The Glass Girl

by Kim Alexander

  Zaii and Coll, both somewhat out of breath, took their seats next to him. He of the three was the only one used to climbing stairs, but his companions had come to some sort of agreement about not flying away and leaving him to walk. Now they all leaned forward and squinted at the two platforms at the very top of the arena. They were little more than painted ashboard squares where the fliers could plant their feet and reach for the gilded tassels that would serve as their drop points.

  “I don’t see it,” said Rhuun in a low voice.

  “It was delivered, I did it myself,’ said Zaii. “Ah, here we are.”

  A child had entered the ring with a basket and waved to the crowd. The Match Boys (and Girls) were usually children from outside the Arch who showed promise in the arena. They performed minor tasks for the athletes and were always warmly greeted by the audience. The boy unfurled his wings, and as the crowd cheered he circled up and up until he landed on one platform. He placed a towel neatly on the edge, draped so everyone could see it. It was black with a thin crimson stripe. The boy repeated the action on the other platform. Hollen’s competition had a deep brown background with white crosshatching. Rhuun didn’t recognize it.

  “Hollen was delighted at your gift,” said Zaii, making sure his voice was lost in the enthusiasm of the crowd. “He looks forward to his promotion to a nicer house, and extends his thanks. I didn’t have to insist he use it tonight, he came up with that on his own.”

  The towel, the gift from the High Seat, would be used to wipe away the dust of the arena. Coll’s powder would be transferred at that moment. Then, Rhuun would say a word, and it would be done. Now, it was timing.

  Hollen’s match partner was young and obviously strong, but Siia’s observations had been correct: Hollen had taken more than a place in the arena from Niico; he’d learned to imitate some of the tricks that had made Niico famous. Rhuun watched as Hollen dove from the platform head first, only opening his wings after he’d gained speed. As she said, he used the same move to begin every set. Hollen may have copied Niico’s style but lacked his creativity.

  Despite his clever maneuvers, he was only ahead on form, not points. The fliers had just begun their final set. Rhuun glanced at his companions. “Ready?” Coll’s eyes were huge and glassy. He’d recover, he said, when Rhuun released the word and sealed the charm. He nodded at Rhuun without looking at him.

  Rhuun rose to his feet. At once, the judges on the ground raised a black flag with a red stripe. As was customary, play was suspended when any member of the royal family entered or left the arena. All heads swiveled to look at their prince. Once the fliers spotted the flag, they headed for their platforms. Hollen wiped the back of his neck with his new towel, and he too looked at Rhuun. They locked eyes. Hollen looked uneasy; why was the prince leaving before the end of the match?

  It was time. He whispered the word Coll taught him, that would fix the charm and render Hollen’s wings useless. Now he just had moments before it would take effect. It was time to leave. There should be nothing to connect the creation of a new ‘Burning Star’ with the presence of the prince. He gazed steadily at Hollen. You cost me Ilaan. I want you to know. I want you to know all the way to the ground. You are dismissed. Hollen frowned and shifted on the platform. Rhuun smiled and turned away.

  Once out of sight on the mezzanine, he paused to listen. The judge would have lowered the flag now that a member of the royal family had departed. Sure enough, the murmurs of the crowd gave way to a cheer as play was resumed. Applause as Hollen performed his dive. Then: silence. Gasps. A scream. And a thud. Rhuun thought it sounded rather like a bag of wet sand hitting stone. More shouting now.

  He hurried towards the broad stairway. They had agreed he would not stop to wait for them but go back to his apartments at the palace. Once it was clear that Hollen wasn’t getting up, Coll would leave. Zaii would linger.

  “I’ll be certain the phrase Burning Star is repeated,” he’d told them. “Make sure people think about how dangerous these games are, and how honored we are by the risks the fliers take. That sort of thing. And see you both at the palace.”

  The walk home was uneventful. He tried his best to control his face and his speed, but his people were accustomed to seeing the prince in various stages of improper behavior. This was nothing to remark about.

  Once inside, he lowered himself onto the chaise in the garden - It’s no garden, it’s just sand—no roots, no garden - and took a long drink of sarave. He hadn’t bothered with a glass.

  He’d killed a man. And that man hadn’t threatened him. He wasn’t defending himself. Hollen was just…a problem. He took another drink and wiped his eyes, which had begun watering in the dusty heat.

  “So that’s done.” He ran a hand over his face, took another drink. He felt hollowed out, and waited for the inevitable rush of guilt and regret. “Is this what I am now?” He shut his eyes tight, trying to imagine what Lelet would think of all this.

  You did the right thing, her voice in his head told him.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re kind.”

  I’m not that kind. He could imagine her serious expression. He didn’t murder Niico with his hand, but he killed him just the same. He threatened Aelle. He laid his hands on you, he threatened you. And he was Yuenne’s man. He was a problem. You dealt with him. Had she always been so pragmatic? He was surprised to find he agreed with her. He somehow felt worse about the three men he’d killed in the woods of Mistra than what he’d done tonight. That had been mired in pain and fear and love. This had been retribution. The joy he’d felt on the beach, the guilt he supposed he deserved, they were washed away in this new thing, this anger. If he couldn’t have the former, he would happily take the latter.

  “Then this is what I am, now.” He looked around at his ‘garden’; nothing but sand, and thought of his ancestors; dealing with problems and holding the Seat. “How could I be anything else?”

  Zaii and Coll found Rhuun asleep on the chaise; the empty bottle under his hand, curled on his side like a child.

  “Should we tell him about the Match Boy?” asked Coll. The boy’s body had been found in one of the dressing rooms after the disastrous end of Hollen’s final performance.

  “I think not. I think one murder is all he can carry, at least for tonight. Let us agree to carry the other, smaller one between us, and spare him the burden. It was our mistake, after all.”

  “You are kind to say so, but the error was all mine.” The powder had been charmed for a full-grown man, not a child. Instead of simply stopping his wings, it had stopped the boy’s heart. “But I appreciate the offer.”

  Zaii looked at the mage thoughtfully. Then he got a grip on Rhuun’s arm. “Grab the other, let’s get our prince inside. And then, I think I’d like to have dinner.”

  Coll and Zaii tried hoisting Rhuun up, dragging him off the chaise, and finally tried getting him to his feet. He was far too heavy to lift.

  “Oh well,” Coll said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Zaii rolled his eyes. “With you, Coll. I’m inviting you to a meal.”

  “Oh.” He looked genuinely surprised. “Um, thank you.”

  “At my home. Don’t frighten Iither.”

  They left the prince in his garden and headed towards the great hall and the plaza beyond.

  “Tell me,” said Coll, “have you decided on a name for the child? Because Coll is venerable and, if I may say, elegant name.”

  Zaii smiled. “That it is. I’ll add it to the list.” While he chatted with Coll, Zaii made sure to keep a listening ear on the evening crowds that ebbed and flowed around him. He was certain he heard the phrase Burning Star several times, noticed a few sad faces, and saw a quickly made up sign inviting Arch folk to donate to the family of the Match Boy, who had tragically left the path of life because of a weakness in his heart. He decided a large bequest in the prince’s name would be appropriate.

  Rhuun, he noted, was not mentioned at all.

  Cha
pter Fifty-Six

  Mistra

  “Perfect,” said Auri. “I don't know how you did it.”

  Yuenne shrugged and helped himself to another iced lemon cookie. He watched Sally tearing around the perfect lawn in pursuit of Dolly. Every so often she would stop and wave her arms at him. He waved back.

  The two men sat in the back of Auri's house in the shade of a striped awning on chairs that were called 'wicker.' If you didn't remember to put a cushion on the seat, they'd leave lines and marks on your back and legs. The more he learned about how humans behaved, the more he was certain they loved to punish themselves, and anything that delayed that punishment was regarded as a great gift.

  “Don't give me all the credit,” Yuenne said. “After all, you did all the lifting. I just made some suggestions. Nice work with Rane, I must say. He must have the constitution of a…what do you call those things?” He waved his hand at the trees lining the property, and at the delicate creatures that lived in them.

  “Birds? Squirrels?”

  “Quite.”

  “He doesn't remember anything. Only that we had a celebration, he gave his blessing about marrying Letty, and he had too much to drink. You could have shown up in your True Face, he wouldn't remember that, either. My tincture made sure of it.”

  Yuenne winced at the mention of his True Face. Despite his fine appearance, Auri lacked a certain polish. A certain tact. “Your young lady must be distraught.”

  “She is. Does nothing but wail and cry. Wanted to move back home, I put a stop to that. At least Rane's not with actual criminals. One might say he's among his own kind.” He laughed at his own joke. Yuenne smiled politely and wondered what Auri would look like on fire. Sadly, he was unable to check, since his migration to this human form left the gifts he'd been born with behind. He wondered if they would instantly return, once he and Sally went home. That would be the cost of the journey - blue sky and cookies traded for flight and flame.

  “So, are you prepared for what's next?”

  Auri nodded. “Letty won't like it, but she'll do as I say.”

  Yuenne helped himself to another glass of sweet cold tea. “Very generous of you. I hope Rane appreciates what you're doing for him. Sending the sister to throw herself at the feet of her former…very good friend. Begging him for mercy, begging. If I remember correctly, the prince is unused to a woman begging him for anything. He is likely to grant her anything she asks.” He paused. “Perhaps she will like it.”

  Predictably, Auri glared and folded his arms. “She'll do as I say,” he repeated. “She didn’t want to go, so now we’ve given her a reason to go. She’d do anything to help Rane. As long as I let her off the leash, that is.”

  Yuenne glanced at his companion, who scowled through his dark eyeshades at the child playing on the lawn. Lelet would most likely obey - Auri had turned her into quite a compliant pet - but Yuenne thought it was interesting how she’d never told him she’d actually traveled to Eriis. The girl thought she had secrets, stories she wouldn’t repeat. Well, what she knew and what she said didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was luring the prince back through The Door.

  As he'd explained it to Auri, once Rhuun was in Mistra, it was up to Auri what he wanted to do with his rival, who, he said, wouldn’t be missed or mourned.

  “A weak ruler,’ he told Auri. ‘He hasn’t the backing of the people who matter. They would greet a strong hand with cheers, I’ve always thought so.” Of course, Auri wanted to learn all about the land of his people, and Yuenne obliged. He managed to work in the glittering cities and glass towers, the long twilights spent in conversation and merriment, the same mythology of a world he’d invented for Scilla long ago. But for Auri he added more to the story; the rites of succession as practiced in Eriis, where one must kill the king, thereby spilling the blood, in order to take the High Seat. It was difficult to be casual about regicide, but he thought he’d made his point without being too obvious.

  “Barbaric, really,” he’d said, noting Auri’s narrowed gaze. “But we are a people who respect tradition, and that’s how it’s always been done. Kill the king to become the king. No one would dare deny that claim. Of course, that person would have to have a strong hand indeed. It might even turn out to be someone from outside the city. A fresh infusion of blood, as it were.” He felt Auri’s eyes on him. “Maybe not. After all, if one doesn’t know their way around…” He paused, gazing out the window towards the garden. Sally was rolling around on the grass. These days she was pretending to be a lyonne, and that involved a lot of crouching behind bushes and leaping out at him. “On the other hand, if the new king had a powerful person at their side…someone to sort out the ins and outs of life at court…”

  Auri leaned towards him, mesmerized. “A counselor?”

  Yuenne covered his smile behind his hand. “One might say. With a counselor at his side, that new king could do great things. On both Eriis and on Mistra.”

  The murderous rite of succession was as big a piece of fiction as the idea that Auri would ever see the sky of Eriis, much less sit on the High Seat, but it was a necessary fiction, because short of throwing himself on the mercy of Scilla and the brothers of the Guardhouse, the prince's blood, that potent mixture of demon and human, was the only way home. He had committed that particular charm to memory, but sadly for himself, no other. And with the prince finally—finally— permanently out of the way, who better than Yuenne to go home and retake control of Eriis? It made him feel tired, thinking of all the lunches and dinners and smiling and convincing.

  And now it depended on Auri convincing Lelet to go back to the scene of her greatest grief. He didn't know why she'd left Rhuun behind, but he did know she was a pale reminder of the woman he saw at the High Seat that day.

  What if she goes through The Door and never returns? He wondered. Maybe she should stay there and I should . . .

  “Well, in that case I’ll just have to make sure she behaves.” He nodded. She may pout but I have ways of dealing with that, too,” Auri said.

  “Well, fine. I'm sure you know her better than I do.” He rose, brushing crumbs from his trousers. “Sally, my little lyonne, let's get Dolly in the house. And pick out some clean clothes for our afternoon, can you do that?”

  “Let’s go see the kitties!” she squealed, and took off after her cat, who had so far avoided being caught even once by Mistra’s tiniest predator.

  “This might take a while,” he said, then called out, “Puppies, sweet, is what they're called.” To Sally, anything small and wriggly was a kitty. She'd learn.

  “Where are you off to?” Auri asked.

  “Miss Carleigh, she's got the blue and white house with the tall iron gate at the corner of Poet's. Her dog had a litter. We're going to visit.”

  “Just don't be bringing anything home.”

  “Not to worry. She's got a boy about Sally's age, and I want to talk to her about the best schools. I know it's a year or so off, but one can't be too prepared.” He couldn’t imagine a scenario that left them in Mistra that long, but Sally did want to see the puppies. And the sweet-voiced Carleigh had her own charms—for a human.

  Sally had apparently herded Dolly back into the cottage and presently reemerged wearing a fuzzy sky-blue hat which paired dramatically with her orange dress and purple tights.

  “Picked out her clothes herself, did she? They'll be lining up to enroll her.” Auri gave a quick glance at Yuenne, to see if he'd spoken rashly. But Yuenne smiled.

  “Good luck with your lady friend. I have a feeling she won't need much convincing.”

  As entertaining as it was to spend an afternoon baiting Auri, Yuenne found the walk towards Poet's Heights a more diverting way to spend his time. Sally kept up a constant stream of chatter, saying hello to not only any people they passed, but also dogs, horses, and the occasional lamppost. When her hat tumbled off her silky curls, he tucked it under his arm.

  “Is Uncle Auri mad at me?” she asked.

  “N
o, I wouldn't say that,” he replied. “Some people sound mad all the time. I think your Uncle is one of them, so he sounds cross even when he's not.”

  “He's mad at Letty,” she said. “Letty is sad. We should help her.” Then she darted ahead to chase a leaf.

  He stopped walking. “Maybe we should.” He looked around; the tree-lined street, the blue sky, the little girl who never would have to wear a veil against dust or worry about sand in her drinking water. Who loved her cat and the flowers in the garden, who laughed and smiled and sometimes cried but never had to mask her face to hide her heart. She didn't know what the High Seat was, or why it was important. Why is it important? he wondered.

  Then he scoffed at his own weakness. Once he’d disposed of the prince and dealt with Auri, he’d take his miraculous child and go home, and this place would serve as it ought to have done all along: as a larder for Eriis. And with the blood of the prince and the bounty of this world in his control, the rest - Siia and his children, the court, the Zaal, the Arch, The Door itself—they would all fall in line. It wouldn’t be his son or daughter, it wouldn’t be a proxy, it would be he himself. He would take the High Seat, and he would hold it.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Eriis

  “It isn’t working.”

  Ilaan sat back on his cushion, the seams as frayed as his nerves. He pushed away from the low table, littered with sand and bits of glass. Three silver cups of water stood in a row, their surfaces bowed unnaturally upward. Mother Jaa leaned over his shoulder to look at the picture he’d created; it hovered over the water, as big as two cupped hands and perfect in its detail. Two people, two ugly humans, sitting and talking in a field of blazing green. He knew she couldn’t see it, of course—he thought what she ‘saw’ was somehow the projection of what he was looking at, inside his own mind. Either way, it wasn’t what he’d been looking for. Her instructions were flawed, or else he was unable—for once—to properly follow them. As he’d told Rhuun long ago, he much preferred being good at things to becoming good at things. As such, he had little patience for practice, and what he was attempting took a lot of practice.