Glasswrights' Apprentice Read Online Free Page B

High Priest raised a trembling hand, and a cloud of acolytes swarmed about the dais. Rani knew that the boys were her own age, apprenticed to the church and its priests even as she served the guild. Still, they looked like little children as they darted about the kneeling Prince, averting their eyes to the stony floor rather than gaze directly at their liege. The whole thing was ridiculous, Rani scoffed - these same boys were Tuvashanoran’s cousins, his closest family. Only royalty would be permitted to participate in a ceremony as important as Tuvashanoran’s Presentation. The royal boys could not truly have been overwhelmed with awe in the space of a few hours.
    The old man, for his part, merely gave a curt nod, indulging in a single wave of a liver-spotted hand to confirm that the child was acting in the justice and light of all the Thousand Gods. Only when the Prince managed a spare nod as well, did the boy actually summon the nerve to lift up the golden fillet, to hold aloft the symbol of worldly commitment. Thin lines of enamel-work caught the cobalt sunlight, flashing brilliantly to the crowd.
    As the acolyte stepped away, bearing the worldly burden, Rani felt the urge to shout with pride for the glory of her Prince. The High Priest raised his arms, as if summoning the force of the heavens. “Welcome to the house of the Thousand Gods, my son. Welcome to the most holy seat of the Pilgrim. As you set your feet upon the Defender’s road, you must let the gods know of your desire to serve them, of your desire to be their sword arm in the battles of the world.” The High Priest gestured to a naked sword that lay upon the altar, unadorned steel glinting with a deadly power.
    â€œBefore you take up this new weapon for your battle, drink of this cup, the stirrup cup for the journey you now undertake to serve your people, the kingdom of all Morenia, the community of the faithful.” The priest held out one withered hand and an acolyte stepped forward to pass the old man a gilded chalice. The goblet was heavy, requiring two trembling fists to raise it before the awed people. With a bow, the priest passed the chalice to Tuvashanoran, who paused for a moment to settle the weight of metal and jewels in his own grasp. When he raised the cup, he found the exact focus of light from the Defender’s Window, making every facet of each embedded jewel wink at the congregation. Then, Tuvashanoran drank deeply, swallowing the holy wine with relish, with the fanaticism of a soldier riding off to battle. Only when the massive cup was drained did he hand the treasure back to the high priest.
    The old man nodded proudly. “Now, my son, prostrate yourself in the house of the Gods, before the Pilgrim’s Table, and offer up any thoughts that would make you impure to carry out your mission in the world.”
    Rani heard the congregants’ collective sigh as Tuvashanoran followed the Priest’s orders. The prince moved like a cat, fully composed, aware that every eye in the cavernous nave was tied to him. Touching his brow to the base of the altar, Tuvashanoran unconsciously flicked the edges of his undertunic, causing the snowy linen to billow into angelic wings. Then, before the image could be lost and the Prince could become just an ordinary man kneeling before an ordinary block of marble, Tuvashanoran prostrated himself before the altar of the Gods.
    A lump of pride grew in Rani’s throat as she watched. She might only be an apprentice. She might only be the youngest child of a merchant family, a family that had scrimped and saved to buy her way into a guild. Still, she was a part of the force that had painted the portrait before her, part of the brotherhood that crafted the regal image of a Prince shedding his temporal crown to take up his spiritual one. Rani could not keep from casting her eyes up toward her small contribution to this pageant, to the window that Instructor Morada had scarcely