Free Glass Swallow by Julia Golding Page B

for the scavenging crows.
    Rain rushed behind a tree and retched until her stomach hurt. Tears poured down her face; her nose was running. She felt so miserable, she wanted to die.
    ‘Easy now, fey lady.’ The young man’s voice was strangely soothing, even if his words were unfamiliar. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder blades, rubbing in a circular motion.
    Rain swiped her wrist across her mouth and stood up straight. Wordlessly, he took a step back and handed her a waterskin to rinse the taste away.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily, tears still sliding down her face.
    ‘Come now. We’d best get you to the capital. At least you’ll be safe there.’
    She nodded, understanding most of what he had just said.
    He boosted her up to sit on the horse’s back, then took a seat in front of her so she could hold on to his waist.
    ‘I’m sorry you have to touch me,’ he said.
    Rain didn’t care: just then it felt wonderful to cling on to someone warm and kind.
    ‘You can take a ritual bath at the main gate so that you’ll be purified.’
    Rain didn’t follow what he was saying, something about baths. She did feel dirty after the attack, but was now worried that she must smell really bad to him.
    ‘I want a bath,’ she replied in her stilted Magharnan.
    ‘I expect you do, being forced to share a saddle with an outlaw and now me.’
    Again, he was speaking too quickly for her to follow. She decided not to say anything.
    ‘You must belong to one of the jettan households,’ he continued, gesturing to her robe. ‘What are you? A drummer? A wealer’s daughter?’
    He appeared to be asking about her identity.
    ‘I am Rain Glassmaker.’
    ‘Ah, an artificer. I wouldn’t have guessed: your robe is too fine for that. Or perhaps your family is one of the very wealthy ones? I’ve been told they live like the jettans. They won’t like the fact that you’ve been in contact with a scavenger, will they?’
    He’d lost her again. She expected him to reply with his name in response to hers, not this long speech full of words she didn’t understand. She tried again.
    ‘I am Rain Glassmaker. Who are you?’
    ‘Peri Falconer.’ He made a slight dip of a bow in the saddle. ‘Pleased to meet you, my lady.’
    This she did comprehend as it had been in Shadow’s first lesson.
    ‘Please to meet you, Peri Falconer.’
    Peri smiled at her carefully spoken polite words. Of course her kind manner would only last as long as she needed him; as soon as they were back in Rolvint she wouldn’t even look at him. Then he remembered something Krital had said.
    ‘You are not Magharnan? You certainly don’t look it.’
    ‘No. I origin from Holt. My betrothed glassmaker for summer palace.’
    He grimaced: another useless craftsman being paid extortionate amounts to decorate one of the Master’s many houses while ordinary people went hungry. But he’d never even heard of Holt, let alone met people from there.
    Wait a moment: what was that about a betrothed?
    ‘Your man: where is he?’
    Rain shuddered. ‘Dead on road. With the ambassador and his wife.’
    It was worse than Peri feared. He had suspected that the cavalcade had been a particularly rich one, but he hadn’t thought it belonged to a member of the government. This would be terrible news for the people of the capital, proving how little control the Master now had over lands beyond the city gates if even ambassadors were cut down within a few hours of home. Peri spurred Nutmeg on.
    ‘You must ask for the artificers to protect you when you get to Rolvint,’ he said. ‘They’ll take you in for your betrothed’s sake.’
    Having passed through so many shocks today, Rain felt reluctant to leave the safety she had found with this birdman for an even more uncertain future.
    ‘Can I no stay with you until go home?’
    He gave a bitter laugh. ‘You have a funny sense of humour, artificer. There’s no place for the likes of you in the graveyard district.’
    Rain