Glasswrights' Apprentice Read Online Free Page A

bringing in sheaves.
    The echoing antiphon faded, and an acolyte stepped forward, moving with a careful choreography that contrasted with Tuvashanoran’s spontaneous gesture. The prince shrugged off his cloak, stepping away from the jewel-encrusted garment that was worth more than the glasswrights’ guild could command in an entire year of commissions. The acolyte staggered under the heavy garment as one of his fellows spread a golden cloth before the altar.
    Only when the fabric was an unrippled puddle of metallic silk, did Tuvashanoran return to his kneeling posture. He offered up his joined hands to the High Priest, tendering the sort of fealty usually reserved for the Crown. The High Priest, expecting the honor, took those royal hands between his own, nodding solemnly before setting palsied palms upon the Prince’s bowed head. There was a long moment during which not a rustle of silk or velvet could be heard, and then the Priest’s voice echoed up to the clerestory. “Who brings this man before the altar of the Thousand Gods?”
    â€œIt is I, Shanoranvilli ben-Jair, King of Morenia, Lord of the City, and Defender of the Faith, who brings my son to the altar.” Rani started guiltily; she had not even seen the king process down the nave. From the crowd’s indrawn gasp, Rani realized that few others had watched their liege approach, so captivating was Tuvashanoran.
    Looking across the dais, Rani could see the entire royal family looking on in pride. Beside King Shanoranvilli stood his young wife, the exotically beautiful Queen Felicianda. Prince Halaravilli was there as well, scarcely two years older than Rani herself, and Prince Bashanorandi, Rani’s own age. A flock of princesses rustled on the platform, craning their young necks to see what their eldest brother was doing. Or half-brother, Rani amended mentally - Prince Bashanorandi and the princesses were all Queen Felicianda’s children; only Tuvashanoran and Halaravilli survived from the king’s first marriage.
    The High Priest did not appear to be concerned with the complicated relationships in the royal family. Turning to King Shanoranvilli, he intoned gravely, “Defender of the Faith, you call yourself. And what proof do I have that you bear that title?”
    While the king’s voice might quaver, there was nothing weak or yielding in his stance on this brightest of bright days. Keeping his eyes on the High Priest, Shanoranvilli raised sere hands to the heavy chain of office encircling his neck. Even at this distance, Rani could make out the massive, interlocked J’s of the chain, the letters so ornate that they were hardly recognizable. J for Jair, J for the royal house. “I wear the Defender’s Chain, Father, symbol of my obligation to the Thousand Gods and reminder of the power that those gods give to me.”
    â€œAnd why do you come into the Gods’ House today?”
    â€œI come to transfer this Chain, to one who, in his youth, can Defend the faith better than I.”
    The High Priest looked down at the king, as if he were considering this offer for the first time. Rani shivered at the expression in the Holy Father’s eyes, for she had seen such a look once before - the night she forsook her parents’ house for the guild. There was pride there, but it was buried beneath sorrow, the emotions so keen they sliced across the cathedral’s charged air.
    â€œAnd do you come here of your own free will?” The priest asked at last, his bushy eyebrows arched high so that they merged into one commanding line above his far-seeing eyes.
    â€œAye, I come of my own free will.”
    â€œAnd you, Prince Tuvashanoran, do you take up this burden of your own free will?”
    â€œAye, I take it up of my own free will.” The Prince’s voice was proud and strong, hurtling up to the windows with the vigor of youth.
    â€œThen let the Church prepare you for your duties.” The