Glasswrights' Test (38 page)

But to his shame, he had dreamed of her. He had dreamed that she came into his throne room, that she sat beside him. She had worn the simple golden crown that he'd had fashioned for Mareka. She had folded her fingers across her flat belly, laughing at his unvoiced question, at his silent concern, and then she had pointed an accusing finger at the queen. The guards had carried Mareka out of the palace, out of Moren, out of all the kingdom.

Even now, Hal flushed in embarrassment. He was a devoted man, a faithful husband. He had never touched Rani. He had never yielded to the secret message of his dreams.

And so, he was left staring at a scrap of parchment and wondering if his honor had cost him a loyal subject. Had he driven Rani to her silence in Brianta? Had he forced her back to her old angers, thrust her into the midst of the guild's carefully nurtured hatred?

Look to your wife, the queen.

A sharp knock sounded at the study door and Hal swore, reflexively crumpling the parchment. “Come!” he called, but the fierceness of the single syllable fed his wrath. He tossed the cursed message onto the table, letting it fall amid the miserable documents that he had been studying that morning.

For even before he discovered the secret warning on his writing desk, he had been in a foul mood. The other scrolls told a dismal story, a hopeless tale. Disheartened at their content, he had given explicit orders that he was not to be disturbed. Who would be foolish enough to violate that command? Was it so much for a king to ask for a few simple moments of privacy? Was it truly so difficult to comprehend a direct order to let him alone?

Hal whirled to face his intruder, but the door remained closed. There was the muffled whisper of many voices. “Come, I said!” His voice shook.

Damned secret message. Damned spidersilk. Damned drought.

Another payment was due to the Fellowship within a fortnight, and he was still short one hundred bars of gold. He had taxed his nobles as much as he dared,
more
than he could do safely, without risking open rebellion. While the silk auction at the beginning of the summer had filled his coffers nicely, he could not make all his payments on those funds alone. He had counted on income from the various summer fairs, taxes taken in from the various marketplaces. He had not reckoned on the drought that had tightened across most of Morenia, on the crops that had shriveled under the merciless summer heat.

Even now, he tugged at the neck of his own garment, at the light silk that he had donned when the morning came—hot and muggy and hazy like all the rest. Davin could build a dam; he could construct a flying machine. Why couldn't the old man create something to cool the palace hallways during this beast of a summer?

The voices outside rose in pitch, but still no one opened the door. “By all the Thousand, come!”

The latch lifted slowly. Hal caught his breath in irritation and, when the door was still not opened, he crossed the small room, yanking the oak back as if he could crush all of his problems beneath it.

“Your Majesty! I must—”

“Sire, I told my lady Mair to wait—”

“My lord, they told us we must wait to see you—”

Mair. Farso. Rani. And looming behind them all like a shadow, Tovin Player.

So now the travelers were returned, come directly from the stables, if the stink of them was any indication. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? And why was Rani staring at
him
?

“Silence!” Hal bellowed, and the newcomers stopped in mid-exclamation. “My lady Mair. Rani Trader. Tovin Player. Welcome home to Morenia.” He spoke his greeting with icy precision, not bothering to pretend that he savored the interruption.

Finally taking their cue from his dour words, all four responded with reserve, the two women bobbing into serviceable curtsies. Tovin bowed from the waist with feline grace as Farso swept into a deeper obeisance. Hal narrowed his eyes, determined to drive home his point. Desperate to avoid looking again at Rani, he shifted his weight from right foot to left, letting his body block her line of sight to the crumpled warning on his desk.

“Farso,” he said, turning to chide his loyal man. “Surely these travelers would be better served by stopping in their private chambers. We would have understood if they did not pay their respects immediately upon returning home.”

Mair answered before Farsobalinti could muster a reply. “Sire, we came directly from the road, because our words are so urgent. You must know the affront to your crown. You must understand the insult tendered in Brianta.”

“I've already learned about Princess Berylina.”

“But not about Laranifarso!” The woman's voice broke as she named her own son, and Hal could not keep his eyes from flashing over to Farso. Now, he could see that his retainer's face was drawn, that the stolid soldier looked as if he had taken a brutal beating.

“Laranifarso.” He pictured the tiny child, the precious son, wrapped in swaddling clothes. What calamity had happened in Brianta? What disaster had befallen his subjects in that land?

Mair gasped: “He is taken, Sire.”

“Taken?” That made no sense. Who took a child? An infant?

“Yes!” Her insistence was heightened by her wild eyes, by the dirt that streaked her wind-flushed face. “By Jair, my son has been stolen from me!”

Her words peaked until they broke, and Farso stepped up, as if he could somehow comfort his wife. By Jair. … The Fellowship was involved in this, then? Could the journey to Brianta have been any more disastrous?

Farso closed his fingers around his wife's arm, restraining her even as he lent her visible support. “Please, Sire. Mair has tried to speak to the Briantan authorities, but they said they could do nothing. If you were to write to them, or better yet, send your soldiers. …”

Poor man. He did not know about the Fellowship. He did not know the strength of the force against them.

“Just a moment, Farso,” Hal said. He glanced at Rani then, overcoming his anger to take in her strangely calm demeanor. She was somehow resigned to Laranifarso's disappearance. She was not arguing for him to send in soldiers, for him to unveil the Fellowship.

Do not let her act again.

What had Rani done? How far would she reach in her vengeance against him? Could she hope to gain anything by offering up her friend's child to the Fellowship? Hal kept his eyes on her as he said, “We need more facts before we can act. We need to know precisely who took the child and what they expect to gain.”

Farso insisted, “Your men can learn that with the points of their swords, Sire! I beg of you! If this were your own son, you would demand an immediate response!”

Hal's anger flashed hot through his chest. “You know that I love Laranifarso like my own heir.”

Farso swallowed audibly, and the blood drained even further from his cheeks. “Sire, I did not mean. …”

“Of course not.” The nobleman stammered more apologies, and Hal wanted to strike out at him. Don't treat me like I'm some delicate maiden! Don't look at me with sudden pity! Hal forced himself to take a calming breath. “Farso, I know that you intended no insult. Nevertheless, I cannot do anything until I learn all of the facts. And I will not learn the facts until the ladies—and Tovin Player—have recovered from their journey.”

“Yer Majesty,” Mair growled, “I'm as recovered as I'm like t' be b'fore my bairn i' safe.”

“You have been in a distant kingdom for nearly three months. You have ridden hard on a hot, dry road.” Hal forced his voice to a gentler register. “Please, Lady Mair. Eat something. Drink. Wash the dust of the road from your face. I will be here when you have rested. We can calculate our response then.”

Hal watched the Touched girl measure his words. There was something fierce about her, something taut and angry. She had always rebelled against authority—his, the church's, even the Fellowship's. Hal turned to Farso. “Take care of your wife.”

It was Farso's turn to look affronted, as if Hal's dismissal were permanent. “Sire, you know that I did not mean—”

“I know, my lord. I understand. Take care of Lady Mair. We will speak more once all of us are rested.”

Farso frowned, but he shifted his fingers on Mair's arms; his grasp became more assertive. The Touched girl blinked hard, as if she were surprised, but she let herself be led to the door of the study. She seemed to take some comfort when Farso stopped on the threshold. “Sire, I know you will not sit idly by.”

Hal met his retainer's gaze evenly. “You know that I will not. Take Lady Mair. We'll talk later.”

And they were gone.

But Rani and her player remained. One traitor? Two? None? How could Hal be sure? How could he measure the real danger in this chamber, in all of Morenia?

He glanced toward the crumpled parchment, wishing that he had never read its accusations, that he had never needed to doubt. He drew a deep breath before looking Rani in the eye. “And I suppose you're going to tell me what this is all about?”

She glanced at Tovin, a quick look that contained some silent command. Hal thought that she might be ordering the player from the room, but the man merely looked at her, shrugging his shoulders slightly. She set her jaw in exasperation, but Tovin responded by smiling openly, easily. Hal shifted his weight to regain her attention, letting some of his frustration flow into his own expression.

“My lord,” Rani said. “I know little more in this matter than you've heard already. The Fellowship has taken Laranifarso.”

“But why would they do that?” Hal's voice was harsher even than he had intended. “Did they make demands of you in Brianta? Of Lady Mair?”

Rani darted another glance toward Tovin. The player, then? Was the Fellowship trying to manipulate
Tovin
? Why would they want to lever
his
loyalty? Certainly, the man had bullied his way into the Fellowship's secret ranks. … Perhaps the cabal's core had decided finally to expel him. Maybe they had ordered him from their meetings in Brianta, and he had refused, and the child was now held hostage to guarantee his good behavior. … But that made no sense. No sense at all. The player was here, in Morenia. If Tovin were the reason, the Fellowship would have released Laranifarso by now.

The player opened his hand, bowing slightly as if he were inviting Rani to continue her tale. Hal had no problem reading the look of frustration that she flashed at Tovin, the open exasperation that meant she did not want to proceed with him in the room. “My lord,” she said to the player through tight lips. “I've just remembered that I left my saddle bags in the stable. Could you look to them for me? They contain my Thousand Pointed Star, and other things that are dear to me.”

Tovin's face shuttered. “Surely, Ranita, you trust the king's own grooms.” The man was clever. Rani could not challenge Hal's servants in his very presence.

Her voice was level as she said, “Of course I trust them. It's just that I feel strange after having worn the Star for so long. I feel unclothed without it.”

A silent battle was fought between them. Tovin glared his frustration, transparently demanding to know why he was being dismissed. Rani remained unmoved, as if she were utterly unaware of the questions that he asked, the action that he demanded.

When the player spoke again, his words were so clipped that he might have been reciting lines from one of his plays. “If you send me from this chamber now, I might be long delayed in my return.”

Rani swallowed hard, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I am certain that will not be the case.”

“Only a fool states that the future is certain.”

“Please, Tovin.” The player glared, and Rani reached out toward him with a trembling hand. “I would speak with my king and liege lord alone.”

The player clearly considered and discarded multiple responses; Hal could see the words form in his throat, the emotions dance across his face. Ultimately, he settled for inclining his head. “As you would have it, Lady Ranita.” The player left before Rani could say anything, before she could order him back into the room, beg him to return.

Hal watched in frank surprise. He had never seen Rani Trader speechless. She stared at the door mutely, jagged loss patent on her face.

“Rani,” he said, despite himself, and she jumped at the sound of her name. Only then was he aware of how pale her skin had become. Dark circles bled beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept in all the weeks that she had been gone. Her lips were parched, chapped, and he could see that they had been bleeding recently.

Perhaps the parchment lied. Perhaps there was some other explanation for her silence, for her ignoring his letters. He wanted to ask her why she had not written, but suddenly the question sounded plaintive and childish. Weak. Instead, he said, “Your journey was a hard one, then?”

She shook her head slowly, but the gesture lacked confidence. “I was taken ill in Brianta.” She folded her fingers into tight fists, but not before he could see the network of tiny cuts. Glasswright wounds. The cost of the guild that she fought for, the guild that hated him.

“With what sort of illness?”

“I do not rightly know, my lord. When I was there, I thought that it was merely fatigue. I thought that I was so intent upon my guild work that I was exhausted.”

“And now?”

“Food tastes odd. Drink seems tainted. My mouth tastes of metal, and I cannot warm myself, even under the summer sun.”

Despite himself, he was concerned. “Had you not been secure in your guildhall, you might fear that you'd been poisoned.”

Her eyes flew to his, startled, and she clutched at her skirts in sudden unease. “Why would you say that, Sire? I think instead that I have a lingering fever.”

“A fever that leaves the taste of metal in your mouth?”

She squirmed beneath his gaze, twisting her fingers in her pockets. When she spoke, she sounded as if she were speaking holy vows. “I took all my meals at the guildhall while I was in Morenia.”