Glasswrights' Test by Mindy L Klasky Page B

glasswrights, educated and true, then all will rue the day that our Morenian guild was destroyed!”
    Parion bent his head and muttered a few formulaic prayers to Clain. It was a good thing that he had mastered the words as a young apprentice, for he would never have been able to repeat them otherwise, with his mind flying from topic to topic, from plan to plan.
    â€œIn the name of Clain, amen,” he concluded, and he set Morada’s gift upon the table.
    It took him only a minute to find a bottle of ink. He tested his glass pen against his fingertip, then held it up to the golden sunlight that streamed through the window. It would do. He watched the ink drip from its smooth edge, leaving behind a perfect film. His hand was firm as he started to write to the Traitor: “From Parion, master of the Glasswrights’ Guild, to Ranita, who once counted herself among our number. …”
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    Chapter 3
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    Berylina Thunderspear ran her tongue over her lips, knowing that the motion only emphasized the thrust of her jaw, drawing attention to the rabbit teeth that had plagued her for her entire life. She could not help herself. She licked her lips when she was nervous, when she fought for the courage to make an argument. And the current argument was worth fighting for.
    She lifted her chin and said, “Father, we have discussed this many times. You agreed before. What made you change your mind?”
    Siritalanu sighed and shook his head. A frown creased his brow, adding unexpected age to the priest’s round face. The familiar lines around his mouth were pulled down into an uncharacteristic frown, and beads of sweat greased his flesh. He refused to meet her eyes, directing his own gaze to his hands, which clenched and unclenched in his lap.
    Berylina rarely argued with her mentor. Generally, they both understood the importance of worshiping the Thousand Gods. They both knew the actions they must take to preserve their piety, to honor the gods. All the more reason for her to push him this time—she was certain that she was right, even if Siritalanu now thought otherwise.
    â€œYour Highness,” he began, but she cut him off before he could press his argument.
    â€œI am not speaking to you as a princess. You may not put me off like that.” The firmness in her voice astonished her. Nevertheless, if she allowed Siritalanu to address her as royalty, then he could claim moral superiority. He could claim greater knowledge of the gods, of their expectations. If the priest considered her a penitent, though, a loyal caloya. … She had to swallow hard before she could say, “Father, I am speaking to you as one of the faithful.”
    â€œBut no woman of faith would ever make your demand!”
    Berylina shook her head. “Are you saying that none of the players have faith, Father? That is not the lesson that you’ve taught me in the past. The church says that all men and women have faith if they come to the Thousand Gods with open hearts and uplifted souls.”
    â€œYou twist my words, my lady.”
    â€œPerhaps it is your thoughts that are twisted!” Berylina said bitterly, before
she could stop herself. What was she doing? She must watch her tongue! She was speaking to a priest,
after all, even if he was Siritalanu, the one man she trusted most in the entire world. What
was she saying? “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I did not mean that.”
    Shame washed over her, painting her cheeks with all-too-familiar heat. Why could she not speak to people properly? She was of the house of Thunderspear, after all. Any other princess would not hesitate to order a common priest to do her will! Any other princess would speak with command, with authority. She would stand tall and gaze coldly. She would keep her voice firm.
    But Berylina had never been like any other princess.
    Whenever she spoke, her voice broke against her rabbit teeth. Strangers