shattering. Chime dashed under a corner worktable and stayed there.
“Relax,” Tris said as Keth turned beet red with frustration. “Calm down, drink some water, try again.”
“Y-you —!” he began to yell, turning on her. Tris met his eyes with her own, wanting him to see that this was normal, it was to be expected. She knew it was maddening to think a thing through perfectly, only to have it go awry the minute she actually tried to do it.
Whatever he’d meant to say, Keth chose not to say it. Instead he walked around the shop, touching vases, bowls, jars and suncatchers until he was calm. After that he set another crucible to heat and drank some water.
They were so caught up in their work they didn’t even notice Antonou’s wife had come with Keth’s midday. She couldn’t pass through the magical barrier or catch their attention. At last she fed some chunks of grilled lamb to Little Bear, then went back to her own work.
By late afternoon both student and teacher were sweat-soaked and exhausted. In addition to the glass lightning, Keth had produced a few other mistakes. When the breath caught in his throat on his second try, droplets of molten glass exploded over the workshop. They glinted in the light of the furnace like dark gems. Next came an egg-shaped blob of black glass, then a lump that sparkled with tiny lightnings. The last failure was a glass coil that burned the toe off one of Keth’s boots. Chime had yet to leave her hiding place.
Tris looked at the glass coil, then at Keth. Knowing she was about to trigger an explosion, she said as gently as she knew how, “This isn’t working. You’re exhausted and probably starving. It’s time to stop for the day.”
“No,” he told her stubbornly. “You don’t know the yaskedasi. I do. I’ve been living with them for eight months. The Ghost is killing their sense of, of excitement. Of fun, joy…” He fumbled to express his thought. “Khapik was the first place I’ve been where I c-could forget what h-happened to me. The, the Ghost is killing Khapik.” He collected a fresh gather at the end of the blowpipe.
Tris wanted to scream. She was hungry, she was soaked in sweat, she wanted to be out and about. She was pouring magic into the barrier to keep the wild bursts of Keth’s power inside. What was so wonderful about Khapik? she wanted to yell. There were theatres, inns, musical performances, women and men who flaunted themselves in form-fitting clothes, gambling dens and wine shops. Every city had such places.
She said none of these things as Keth drew a shuddering breath and started to blow into the pipe. As a teacher her duty was to encourage Keth, not discourage him. From her own experience, Tris knew he would give himself enough discouragement without help from her.
“Nothing yet, then?” someone asked from outside the barrier. It was Dhaskoi Nomasdina, crisply dressed in a clean red tunic and blue stole, his short black hair still wet from the bath.
Keth, startled, made an apprentice’s mistake and puffed hard into the blowpipe. The molten glass at the end bulged, coated in tiny lightnings, and grew to the size of his hand. Tris and Nomasdina froze, watching. Tris could see that Keth’s hands trembled, but he continued to work, carefully twirling the pipe to see what shape his most recent accident would take. The bulb expanded to a perfect globe, then broke away. Keth reached out and caught it in one hand before it could fall.
That answers that question, thought Tris. He can hold hot glass.
The globe was a twin to the one he’d made at Heskalifos. Miniature lightnings played inside and outside of the glass, growing thicker and longer until they coated it entirely.
“You did it!” cried Nomasdina. “What do you see?”
“Lightning,” Keth said gloomily and sat on a bench with a thump. Tris gently took the blowpipe from him and set it aside.
“May I look?” Nomasdina asked. “Maybe I can spot something. Dhasku Chandler — ”
“Tris,” the girl interrupted. “Just Tris. Don’t touch it unless you’ve got some kind of fire magic, Dhaskoi Nomasdina. It’s hot, still.” She held out her hands. Glumly Keth handed the globe to her. It was warm to her touch, but only warm. She could handle molten rock for brief periods.
“But I could look at it,” argued the arurim dhaskoi, “maybe see between the lightnings.”