Glasswrights' Apprentice by Mindy L Klasky

Rabe!”
    â€œI dinna touch ’er! She woke ’erself!”
    â€œYe breathed so loud she could ’ardly ’elp ’erself, could she?”
    The Touched! Ever since she’d been a baby, Rani had been threatened with banishment to the casteless Touched when she’d been lazy or had done wrong. “Sweep the hearth, or I’ll turn you out among the Touched,” Rani’s mother had grumbled. “If you don’t polish that silver buckle, you might as well go run with the Touched.” The Touched were dirty and cruel and more than a little jealous of any proper merchant girl, or a guild-sworn apprentice. Rani watched through slitted eyes as a boy - Rabe? - reached out one grimy finger to poke her side. He managed to find the bruises she had gathered against the guild wall, and the pain throbbed beneath her skin. “Go ahead. Tell ’er I dinna wake ye, or we’ll ’ear nothin’ else fer a week.”
    Rani opened her eyes again, swallowing hard before turning to the children’s apparent leader, the girl who had spoken first. Rani had to clear her throat before she could make herself understood. “I woke myself. Because I remembered I have to work in the guildhall.”
    â€œOhhhh,” the girl breathed. “The guild ’all. Beggin’ yer pardon, milady.” The Touched child faked a curtsey, a look of disgust twisting her filthy features, and the boy snorted. “And what guild would that be?”
    â€œThe gl-” Rani started to answer, then remembered the soldiers’ horrible charge. Who
knew what stories had already spread to the streets? What would these children do to her, if they
knew the king desired her death? Shaking away the last cobwebs of sleep, Rani forced herself back
against the alley wall. One hand crept inside her tunic pocket, closing comfortingly around her
Zarithian knife. “What difference does it make to you?”
    â€œWhat difference?” the girl crowed. “What difference! We wouldna want t’ ’ave a’ ‘undesirable element’ roamin’ th’ streets at night, now would we? After all, King Shanoranvilli ’as ’is reputation t’ think of. Wouldna want pilgrims t’ fear for their lives i’ th’ city streets, eh?”
    The boy jabbed a sharp finger into Rani’s breastbone. “’N’ I don’t think ye’re from any guild, if ye’re sleepin’ ’ere i’ th’ street.”
    â€œI can sleep where I choose!” Rani protested, raising her chin defiantly.
    â€œAye, ’n’ what’s yer name, that we may be th’ judge o’ yer choices?” The boy took a step closer with his challenging words, and his breath stank as he forced Rani to lean away.
    â€œMy name is Ra-” Rani caught herself before she voiced the second syllable. What was
her name? If she gave her birth name, Rani, then the Touched would know that she belonged to a
merchant family. They could surmise that her presence in the streets, alone in the cold night, meant
that she had been driven from her family home for some unfathomable shame. If she gave her guild
name, Ranita, that would only give rise to more unwelcome questions, inquiries that could not stand
against Rani’s torn tunic. She swallowed hard and restated her assumed name with pretended
authority. “Rai.”
    The girl shook her head scornfully, spitting out the single syllable. “Rai. Ye’re stakin’ claim to a Touched name, then, are ye?”
    â€œTouched or a God,” Rani muttered, wondering if she would actually have to use the metal knife that warmed beneath her fingers. Her blasphemy drew an unexpected laugh from the girl.
    â€œAch, ye’re no Touched girl, but ye’ve figured our way o’ thinkin’. Touched, Gods, we draw no lines ’ere i’ th’ streets. What’ve ye got t’ share wi’ us,