The Glass Girl

by Kim Alexander

  “Really, Aelle. Do you think I never dallied with a handsome house guard or two? And you never heard a whisper, did you? You know I value discretion; now you know why. I understand you are particularly interested in one of the humans who'll be coming to visit us. You might take a lesson in discretion yourself.”

  “I…” She struggled to reply. But Hellne wasn't finished.

  “Don't think I hold myself above you in this regard, Aelle. They can be captivating. But never forget, they are not like us.”

  Aelle cleared her throat. She recalled the old human man who had frightened her, back at the Guardhouse. He'd called her by a different name. “Rhuun's father…”

  “Still lives. Yes, I know, I managed to get that much out of my son. He tells me Malloy is a very old man. Suffering in his infirmity. Good.”

  “Madam!”

  “After what he did, he should suffer.” She paused. “I've never told anyone this. We did not agree…he forced his spark on me. Somehow. It must be a special talent among the humans. “Never forget that, no matter how sweet their words. They take what they like, and they move on. He left me with the memory of his violation to look at every day.”

  Aelle frowned. “I don't think that’s what happened.” Hellne raised a brow, and Aelle knew she was treading on broken ground. “I have…ah…some experience in the human world. You are correct, I am involved with a human man. We discussed this, my friend and I. They have no spark at all, or one might say it's always 'on.' They have no control over it.”

  “What? That makes no sense.” Hellne had gone from a creased brow to an open look of shock. Aelle had never seen such a thing.

  “I agree, and yet, as you yourself say: they are not like us. They simply don't know the outcome of joining, either partner. I had to make sure and watch for signs…Is it possible he didn't know?”

  Hellne didn't reply. She stared into her cup. Finally, she said, “One more thing for me to consider. I have quite the list. Aelle, I must ask you a favor.”

  “Of course, Madam, if it's in my power.”

  “Don't be so quick to agree. There is an element of danger, not great but present.”

  “I've come to think getting up from my bed in the morning has some risk attached.” Hellne poured them each a fresh cup of sarave and began to talk. Aelle could hardly believe it - the Zaal intended to release some monstrous race of daeeva from the Vastness to attack the humans. Hellne appeared to want to say more but shook her head.

  “I’m leaving at once. I have to go to Mistra. I have to go to the Guardhouse and somehow convince Malloy the threat is real. I can only hope he has enough of his wits left to understand me. There may be others better suited to help me, but…” she looked up at Aelle. “He’s the only human I know. And it appears I may have been wrong about him. In any case, I don’t have a choice. I have to trust him. He must help us.”

  “I can help you,” said Aelle.

  Hellne smiled. “I was counting on—”

  “No,” said Aelle. “I can help you with Brother Blue. I mentioned my friend? My human friend? His name is Olly. He is Brother Blue’s assistant. Olly is like a son to him.”

  “Hm. I’ll have to find him when I get to the Guardhouse.”

  “No, you won’t. He’s coming with the humans. I’ll tell him myself. Tonight.”

  Hellne gave a relieved sigh. “Light and Wind must have brought you two together, or else blown me to your door today. But we have other challenges, closer to home.” Her absence from the palace would be noticed—unless she wasn’t absent at all. Perhaps someone could take a daily walk or two, greet an acquaintance, smile over a glass of sarave. Someone who knew Hellne well enough to fool even her friends. Someone with the gift of changing her face.

  “But you must avoid the Zaal. He should know better than to confront me in public, and Diia will help you turn him away should he seek an audience. Other than that, just let them all see my face.”

  Aelle was not surprised to learn the Zaal had been holding Rhuun’s life over Hellne’s head to ensure that she follow his commands. Her father hadn’t trusted the Zaal, even as he worked alongside him. She remembered a dinner party he’d attended, and how she and Niico had laughed about the awful old mage when they were safely out of sight. Niico. Niico and her father. Her heart twisted.

  “And what’s my father’s role in this?”

  Hellne looked surprised. “Yuenne? My dear, he has no role, not any longer.”

  “He is not dead,” said Aelle. He wouldn’t dare to die before she got to confront him.

  Hellne nodded slowly, thinking perhaps that Aelle merely mourned her missing father. “As you say. In any case, he does not figure in to what I intend to do. If he lives, I hope he comes home to you and behaves as a good father ought, as you deserve. If that’s what you wish.” She took a breath. “Will you do as I ask?”

  “I think it's you who takes the risk. Of course I'll help you.”

  Hellne smiled. “Siia,” she said, looking over Aelle’s shoulder.

  Startled, Aelle whipped her head around. Her mother stood behind her, and she gazed at the queen. “How may I serve?”

  “Deliver a message, my dear. Please tell Jaa I am on my way.”

  Siia gave a short nod and turned to leave. As she did, she ran her hand lovingly over Aelle’s coiled hair. Then vanished into her room and shut the door.

  Hellne rose to leave. “Aelle, I know your father always put great store by your brother. And that was correct, in part. Ilaan is gifted. But you must never think you are of any less value to the world, or to me. You will always have a place at my court. And Aelle?” Hellne looked like she had more to add, but finally simply said, “Be careful around my brother.”

  Later, Aelle sat and sipped her drink and thought about Hellne. It is the woman's gift, she pondered, that she came here to gather scraps of information, and beg my help. But she left having gained me as a supplicant, clinging to her kind words, willing to give her anything. That's why she's the queen.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Eriis

  After he’d been interrupted for the tenth time, Rhuun decided to give in to the excited air of his staff and not even pretend to work. This was the day the humans would arrive. Calaa came and went with instructions on what to serve the four representatives from the Guardhouse when they arrived through The Door; which did he prefer, the silver cups? Or glass? Or polished stone? He thought the silver would be fine.

  Coll poked his head in. “It’s today. The humans, I mean.”

  “I knew that, thank you.” He thought Coll just wanted to say it out loud: They will be here today. And Zaii made half a dozen trips to make sure the human’s chambers were set up appropriately. Instead of dry rooms, they would need fresh water. It took some explaining, but Rhuun thought the delegation would be comfortable.

  He looked out the open window toward the War Tower. A clear day, relatively speaking, and he could see the shadows start to cross the slender spire. They had decided, Rhuun and his staff, that the arriving humans would be greeted by Zaii, the First Assistant— standing well removed and in a large open space. He would offer them water, and then they would be presented to the prince once The Door was safely closed. Zaii had been quite insistent on the prince being removed from the initial greeting.

  Zaii asked, “Did you intend to change into something a little more…ambassadorial before they arrive?”

  Rhuun glanced down. He wore the same stretched out black tunic with leggings and boots nearly every day. “I should clean up, shouldn’t I?” He held up his hands; his fingers were stained with blue and black and red ink.

  Zaii pointed at Rhuun's face. “You've got some . . . just . . . higher . . .”

  He laughed. “Scilla will think I’ve taken to sleeping in the street.” He rose and headed for the door, but paused with a hand on the frame. “I still can't believe they're coming at all. How did we manage it?”

  “You did.” Zaii tidied the piles of paper and
capped the inkwells. “I know one must not say such things, but you were a good fit for the old seat. Just because you're not on it doesn't mean you shouldn't be proud of what we're doing here today. Go ahead, I'll make a good show of it when they arrive. And don't worry.”

  Don’t worry. Too late for that.

  Rhuun's new suite was not far from his old one, his childhood home, his prison. That room had been stripped of charms and furniture and possessions and walled off. And, of course, Yuenne had had his revenge on the uncooperative door. You might not know there had ever been a room there at all. His new rooms were so much larger and more comfortable he often wondered what he'd been trying to prove by sticking with the cramped child's room for so long. Had he made a point of picking new rooms that took him past the old one every time he walked down the hall? He wasn't sure of that either. Sometimes he thought one part of his mind was desperately trying to contact the other, and if he could unlock the code, his life would make sense.

  He threw his clothing on the floor and changed his form, one, two, three…and then the ink was gone, and he was clean. He'd even learned to if not enjoy then at least tolerate the process. He peered into his closet. Black tunics folded neatly against more black tunics. Finally, he just shrugged and found one with the proper length sleeves and a thin red trim at the collar and cuff.

  He was certainly looking forward to getting negotiations with the humans under way, and he was rightly proud that he'd made it happen, but he was dreading the humans themselves. He didn't know what he was going to say to Scilla, who after all was leading the delegation. What was it going to be like, looking into eyes shaped like his own after so long? And what if Scilla wanted to talk about what happened? He assumed Lelet had told her sister the circumstances that led to her returning to Mistra alone. He'd just recently gotten good at not running it over in his mind. Not all day, any more. Now mostly just at night, and there was always sarave for that.

  Well, they were coming and it was all for the better of both Eriis and Mistra. His uncle was looking forward to meeting some humans, although he didn't seem particularly interested in what they might have to say. He just wanted to look at them. His mother had already sent Diia along with her regrets. She didn't want to look at them again, ever. He found he sympathized.

  But that was blown sand, and they were all adults, even by the strangely convoluted calendars that governed the passage of time between the two worlds. He would treat Scilla as he would treat all the humans: with courtesy and decorum. Everything else was part of the past.

  He settled himself back at his desk, eyeing the stacks of paper. Even though his official title was Mistran Ambassador, much ended up on his desk that was simply too boring for his uncle and his courtiers. Water use; the last batch of bread had too much grit in it; someone wasn't paying attention in Transformation; a resolution to approve any and all color in garments, and not just hems and linings and trim. He thought it was high time for the latter. But it could all wait.

  The minutes passed and he grew nervous. What if something went wrong? Surely they should be here by now. To give his hands something to do, he began poring over a list of water allocations for the Old City, lists of how much consumed block by block—

  “Your Grace, may I present the delegation of the Order of the Veil and The Door, arrived safely from Mistra.” Zaii ushered the group of robed and hooded men and women into the room. Four robed men and women, and behind them one woman with her hood thrown back, and a mane of bright white hair. It was longer now. And she was wearing his eye shades.

  “Welcome to Eriis,” he said, not looking at her. He stood to greet them, despite not being able to feel his hands or feet. It was difficult to speak but he kept going. “Scilla, I am delighted to see you again. The trip through The Door was uneventful?”

  She gave a laugh. “The journey was uneventful but the trip is always exciting, Your Grace, as you know.” Scilla looked a little nervous, her voice unnaturally bright—going so far as to use his title, not call him Moth. He thought he knew why. The reason was peering around the room from under her eyeshades. “And it’s nice to see you again also. I like your office.” She looked approvingly at the big room with its black granite walls. The stone glinted in places from the light cast by both the yellow daylight streaming in through the open windows and three huge bowls of glowing stones hung from the ceiling. (The humans wouldn't notice, but the lack of dust on every surface was considered a major milestone. One could leave one's windows open all day, these days.) The walls were lined with bookcases filled with books he'd moved from his mother's library, plus newer works written by the emerging artist class. His special human book was wrapped in silk and locked away.

  At the far end of the space was his desk, his pride and joy. The real wood was dark with age, scored and nicked and pitted, and as long as he was tall. A pair of beautiful amber-colored stones carved in the shape of winged mice sat on either corner and provided a warm glow. A row of inkwells made a neat line at his elbow. He imagined it looked to Scilla like a proper human office.

  “My staff is waiting to show you to your rooms. They are at your disposal as long as you are here. There is a small gathering, a party scheduled at first moonrise, I'll present you to my uncle the king and his wife. We'll talk more after that. Go and rest, and I will look forward to meeting you all later. Lelet, a word? If you don't mind?”

  The others filed out and Lelet came and stood in front of his desk. She took off the glasses and set them next to one of the winged mice. She also looked around his office and nodded.

  “Nicer than your room down the hall.”

  He sat back down and pulled out a neatly filled out form. “You aren't supposed to be here. You aren't on the manifest.”

  She leaned forward and he smelled flowers in her hair. “No,” she said. “I'm right here.” She pointed. After Scilla's name there was a comma, then 'Cultural Attaché.' “That's me. I'm the attaché. Scilla must have left my name off.”

  “I would not have approved your being here. I don't approve of it.” He uncapped an inkwell and taking up his slender glass pen began drawing little lines around her new title. “Why are you here?”

  “I'm the only one on Mistra that's actually been here. I'm supposed to make sure no one does anything shocking. It was Scilla's idea. She misses you.” She paused and leaned across the desk, her hair falling forward. “Moth—”

  “No one calls me that. Why are you here?” He kept his eyes trained on the page.

  She said again, “Moth, something's happened—”

  He set the glass pen down and now he did look up. “If you have an agenda outside of these negotiations, I urge you not to pursue it.” She stood and took a step back. “Now, one of my men is right outside, and he'll take you to your room. We've made them comfortable for human persons, although I'm sorry to say we haven't been able to provide bathtubs. Your luggage is already there.” She looked wounded and he tried not to take comfort in her pain. “I'm sorry if this isn't going according your plans. But we all have jobs to do. So, let's just do them.” He gripped his pen and stared without seeing the page in front of him. When he glanced up a moment later she was gone.

  He put down the pen and picked up the glasses. He wanted to throw something across the room but they were too precious. What had she told him, that night at the inn, in their soft bed? If I do something you don’t like, if I ever hurt you, just say these words, and I’ll stop at once.

  Finally he dropped his head into his hands.

  “Ouch,” he said. “Stop.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Eriis

  Lelet followed the guard down the corridor and then up a broad stairway to her room. The most important thing is I don’t act surprised or hurt in front of any of these people. In front of Moth. Since the last time she’d been to Eriis, she’d become an expert at hiding her thoughts. As on Mistra, she’d wait until she was alone to decide how she felt. But it took all her will not to turn and rush back into his
neat, tidy office and demand…what? She bunched her fists and told herself to wait. The guard surprised her by stopping and she nearly crashed into him.

  “We were only expecting four of you,” he said as he ushered her into her room and set down her bags, “but the two old ones said they would stay together until we have something sorted. I’ll be back to fetch you in time for the party this evening. If you need anything there’s a man posted in the hall.” He nodded and closed the door, and as soon as she heard his boots against the stone floor, she checked to make sure he hadn’t locked her in. As Auri often reminded her, there was no shame in over caution. Once satisfied, she leaned against the door and took stock.

  “Well, this is an upgrade.” She realized she’d never been in one of these rooms—guest quarters on the front side of the palace, and on an upper floor. It was nearly as large as her room at home, the stone walls washed in a pale shade of brick that was (if she squinted) almost peach, the furniture an approximation of Mistran luxury—the shapes were right, but the textures were off, rougher, lacking detail. They’d gotten good at fabric, though, or else saved the heavy, dark grey silk drapes from the time before the Weapon. She drew them back, revealing tall glass paned doors that led to a balcony just big enough for two. She supposed the drapes were drawn and doors shut to keep out the dust, but it was a fairly clear afternoon, and she could see the entire courtyard and boulevard that led into the palace, all the way to the Arch.

  “Huh,” she said to herself. “Look at that.” In among the strolling, flying, chatting crowds coming in and out of the great carved gate, here and there in the sea of brown and black and tan, she saw flashes of color. A deep red traveling scarf. Blue boots. A flash of green at the hem. “Things have changed around here.”

  She turned from the balcony and shut the doors, but left the curtains drawn, and reached for the basket of stones on the night table. Nothing happened. She’d forgotten she was Lelet, not Maaya, and had to bother the guard to come in and raise the lights. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to work on hanging and folding away her things—simple dresses in brown and black and tan, and something pretty, just in case. That would be for tonight. Keeping one’s hands busy kept one’s mind clear. Auri said that, too. But finally, there was nothing left to put away, nothing to look at to distract herself, and she sat on the edge of the bed.