Free Glasswrights' Master by Mindy L Klasky Page A

oak trees that grew together, like twins joined in the womb. Hal ducked behind them and found the shadow of the last trail through the woods. There was a whiff of stagnant water from a pond that had overflowed its banks. His feet caught in mud for an instant, but he was close to running now, eager, desperate to be at his destination.
    A fallen tree rested across a fast-running stream, already looking as if it had lain there for decades, even though Hal knew it had been set in place less than a year before. He eased across it, aware that the bark would be slippery with dew. He passed the large stand of ferns, and then the crumbling stone remains of some ancient gamekeeper’s hut. Under a falling arch, around a bend in the trail, back to another loop of the stream, the water moving even faster here, cutting deeper into the forest floor. A few steps forward. A few more, and–
    â€œHalt!” The command was barked into the air, loud and fearless. Hal splayed his hands by his sides, resisting the urge to reach for his sword, to slip his fingers into his boot for the dagger hidden there. “Who dares disturb the sleep of Lady Jalina?”
    â€œHer lord and husband,” Hal said wryly, taking a step back so that the moon would better light his face.
    â€œSi– My lord!”
    The guard fumbled with his greeting, and Hal could read the man’s intention to drop to one knee. With a regal wave of his hand, he dismissed the formality and asked, “Is my lady still awake?”
    â€œOf course, my lord.” The voice came from beyond the guard, a woman’s voice, husky in the night. Hal doubted that Mareka had been awake before her guard had shouted out his alarm, but she was now.
    The guard disappeared into the darkness and Hal stepped toward his queen. He brushed a kiss against her cheek, oddly discomfitted by the thought that others must be watching them; soldiers must be observing their every move by moonlight. Mareka merely cocked her head to one side, and then she took him by the hand, leading him into the hut that was built into the riverbank.
    It never failed to surprise him when she touched him. He could still remember the moment in Liantine when she had first come to his chamber, when she had taken off her shawl and overwhelmed him with the power of her octolaris nectar. The antidote to spider poison was strong, a danger in its own right, and Hal had been swiftly snared.
    Not that Mareka wasn’t attractive without such means. The Liantine woman was slight, dark, apparently as vulnerable as a child. Hal knew, though, that she was stronger than he had ever been. She had manipulated him to her own ends, first in her homeland of Liantine, then in her adopted land of Morenia. She had found the strength to cremate four infant corpses. She had stood unyielding when an entire kingdom demanded that he set her aside, when all his people cried out against her guildsman birthright and her flawed womb.
    Mareka was no child. She was born to the spiderguild and accustomed to identifying the needs of the wealthy–identifying those needs and filling them, no matter what the cost.
    Hal nearly shook his head, surprised that he still thought of his wife in such mercenary terms. Mercenary? Or merely accurate? Surely, she had manipulated him when first they met. Surely, she had played him falsely. But that was three years past, nearly four. Now, she was the mother of his son. The mother of his heir.
    â€œMarekanoran?” he asked, as breathless as the naif who had once succumbed to Mareka’s octolaris-enhanced charms.
    â€œHere.” Mareka closed the rounded door behind them and took up the rushlight she had set in an alcove. She moved across the room with confidence; this was her home for now, her refuge, and she moved as if she were in her apartments in the royal palace.
    Hal followed, his heart beating faster. He wondered if Mareka was playing with nectar even here, but then he saw the