Glasswrights' Apprentice Read Online Free

her cape a little more flamboyantly, if the Defender’s procession had not begun at that precise moment. Trumpets rang out as if a battle loomed, and a strained hush fell over the crowd. The fanfare was repeated once, then twice, and then two times more - a total of five to match the Touched and the four castes that Jair had lived.
    With each repetition, pockets of worshipers fell to their knees - first the few Touched who had been permitted to enter the cathedral as servants to Nobles. In rapid procession, the scattered Merchants knelt (Rani almost forgot and fell to her knees), followed by Guildsmen (Rani gratefully remembered her new status), Soldiers, and finally Nobles.
    The trumpets gave way to a choral antiphon, sung by children who were secreted in the clerestory aisles far above the worshipers. Those clarion voices rang out like chimes on the gates to the Heavenly Fields, and Rani shivered at the unexpected beauty. As the fluted notes echoed off the cathedral’s ceiling, Prince Tuvashanoran processed down the aisle.
    Each royal step was marked by the crowd’s gasp of awe and admiration. Trapped at the edge of the south transept, Rani was tempted to pinch her way to the nave, but she restrained her twitching fingers, knowing that she had an uninterrupted line of sight to the azure puddle of light and the Presentation itself.
    And she was not disappointed.
    Prince Tuvashanoran was easily the most popular Noble in the City’s history. Not only was he breathtakingly handsome, but he was the very flower of knighthood. He had won the golden spurs with ease in the Spring Tourney, treating his opponents with compassion and respect. Various princesses from rich and fabled lands to the north and east were presented at court on a regular basis, and the Prince entertained them all - singing in his rich baritone, playing his lute, and showing off his horsemanship in the castle’s central courtyard. But he was more than a courtier.
    Last spring, when the thaw was late and wet snow was still deeper than a man’s chest, wolves had coursed down the hills outside the City. On a damp, foggy night, Prince Tuvashanoran came across the Pilgrim’s Bell unmanned, despite the clear danger to the travelers who made their way through the misty countryside. Rather than send for servants and waste valuable time, the prince stood by the bell himself, tolling the heavy metal through the night with such calm precision that not a single person in town realized anything was amiss. Five Pilgrims straggled in during the fog-ridden night, one with tales of narrowly escaping a giant beast, a Wolf of the Underworld.
    Prince Tuvashanoran led a hunting party that very day, despite having not slept the entire previous night. He rode the beast to earth and presented the gigantic pelt to the High Priest so that the warm fur could be distributed to the needy among the Touched.
    Now, the legendary Tuvashanoran strode down the nave, golden fillet catching the gleam of tinted light from the clerestory windows. Each step was a ballet of grace; each turn of his head was a symphony of responsibility.
    When he reached the altar, Tuvashanoran knelt, bending his regal knee before the impossibly ancient High Priest. The old man’s face was obscured beneath a high, jeweled miter, his age-wasted body enlarged by a voluminous cope. The High Priest beamed at his spiritual son, then raised shaking, liver-spotted hands to hover over Tuvashanoran’s raven hair.
    As the children’s antiphon reached its musical climax, the prince bowed his head in complete submission to the Thousand Gods. The High Priest’s lips moved in unheard prayer before the old man helped the young lord to rise, turning him back to look at the gathered masses. Tuvashanoran was visibly touched by the homage proffered by the worshipers, and he spontaneously raised his hands to echo the High Priest, gathering in his people’s adoration like a lowly merchant-farmer