The Glass Girl

by Kim Alexander

  “What do you call that move?” Then he leaned over Yuenne, who struggled to get to his feet, or at least a sitting position. “Are you having a seizure of some sort? I've had that happen once before.”

  “You didn't mention it,” grated Yuenne. He forced himself back into the chair and tried to cover himself with some measure of dignity.

  “Well, it was a dog I transformed into a rat. I think the problem was the size difference. Of course, it couldn't describe the symptoms. But there was a lot of the same flailing around.”

  “You told me you'd done this.” He clamped a hand over each armrest. The texture was incredible; the cold brass nail heads, the silky leather. He drew a breath and tried again to calm himself. “You said it had been successful.”

  “It was successful. And I have done it before. Many times. Just not specifically, exactly on humans.” Seeing Yuenne's expression, he added, “If I didn't have complete confidence, I wouldn't have performed it. And I did. My part was perfect. Now it's up to you to figure out how to behave. Honestly, you'll get used to it. And the little girl, she'll do even better. She doesn't have a hundred years of bad habits to break.”

  “I am not a hundred years old,” Yuenne muttered. But Auri was right, he was amazed to find that with each breath, the overwhelming sensations grew quieter. He could no longer feel the barely moving air tugging at each hair on the back of his arms. His toes were all pointed in the right direction. He sat up in the old chair. The wooden boards were smooth and cool under his feet. Under the blanket, he ran his hands over his bare thighs; sure enough, he could feel a covering of fine hair.

  Auri said, “Well, I don't want to intrude on you getting acquainted with yourself.” He looked Yuenne up and down. “Trust me when I say you're nothing special, which is just what I was aiming for. Get dressed and come up for something to eat with the little girl when you're ready, but don't take all day, I'm not a baby sitter.”

  He bounded up the stairs, Yuenne heard the door close. He slowly got to his feet, walked—carefully—to the big mirror leaning against the wall, and dropped the blanket. He moved his hand to bring the lights up—the stones in the walls would do nicely. Nothing happened.

  “What have I done to myself?” he said aloud. But what choice did he have? He was trapped here just as surely as he'd been in the Veil. And without a human face, his prison was this house. And that wouldn't do. Taking a deep breath, he checked the status of his yala. Other than a quantity of brown fluff, it wasn't all bad news. Then he peered at his face and found it unremarkable, if typically human ugly. He twisted around to look at his back and found it free of the ridges of wing muscles. His tattoos, those companions since he counted himself a grown man, were gone.

  He pulled on the clothing Auri had left for him, wondering how long before he'd be back to his old white silk tunic and soft leggings. The clothing rubbed and tugged his skin, and he had to practice walking around the room until he could convincingly move without stopping to clutch at his trouser legs or pull the collar of the shirt away from his body. Although he wasn't as tall as Auri, his legs were ridiculously long, and he crossed the space in a dizzyingly quick time, nearly crashing into the brick wall. Had his boots been as tight as these shiny black shoes? His toes threatened to cramp again, but he kept walking; one end of the room to the other. Sit down. Stand up. Bend. Lift your hand. Adjust your cuffs. Smile. Slow down. Look the humans in their eyes. Protect the child. Smile. Lie, lie, lie.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Auri called, “Are you ever coming up? She wants her dinner.”

  “I'm ready,” he replied, and buttoning his coat, headed for the steps.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eriis

  The day she returned from the tents, Aelle bypassed the palace and went directly to her mother. The sight of black clad guards idling outside the Arch and in the courtyard told her how things stood at the High Seat, and her mother confirmed it; Yuenne was gone.

  “Not gone, gone,” Siia said, turning from her silk cushion and her ever present array of polished pebbles. “The child took a fright and off they shimmered. They’ll be back.” A perfect picture of composure, Siia could have been thinking anything at all.

  “Tell me the truth, Mother.” She twisted her hands in frustration. “Is that…is that what the stones say?”

  “He will come home,” she said. “Or at least he’ll come back. He hasn’t dealt with all those who stood opposed to him. It’s not like him to leave a thread unplucked. Where is the Zaal, for instance? He vanished like a mouse into a hole when word got out. Left a mess in the tower, too. He is a loose thread indeed.”

  Aelle made a face at the mention of the Zaal, and her mother raised a brow. “Sorry. And I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I left you alone with that man.”

  Siia smiled warmly. “You may never be queen, but your feet have taken you further than anyone who ever held the Seat. Never think I am not proud of you. And don’t fret. Your father will be back. And then we can make him pay properly for what he’s brought down on those we love.”

  Aelle gaped at her mother, who turned back to her spread of stones.

  “Would you mind closing the door, shan?”

  Aelle looked over her mother’s shoulder. The stones might guide her mother’s days and nights, but she saw nothing but a bunch of rocks. She shut the door.

  She sat in the great room of their fine house and watched the shadows climb the walls and waited for something to happen. Rhuun did not come to call. Maaya stayed away—no fool, that one. Daala, of course, and Rhoosa—their days of coming to call were long behind them, unless they took water at the table of Light and Wind. Yuenne did not reappear. Despite her mother’s conviction, she wasn’t really expecting him.

  Hollen showed up, though.

  When she opened the door to find him there, she gave a great sob and embraced him, thinking of the evenings they’d spent with Niico, evenings when everything was the way it was supposed to be. She was surprised at the enthusiasm with which he returned her embrace, placing a hand on the small of her back and drawing her close.

  She cleared her throat and took a step back, quickly composing herself. “Please, come in. Sit down. It’s been forever…I’ll get us some water.” The lone remaining maid—for with both the Zaal and her father gone there was far less work to be done—poked her head around the corner, and Aelle waved her hand at the girl.

  Hollen perched on the edge of the couch, his hand perilously near her knee. “Forgive me for not coming to see you sooner. I only just heard you were back. Aelle, where have you been? I was so worried.”

  She took a breath. “I…I was at the Edge. I took a little house in the hills and devoted myself to contemplation. Practiced my shimmering and face shifting. In seclusion.”

  “Ah, of course. Pardon my intrusion. Your father, rest him now—”

  “He’s not dead.” Her words sliced as cleanly as a new flame. “He’ll be back.”

  Hollen shifted in his seat. “I was there, you know. I…I tried to stop them. I feel as if I failed you.”

  “Not at all.” She leaned back in her seat. The maid poured their water. “You are looking well. Black suits you.”

  He had the good grace to turn a bit pink, and Aelle caught the maid hiding a smile on her way out. “I go where I am required. The prince has…he is…”

  “Not surrounded by a retinue of the faithful? Neither, it appears, was my father.” He began to answer, but she put up her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Hollen. You do what you must. And my father will be back, and then you can decide what to do next.”

  “It was my honor to be in his service. My only wish is to serve him again. And I hope, whatever I do, you might accompany me.”

  This was a new, forward Hollen. She gave him a polite smile. “What a kind thing to say.”

  “And I was hoping we could try again, since you were detained, I suppose, the last time.”

  “Try again?” What was he talking about?
She did remember vaguely agreeing to think about finding time to spend with him at some event or other when they dined with Niico. Did he imagine that was a commitment?

  “Forgive me, but I did look for you that night. And I got to fly, the first time. It was a full house and I nearly took the match. I wish you’d been there to see it. Well, there will be other times, I suppose.” At her blank look, he continued. “We made plans. It was the morning, well, almost still night. We met at the palace and you agreed to meet me. You did seem in a bit of a hurry.”

  Oh no. Oh, Maaya. What did you do? She lowered her eyes and put her hand to her heart. “I am mortified. You must forgive me. I was coming home from a party, and I’m afraid I overindulged. I barely remember a thing. To be honest,” and she looked up through her lashes, “that was part of the reason for my leaving the city. For the seclusion. Um, what did we discuss?”

  “Well, you agreed to meet me, and you also gave me some excellent advice.”

  “I did?” She felt a chill. “Regarding?”

  “I said if I knew of someone who had worked against your father. Should I go to him and tell him? And you told me your father relied on eyes like mine.”

  “Worked…who…who was working?”

  “Well, I saw Niico meeting in secret with Ilaan, when everyone knew that Ilaan had been banished from your father’s house. And after he treated Niico so kindly.” He paused and gave her a look she assumed he thought was meaningful. “It’s not a surprise, really, that someone from the Quarter finally called in Niico’s debt.” And now he looked at her quite carefully, asking without asking if she believed what they said, inside and outside the Arch. Her face gave her away, and he showed her a small, intimate smile. “Of course, we know what really happened. Your father is nothing if not decisive. He protects what is his. And rewards those he trusts.”

  Light and Wind…she thought she might faint but took a deep breath and clutched the edge of the couch. “I suppose we…you and I…spoke about how my father might react? About Niico?”

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t have stood in a public place and named names. Unwise, don’t you think?”

  So, she didn’t know who he meant. But she sent Niico to the Crosswinds just the same. Maaya, I am coming for you…

  “So, when may we try again? To have dinner, perhaps? Unless you’d care to see me fly. I’m doing rather well, I think. And I know how much you enjoyed the matches. We really must get you back into your seat. The games suffer without you.” His hand advanced an inch to brush the fabric of her gown. “Your father, he was very grateful.”

  She jerked her hem away from his encroaching fingers. “And now that you think he’s coming back, you’re ready to shed your loyalty to the prince and claim your reward? Get out, Hollen.”

  He looked genuinely shocked, but quickly slid a blank mask back on. “Your father, the prince—what are you to either of them? They don’t need you. Yuenne was ready to hand you over for a little gossip. And Rhuun? Has he come to call? Your best chance is with me. Even you must realize that.”

  “You turned over Niico, who was your friend. You carried water for my father, then the prince, and now maybe my father again—if he should happen to reappear. Maaya was fond of Niico. I wonder how she’ll take the news of your flapping tongue.”

  He went pale. “Fine.” He stood quickly and grabbed his scarf from the hook by the door. “Don’t act like you had nothing to do with this. It was you as much as me. More. Drunken sdaasch.” He gave the door a slam that bounced it against the sill. She slowly drew the door shut and waited to see if New Self had anything to add. It appeared not.

  “I never did care for that one.” Siia touched Aelle’s shoulder and drew her back to the couch. “More web than wing. Perhaps you should tell Maaya.”

  “I don’t…I don’t know what to do. I don’t want it to be up to me.” She leaned against Siia. “What do I do?”

  “Tell me something, shan. Look at me. Tell me, what do you want?” Aelle found she had no reply. “Your father and I, it’s possible we decided what you wanted, taught you the lesson, and called it done.”

  “The High Seat. Rhuun. To be the queen.” She pushed a lock of hair back from her brow. “I don’t want those things anymore. I think I did, once.” She laughed. “It isn’t as if I have a choice now, though, is it?”

  “So, my lovely girl, what do you want?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and the tears boiled off her cheeks. “Everything to go back the way it was. Ilaan and Niico. You and father…”

  “Do you speak truly?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. Father is a monster. If he’s not dead, he’s dead to me.” She took a breath. “You know I sent Maaya and Rhuun to stand against him.”

  “So, she is your friend.”

  “Hardly—”

  “She left her home and changed her face to travel here, for you. She failed to save that poor little girl, but she risked her life at your request. And if the Zaal should try and take the Seat from Rhuun, who else could stop him?”

  “Then she is my friend.” Aelle said slowly.

  “On the other hand, she’s a human and she stole the heart of the man you loved. You two might be wed now, if not for her. She stood against your father, and he may well be dead. And look what she cost your brother.”

  “She’s my enemy.”

  “Must it be one or the other?”

  Aelle rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I have to tell Maaya about Hollen. She deserves to carry the truth.” They were silent for a moment. “Mother, I think there’s something else I want.” She sat up. “When I was in that other world—”

  “Mistra.”

  She nodded. “I met someone. He was kind, and…well, very tall. I think I’d like to see him again.”

  Siia smiled. “That’s a good start.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eriis

  It was late in the evening, and the second moon was sliding through the low clouds. Maaya stood at the mirror in what she called the Moon Room and held up a dun-colored dress. She'd been assured by the woman in the shop just outside the Arch that the shade was daring, very new, so flattering. It looked like every other dress, tunic, and garment on her side of their wardrobe. At least Moth got to wear red trim on his ocean of black shirts. If they married, she'd be granted the same right. So would their children, except there wouldn’t be any children, of course. She tried not to think about that, the promise she’d made to Light and Wind. His life for her vow to refuse his spark. She’d have to tell him one day. Not today, though.

  “I like it,” he told her. “The color, it's different. But in a good way. You look like a proper Erisaii.”

  “Even though I'm a stash?”

  He cocked his head curiously. “A what?”

  She frowned and tried to make her mouth form the odd sounding combination of letters. “A suh-dash? Or sh-dash?”

  His look darkened and she was afraid she'd made a mistake. “Was it sdhaach?” She nodded. She realized she rarely saw him angry, and this was definitely one of those times. “Where did you hear that?”

  She shrugged uneasily, draping the dress over a chair. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the maids, but before she rounded the corner earlier that day, fresh from the market with her new dress, she knew the two women were talking about her. “I just heard it. She—they said I was a stash, all human women were, and I ought to be in a shed. What did they mean? What's a stash?”

  He stood and went to the window. “I'm sorry you heard that. A sdhaach is . . . well, it has several meanings. The original meaning was sort of like a tool. Like, 'get me the sdhaach that levels the sand.'“

  “A tool. And what else?” She had a pretty good idea.

  “Well, it came to mean a person who was . . . who made themselves available for joining. For payment.”

  “Oh, so a whore.”

  He turned to faced her. “Yes, I believe that's the word I was looking for.”

 
; She laughed. “I've been called a whore, believe me. Nearly every human girl hears it at some time or another, whether they're virgins or, uh, actually a stash. It's usually some boy's idea of the worst thing you can call a woman, as if that had anything to do with it. My wonderful brother Rane called me that before I knew what it even meant. Honestly, I don't think he did, either. I went and told May and she locked him in his room with no dinner.” She paused. “What's the shed bit mean?”

  He looked away. “The thing is, it is not a well-respected profession. It is an insult here as well. One does not seek out the services of a sdhaach for affection. It is said that because of their work, they no longer feel anything at all. They are considered something to be used, and then set aside.”

  “Locked in a shed with the other tools. Your language is really pretty.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “So they think you've been using me, and it's time to put me away.” If I was from here, she thought, I would know all this, and I would know the proper response, and I would defuse it and we would laugh. If I was from here, Thay would still be alive. I'm not from here . . . “I've never even heard you use the word before.”

  “I was raised not to say such things.” His mouth formed a hard line. “Please tell me where you heard it.”

  She frowned, not wanting to get the girl in trouble. She was just being honest, whoever she was. “I didn't see her face. It was in the hallway. I don't know who said it. Let it go.” He didn't reply. They were quiet for a moment. She watched him reading over some papers at his desk. “Have you ever been to one?”

  He laughed, although she thought she detected an edge to it. “No, of course not.” He shook his head. “You have the funniest ideas.” His gaze slid down and to the right, and she was reminded of Niico’s lessons in conversation. How to hide your heart, how to change the subject. How to lie. He turned back to his work. “No, I've never seen a sdhaach.”

  And that was the end of it, except that the next day she couldn’t help but notice all the maids, all the servants, all the women she knew were gone, replaced by a new crop who kept their eyes on the floor and never spoke her name.