made his heart turn over. “You’re a good fellow, Keth,” she told him. “I’ll take you up on that.”
“I want you to,” he said as she finished the climb to her room.
The night was close and hot, bringing very little rest with it. Around midnight Keth took his sleeping mat up to the roof and placed it between Ferouze’s potted herb garden and the wall. He placed a jug of water beside him — he’d been unable to drink wine since his encounter with a lightning bolt — and lay down, locking his hands behind his head. Heat lightning played in sheets under the clouds in the sky. It made him edgy, but not enough to go back inside. Heat lightning didn’t strike, it only taunted those trapped in the baking city with the promise of rain.
As always, once he was in the open air, the tangled ball of thoughts that had kept him awake began to unravel. Here in the dark, alone, with the sounds of the crowds on the main streets of Khapik muffled, he could think about the girl who threw lightning. His gut twisted over the memory, but he could think about it, and he could admit some truths to himself. The glass in the blowpipe had fought him. When, before his accident, had he ever felt that the stuff he’d worked with all his life had a mind of its own? That idea had grown since his travels began, along with the notion that glass had come to life while he wasn’t looking. It never even occurred to him to call that feeling magic. Perhaps that was because none of the glass mages in his family had mentioned sensing the glass was alive. He was used to thinking of glass magic as his family described it: a matter of charms, signs, special twists in pulled glass, special shapes in moulded glass, and blown glass shaped to hold and direct spells. They spoke of glass as Keth and his friends did: a substance to which they did things, not a living being.
As much as it pained him, Keth finally admitted the redhead was right. He should have been relieved to find an answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had plans, important ones. His master’s credential, marriage, a family, a rise in the guild until, one day, he led it. He would make glass for the imperial court and have the power and wealth to work on his own projects.
Now he was back at the foot of the ladder, a student, a beginner along with children. The study of magic would cut into his time with glass for years.
He had regrets; of course he did. He supposed he would always have them. But watching heat lighting ripple through the clouds, Kethlun Warder faced facts. Tomorrow he would find a glass mage to teach him.
Tris had used shawls to make a nest for Chime by the window, but when morning came, she turned over in bed and felt a glass corner poke her right eye. She opened the left: the cause of her discomfort was Chime’s tail. The rest of the glass dragon was draped over an extra pillow, just as Little Bear sprawled over her feet. Tris grumbled and gently moved Chime’s tail, then got up to begin her morning clean-up. At least she didn’t have to worry about feeding her starling, Shriek. After four years of screaming at her the moment she woke up, Shriek had joined a flock of Hataran starlings when she and Niko passed through that country. Tris, secretly a romantic, told herself that a particularly comely lady starling must have caught her bird’s eye. She never let on to anyone that she missed the speckled bird’s chatter any more than she admitted to missing Sandry, Daja, or Briar.
Screams in the kitchen and Little Bear’s deep-throated barks interrupted Tris as she made her bed. She raced downstairs. The maid was in hysterics, having discovered what she called “a monster” — Chime — in the honeypot. Little Bear had already decided Chime was family. He stood between the maid and the glass dragon, barking a warning. The cook scolded the girl for being upset while Tris ordered Little Bear outside. Together Tris and the cook managed to get Chime clean. By the time she was free of honey, the glass dragon had begun to produce flames like bits of honey glass.
“May I keep some?” asked the cook. “They’re so pretty.”