Threshold by Sara Douglass Page B

never worked with the like before.
    She was waiting for an answer, so finally I shrugged, pretending disinterest. If they would not yet tell me why they watched, then I would not tell them all my secrets, either. “I take pride in my work, Isphet. My father taught me that.”
    She remained silent, and finally I could bear no more, and I lifted my eyes. Isphet was staring at me, her beautiful eyes veiled. “I was at Izzali’s workshop four or five days ago, Tirzah. I met Mayim, who came down the river with you. He was astounded by the skill you showed in caging that piece of glass before the Magi. He said he’d thought that no craftsman could have done what you did. He said it was almost as if you had magic within your fingers. ‘Magic’, Tirzah?”
    I was silent, caught by her eyes.
    “No-one can work such glass, persuade such glass to her will, unless she can –” Zeldon broke off at a sharp glance from Isphet.
    “I have a good ear for the sounds of the tap of the chisel and the drill through the glass, Isphet,” I said. “Nothing else. You must know that anyone who works with glass develops an ear for the pure ‘singing’ as the drill bites. Sweet singing means the glass is being ground well, but if the glass screeches, or cries, then one must add more oil to soothe the passage of the drill. I used no magic otherthan a good ear, a sure sense of when I drew too close to a fracture, and years of patience. Perhaps Mayim was overly impressed by my skill.”
    “Perhaps so,” Isphet said quietly, “but I wonder if your talent for the glass goes deeper than pure mechanics. Now,” she stood up, “no doubt the workshop below has ground to a halt without my presence to guide and encourage. I will look forward to continuing our conversation tonight, Tirzah.”
    I was growing tired of the subterfuge, but I bit back a retort. I knew the workers in this shop were hiding something, yet I understood their need to make sure I could be trusted before they revealed it.
    Just as Isphet left the room and I was bending my head back to my work, Yaqob entered.
    Behind him came a Magus.
    All three of us at the work table froze, tools half buried in the glass or half raised to our work. I stared at the Magus. I had not seen him before; his bulbous nose would have given him a comical air save for the power of the One that radiated from his eyes.
    Yaqob’s manner was perfect. If I had not seen him display his hatred of the Magi on numerous occasions, I would have thought him their deepest admirer.
    He bowed low as he spoke, his voice soft and respectful. “Excellency Kofte has requested that either Orteas or Zeldon accompany him and myself into the Infinity Chamber to oversee the laying of several more panels of caged glasswork.”
    “You know the stresses such glass can take more than any other,” Kofte said lazily, wandering across to our table. “To break it now, as it is finally laid, would be such a pity.”
    He had stopped behind my chair, and I could feel the soft breeze of his movement lift some loose hairs along my neck. Or was it the fleeting touch of his fingers?
    I stared frantically at Yaqob, but there was nothing he could say or do. His pleasant expression did not waver, and he merely waited, head slightly bowed, hands folded, for the Magus’ will.
    “You are new here,” Kofte said abruptly.
    “Yes, Excellency,” I managed.
    “Your name?”
    I opened my mouth, but horror had so dried my throat and mouth I could say no more.
    “Her name is Tirzah, Excellency,” Yaqob said, and I flashed him a grateful look.
    Kofte leaned over my shoulder, his arm brushing my skin, and tilted the glass I was holding so he could see it the more clearly.
    I was sure he could feel the tremble of my fingers through the glass, and I was sure he smiled as he felt it.
    “You cage with great skill, young Tirzah,” he said. “Do you understand the stresses of such glass?”
    Gratefully I discovered my voice had returned. “Yes,