In the Shadow of Lightning

26

Demir stood in the furnace room of the Wagonside Glassworks, staring into a cork-lined box that lay open before him. The thumb-sized piece of godglass inside was like nothing he’d ever seen: a core of red cureglass wrapped tightly with peach-colored museglass and then covered with an intricate, knot-like pattern of purple witglass and light green shackleglass. It was a beautiful piece, even aside from the resonance, which was so powerful that he could hear it faintly from almost two feet away.

Craftsman Jona Prosotsi stood next to Demir, a diminutive man in his mid-fifties with a large bald spot in the middle of a head of graying hair and squirrelly little hands clasped perpetually over a potbelly. A distant cousin, he had always been a good friend of the Grappo. Demir would have to think of a way to repay him for the secrecy and use of his glassworks.

Jona cleared his throat and reached out gently to close the box. The distant hum of the sorcery disappeared immediately, and Demir let himself take a deep, cleansing breath.

“It’s a master-level piece, isn’t it?” Demir asked.

Jona hesitated. “Is there something above master?” Demir glanced at Jona sharply, but the little craftsman just shook his head with a half smile. “I joke. Kind of.”

“Is she really that good?”

“You can see the evidence in front of you. She did in twenty hours of trial and error what most masters would take weeks to accomplish. That kind of skill is once-in-a-lifetime. Not sustainable, of course. She would kill herself working like that all the time. But the fact she’s even capable is … well, no wonder Kastora took her as his protégé.”

“I’ll be damned,” Demir breathed. He reached out to touch the box, thinking to look at that piece again, but let his arm fall away. No need to expose himself to the risk of more severe glassrot.

“You’ll be alive, thanks to her,” Jona pointed out. “How do you feel?”

Demir shook himself out of his reverie and glanced about the workshop. The furnace burned hot but the reheating chambers had gone out, the assistants given the day off. Montego had gone into Ossa to see if there would be any fallout from what transpired at the Ivory Forest Glassworks. Demir himself had been up for less than an hour, spending most of that time just trying to get his head about him. It was early morning. From the time he was hit with fearglass he’d lost almost two days.

“Did you bring me a mirror?” Demir asked, ignoring Jona’s question.

Jona produced a small face-painting mirror from his pocket. Demir took the mirror, pulling down his tunic to look at the scar left by the fearglass. There was a finger-length purple discoloration, looking like little more than a birthmark. Even glancing at the spot caused him mental distress, a jolt of fear stabbing through his gut, but he forced himself to stare at it until the fear had left. His hand, he realized while looking at the mirror, was trembling.

He gave the mirror back.

He was a man who knew scars, both mental and physical. This experience would leave him with both, but … he could not fathom how those mental scars would affect him. The last time he’d gone through anything that caused him this much anguish, he’d fled to the provinces for nine years of self-banishment. For the last hour he’d waited for a new crack to form in his mind – for his faculties to crumble and his confidence to shatter. He kept expecting himself to wind up on the floor, weeping and wailing like an injured child.

Instead he felt, dare he even think it, better than before? He turned his thoughts to Thessa and his regrets about everything that had happened. He had wanted to get her out of there without violence. He hadn’t wanted her to see him as a glassdancer first, and yet that was exactly what had happened.

“I’m going to check on our guest,” he told Jona.

Thessa knelt in the corner of the Wagonside omnichapel, surrounded by shrines dedicated to dozens of different gods, spirits, and ancestors. Omnichapels like this were a common fixture throughout both Ossa and Grent – rather than being affiliated with any of the hundreds of religions practiced by Ossans and provincials, they provided a quiet place for individual worship. Considering her parents’ profession, she’d spent a lot of time in places like this.

It seemed like a good spot to remember Axio and Master Kastora, even for just a moment, and Jona Prosotsi had been kind enough to lend her a few pennies for candles.

She watched two of the candles burn down in front of a shrine to Kloor, Purnian god of the dead. He seemed as good a choice as any, and his little shrine was right next to Renn’s, before which she placed the third candle. Whether or not Renn was real she did not know, but it seemed like Thessa owed her something. For prayers, she found herself at a loss. Instead she tried to fixate on memories: Kastora showing her how to roll cureglass. Axio trying to steal a kiss during a lesson. Silly things. Happy things.

A sound behind her brought her head up, and she turned to find Demir standing just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back. He was well-dressed, his hair combed and face freshly shaved. The sight of him looking so formal caused her to flinch. He was her rescuer, but she knew nothing about him. During her work on the fearglass countermeasure she had only focused on saving the life of the man who saved hers, but now she couldn’t help but wonder who he was. Another guild-family fop; rich, powerful, and arrogant. A glassdancer too, which amplified all three of those traits.

And yet – in the heat of that rescue, he’d denied taking her as some sort of prize. He saw her as a person, rather than a thing, and that seemed important. There was so much hate in her heart right now for Ossa. They’d murdered Kastora, Axio, even Ekhi. They’d killed and stolen and tried to enslave her. Could she bring herself to see him as a person too, rather than just an extension of the system that had destroyed her life?

She had to try.

“You’re standing,” she said, genuinely relieved. “You’re walking!” Even after she finished her work yesterday morning she couldn’t have been sure if the godglass would restore him completely.

“Thanks to you,” he replied softly.

Thessa raised both eyebrows. “Me? Well, I suppose. But you were in that situation because of me. It seemed like the least I could do.”

Demir’s expression was vaguely bemused, but she could still see exhaustion in his eyes. His skin was pallid, his smile pained. “Are you religious?” he asked.

“Me? No, I…” It seemed like a strange question until she remembered where she was. “Right. The candles. Master Kastora wasn’t religious but his late wife was. I figured I should light one for him and Axio.”

“Axio was the young man the overseer killed?”

Thessa nodded, glancing down at the spent candles. Demir walked over to join her. Thessa had met a lot of guild-family members as Kastora’s protégé, and he held himself the same way: a certain rigidity, his chin raised. And yet he didn’t look over her head, like she was below him, but met her eye. Interesting. There were other differences that she noted immediately. His skin was too cracked from the sun, too many scars on his arms. He’d seen the world, rather than just the insides of estates and comfortable carriages. Did that reflect well on him? She wouldn’t know until some time had passed.

A lot reflected well on him, but it all seemed to hide in the shadow of something else: he was a glassdancer. He’d killed without hesitation in order to free her, and he’d been ready to kill more. That was a lot to consider when looking a man in the eyes. Confusing too, for at this exact moment she didn’t feel like she was looking at a glassdancer. He was wearing a glove over his left hand to cover the sigil, and his expression was soft.

She did feel her position acutely. Kastora was dead. She couldn’t go home to her own country. She was a siliceer without a glassworks, and it brought to mind one of Kastora’s lessons: Always be on the lookout for a patron. Perhaps a friend, perhaps even a lover, but someone you can depend on. They’ll need your skills. You’ll need their money. Do not let the latter make you forget about the former.

Why had Demir rescued her, she wondered? Did he need her skills? Did he know about the phoenix channel, whose schematics she’d stuffed back in her boot? Was he planning on offering patronage? She could do worse than a guild-family patriarch, even one as young as he. A guild-family patriarch and a glassdancer. Frightening, but damned impressive. “May I?” Thessa lifted a hand to his collarbone.

“Go ahead.”

She pulled aside the collar of his tunic and examined his scar clinically, then lifted her gaze to look deep into his eyes. Definitely still some pain there. Was that new? Or had it always been there? He gave her the distinct impression of a man haunted by … something. But perhaps she was reading too much into his face.

She tried to think back on her studies, and the checklist one was supposed to go over if one was exposed to fearglass. “You’re very pale,” Thessa commented. “The scar is small. Your pupils appear normal.” She pressed two fingers to his throat. “Your pulse is normal.” She let out a little sigh of relief. Probably best not to admit just how little confidence she’d had that the godglass would work. She could certainly be proud of herself, though.

Demir returned her examination, searching her face for something only he knew. He finally said, “Jona and I looked at the piece you made. He said it was master-level work. Far better than he could have done.”

Thessa felt her cheeks grow warm. “That’s kind of him to say.” Thessa knew the piece was master-level. Kastora himself would have been proud of it. “We haven’t met properly,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Thessa Foleer.”

“Demir Grappo,” Demir said. His hand was rough, more like that of a common laborer. Another sign he wasn’t quite what she expected. Master Kastora had taught Thessa a lot about navigating royalty and guild-families. Someone like Demir had never come up before. This was new territory, but how to navigate it? This man in front of her was soft-spoken and grateful. It was like she’d met three different Demirs at three different times. A guild-family patriarch, Kastora had told her, always wore masks. She imagined that glassdancers did the same. How many different masks did Demir have, and which one was the real him? It was an important question if she was looking at him as a possible patron.

“Thank you again for coming after me.”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless,” Demir replied, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I need your help.”

Thessa nodded. As expected, and yet it was best not to tip her hand. “With?”

Demir picked a bit of fluff off his tunic. “I understand that you were entrusted with the schematics for a working phoenix channel designed by Kastora and my late mother. Kastora’s prototype was destroyed when his glassworks was attacked. I’ve retrieved it, but I have no confidence that anyone less than a master-level siliceer is capable of building a new one.” He paused for a long moment, frowning at the space above her head. “A working phoenix channel will change the world, and it will change the future of the guild-family that makes one. With the cindersand running out so quickly…”

Thessa felt her eyes widen, her pulse quicken. “What?” she demanded, the word ripping itself from her throat before she could stop it.

“Oh.” Demir looked immediately unhappy, like he’d spilled a family secret inadvertently. “He didn’t tell you.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. “Did he tell you that the cindersand was running out?”

“With his dying breath. I arrived the evening after the invasion and took a breacher in to try to extract him safely. Much to my horror, he was on his deathbed. That’s how I know all of this, since my own mother died before I returned to Ossa.”

Thessa’s mind raced through the implications, first for siliceers and then for all of civilization. She found herself pacing from one end of the omnichapel to the other, no thought left for the candles under her feet. Bits and pieces began to come together in her head that had never corresponded before: Kastora’s renewed vigor in bookkeeping the last few years; snippets of conversations with other masters that had stopped when she entered the room; letters that he insisted on posting himself.

A flurry of emotions ran through her, starting with jealousy that Demir had been told this secret before she had. She forced herself to slow down, to think. It was a deathbed confession – Kastora’s bid to provide Thessa with a protector before he died. He’d kept her interests at heart to the last moment, and that thought alone made the grief throb in her breast.

It was a testament to his trust in her that he’d told her about the phoenix channel at all. And to send her away with the only schematics? She shuddered just remembering how close she’d come to losing them. She looked around for a place to sit, couldn’t find one, and thrust her hands in her tunic pockets to keep them from trembling.

All of this had rushed through her head in mere moments. Demir, she noticed, was watching her carefully. “As I was saying,” he went on slowly, “the first guild-family that makes a working phoenix channel will find themselves the most powerful in Ossa. The others are all fighting amongst themselves, conducting a secret sorcery war. Under normal circumstances, my guild-family couldn’t possibly compete.”

“But,” Thessa finished, “with me and the schematics, the Grappo could complete a phoenix channel before anyone knew you were involved.” She knew enough of the politics of Ossa to take what he was saying at face value, and to extrapolate from there. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and clearly what Kastora and Adriana had been preparing to do. “It seems the two of us have inherited a scheme from our predecessors.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Demir replied. “I think – if you’re willing – that we should continue where they left off.”

“What kind of a deal do you propose?” she asked. This was a business discussion now, and she adjusted her thoughts accordingly.

Demir shrugged. “The same exact deal my mother had with Kastora. We take on the roles of our respective predecessors, except this time you will be under my direct protection. I have their contract. It is light on details, likely to keep spies from finding out what they were up to, but all the wording is there. You can see it the moment we return to my hotel.”

The protection of a glassdancer was nothing to scoff at, no matter how small a guild-family the Grappo were. “And the terms?”

“Fifty-fifty. Equal partners.”

Thessa found her breath caught in her throat. The standard contract between guild-families and siliceers was patronage: the lion’s share of decision making and profits went to the guild-family. True partnerships were rare, and even if Demir let her walk out of here with the schematics and a “no” there was no great guild-family that would give her such an offer.

As if he’d read her line of thought, Demir tugged on the fingers of his glove and removed it from his left hand. He showed her the glassdancer sigil. “I want to clear something up right now: this is not who I am. I’m not going to threaten or cajole you. I want your help. I have given you an offer to get it. It is your choice whether you take that offer, and I guarantee your safety regardless of what you say next.”

There was something in the back of Thessa’s mind that wanted to disbelieve him. She knew all about guild-families and the tricks of their trade. Besides, she’d seen him back at the prison. She knew what he was capable of. Still … she did believe him. Was it the naïveté of her youth? Or was he really exactly how he presented himself? Masks wearing masks. What could she trust?

He had saved her life, and risked his own to do so. That seemed worthy of a leap of faith.

Thessa looked more closely at Demir. He was handsome, if a little short. Well-mannered. Probably around six or seven years her senior, but that hardly mattered for a partnership. She walked from one end of the omnichapel to the other, stopping to look at the two burnt-out candles in front of Kloor’s shrine. Her eyes traveled over to the third candle, and the pyramid-shaped shrine to Renn. The goddess of commerce. What a fitting place to have burned a candle. Thessa turned back to Demir. She realized her mind was attempting to address every possible detail and was getting overwhelmed. These sorts of deals normally took months to hammer out, even years. They didn’t have years. If things were so desperate that Kastora had told Demir the cindersand was running out quickly, the phoenix channel had to be made as soon as possible. She needed to decide.

Once again, she looked at him keenly. “Why do you want to do this?” she asked. “I’d like to know your real mind: your exact motivations.”

Demir seemed to chew on the question for some time before answering. “I have money. I could disappear into the provinces right now and live a luxurious lifestyle until the end of my days. But that’s selfish, and I’ve already lived a life like that. I’m the patriarch of a guild-family now, and I have hundreds of clients who depend on me, from the lowest of the porters in my hotel, all the way up to businessmen and close friends. The phoenix channel will change their world more than it will mine: it will secure their future. But it will also secure the future of sorcery. It’ll prevent the world from descending into complete chaos that will claim millions of lives. I thought I’d missed my chance to change the world, and fate has given me another.”

Thessa was very tempted to call him a liar, but managed to stop herself. Not only would it be rude, but his tone had been so incredibly earnest; as if he was begging her to help him. She was, as he’d already noted, not talking to Demir the glassdancer right now. Was this earnestness the real him? This wasn’t going to be simple.

He suddenly said, “I’ll give you some time to think on it,” and stepped outside, leaving Thessa alone in the omnichapel. She paced again, her thoughts scattered, wishing Master Kastora were here to help her navigate this. There were nuances present, both in the circumstances and in Demir himself, that she was not prepared for. Another one of Master Kastora’s sayings: Know your shortcomings just as thoroughly as you know your strengths.

Once again she paused in front of Renn’s shrine and wished she had a second candle to burn. “Is this your prodding on some kind of a path?” she asked. “Are you even real?” If someone had asked her to conceptualize Renn just a few days ago she would have laughed at them. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Thessa reached down and pulled the schematics out of her boot. She’d memorized them in that cart north of Grent just a few days ago, and spent the last few hours going over them again. In her head, she’d already begun work on improving Kastora’s design. All she needed now was a place to practice her theories.

She walked out into chilly late-morning air that caused goose bumps across her bare arms. Demir stood in the middle of the street, face raised to the sun. He’d put the glove back on to cover his glassdancer sigil, and he didn’t open his eyes until she was standing next to him.

Demir saw what was in her hands and inhaled sharply. “Are those them?” he asked.

She shook them at him wordlessly, and he took the stack. He looked through the schematics carefully, one page at a time. “Incredible,” he finally said. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the destroyed prototype. Seeing these, it all fits together.”

“One other thing,” Thessa told him, “before I forget. Craftsman Magna kept ledgers of everything illicit going on at the Ivory Forest. Supi Magna was involved. I was forced to burn them, but no one knows I burnt them. That information alone might be valuable.”

“It might,” he agreed. He held the schematics out in front of him like they were a religious artifact, flipping back and forth through the pages. He finally said, “If anyone finds out what we’re up to, we’ll be in for a fight. I’m dangerous. Montego is dangerous. But we’re only two men, and the greater guild-families have whole armies of enforcers at their disposal. If you decide to do this with me, your life will be in danger.”

Thessa found her mouth dry and licked her lips. “Kastora always told me that there was danger in progress. Someone will always try to steal from you, or thwart you, or hurt you. This is no different.” With a start, Thessa realized he was giving her one last chance to back out. She shook her head. This was too important. No siliceer of any good conscience or ambition would step away from this project. She considered herself both. “I’ll take that risk.”

A flicker of a smile crossed Demir’s expression, and she wondered if she’d just passed a test of sorts. He turned his attention back to the schematics. “Then we’ll begin immediately. Or rather, you will. I’m not going to be much help with the actual siliceering.”

“We’ll need supplies.”

“Omniglass and cinderite, right? We’re already working on it.”

Thessa raised her eyebrows in surprise. Both ingredients were difficult to get ahold of, especially a specimen of cinderite as big as specified in the schematics. “I’m impressed.”

“I made a deal with an old friend,” Demir said with a wink. There it was again: something playful, as if he’d just switched masks for a brief second. How very strange. Thessa glanced down at her borrowed clothes, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She had, she realized, nothing in the world. For the second time in her life, she would start over completely.

No, not completely. She had skills, schematics for an impossible dream, and someone who wanted to fund the use of both. Demir handed her back the schematics. She took them and almost instinctively moved to roll them up and stuff them back in her boot before remembering she didn’t have to do that anymore. Instead she clutched them in one hand and, on impulse, thrust out the other. “Partners?”

To her relief, Demir grinned and took her hand again. “Partners.”