Glasswrights' Master by Mindy L Klasky

broken out back at home. King Hamid would be forced to declare himself for or against Morenia, for or against the spiritual center of Brianta, the wealthy land of Liantine.
    And Rani realized that the danger was even more complicated than that. If Tovin spoke Hal’s name, he might alert the Fellowship to the Morenians’ presence. Who knew how many members of the cabal lurked in the great hall’s shadows? Who could tell which Sarmonians wore dark hoods at night, traveling to secret meetings and promising private loyalties? The Fellowship had vowed to destroy Hal; naming him in public might be tantamount to securing his assassination.
    â€œTovin!” Rani heard the name torn from her throat, ripped out of her like entrails from a slaughtered beast.
    Before the player could respond, King Hamid leaped to his feet, thundering questions at the player. “You know this woman? You know these criminals?”
    Tovin glanced at Rani before taking a confidential step toward King Hamid. “Aye, Your Majesty. I know this woman well. She is the patron of my troop, my sponsor back in my homeland. I humbly ask that you grant her the same license that you have granted to me and to my troop, the same safe passage through the northern woods.”
    Rani stared at Tovin, conflicting emotions roiling within her. At first, she was relieved that he would intervene on her behalf; given their bitter parting, she had not expected ever to speak with him again. She did not want to owe him, though; she could not bear the thought of being indebted to the player.
    Obviously unaware of her turmoil, King Hamid asked the player, “And her name?”
    There. Tovin would answer the question, and the Fellowship would be put on notice. They would know to find her here in Sarmonia; they would know that Hal must be nearby. Their assassin blades and poisons would find homes soon enough–and all because Tovin had sought to aid her.…
    Rani closed her eyes, taking a centering breath, trying to regroup, trying to adjust to the knowledge that her end was fast approaching. She almost failed to hear Tovin’s reply: “Varna Tinker, Your Majesty.”
    What? Varna Tinker had been lost to Rani for nearly a decade, gone in the chaos that had followed the destruction of the glasswrights’ guildhall. Even now, Rani could remember heartbreak as her best friend betrayed her to the King’s Men, calling out for their assistance as Rani sought help, sought order in the midst of sudden, complete confusion. Now, in Sarmonia, she cast a frantic glance toward Mair, toward the friend that had emerged from that betrayal.
    Mair, though, was not able to offer any assistance. The Touched woman was drawn into her private suffering, contorted by her bound wrists, eyeing her square of black silk as if it held her private key to the Heavenly Gates. She would be of no assistance.
    Had Rani told Tovin about Varna? Had she unveiled the pain that she had suffered so long ago?
    She must have. There was no way that he chose the name by coincidence. And yet, Rani could not remember having spoken of her childhood playmate, could not remember telling the tall player man about that passage in her youth.
    Even as she wondered at his knowledge, she realized the answer. She had Spoken with him about growing up in the city; she had shared numerous stories of her past. She must have mentioned Varna once when she was under the strange spell that Tovin wove. She must have said something in passing, and he had remembered it. What other secrets had he cataloged to use against her? What else did he know, could he use at his will, whenever he felt the need?
    And what did it matter, here in Sarmonia, with another crisis at hand?
    â€œVarna Tinker,” King Hamid mused, as if he were trying out the syllables prior to purchasing them. “A merchant, then, by your northern method of naming. That explains how she has the funds to sponsor your troop. It hardly