The Glass Maker's Daughter Read online

  As if her feet had been released from shackles, Risa broke free from the spot to which she was rooted and ran for the caza.

  10

  —

  Every knot begins as clean string.

  —A common Cassafortean saying

  Which of you is called Tolio?” Risa demanded as she broke into the formal courtyard. Over a score of the city guard already crowded its formal landscape, their weapons and crimson cloaks spread over the benches and topiaries. It was as if they were making themselves at home, she thought wildly.

  Fredo and Mattio followed her into the courtyard, accompanied by a blinking Emil. In her flight through the caza, Risa had stopped briefly to beg Mattio to come with her—if there was bad news to be heard, she wanted him to be there. The other craftsmen had insisted on coming as well, and even a gaggle of servants trailed behind, their faces betraying their nervousness.

  “Now, now, cousin,” said Fredo. He stepped forward and folded one hand over the other. “Surely a cazarrina can show more courtesy to such illustrious visitors.”

  For a moment she hated him for that remark. Cousin or not, a man not of the Seven and Thirty had no right to instruct her in good manners. She would have issued some retort had not her eye, at that moment, caught a glimpse of a face that seemed familiar. The boy was standing slightly behind a young fair-haired woman, taller than himself, who was busily instructing other guards where to pile their provisions. It was Milo—the uncommon guard with the common name—from the afternoon before. He flashed her a quick grin, then made a show of looking up at the sky and whistling and pretending not to have seen her.

  “Which of you is Tolio?” Risa repeated, in a tone no less firm although she was oddly conscious of Milo’s presence.

  “I am Tolio, Cazarrina,” said the oldest of the crimson-clad guards. The braid on his tunic was thicker than the others. Like many Cassafortean men in their fifth or sixth decade, he bore scars on his face won in the savage war against the Azurite pirates. They almost suited his rough-hewn features and sour expression.

  “Are my parents well? Has harm come to them?” Her haste to frame the inquiry made the words come haltingly.

  “I am certain that our guest, Tolio—Captain Tolio, is it? What an honor!—would not bring so many of his men and women for so trivial a task, young cousin.” Fredo’s smile was oily enough to calm even the waves of a two-moon tide.

  “The Cazarro and Cazarra Divetri are well and in good health,” Tolio said, bowing toward Fredo. “I bear a message from the Cazarra.” He brandished a folded page.

  “Praise the gods,” murmured Fredo.

  Milo had been following the conversation closely, Risa could tell. Despite the fact that the young woman guard was having him restack a pile of pikes that had tumbled over, his head was cocked in her direction. When he caught Risa’s eye once more, he began to whistle and attend to his task.

  “Is it truly necessary for forty guards to hand-deliver a message?” Risa asked.

  “We are acting on the orders of Prince Berto,” Tolio commented.

  Mattio stepped forward. “I was a guard in my youth. Guards act only on the orders of the king, not his kin.”

  “The king is dead.” Tolio paused to let the news sink in. Though the guards seemed unsurprised, none of the caza had yet heard the news. There was a stunned murmur among the servants. Risa felt dazed and empty. King Alessandro—dead? It had been several years since he had been among the citizens, due to his ill health. They had all been expecting the worst for some time now, but it was a definite shock to hear the words said aloud.

  “May Lena have mercy upon him.” Fredo looked up to the heavens as he spoke the words. “Muro, grant him rest and peace.”

  Tolio stepped forward, unmoved by the speech. “Until the Seven have officially bestowed the Olive Crown and the Scepter of Thorn upon Prince Berto, we act according to the dictates of the heir presumptive to the throne. And his order is to occupy the cazas of the Seven until the transition is secure.”

  So that was why her parents had taken flight in their carriage the night before. Whenever a monarch died, the seven cazarri were required to join together at the palace to award the country’s sacred relics to the heir. From her history lessons, Risa knew that the enchanted objects had to be bestowed upon him in a unanimous gesture. Prince Berto could not just seize the crown and scepter; they could not be even so much as touched by any save the rightful king approved by the Seven. The Seven were key to ensuring a smooth transition between rulers, she realized—they were the fulcrum upon which rested the delicate balance between the will of the crown and the will of the people. Here was history in the making.

  “I’m very sorry about King Alessandro,” she said quietly. “But may I have the message?”

  Instantly Fredo stepped forward. “Perhaps I should take it, little cousin.” To Tolio he added, “I am the only male of Divetri blood in the household, and I feel my cousin, the cazarro, would wish for me to be in charge of the caza in his absence.”

  Outrage roared like furnace fires in Risa’s chest. It was dampened slightly by the sight of Milo, standing to the side, mimicking Fredo’s sanctimonious expression with the addition of crossed eyes. To his misfortune, the blond guard supervising him caught the mockery as well. She snapped her fingers and ordered Milo back to work. “I am the only Divetri of pure blood in this caza,” Risa retorted, not bothering to hide her bile.

  For an instant she thought she saw a look of loathing in Fredo’s eyes, but it must have been her imagination. His countenance was as smug and self-satisfied as ever. “I really must insist—”

  “Mattio,” Risa said, ignoring him. “Dispatch a servant to the Insula of the Children of Muro. I wish my brother Romeldo to be here in my father’s absence, so that we may avoid any future misunderstandings.”

  She was happy to see that her order startled Fredo from his complacency. “I’m not sure that’s entirely necessary, cousin,” he began.

  “I believe it is.”

  “It would be a pleasure.” Mattio looked grim as he ducked his head and disappeared through the caza doors. Though he was civil to all, Risa knew that Mattio had no love for her cousin.

  Tolio looked at the folded missive. “It is addressed to the Cazarrina,” he said mildly. As if that decided the matter, he handed it to Risa. She accepted it with an air of triumph. Milo’s surreptitious wink buoyed her, for a moment. It was heartening to feel she had an ally.

  She noticed immediately that the message had not been sealed. Anyone among the palace staff could have viewed it. Judging from the smudged fingerprints along its edge, at least a few had.

  Dearest—

  Know that I miss you with each

  passing hour. Your father, Ero,

  and I are being amply entertained by his

  majesty, Prince Berto. I would appreciate it

  if you were to bring to the palace a

  hospitality offering. Are you enjoying

  the weather? It is my sincere hope

  that we continue to have fair days.

  —Giulia

  Sensing motion behind her, Risa turned. Fredo stood over her shoulder, his lips still moving as he read. “I would be honored to take a hospitality offering to the palace,” he said, his voice humble. Fita, who had been repeatedly wiping her hands with her apron as she stood in the caza doors, murmured to herself. She clapped her hands, ordering the kitchen servants to follow her so they could begin preparations.

  “I will take the offering,” Risa snapped back. “The letter is addressed to me.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be best,” Fredo countered. “You attend to that modest errand. It is best that I look after the household in the cazarro’s absence.” Before Risa could interject, he added, “Until Cousin Romeldo arrives, of course.”

  She
knew her father would disapprove, but she had to say something. “Do not try me, cousin.” She was about to stalk off into the household when Tolio clapped his hands.

  “A moment, Cazarrina. I must assign you a watch.”

  “A watch?” She turned and regarded the captain in disbelief. “Am I under guard? Am I not free to come and go as I please?”

  “My orders state that guards are to be placed throughout the cazas and at their bridges, and that members of the seven families are to be assigned watches,” Tolio replied with courtesy. “You are not under arrest. You are free to come and go as you please, during the daylight hours. At night you are not allowed into the city. For your safety,” he explained.

  “I am glad to know I’m not under arrest,” she said dryly. The remark went unheard. Tolio was calling for a volunteer from among the guard to act as Risa’s watch. After a moment in which no one responded, Milo’s arm reached into the air lazily, as if almost reluctant. The blond female guard gave him a sharp look.

  “Very good, Sorranto,” said Tolio with a nod.

  Risa sighed, unable to believe the impertinence of both being assigned a guard and having Milo volunteer. “Very well then. But you,” she said to Milo, who had approached with a face that feigned boredom, “keep ten paces back.”

  “Very good, Cazarrina,” he drawled. “As you wish, Cazarrina.”

  11

  —

  Yes, I have stood upon the Petitioner’s Stair and laid my eyes upon the Olive Crown and the Scepter of Thorn. Humble in name, yes, but not in appearance, for they are of the purest gold. I dared not reach out an arm to test their weight, however, for I was warned that powerful magicks protect them from thievery. It is said that in previous days the burnt husk of a corpse who had tried to make away with them was put on public display in front of the palace. So effective was the display that none have attempted a similar feat since.

  —Marcel Cloutier, Ambassador of Charlemance to

  the court of Cassaforte

  There was something about the letter that bothered Risa, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. It was just unusual for Giulia to write about the weather but not say a word about why they had tarried so long. There was no apology, no instructions. No word from her father.

  “I don’t understand.” Risa hopped down from her perch on the balcony rail. Above her, in the late morning sea breezes, flapped the purple and brown banner of Cassaforte. She paced across the red and black tiles, reading her mother’s letter for the dozenth time and trying to forget the stress and strain of the last twenty-four hours.

  Ahead of her, Milo sidled away when she approached. As she paced back to the rail, he eased forward.

  The only thing that seemed sincere about the entire note was the first sentence. Although they had not really spoken much since the Scrutiny, it was so like her gentle mother to say how much she missed her. Still, there was something wrong here. Was she the only one who could see it? Oh, where was Romeldo? Was he too ashamed to come, after her tantrum of the week before?

  With determination, Risa began once more to stride across the balcony, only to have her thoughts interrupted by the sight of Milo edging away from her. “Why do you keep doing that?” she said, stopping and putting her hands upon her hips.

  “Begging your pardon, but the cazarrina requested I keep ten paces away.”

  A puff of air escaped from her lips. “You,” she announced, “are maddening.”

  Milo cracked a grin. “You need a good laugh.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  His green eyes looked her up and down. “My mother would say that a day wasn’t worth living that didn’t have one good laugh in it.” Risa had in her mind an instant picture of his mother—a fat, maternal sort who stayed at home and cooked stews and dispensed advice and washed his crimson tunics when he came home. “You’re the type she would like,” he added.

  “What type is that?”

  The boy abandoned his rigid guard’s stance and leaned against the wall. “The type who jumps into canals after beggars. That was a right special thing you did there. I don’t know many of the Seven or Thirty or even us common folk who’d do a fool thing like that.”

  Risa laughed abruptly, but it was without humor. “There’s nothing special about me.”

  “My mother would say there’s something special to everyone, if they take care to find it.”

  “If I ever meet your mother,” she told him, “I’ll prove to her how very unspecial I am.”

  “Might be a bit of a task,” mused Milo. “Seeing how she’s dead.” After seeing her shocked expression, he smiled again. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. However.” He waggled a finger at Risa and narrowed his eyes, obviously preparing to make a point. “Just because a person’s dead doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

  He was obviously trying to use humor to smooth over the gaffe. Still, she felt badly. “It’s strange that I should see you twice in two days.”

  His reply was quite cheerful. “Oh, it’s not strange at all. When they were assigning guards to the cazas, I pulled strings to come here.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t believe anyone would pull strings on her account.

  “Why? So I could see you again! We saved a man’s life together. I think if we lived with the savages on the Azure Isles, that would make us married.” Before Risa could protest at anything so outrageous, he grinned. “But I’ll settle for friends.”

  Did he want something from her? Even having the suspicion made her flush. Perhaps he was setting her up as the punch line for one of his jokes. “But why?”

  “Um, let’s see.” Milo tapped his forefinger on his chin and pretended to think about the question, though he delivered the answer as if it were self-evident. “Because I like you?” Seeing that she wasn’t going to accept such a simple answer without explanation, he cocked his head. “You’re different. For starters, I don’t know any other girl who’d risk life and limb for a beggar. Any girl who wasn’t a guard, that is. They’re usually too dainty. You can take care of yourself!”

  Risa almost smiled at that. After feeling lately that she would forever be a black spot on the Divetri line, hearing someone laud her independence was a refreshing novelty. “Well. Thank you.”

  “You should see most of the Seven and Thirty.” Milo strutted back and forth, rapidly mimicking the straight-laced gait of an old man looking down his nose, a cazarra offended by the smells in the street who covered her face with a fan, and a vapid young miss giggling and primping in an imaginary shop window. From behind her hand, Risa laughed at the replicas. “But you can put on the high-class airs yourself, can’t you?” he added, grinning at her.

  “Excuse me?” She heard her tone grow cold.

  “Excuse me?” Milo said in exact imitation. He grabbed the letter from her hands. “Watch.” After taking a few steps back, he squared his shoulders and tossed imaginary hair. “I am so happy to know I am not under arrest.” With a dramatic flourish of her mother’s letter, he pointed toward the city. “Mattio! Dispatch a servant to the insula immediately!”

  Risa’s eyes went wide and she felt a hot flash sweep across her. For a moment she thought he was seriously mocking her, but the good humor in his eyes gave away his playful intentions. She even started to chuckle a little.

  “You’re really quite impressive when you do that,” Milo concluded. “Is it put on, or does it come natural?”

  Risa was smiling again, although the way he handled Giulia’s letter made her nervous. “It’s a little of both. I have to, sometimes, or no one takes me seriously!”

  “Especially that cousin of yours.” Milo whistled. “A taste of him would make lemon seem sweet.”

  He kept making her laugh. The last statement, however, made her remember her father’s constant prohibitions against teasing Fredo. Involuntarily, s
he brought a hand to her mouth. “You’re worse than Petro,” she said.

  “Who’s he?”

  “My younger brother.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At the Insula of the Penitents of Lena.”

  His brow knitted in puzzlement. “Why aren’t you with him?”

  It was the first time anyone had asked her the question. It pierced like an arrow to her heart. She jutted out her jaw, took a deep breath, and said quite calmly, “They didn’t want me. Nor did the Insula of the Children of Muro.”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “No great loss.”

  “It is a great loss!” she exclaimed. Ridiculous to think that a common city guard would understand. “I’ve waited my entire life to be admitted!”

  “You’ve better things to do than waste your time there.” Milo’s tone implied that he meant what he said. “Everyone knows about the insulas.”

  “What do they know about them?” she cried, trying to choke down her distress.

  “They’re just private schools, aren’t they, for the wealthy? Oh, they teach the enchantments, that I’ll grant you, but they’re really just to keep the younger members of the Seven and Thirty out of the way. They keep them busy running workshops of their own, so that the eldest sons can eventually move their families into the caza and inherit them without competition from their brothers and sisters. It’s a way of keeping peace in the family, isn’t it, all dressed up in fancy robes and ceremonies to make it seem important, right? You don’t need all that nonsense.”

  Risa blinked, not responding. It was true that siblings usually never lived in their cazas again after leaving for the insulas. They performed research there, or devoted themselves to the priesthood, or moved to workshops in smaller cities or in the countryside. The idea that such a grand tradition was a way of enforcing the proper succession of the caza, though, had never occurred to her.