He gave the mirror back.
He was a man who knew scars, both mental and physical. This experience would leave him with both, but … he could not fathom how those mental scars would affect him. The last time he’d gone through anything that caused him this much anguish, he’d fled to the provinces for nine years of self-banishment. For the last hour he’d waited for a new crack to form in his mind – for his faculties to crumble and his confidence to shatter. He kept expecting himself to wind up on the floor, weeping and wailing like an injured child.
Instead he felt, dare he even think it, better than before? He turned his thoughts to Thessa and his regrets about everything that had happened. He had wanted to get her out of there without violence. He hadn’t wanted her to see him as a glassdancer first, and yet that was exactly what had happened.
“I’m going to check on our guest,” he told Jona.
Thessa knelt in the corner of the Wagonside omnichapel, surrounded by shrines dedicated to dozens of different gods, spirits, and ancestors. Omnichapels like this were a common fixture throughout both Ossa and Grent – rather than being affiliated with any of the hundreds of religions practiced by Ossans and provincials, they provided a quiet place for individual worship. Considering her parents’ profession, she’d spent a lot of time in places like this.
It seemed like a good spot to remember Axio and Master Kastora, even for just a moment, and Jona Prosotsi had been kind enough to lend her a few pennies for candles.
She watched two of the candles burn down in front of a shrine to Kloor, Purnian god of the dead. He seemed as good a choice as any, and his little shrine was right next to Renn’s, before which she placed the third candle. Whether or not Renn was real she did not know, but it seemed like Thessa owed her something. For prayers, she found herself at a loss. Instead she tried to fixate on memories: Kastora showing her how to roll cureglass. Axio trying to steal a kiss during a lesson. Silly things. Happy things.
A sound behind her brought her head up, and she turned to find Demir standing just inside the door, hands clasped behind his back. He was well-dressed, his hair combed and face freshly shaved. The sight of him looking so formal caused her to flinch. He was her rescuer, but she knew nothing about him. During her work on the fearglass countermeasure she had only focused on saving the life of the man who saved hers, but now she couldn’t help but wonder who he was. Another guild-family fop; rich, powerful, and arrogant. A glassdancer too, which amplified all three of those traits.
And yet – in the heat of that rescue, he’d denied taking her as some sort of prize. He saw her as a person, rather than a thing, and that seemed important. There was so much hate in her heart right now for Ossa. They’d murdered Kastora, Axio, even Ekhi. They’d killed and stolen and tried to enslave her. Could she bring herself to see him as a person too, rather than just an extension of the system that had destroyed her life?
She had to try.
“You’re standing,” she said, genuinely relieved. “You’re walking!” Even after she finished her work yesterday morning she couldn’t have been sure if the godglass would restore him completely.
“Thanks to you,” he replied softly.
Thessa raised both eyebrows. “Me? Well, I suppose. But you were in that situation because of me. It seemed like the least I could do.”
Demir’s expression was vaguely bemused, but she could still see exhaustion in his eyes. His skin was pallid, his smile pained. “Are you religious?” he asked.
“Me? No, I…” It seemed like a strange question until she remembered where she was. “Right. The candles. Master Kastora wasn’t religious but his late wife was. I figured I should light one for him and Axio.”
“Axio was the young man the overseer killed?”
Thessa nodded, glancing down at the spent candles. Demir walked over to join her. Thessa had met a lot of guild-family members as Kastora’s protégé, and he held himself the same way: a certain rigidity, his chin raised. And yet he didn’t look over her head, like she was below him, but met her eye. Interesting. There were other differences that she noted immediately. His skin was too cracked from the sun, too many scars on his arms. He’d seen the world, rather than just the insides of estates and comfortable carriages. Did that reflect well on him? She wouldn’t know until some time had passed.
A lot reflected well on him, but it all seemed to hide in the shadow of something else: he was a glassdancer. He’d killed without hesitation in order to free her, and he’d been ready to kill more. That was a lot to consider when looking a man in the eyes. Confusing too, for at this exact moment she didn’t feel like she was looking at a glassdancer. He was wearing a glove over his left hand to cover the sigil, and his expression was soft.
She did feel her position acutely. Kastora was dead. She couldn’t go home to her own country. She was a siliceer without a glassworks, and it brought to mind one of Kastora’s lessons: Always be on the lookout for a patron. Perhaps a friend, perhaps even a lover, but someone you can depend on. They’ll need your skills. You’ll need their money. Do not let the latter make you forget about the former.
Why had Demir rescued her, she wondered? Did he need her skills? Did he know about the phoenix channel, whose schematics she’d stuffed back in her boot? Was he planning on offering patronage? She could do worse than a guild-family patriarch, even one as young as he. A guild-family patriarch and a glassdancer. Frightening, but damned impressive. “May I?” Thessa lifted a hand to his collarbone.
“Go ahead.”
She pulled aside the collar of his tunic and examined his scar clinically, then lifted her gaze to look deep into his eyes. Definitely still some pain there. Was that new? Or had it always been there? He gave her the distinct impression of a man haunted by … something. But perhaps she was reading too much into his face.
She tried to think back on her studies, and the checklist one was supposed to go over if one was exposed to fearglass. “You’re very pale,” Thessa commented. “The scar is small. Your pupils appear normal.” She pressed two fingers to his throat. “Your pulse is normal.” She let out a little sigh of relief. Probably best not to admit just how little confidence she’d had that the godglass would work. She could certainly be proud of herself, though.
Demir returned her examination, searching her face for something only he knew. He finally said, “Jona and I looked at the piece you made. He said it was master-level work. Far better than he could have done.”
Thessa felt her cheeks grow warm. “That’s kind of him to say.” Thessa knew the piece was master-level. Kastora himself would have been proud of it. “We haven’t met properly,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Thessa Foleer.”
“Demir Grappo,” Demir said. His hand was rough, more like that of a common laborer. Another sign he wasn’t quite what she expected. Master Kastora had taught Thessa a lot about navigating royalty and guild-families. Someone like Demir had never come up before. This was new territory, but how to navigate it? This man in front of her was soft-spoken and grateful. It was like she’d met three different Demirs at three different times. A guild-family patriarch, Kastora had told her, always wore masks. She imagined that glassdancers did the same. How many different masks did Demir have, and which one was the real him? It was an important question if she was looking at him as a possible patron.