‘Now I’m fifty, the guild has said I have to name my successor in my workshop,’ Torrent added.
Rain put together the apparently unconnected remarks.
‘You’ve chosen?’ she asked in a small voice. Part of her had known that their life could not continue on its quiet path, but she hadn’t realized that change would arrive so suddenly.
‘It has to be family or you would not be safe,’ he said, in a plea for her to understand.
‘I see.’
‘Shadow and Timber may leave a lot to be desired as people but they will protect you. I’ll make it a condition of my will that you can carry on working if they move in.’
Rain rolled up the design and carefully secured it with twine before handing it to her father.
‘That’s good.’
‘If I die before you’re settled, they’ll make sure you’re looked after, see you well married.’
‘I’m not marrying, Papa.’
He gave her a fond smile. ‘Of course not yet—you’re barely fifteen. But life is fragile—your mother taught me that. I would be a fool not to think of your future.’
‘I wish you could leave the forge to me, Papa, then none of this would be necessary. You wouldn’t have to worry.’
‘I know, but I can’t. Rules are rules.’
‘The rules should be changed.’
‘Maybe they will, but there’s no sign yet of the guild-masters coming to their senses any time soon. I’ve made discreet attempts to influence them in our favour but I’m afraid of saying too much. If they think I’m arguing for women to be allowed to work because of you, they might poke their noses into our affairs and spoil what we have.’
Rain already knew this but it was hard to accept such an injustice just because she’d been born the wrong sex.
‘You should have pretended I was a boy, Papa.’
He chuckled and pulled her up into a hug. ‘It might have worked while you were a child but no one would believe the little waif I’ve raised was a fifteen-year-old boy. I’m afraid to shatter your illusions, Raindrop, but I fear you are never going to be what one would call a tall woman.’
‘Oh, be quiet, you big bear.’ Her lack of height was something which annoyed Rain and amused Torrent.
‘Well now, that’s no way to treat your father. Remember to show our guests your best manners so they fall in with our plans.’
‘I’ll try. But you must admit, they have a way of putting your teeth on edge.’
‘Cousin Rain, this stew is very wholesome,’ complimented Shadow Glasstrader. ‘I see that even without a mother’s influence you have not failed to attain all the womanly skills needed in a household.’
Biting her lip, Rain gave him a tight smile, hoping for her father’s sake he mistook her irritated silence for maidenly shyness.
Shadow leaned back in his chair and folded his thin hands across his rounded belly. In his late twenties, he was already settling to a paunch, which looked odd on his lanky frame. His reddish-brown hair was combed smoothly back from his forehead, framing his pale oval face. He surveyed the room of apprentices with a superior expression. Rain could tell he was preparing himself to deliver another of his little words of wisdom to what he believed were grateful listeners.
‘Uncle Torrent, I’m not sure it is quite fitting that my cousin should live without female companionship in a household of men,’ he said in a carrying voice, his choice of subject as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
The gentle conversation in the room fell away. The apprentices turned their eyes on their master, sitting at the head of the table with his fork arrested halfway to his mouth. Rain stared at her plate, the gravy smearing the white surface the exact colour of her cousin’s hair.
‘Come now, Shadow,’ intervened his brother, Timber, slopping some more beer into his glass, ‘you think too much of what is proper and what’s not. You just said Rain was skilled in all womanly crafts; I’m sure the same can be said for all her female virtues. You are getting as narrow as those priests of the old war god, Hollin, always moaning about one thing or another, concentrating on the ceremony rather than the substance.’
Timber winked at Rain. Blessed with better looks than his brother, he appeared to think his wavy brown hair and stylish moustache made him irresistible. To Rain, who cared little for the current fashion, the hair on his upper lip looked like a dead mouse.
‘My daughter is above reproach,’ growled Torrent. ‘I will not have anyone imply otherwise.’
‘Of course, uncle,’ Shadow backtracked quickly. He and his brother knew they stood to gain much from an association with their uncle’s forge; Rain suspected they had agreed to humour the old man as long as was necessary. ‘And as I said, my cousin is a very talented cook, even in these days of scarcity.’
Torrent gave a grunt of assent, letting the matter drop, but the damage had been done. Rain now felt conscious of her position in the household as never before and she disliked Shadow even more than usual for stealing her peace of mind. She was just deciding whether she should retire from the table to avoid further criticism, when Timber broached a new topic.
‘The word on the exchange, uncle, is that the King is entertaining ambassadors from one of the newly discovered lands to the east, some place called Magharna.’ Timber twitched the flared tails of his bronze silk jacket into precise folds on his lap like a lady fussing with her skirts. Shadow was wearing an almost identical one of a bilious shade of green. Another unfortunate fashion the brothers had chosen to follow, thought Rain.
‘Never heard of it,’ said Torrent, wiping his plate clean with a crust, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his only concession to dinner being that he no longer wore his apron.
‘I’m not surprised.’ Timber turned to Rain like a tutor addressing a pupil in need of instruction. ‘You are too young to remember, cousin, but under the old emperor, Fergox Spearthrower, there was not much interest in exploration, only in military conquest. The present King has greatly expanded our knowledge of distant lands, funding numerous voyages of discovery.’
‘Best thing King Ramil has done, good for business,’ interjected Shadow, speaking through a mouthful. ‘He should concentrate on this kind of thing and less on reforms in my view.’
Just as well your view doesn’t count for much, thought Rain, who was a firm supporter of the present King and Queen.
‘So what are these Magharnans like?’ asked Torrent, moving the subject away from a critique of their ruler.
‘I’ve heard that, as a race, they are quite tall, black hair thick and dead straight, skin a burnished colour, like field workers. They dress strangely, elaborate robes over tunics, fine layers of slashed cloth so that they look like walking cobwebs.’
Must be a pain to wash, mused Rain, thinking of the great pile of clothes from her household waiting for the tub in the back kitchen.
‘Do they have a king?’ Torrent enquired, pushing his plate away.
‘They have someone they call the Master at the head of a ruling family. As I understand it, they think of him more like a deity.’
As a follower of the god Hollin, Shadow sniffed his disapproval at such sacrilege.
‘But there’s more, Uncle Torrent. They are looking for craftsmen to come to their country to work on a summer palace for the Master.’ Timber gave a smug smile. ‘I put a word or two into the right ears, of course, and luckily the Magharnans had already seen one of your windows in the temple—the one of the Goddess as healer. They were enquiring about you; I would not be surprised if they ask you to send someone from your forge to Magharna to design something similar for them.’
Torrent looked at his daughter. ‘They want a designer?’
‘Yes. They say they have craftsmen skilled in glass-making, but no designers to match you and no tradition of stained-glass manufacturing.’ Timber glanced round the room. ‘Surely one or two of your apprentices have learnt something of your skill, enough to satisfy these Magharnans? Just imagine the hono
ur for our guild: the first craft to establish a trade with this country! I know the King is very eager to see us succeed.’
Torrent stood up abruptly and clapped his hands, addressing the apprentices. ‘Boys, clear the table and then retire for the night.’
Timber frowned. ‘Are you not going to say any more than that? This is great news for us—for your forge.’
Torrent pushed the door open with a bang and strode out, calling over his shoulder. ‘Shadow, Timber, come to my study. You too, Rain. There’s something we have to discuss.’
‘You did what? You’ve been letting her dabble in design for years!’ Timber paced the room, tugging at the roots of his hair with one frantic fist. ‘Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve risked everything—your business, your wealth, your own family!’
Torrent stood with his back to the shuttered window, calmly lighting the candlestick on his desk. Rain sat on a stool near the draughtsman bench. Rolls of her sketches were stacked in the pigeonholes behind it, stretching almost to the ceiling—years of her labour. Shadow slumped in an armchair near the fire, his mouth slack with shock.
Her father blew out the taper. ‘I don’t think you understand, Timber: she does more than dabble. Rain is Torrent stained glass. Every single one of them is her vision; I’m merely the one who has the privilege of realizing it for her.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Timber spun on his heel and loomed over Rain. ‘Cousin, what is this foolishness? Tell me my uncle has lost his senses. It must be a joke.’
Rain did not meet his eyes but ran a finger over the ribbon tying the scroll containing her first design, a wheatsheaf for a local baker.
‘I’m not joking,’ said Torrent.
‘By Hollin, I wish you were!’ Timber slammed a hand down on the bench by Rain’s arm. ‘It must stop immediately, you hear. You can’t risk the family like this. You’ll ruin us as glass traders if this comes out!’
Anyone would think I’d committed murder, not created something beautiful and unique, thought Rain, focusing on the black hairs that flourished on her cousin’s forearm like a little forest.
‘Rain is not going to stop,’ Torrent replied calmly. ‘She is a brilliant artist. It would be a crime to prevent her using her talent.’
‘It’s a crime to let her continue.’
‘No, it merely breaks a rule—a rule that should’ve been challenged long ago.’
Timber paled. ‘You’re not thinking of bringing this out into the open, surely?’
Torrent shifted uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps if I were a more courageous man, I would, but I cannot do that to Rain. More likely than not, we’d be thrown out of the guild with no means of earning a living. I would prefer it if we were simply left in peace to continue working as we have. No one has been harmed.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ Timber was off again, ranting as he strode. ‘You say no one has been harmed but you fail to recognize that you’ve endangered our entire family by your flagrant disregard of guild rules. And why? Because you wish to spoil your daughter. You’ve let her have her way in this household for too long.’
Shadow chose this moment to add his weight on his brother’s side of the argument. ‘Indeed, uncle, I fear you’ve done our cousin a great disservice, taken her from the station into which she was born and tried to make her into the son you never had.’
Torrent’s anger grew now the attacks had turned on Rain, his hands shaking as he tried to hold on to his temper. ‘I do not need a son; I have Rain.’
‘Rain is a girl, destined for marriage and family—that’s if any decent man will have her now,’ said Shadow piously.
‘It would be an honour for any suitor to marry my daughter.’
‘Not if you’ve been cast out of the guild and are reduced to begging in the streets because of her,’ interjected Timber.
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘It might. What if one of the apprentices informs the guild-masters?’
‘They don’t know it is her work; we’re very careful.’
‘But you are taking a senseless risk!’
‘There is nothing senseless about it. Look at the accounts, Timber. The stained glass is the most profitable part of my business; without her we would be just a mediocre forge.’
Rain doubted that very much, but it warmed her to hear her father’s defence.
‘What are you going to do now, uncle?’ asked Timber sarcastically. ‘The Magharnan interest in your designer is likely to place you under intense scrutiny. It will be a miracle if the truth does not come out.’
‘Why should it? Unless one of you takes it upon yourself to reveal our secret, we can carry on as before. I had hoped by confiding in you like this, by naming you both as my successors, you will protect Rain as you would the rest of my business.’
His declaration deflated the cousins’ indignation like a pin in a pig’s bladder balloon.
‘You’ve named us as your successors?’ repeated Timber.
Torrent gave a jerky nod. ‘I intend to, if you agree to let Rain continue working.’
The two men exchanged a look.
‘You are thinking of retiring?’ asked Timber.
‘No, not just yet, but I will take you on as junior partners until I do so if that is your wish. When I’m gone, the forge will be left to you both equally, with the exception of a generous provision to be made for Rain’s dowry, if she has not already married by then.’
‘Perhaps one of us should marry her,’ mused Shadow, ‘keep the money in the family.’
Rain snapped the charcoal pencil she had been toying with.
‘That will not be necessary,’ replied Torrent curtly. ‘I wish her to marry for love, not as a business arrangement.’
Timber stroked his moustache. ‘Of course. How very enlightened of you, uncle.’ He gave Rain an overly warm grin. ‘Hers would be a heart worth winning.’
He’s changed his tune quickly, thought Rain. One moment calling me a disgrace, the next a prize. I’m not so easily fooled.
‘Then I can rely on you both to keep our secret?’ pushed Torrent, wanting their promise before the interview ended.
‘Certainly,’ agreed Shadow.
‘Indeed. But what’s to be done about the contract with the Magharnans?’ enquired Timber, frowning. ‘No one will believe that you say you wish to turn it down. Questions will be asked.’
Torrent put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, aware that she had not said anything during the whole discussion, which was unlike her.
‘We’ll worry about that when we have to. I’ve not been asked yet.’
‘You will be.’
‘Then we will find a way round the problem as we always do. Right, my love?’
Rain nodded, resting her head against her father’s side. ‘Yes, Papa.’
Shard 2
Flint Blue
‘Itell you, Peri, the bird is sickening for something.’ Helgis tugged the back of his brother’s sleeveless leather jacket to get his attention, his small round face and dark eyes bleak with anxiety. ‘She’s off her food and her feathers look dull. You’ve always told me that’s a bad sign.’
Peri kept his eyes on the distant falcon, flying over the crag. The ground under his boots squelched as he readied himself to swing the lure, but he paid no heed to the discomfort of wet feet.
‘I’ll take a look at her when I’ve finished here,’ he promised, his voice as calm and melodious as always. There was something about him—his air of being utterly centred—that appealed to all creatures, especially winged ones. Even Helgis’s anxiety eased listening to his brother’s words. ‘Now stand back: I need room.’
‘Please, don’t take too long. I’m really worried about her.’
‘I know—and it’s natural. Goldie’s your first bird. We all worry too much about our first.’
Helgis sighed, realizing his brother was not going to come with him until he was good and ready. He often complained that Peri was as immovable as th
e peak of Mount Bandor; even now, as he stood ankle-deep in the mud, his shoulder-skimming black hair tied back with a leather thong, his long limbs relaxed, there was no budging him until he was finished. Yet Peri had a sure hand with the birds that kept even the tricky ones, like the falcon he was now flying, obedient to his will. Helgis wished he had even a fraction of his patience.
Peri caught his brother’s envious look and smiled inwardly. He knew his little brother thought him always the capable one. Helgis had announced only the night before that he wanted to be exactly like Peri when he grew up, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. They all anticipated that Helgis’s hot temper might not allow it. But Peri loved his little brother dearly and hoped he could live up to the high opinion Helgis held of him.
‘You’d best move to a safe distance,’ Peri said gently.
‘I’ll get out of your way then.’ Helgis jumped from tussock to tussock to reach the shelter of a rock. ‘I’m clear.’
Peri slowly began to spin the lure above his head, the piece of rabbit meat tied to the end humming in the wind to tempt the falcon on the wing. He put aside the problem of Helgis’s sparrowhawk for later attention, concentrating on the task at hand. Would the bird respond? The crotchety falcon had been almost impossible to train so as a last resort had been given to him to straighten out. Peri guessed a previous handler had mistreated the creature or failed to be consistent with his rewards; it had developed an unpredictable and malevolent streak, as likely to dive for the trainer as the meat lure.
‘Come on, beauty,’ he urged the hunter. He was the bird’s last chance: if it didn’t respond to him, then it would be destroyed, a thought which made Peri want to rage at the unfairness of life. The only birds of prey the Magharnan Master allowed near his capital, Rolvint, were those under the control of the falconers.