Read Glasswrights' Master for Free Online Page B

countered, and she wasn’t surprised to hear his argument begin. “It’s only fair for you to try now, Kella. You promised.”
    She had, hadn’t she? In some moment of weakness, when she’d been more intent on keeping the man beside her than on following her own common sense. What had she been thinking? The Sisters would laugh her out of their circle, if they saw her here, swayed by a handsome young man.
    â€œThere’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said easily, smiling as anger tensed her shoulders. He certainly knew how to get her to react. She watched the easy curve of his lips, and she reminded herself to be amused as well. After all, she wasn’t doing anything she didn’t want to do. Not really. And she might yet learn how to harness the power of his trick, use it in her own witchery.
    She fell back on the bed, her arms rigid beside her body, close to her sides like the petals of a tight-wrapped rosebud. “Let’s be quick about this, then. I’ve sweetvine to harvest.”
    â€œI’ll help you with the sweetvine,” he said. She snorted. He was as casually brutal as a child when he had anything to do with her plants. His hands were covered by a network of scars, thin white lines that crossed each other like straggling roots. He’d bruise the petals for sure. Nevertheless, she let his voice soothe her. “Sit back, Kella. Lie down on the pallet.”
    His hands passed over her sides, relaxing her as if she were a fine beeswax taper. She tried not to dwell on the warmth of his flesh. She was getting foolish, here, at the end of her middle passage. She should not let the thought of one boy turn her mind so. The sun would rise soon. The sweetvine would dry out. She’d lose the petals for the entire year, have to make do with the dried stuff that already hung between the rafters of her cottage. No handsel would pay good coins for potions made solely of dried goods.
    â€œBreathe deeply, Kella. Think of your most soothing herbs. Imagine them strewn upon the pallet. Breathe their scent. Smell them. Taste them at the back of your tongue. Remember, Kella. Remember the peacefulness that comes from your own working, from your own success.”
    Her own working. What did he presume to know about that? He had never joined with the Sisters. He could not understand her powers as she manipulated her herbs. He could not understand the balance between the fire herbs and ones of ice, between the earth plants and the airy ones.
    â€œRelax, Kella. If you let me guide you, you can visit power you’ve only dreamed of. Follow my voice. Come with me when you’re ready.”
    Follow his voice. The voice of a man half her age. If she had a son, he would have that voice. But she had never found the time to nurture a child-seed inside her. Her husband had left her because of that. She had been too busy tending her herbs. Her studies. She had been too busy traveling through the woods, meeting with the Sisters. Women like her, like her mother. Old women. Wise women. Women who did not prattle on about meaningless things.
    â€œKella, you need to let your thinking mind go. Stop counting out the days until the next harvest.” Days? Hours! She needed to finish the harvest by the second hour after dawn. This traveling man knew nothing.
    â€œKella, you have the power to concentrate. I’ve seen you focus on your workings. Stop resisting what I’m saying, and let yourself travel to the soothing herbs, to the gentle ones.” Soothing herbs. As if he could name a single one of them. As if he knew the first thing about her, about her workings.
    She sat up on the pallet, pulling away from the gentling hand that he attempted to rest on her arm. “There’s no strength in your Speaking, man.”
    She thought that he would be angry. He had been each other time that she had failed to follow him. This time, though, he only sighed. “I’ve strength,