The Glass Maker's Daughter

by V. Briceland

“I don’t need it?” she finally said.

  Milo shook his head. “My sister and I had our own private little club once. You had to know the password to get in. It made us feel special. We sent messages to each other in code, and collected dues, and … ”

  “Oh!” He had said something that stunned her—her skin tingled and sparked as if she’d been struck by lightning. She could scarcely think what to do first. “Give me that letter!”

  “Why?” he asked as he handed it over. “I didn’t tear it.”

  “I know, I know!” She lay the paper flat. For a few moments she studied it closely. When she looked back up, it was with tears in her eyes.

  “Milo,” she said, scarcely able to force out the words. “My family’s in terrible, terrible trouble.”

  12

  —

  Catarre’s books make people wise.

  Portello’s towers scrape the skies.

  Folks worldwide are smart to go

  See paintings by Buonochio.

  Piratimare makes its crafts

  Sturdy from their fores to afts.

  Divetri, glass, Dioro, swords.

  And Cassamagi charms with words.

  —An old nursery rhyme

  Gently, little Risa. You are overwrought.” The workshop was filled with the sharp scent of glass annealing in the furnaces. Cousin Fredo smiled at her. “We all are, of course, with the king’s unfortunate death. Perhaps you should lie down.”

  “Mattio,” she said in appeal. “You see what I mean!”

  “There’s no denying it.” Mattio grumbled in his deep bass, reading the letter. He let his finger trail over the final letters of each word:

  h o s t a g e s

  “Hostages,” breathed Risa. When Cousin Fredo drew his breath in with a start, she felt a curious satisfaction.

  “She must have known that anything she wrote was going to be inspected, so she used Petro’s code,” Mattio said slowly.

  “But why write at all?” Fredo asked. Emil and Mattio started at him.

  “They had to write something so we wouldn’t worry. It must be the prince detaining them,” Risa reasoned. “The guards received their orders from him.” She looked to Milo for confirmation, then remembered that he wasn’t as convinced as she was of the danger. At her implied question, however, he bowed with affirmation.

  “Cazarrina, this is a family matter,” said Fredo, rubbing his hands. “I do not think it concerns anyone other than the four of us—and your brother, of course. Surely … ?” He made a motion with his head toward the guard.

  “Come, Fredo, let us not be inhospitable to our guests,” Risa murmured, despite her worry. She took a certain pleasure in the wry smile that quickly crossed Milo’s lips. “You heard Captain Tolio. I am to have a watch over me. I have no choice in the matter.” She turned back to Mattio. “Is there any word from my brother?”

  “The servant has only recently departed,” said the craftsman. “Your brother should be here by the afternoon.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said a female voice from the doorway. It was Fita, once more looking dissatisfied. “Half the servants are sobbing in the corners over King Alessandro, even those too young to remember the last time he ventured outside the palace. The other half are frightened by the guards. The cazarro would have set things right by now! Everyone respects the cazarro!”

  “Since it will take time for Romeldo to arrive, Cazarrina,” said Fredo, sighing, “I will take charge of this highly volatile situation.”

  “Good! At least some one is taking charge!” said Fita.

  “No. You are not of the blood.” Risa felt a flush rising to her face.

  “Due to my father’s unfortunate marriage, I am not of the Seven and Thirty, my girl, but I am most assuredly of the blood.” He paused, daring her to challenge him. “You are but sixteen. And of the tender, weaker sex. Your father—your father,” he emphasized, as her anger prompted her to attempt an interruption, “would surely be more comfortable if he knew Caza Divetri was being guarded by a man such as myself.”

  “I know I would!” The housekeeper looked smug as she offered her opinion.

  Risa glared at Fita. When she turned back and met Mattio’s eyes in appeal, he shook his head. He might agree with her privately, but he seemed to feel it was useless to argue with Fredo. Perhaps it was. Her father had always been adamant that no woman should oversee Caza Divetri. He might even feel that she had brought dishonor upon the caza, if she were to persist. Even Romeldo would probably laugh at her attempts to keep the caza running. If only they were not so inflexible and old-fashioned!

  In a level voice she said to Fredo, “I do not plan to sit by idly while … ” she lowered her voice so that Fita would not hear “ … while my parents are in danger.”

  “There is no need for idleness, little cousin,” said Fredo, suddenly all gaiety. “You may oversee the kitchens and take the hospitality offering to the palace this very afternoon. Suitable work for a girl with time on her hands. I, in the meantime, will be in your father’s office. You two—back to work.”

  Emil blinked at this sudden coup. Mattio gasped audibly. Their jaws went slack as Fredo swept from the room. Risa’s ire nearly roused her to throw something after her smug, sanctimonious relative. “He has no right!” she growled at last through gritted teeth.

  “Not with Romeldo coming!” Mattio agreed. “He’s certainly making himself right at home!”

  “I say we could use a man who can take charge when the master’s away,” Fita countered. “Though why he’d place a mere … no offense, child, but why he’d place you in charge of the kitchens is beyond me. Your mother was always too busy with her beautiful windows, Lena bless her, to teach you—”

  “I order you to take Dom on as a kitchen servant, starting now,” said Risa, suddenly very tired of the housekeeper’s constant carping.

  Fita let out a squawk. “That filthy vagabond? I won’t, Cazarrina, and there’s the end of it.”

  “You can’t have it both ways,” Risa snapped. “If you admire Cousin Fredo so much, you have no choice but to obey me. He’s made me your boss. Get someone to wash Dom, if he offends your nose. Give him some old clothing. I know you can. You just won’t.”

  “He’s not suitable for anything!”

  “Let him wash the fruits and vegetables,” Risa cried, plucking something at random. “If I could do it when I was younger than Petro, it’s a task Dom can do as well.”

  Fita’s nostrils flared as Risa stalked past. “Well!” she said, obviously put out. “If you say so, Cazarrina.”

  “I do say so!” Risa shook her head, still angry. There were outcasts enough within Caza Divetri. If no one would help her, she would at least help another. When Romeldo finally came, he would set things aright—and Risa was already planning what she would say to him about her cousin.

  13

  —

  My dear! It was the scandal of the summer when that violinist—remember, the handsome one?—was sent packing back to Pays d’Azur. Apparently his instrument was a Cassamagi, I believe they called it—some foreign name, anyway, and the point is that it was enchanted—and the violinist was supposed to have used it to charm his way all the way to the position of concert master. It’s a pity, for he was so very handsome, and his playing was the only reason I could stomach chamber music.

  —Dama Vanessa Innsbruck, in a letter to the

  Most Honourable Monica Chubb

  You’ll need a guard to go into the city,” said Tolio. He stared at Risa with cold detachment.

  “I have a guard. I’ve had a guard following me all morning,” Risa replied, controlling her temper. It was absurd, being watched every moment of the day. Her parents were missing and in danger, and she was having to waste time arguing with this stubborn captain! She did not much mind tha
t Milo had so far been the one keeping her company. His cheekiness reminded her of Petro. Yet even good-natured company could not make her forget the urgency of her mission.

  “You’ll need another,” said Tolio, bored now. He went back to whittling chips from a peg. They landed in a small pile on the courtyard tiles. “Who would you pick for the job, Sorranto?” he asked, narrowing an eye at Milo.

  Milo had been leaning on the wall lazily, sucking on a long blade of grass, barely seeming to pay attention to the proceedings. “What? Me? Oh, definitely Eli, sir.” He grinned at another boy his age, who was playing at dice in a corner. “Eli and I get along famously.”

  “Oh you do, do you?” Tolio smiled, though Risa could tell it was the smile of a man baiting a trap. “You two lads would keep a good watch over the Cazarrina?”

  “Yes sir!” Milo leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Just don’t send me with Camilla, sir. Anyone but her.”

  Tolio winked at him in a conspiratorial way, nodding toward the capable young woman Risa had first noticed earlier in the day. She was engaged in a bit of sword practice. At least, that’s what Risa supposed it was. She seemed to be in a world of her own, the girl did. After making sure that no one was in the immediate vicinity, she began whipping the sword around her in a sort of dance. The blade dipped and swayed and swirled through the air in an almost hypnotic fashion, gleaming in the sun as she twirled it expertly. “Anyone but Camilla, eh? Why would that be?”

  “You know how she is, sir. Little bit of a spoilsport.”

  The trap was sprung. Tolio leapt to his feet. “Camilla’s the best young guard I’ve seen in many a year!” he roared. Behind him, the female guard ceased her swordplay and swung her head about, wary. “You’d do well to follow her example! There’ll be no trip to the palace with Eli. Not now, not ever! I’m sending Camilla with you to keep you in line!”

  “But sir!” Milo protested, apparently chagrined.

  “That’s enough, Sorranto. Camilla! You heard me. Leave your practice for later. Take this one into the city with the Cazarrina. If there’s an ounce of mischief from him, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll do something, that’s what I’ll do. In fact, stay with him for the rest of the day. No!” he said, when Milo protested. “Stay with him for the rest of our time here!”

  Chips from his peg flew in every direction as Tolio returned to whittling. His anger was so concentrated that for a moment Risa forgot about her parents. Milo looked stunned. Fair-haired Camilla resheathed her sword and picked up a pair of gloves, obviously irritated. She scowled as she marched over. “Let’s go then,” she said. Risa could tell she was not at all happy.

  Through the caza Risa led them until they reached the stable yard. She almost felt that she could not run quickly enough. In the back of the mule cart Fita had packed hampers full of foods and wines. Enough for a week, it looked like. Surely her parents would not be absent for so long a time. They simply couldn’t be.

  It was not until they were underway and the cart had trundled across the lower Divetri bridge that anyone spoke. “Do you always have to get your way?” From her position at the reins, Camilla turned her head and growled at Milo.

  “Not always,” Milo said, flashing his teeth in a grin. “Just when it suits me, that’s all.”

  The cart’s wheels rattled as they trundled into the piazza. Camilla nodded curtly at the crimson-coated guards flanking the bridge entrance. Out of earshot, she continued. “It suits you all the time. That’s the problem.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind, Cam,” Milo replied. “All those boring things he’s making you do. You want a bit of scenery.”

  “Didn’t you learn anything from Mother? All those boring tasks teach you how to manage. When you’re a good manager, they promote you.”

  “I know, I know. But still, guarding can’t be all about inventory.”

  “And it can’t be all about swash-buckling, either,” Camilla retorted.

  Risa spoke up, astonished by the conversation. “She’s your—?”

  “Sister,” said Milo. “Can’t you tell? We have the Sorranto nose.” From the back bench he leaned forward and stuck his head between the two girls, so that his face was parallel to his sister’s. Risa did notice a distinct similarity in their profiles. Their noses, their green eyes, and their neck-length blond hair were so identical they might almost have been twins. Camilla was taller, however, and her expression was the sterner. With a single hand, she covered her brother’s face and pushed him backward. He landed on the rear bench with a thump.

  “Don’t be so peevish,” Milo complained. “You should be thanking me.”

  “Why in the world would I thank you?”

  “We can stop and see Amo afterward, that’s why.” Camilla’s mouth quirked in an unidentifiable expression, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead and said nothing. “Risa won’t mind. Will you, Risa?”

  Camilla’s eyebrow raised slightly at that. “I’m sure the cazarrina would rather attend to business and return home.” The slight emphasis she placed on Risa’s title implied her disapproval of Milo’s familiarity.

  “I don’t mind him calling me Risa. Either of you. Really, I don’t,” Risa told Camilla.

  “She’s not stuffy, like most of them,” Milo said, leaning forward. “You should have seen her yesterday in the canals, trying to pull an old beggar man out of the water. It was incredible!”

  “Oh,” said Camilla. “She’s the one you ruined your uniform for?”

  “It was worth it!”

  Flushing slightly from Milo’s effusions, Risa interrupted. “Please. We have to get to the palace.” There had been scarcely a second that fear for her parents had not gnawed at her. Anxiety left her stomach feeling tense and bitter.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Milo said for the dozenth time since she’d shown him the hidden message in Giulia’s letter. “If some … I don’t know … crazed Vereinigteländer had taken your parents hostage in the palace, the guards would know all about it, wouldn’t they?” In response to the question, Camilla nodded. “And why would the prince be involved? Her parents are just there for the succession. Sometimes it takes time. Right?”

  Camilla agreed silently once more, while Risa sighed. He made sense.

  “I know you’re worried, but I’m sure you’ll find out that there’s some logical explanation.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Risa admitted.

  “Of course I am. You’ll see. Then we’ll visit Amo afterward.” Camilla shot him a withering look. “It wouldn’t take long!” Milo muttered, but he sat back and kept his peace.

  For a few silent minutes they drove on through the city. Camilla sat erect and stern, her uniform and cap immaculate. She was the very image of a proper city guard. Milo also sat quietly, his posture straight, but whenever Risa turned to look at him, there was an alertness in his eyes for the sights of the city. He seemed to drink in the shops and the street vendors and the passersby who stepped aside so that the Divetri wagon might pass. She recognized the look; she often wore it herself. It was love for Cassaforte—its sights, its smells, its people. She had often felt the same. From time to time, when she turned, his friendly eyes met hers.

  As they came closer to the center of the city, she caught glimpses of the palace through the maze of buildings and bridges. At first she could see just the tops of its grand red pillars and the curve of its dome, several stories above ground. But when they pulled into the busy square at the city’s center, the palace suddenly loomed before them. Caza Portello’s architects had designed the structure to have only the narrowest of openings on the lowest floors; the arrangement had proved invaluable during the rare times Cassaforte had come under siege. Between these frequent, narrow windows were niches arranged with statuary, a favorite resting place for the sparrows that flocked the square looking for food. The uppermost s
tories had graceful casements that opened wide.

  Although the palace appeared as serene and beautiful as ever, today it took on a more ominous aspect in Risa’s eyes. It seemed to loom over the square as it cast afternoon shadows across the milling crowds. The great dome was blotting out the sun. Somewhere in that palace were her parents. Could they see her from the windows, or were they being held in a tiny cell? Either thought was scarcely tolerable.

  “Why aren’t we going to the entrance?” Risa asked, when Camilla yanked the reins to take them around the western wall.

  “No one uses the grand entrance,” Camilla said. “We’ll unload at the rear.”

  For a moment Risa thought of pointing out that she had used the grand entrance every time she had accompanied her mother to the palace for the installation of a window. But she decided to keep her mouth shut. After Milo’s compliment, she did not want the siblings to think she was pretentious.

  The mule cart moved slowly from the square onto the bridge that ran over the canal spanning the palace’s western facade. Milo hopped out of the cart and ran alongside it, so he could guide the mules to a shallow courtyard within the palace walls. He and Camilla both nodded at the single guard posted there.

  Within a few moments, palace servants began to unload the hampers from the cart’s bed. Risa watched from her perch in the cart as Milo gamely assisted, hauling down baskets of breads and fruits and rattling boxes of wine with great vigor. When he and the other servants reached the last of the baskets, Risa called out, “Be careful with that one. Please!” She turned to the kitchen servant. “This basket is to be delivered directly to my mother and father. Is that understood?”

  “What’s so special about it?” the servant demanded. Milo leapt onto the cart and brought it to her.

  “It just has my mother’s favorite grapes,” Risa replied, opening it. She had arranged the grapes, along with some pears and other choice fruit, in one of the bowls she’d made herself—a pretty bowl of deep blue with red roses around the edge. She had packed it in one of the thick baskets to keep it cool. “Please, you’ll take it to her directly?”