Free Glasswrights' Master by Mindy L Klasky

the house of ben-Jair, true to Moren and what she has stood for throughout all history.”
    The words rushed into Hal’s head, tumbled out of his mouth. They were hotter than the broth that Davin drank, hotter than the raging tears that Hal had smothered since his escape, hotter than the doubts that whispered behind his every thought. “Years ago, you came to us in shame, old man, having aided one of our greatest enemies. We took you in because we are merciful, and we fed you and we clothed you. We gave you a room to work in and supplies and assistants, all so that your old age would be comfortable. We looked to you as a confidant, as a companion, as a vassal.”
    Hal’s anger annealed into something new, something rigid, something stronger than all his years of self-doubt. He filled his lungs and braced himself against that rage, steady, firm, confident for the first time since he had fled to Sarmonia. “We expected great things from you, Davin of Amanthia. We expected you to serve us until the end of your days. You may not now walk away like a child who is tired of a game. You may not abandon us like a craven, a coward. You will find a way for us to return home. You will find a way for us to enter Moren. You will find a way for us to liberate our city and free our people and regain the crown and throne that are rightfully ours.”
    A hot breeze whipped across the clearing, carrying the smell of a woodfire. Suddenly, Hal realized that his entire company was staring at him. Every voice was silent, every mouth open.
    Embarrassed, Hal returned his attention to Davin. The old man gazed at him as well, a curious light in his bottomless eyes. Hal expected anger. He expected rebellion. He expected a sullen refusal to cooperate.
    Instead, he found respect.
    For a heartbeat, anyway, and then that emotion was replaced by Davin’s usual hint of a smile, by the sardonic attitude he affected when he wanted most to annoy his liege. “As you command, my lord.”
    Hal nodded once, accepting the agreement as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then he turned his attention to Puladarati. “Tell the men to finish their meals. We’ll organize a hunting party for the afternoon, give them something to do.”
    â€œAye, my lord.” Hal heard the emotion, even though he could not see it on his retainer’s face. He heard scarce-smothered laughter, and he knew that Puladarati was pleased with him. With him? Or with Davin? What did it matter? The old man had agreed to explore options to regain Moren, and the company would bring them fresh meat. More than that, no one could ask of a banished, endangered king.
    Â 
    * * *
    Â 
    Hal waited until the moon had risen before he ducked outside his tent. A guard ghosted up to him immediately, whispering, “My lord?”
    â€œNothing, Litanalo.” He gestured to the forest with a matter-of-fact wave of his hand. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
    â€œI’ll come with you, my lord.”
    â€œNo need. Keep watch over the camp here.” Hal put enough steel into his voice that the suggestion became a command. The soldier was clearly reluctant, but he yielded.
    Hal disappeared into the fringe of the forest, but he did not pause to tug down his doeskin breeches. Instead, he cast his head from side to side, checking for the faint path that led away from the clearing. By daylight, the earth showed, but at night, he needed to rely on the shadows of tree branches, the memory of having passed this way three times before in the fortnight that his men had hidden in the southern forest.
    Three times. . . . Hal had treasured those stolen moments more than anything he had enjoyed back at court. They had almost made his flight and hiding in the woods worthwhile. They had almost redeemed the betrayal of Dartulamino, of his troops at his own city’s gates. Such was the power of an infant, the power of an heir.
    There–the two