“Trinkets! They’re collectibles,” I said. “How did you manage to work with these? Even the thinnest pontil iron would be too big.”

She grinned. “I knew it. You work with glass, too.” Then a shrewd look replaced the smile. “Why do you want to know?”

“Don’t worry. I couldn’t reproduce your level of detail.”

“She can’t. Opal’s animals are crude, a child’s effort compared to these,” Skippy said with a touch of awe in his voice. He twirled the little girl as if willing her puffy skirt to spin around her.

The woman’s face lit up, so I swallowed my nasty comment. Skippy was right, although I wished he’d used another descriptor than “child’s effort.”

“I make colored glass sticks, then melt them over a flame instead of using a kiln. I use small tweezers and hold the glass on with a thin metal stick.”

“How do you make a single flame hot enough?” I asked.

“Trade secret,” she said. “And with working that small, I can craft glass beads and other miniature figures.”

“You shouldn’t have trouble selling the beads.”

“I don’t. They go to the jeweler’s for necklaces and bracelets.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious and rekindled my love for the craft. All too soon, Leif arrived with a heavy package of supplies.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said with exasperation. “Let’s go before my arms break.”

Disappointment filled the woman’s face. I would have loved to purchase the statue of the little girl, but my purse contained only a few silvers of my own. The other coins would be needed to pay for lodging on the way back to the Citadel.

“What’s your name?” I asked her. “I’ll make sure to recommend you to others.”

“Helen Stormdance.” She held out a hand.

“Opal Cowan.” I shook it.

Helen gazed at me for a moment. “The glass magician?”

My normal reaction would have been to flinch. For someone in this remote town to have heard of me would have caused me discomfort or even fear. But she was my peer. “Yes.”

She gazed at me with frank appraisal as if judging the quality of a glass vase. “Are you here to teach the new orb makers?”

“Yes.”

Helen waved me closer and leaned toward me. “Keep an eye on them,” she whispered in my ear. “They claim to be experts, but we don’t know them. I’m willing to help if needed. As you can see—” she swept a hand over her wares “—I’m highly qualified.”

By the way she emphasized the “we,” I knew she meant the glassmaking industry. Most tradesmen exchanged information and kept up with the competition.

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” I considered her information and wondered how the Stormdancers chose their new glassmakers.

Skippy handed Helen a gold coin. “I’ll take these two.” He pointed to the little girl statue and one of a farmer.

She wrapped them with care as I recovered from my shock over his sudden purchase. I didn’t know Skippy at all and suspected his nasty disposition toward me could all be an act.

That evening, when we were alone in our room, I asked Kade about the new glassmakers.

“The orb makers were a family business for…ever,” Kade said. “The parents would pass the knowledge and skills down to their children, who pass it on to their children. This is the first time since the very beginning we had to select a new family. Raiden was in charge of picking them. I trust him.”

Raiden was the camp manager at The Cliffs, making sure the Stormdancers had enough supplies and food to last through the storm season.

“Do you know how he selected them?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

I explained about Helen’s comments. “It could be sour grapes because she wasn’t picked to make the orbs, but then again she might have a genuine concern. In my hometown of Booruby, I either know of or have heard of all the glassmakers.”

“We should keep an open mind and see how they do,” Kade said. He pulled me close.

“Think the best until proven otherwise?”

“Exactly. You should adopt it as your motto.”

I liked my way better. Assume danger and be pleasantly surprised when proven wrong.

Our last night of the trip started bad and ended bad. No travel shelters had ever been built on The Flats. The wide expanse of shale spread out for miles before stopping at The Cliffs’ edge. Sheets and sheets of the stuff, sometimes smooth, more often broken into uneven steps or ground into gravel. Uncomfortable to ride on and sleep on despite a mat.

Kade stood with the breeze in his face. He inhaled. “Smells like home.”

Leif tried to light a fire. “Smells more like a cold supper,” he grumped.

Skippy glanced at the sky. “Does it smell like a storm?”

“No. Just a fresh sea wind. In the warm and heating seasons, the ground heats faster than the seawater.” Kade used his hands to demonstrate. “When the sun sets, the warm air rises and the cold air sinks, creating a breeze.” He crouched next to Leif. “I can redirect the breeze until bedtime.”

A bubble of calm engulfed us. Leif’s pile of wood ignited.

“Sweet,” Leif said.

After dinner, we arranged our sleeping mats. I dozed on and off. Once Kade fell asleep, the wind picked up speed, keening through the cracks. Blankets flapped and needles of cold air poked. I shivered in my cloak, wishing I could huddle with the horses. Perhaps I could ask them to lie down upwind and create a windbreak. The four horses leaned together with their rumps to the wind.