The Glass Girl

by Kim Alexander

  “Don’t you?” He sipped and held the cup back out. She shook her head, and he gratefully drank the rest. His throat ached. “You looked to me like you’d seen something dreadful. Anyone might take a fright, from time to time.”

  He sat up. “No, I’m fine. I must have inhaled some…dust. Or something.”

  She raised a brow, a look he recalled from childhood. It did not suffer a lie. He sighed. “I saw the Zaal. He didn’t do anything to me. He just…said hello, really. And I thought I was going to die.”

  She nodded. “The Zaal. I see. It is no secret, what he did to you. I don’t know if you know that.” To his horror, he noticed his sleeve had crept up, revealing the ropes and knots of scars on his forearm. Siia looked him in the eye and placed her hand on his mangled wrist. “You may never bring back the rain, but you’re a good man, and you were a surprisingly good king.” She pulled the fabric of the sleeve back into place.

  He blinked away a sudden prick of tears. This was turning into an embarrassment of unparalleled proportions. First, I faint on her doorstep, then I cry on her couch. What next, drink all the sarave and get sick on the dinner table? Light and Wind forbid she thinks well of me.

  “Thank you for saying so. But what do I do? I’ll certainly see him again. He has the ear of my uncle.”

  She looked around the great room—boxes and disarray. “So, I have been led to understand.”

  He felt the heat of shame on his cheeks and quickly said, “Again, please forgive my barging in here. I know this a terrible time. I came to tell you—and Aelle—I tried to change his mind. Araan, that is. I’m sorry I was unsuccessful.”

  “It’s too bad our Ilaan isn’t with us,” Siia mused. “He could talk the jumpmice into dancing.”

  Rhuun counted out two breaths before speaking. “We…we don’t…”

  “I know how it is with you two,” she said. “I know he carries anger he can’t set down. Perhaps you do, as well. He’s lost his way, without Niico. We’ll have to wait and see if he puts his feet back on the path of life.”

  He didn’t know how to reply, so he just nodded.

  “Well,” Siia continued, “now that we’ve spoken Niico’s name, perhaps we can talk about Hollen.”

  “Hollen?” Rhuun frowned. “He recently removed himself from my service. What about him?”

  “Then you don’t know. That makes more sense. I wondered why you allowed him to remain at your court.”

  “I know he was Yuenne’s man.” He knew she’d get around to it in her own time and tried to be patient.

  “He was more than Yuenne’s man. They had a deal together, he and Yu. You know it was Yu’s way, to gather scraps of gossip and stitch them into weapons. He was always on the lookout for someone who could bring him those scraps.” He was surprised by the intensity of her expression: disgust.

  “And Hollen brought him scraps?”

  “No. Hollen brought him Niico. Packaged him and sold him. If not for that boy, Niico might be alive today.”

  His mouth went dry. He could picture Niico’s terror, Yuenne’s rage, poor Rhoosa reaching out her hand. “He…sold him? For what?”

  “Why, for Aelle. She is all he ever desired, and Yuenne convinced Hollen she was as good as his. Well,” and here she chuckled, “perhaps that’s what Hollen thought he was getting. Aelle, as you may imagine, was less than enthusiastic about her part in this.”

  “Did he lay a hand on her?” he struggled to keep his voice steady. The jewel of Eriis, Hollen had called her. He had a sudden memory of Ilaan teaching him something the humans called a ‘punch.’

  “No. Perhaps the old Aelle would have gone along with her father’s wishes. But the Aelle who returned from Mistra? She would have set him ablaze had he tried to touch her. But he did confront her. And he did betray Niico.” She paused. “I know he has been of use to you…”

  “No one is of that much use.”

  She paused and looked Rhuun in the eye. When he began to shift uncomfortably, she spoke.

  “When Yu brought you home from Mistra and handed you to the mages, I begged him to set you free. I told him it was a mistake and he should let you take your chances in the human world. He refused, and we were all brought to grief. Perhaps we can begin to mend things now, you and I. My husband is beyond my reach. The Zaal is beyond my grasp. You may not be able to restore me to my home, but you may do something else for me.”

  He waited.

  “Hollen. He took Niico, who was dear as my own flesh. He threatened Aelle and he destroyed Ilaan. And I have cause to think he has wronged you, as well.”

  He thought again of the day at the High Seat, how Hollen had casually laid hands on him, just one in an endless line of people who laid their hands on him. The burns Hollen left were still visible on his arms. He thought of how Hollen had left his service, certain in the knowledge that his threats would go unanswered. He forced his hands open; he’d driven his fingernails into his palms. He took a deep breath and recalled being on the beach with Lelet that cold night, the night he met Ocean. He thought he had everything; the woman he loved in his arms and new wings on his back. He remembered the feeling; joy. Now the woman was gone, the wings were hidden, and the joy had fled. But thanks to Siia, and in an odd way thanks to Hollen himself, something had come along to replace it. What he was feeling now was almost as intense as joy, and it felt far better than the blank wall of despair he’d spent the last year staring at. I can make it up to her, he thought. To all of them. I can do this.

  He said, “The grief he brought Ilaan and your family calls for answer.”

  “No,” she said, her eyes blazing. “It calls for justice.” She composed herself and sipped her water. “I go see him sometimes, to the aeronasium. I see him fly. He’s nothing so good as Niico, of course, but he’s copied some of Niico’s best feints. He likes to do that dive from the top, you’ve seen it.”

  “He’d keep his wings in until you were sure he’d hit the ground, then open them and pull up.”

  She smiled. “That’s it. Ilaan used to fret that he’d open too late and shatter every bone in his body, but he never did. Of course, Hollen doesn’t get nearly the speed. But he likes that move. He seems to open every set with it.” She poured Rhuun another glass of water. “Something to think about.” Having spoken her piece, she passed a hand over her face. He noted a slight tremor, he thought she looked tired. But she got to her feet. “Well, we’ve had quite a bit to talk about. Perhaps it was luck that put the Zaal in your path today. I have something for you. Please, finish your water. I won’t be a moment.”

  He could hear Siia rummaging through crates in the next room and rubbed his forehead. He owed Siia; it could be said he owed every member of her family. He thought about Hollen’s smirk at the High Seat. “I’ve got him,” he’d said to Yuenne, as if Rhuun were a thing to be got. Anger, it felt better than grief. You could take your anger and use it. He thought about what he might use it for.

  “He didn’t take all his things. Yu didn’t.” Siia had come back in, and now stood in front of him, holding a narrow wooden box. “It was almost as if he thought there was a chance he’d change his mind, tire of the whole Counselor business, and come back home.” He began to speak, to apologize for his role in Yuenne’s disappearance, but she held up her hand. “It’s done. The only thing left is to clean up, and that’s what I’m doing.” She sat back down. “I understand you’ve been working on the weather, you want to invite the humans to come and see us. Tell me, how do you and your mage talk to them?”

  “We don’t. We’re going to have to figure something out, and soon, but for now, we don’t have a good option. Every communication ends up marked into the skin of a young human girl. That’s not acceptable.”

  She handed him the box. “Here. Open it.”

  He slid the lid off and held up a sliver of stone. It had a tip that looked as if it had once been sharp but now was worn down. He ran the rough point across his thumb. “Is it a weapon of some sort?”r />
  “In a way. Yuenne used it to talk to the humans. It was his weapon against them.” She took it from Rhuun and twirled it between her fingers. “He used to say ‘the pen wants to write.’ Sometimes on paper, sometimes on the blank wall of a mind. He wrote to the humans for years. He beguiled them, seduced them, and befriended them. Sometimes they went mad. Sometimes they died. I once thought he was doing the work of Eriis, but now I think he was doing the work of Yuenne.” She handed it back to him. “You and your mage should be able to use it, too. It may spare your human child from serving as a scratch pad.” She rose and he followed her to the door. “Think about what we discussed. And if you see the Zaal again?”

  She crooked her finger and he leaned down to hear her whisper. “Tell him to scorp off.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Eriis

  “Quiet evening,” Zaii observed.

  Rhuun leaned back in his chair. Normally Calaa would be at his elbow, supervising the small army of servers and courtiers who came and went, looking for his attention. Tonight, it was just Coll and Zaii.

  “I spoke to Siia today,” he said. “About her house. You know I couldn’t help her.” They nodded and waited. “She had a different request. It involves Hollen.” He told them what he’d learned, and what she expected him to do about it.

  “When you were in school, how much of your own family history did you study?” Zaii asked him.

  “As little as I could get away with. I was an…indifferent student.” He mostly recalled staring out the window and counting the moments until he could leave to go wander the Quarter.

  “Then perhaps you’ve never wondered how it was that the only family to ever occupy the High Seat was your own? An unbroken line stretching back to Aa bestowing Eriis on Raana, the first king, and ending here, with you. And your uncle, of course. The only break in the line of succession was the brief reign of our friend the Counselor. How did all those king and queens hold the seat, unchallenged?”

  “Given the circumstances I’m assuming it wasn’t good luck and a mandate from the people?”

  Zaii smiled. “That certainly didn’t hurt. No, I refer to your family’s ability to spot a problem. And the will to resolve it. Often a problem is best resolved in a…permanent fashion. Of course, no one wants to make such a decision rashly, or with less than the best of intentions. It appears that’s the choice—”

  “Oh,” said Rhuun. He looked down at his hands, at the half moon marks on his palms. “I think you misunderstand. I don’t need help making a choice. I need help with the execution. So to speak.”

  Once they understood each other, the conversation turned to method. Timing. Visibility.

  “Not public,” Zaii said. “But not too private. Begging your pardon, but he still possesses something you don’t. You don’t want to risk challenging him in a way he can respond to with flame. But, yes, you certainly must set this to rights, quietly.”

  Rhuun wondered if there was a way to be both public and quiet.

  “What does he desire?” asked Coll. “For at the root of desire, one can often find a place to pull.” He paused. “That’s a gardening metaphor, by the way.”

  Zaii pursed his lips. “Thank you for the clarification.” He looked towards Rhuun. “You say he desires Miss Aelle. Should we start there?”

  “No,” Rhuun said. “There are already four of us who know what we do. Let’s not make it five. There’s something else, something he wanted. Aelle is part of it, but not all of it. Ilaan used to joke that he wanted to be Niico. He wanted Niico’s place in the aeronasium. He wanted Niico’s place at Aelle’s side.”

  Zaii snorted. “He knew what Niico’s place at her side entailed? Or rather, didn’t?”

  Rhuun nodded. “Of course. He thought if it was him rather than Niico, she’d grow to desire him. He thought Aelle was wasting her time, and Niico was taking advantage of her kind heart. He coveted what Niico had. And he took one of those things for himself.”

  “You’re speaking of his role at the matches.” Zaii nodded to himself. “Interesting. Do you know what they used to call the fliers, back in your grandfather’s day?” Rhuun shook his head. “They used to call them Burning Stars.”

  “Why?” asked Rhuun. “What does that mean?”

  Coll templed his fingers in front of his chin and closed his eyes. “In the days when we could see the night sky of Eriis, in the days and nights before the Weapon, the sight of a Burning Star was known to one and all as a portent of great good luck.” Rhuun recognized Coll’s book-quoting voice. “It was said that a rock thrown by the Hand of Aa would burst forth in flame and grace the evening air with the light of its final fatal breath.” He opened his eyes. “It signifies the sacrifice of one for the pleasure of many.”

  “The matches used to be more dangerous,” Zaii continued. “In your grandfather’s day it was not uncommon for several fliers a season to become Burning Stars. They would miscalculate a dive, get their wings tangled, and—” he slapped one palm against the other, and shrugged. “Just because it doesn’t happen so often doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

  “I could freeze his wings,” said Coll. “but I would need to have the powder make contact with his skin.”

  Zaii tapped his finger on the table. “I might have an idea.”

  Rhuun nodded. “I also think I have an idea. He should know. I want him to know that even without…without Maaya at my side, I possess weapons.”

  Coll leaned forward. “You have weapons now? What are they?”

  Zaii covered a smile with his hand. “I believe His Grace is referring to the two of us.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Eriis

  Rhuun picked the old book from his desk and found the page Coll had marked. He read aloud.

  ‘…a dark and formless place

  Where time passes not, or passes by

  Where strangers espy each other, pause to kiss

  Then wander away as if unknown.’

  “Sounds fun,” said Rhuun. “But I didn’t kiss anyone in the Veil. I just sort of sat there.”

  “Sometimes life doesn’t imitate art,” said Coll, taking it back. He closed the book and set it back down. “This wasn’t a firsthand account, after all.” He leaned back in his seat. “You should really consider writing your experience down. I can’t think of many others who’ve been there and come out. A mage or two, rest them now, but they’re in no position to comment.”

  “And my uncle and Thaali,” Rhuun reminded him.

  “Of course,” Coll said. “Araan and Thaali.”

  As he’d promised, Coll had produced one of his treasured books that had survived the destruction of the Raasth. This one, written soon after the Weapon, was rare in its employment of nostalgia and sense of melancholy. At the time, Hellne and Yuenne had been adamant that anything produced for the general public reflect a spirit of optimism, look forward, and avoid anything mystical. Looking towards the past, like so many other things, was deemed vulgar. This unknown author had been writing for his fellow Mages, so he had avoided the court’s scrutiny.

  Rhuun picked it up and flipped through the pages. “…perhaps they are wandering still. That could have been me.” Not thinking about the past—particularly his recent past—had become habit, but Coll hadn’t come to see him just to talk about old books. The weather was repaired, or near enough. Humans could walk around in their own skins—even outside the walls of the city—without fear of roasting their brains or boiling their delicate eyes. They could come back. And with Siia’s stone pen, they could be contacted. The invitation had been written, re-written, torn up and started over, and finally completed, and only awaited Araan’s seal. Then it would be transcribed by the charmed stone stick. And then they would wait for a reply.

  All that remained was a visit to Araan. He hadn’t spent much time in his uncle’s presence since his remarkable return, a dinner here and there, and he found the man strange, even by his own standards. He spoke little, smiled much, and fo
r some reason, Rhuun always came away from the meal with a headache. But as the king, it was up to him to officially invite the humans.

  If he’d allowed Anuu to grant him that title, he’d be the one granting approval of the letter. Perhaps if he’d started carrying his own anger sooner, he would have taken the Seat when she offered it. Perhaps he’d have told Lelet the truth and kept her at his side. With her, he would have had a weapon against the Zaal, and Aelle and Siia might still have their home. Hollen wouldn’t even rate as a distraction. Of course, there was no telling what his mother—or Araan himself, for that matter—would have done if they’d come off the sand to find a permanent resident on the Seat. He sighed. Looking backwards, nothing good came of it.

  Calaa looked over his shoulder at the book. “You’ll have to read it later. Araan would like to see you. This afternoon, when the sun crosses the War Tower.”

  “He would?” How would his secretary know the king’s desires?

  “I’ve been handling things for His Grace recently. I told you that, didn’t I? Well, he needed someone who already knew where people worked and what they did.”

  “How convenient,” said Coll.

  She smiled at the mage. “Isn’t it? And I see the shadow, so perhaps you ought not to keep him waiting.”

  “Remind me,” said Coll as they walked towards the Hall of the High Seat, “how did that young lady make her way from unemployed actress to the steps of the Seat?”

  “She’s clever,” Rhuun replied. He wasn’t in the mood to defend Calaa. “If there’s something on your mind, please, let’s have it.”

  Coll shrugged. “I suppose I myself have moved up. When one starts below ground, there’s literally nowhere else to go.” He paused. “Perhaps I spoke out of turn.”

  “I count on your speaking out of turn, but in this case, I don’t know there’s anything to speak about.” They had reached the great hall, and could see Araan, with Thaali by his side, in conversation with the Zaal. So, he was to be a fixture at their court. Rhuun tamped down an instant burst of panic and forced his expression to one of calm. To his surprise, he saw Coll do the same.