sensitivities, the bid to treat Berylina's actions as normal. He wanted to protest that he had meant her no harm. He had intended to
honor
her with his request. He had thought it would be easier for the child to hear him ask for her hand directly. It wasn't as if she had a say in what would actually happen, after all. It wasn't as if she would be permitted by Teheboth to decide whom she would wed.

“I understand, my lady,” Hal forced himself to say graciously to the nurse. He straightened his tunic and looked across at the princess, whose shoulders were now shaking – with either tears or frantic gasps, Hal could not be sure. “I would not disturb Her Highness any more than I already have.”

He bowed stiffly and started to turn back to the door, but Berylina cried out. “Your Majesty!” she sobbed, but she would not turn to face him. “I am sorry, my lord!”

Hal's heart twisted inside his chest as he thought what the words must cost her. “No, Your Highness. The sorrow is mine. I did not intend to distress you. By all the Thousand Gods, my lady, that was never my intent.”

“B – By all the Thousand Gods,” Berylina whispered, her words scarcely audible across the room.

At her faint speech, Father Siritalanu stepped forward, as if he had only just come to life in the solar's bright sunshine. “The Thousand Gods look upon all their children with grace, my lady.” The priest's voice was young and earnest, loud in the glass-walled room.