“Throbbing? As in magic?”

A glimmer of hope. Perhaps he did know. “Yes.”

“No. I never felt anything from glass. It feels like a cold piece of crystal in my hands.”

I masked my disappointment.

“However, I recognize the craftsmanship and can tell you who made this.”

“Who?” Perhaps another magician like me!

“Ulrick, Cesca’s youngest son. Do you remember him?”

“Vaguely. Didn’t you work with Cesca on a big project?”

“Yep. I had an order for a hundred jars I couldn’t fill in time. She offered to help and we’ve worked together on a number of projects since then. In fact, she’s one of the glassmakers who was around during the Glass Wars and knows about the Brittle Talc.”

The coincidence seemed too easy, but it made sense. Cesca reminded me of my father. She was dedicated to her craft; she experimented with different recipes and tried new methods of glassmaking. Her children probably learned from her.

The only memory I have of Ulrick was his complete disregard for Ahir, Tula and me. He had followed Mara as if she held him on a leash.

Zitora came into the kitchen, dragging her saddlebag. My mother followed, carrying my bags.

“Mother,” I admonished, rushing to relieve her of the heavy burden. “You should be in bed. Dawn’s not for another hour.”

“Who can sleep with all the ruckus?” she said. “Besides you’re not leaving my house without something hot in your stomachs.” She held a hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. Opal, stir the fire to life and heat up the teakettle. Jaymes, take Master Cowan’s bag and saddle the horses.”

I laughed at Zitora’s chagrin as we hurried to complete our assigned tasks. “You might as well sit down and enjoy the attention,” I told her. “Next time you visit, you’ll be considered a member of the family and she’ll order you around, too.”

A slight wistful tone crept into the Master Magician’s voice. “I would like that very much.”

With stomachs full of Mother’s special sweet cakes, Zitora and I said our goodbyes to my family, and headed into the heart of Booruby. It was about an hour past dawn. The streets hummed with early-morning activity. Citizens bustled along the sidewalks as wagons rumbled over the cobblestones, making deliveries.

“Wicent’s factory is down Morgan Street.” I pointed to the curl of gray smoke hanging above a stone building. “Where do you want to meet?” Wicent was the other glassmaker who knew about Brittle Talc.

“The main road near the west side of Booruby. Stay in populated areas, Opal. We still don’t know where Blue Eyes is or why he wants you.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Zitora nodded and urged Sudi down Morgan Street. I stayed on the main road for a few blocks before turning left onto Glass Alley, so named for the numerous glass factories located here. I found Cesca’s factory. The largest on the block, her building housed ten kilns. A store to sell her wares occupied the front section of the factory.

I tied Quartz to a hitching post and entered the crowded store. All the sales staff were busy, so I examined the goods. Plates and bowls with swirls of colored and clear glass lined the shelves along with matching wine goblets. Water pitchers and vases all had the same delicate twist of color. A few pieces showed the artistry of another hand, with thicker handles on the pitchers and heavy drops of color in the bowls.

In the corner, a few of Ulrick’s pieces rested on a shelf. Covered with dust, the decanter and matching goblets were bumpy with bubbles. The glass resembled frozen sea foam. I stroked the decanter. Pulses of energy darted through my hand, numbing my fingers.

“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice asked.

I removed my hand and looked up. A saleswoman waited with a polite smile and bored eyes.

“I need to speak with Cesca. It’s important.”

“I’m sure you think it’s important.” The woman eyed my travel clothes and sighed. “She’s busy working.” She put her hand on my elbow and guided me toward the door. “Send her a message, perhaps she’ll agree to meet.”

Before I knew it, I stood outside on the sidewalk. Quartz snorted in what sounded like amusement. I shot my horse a sour look. Peering through the window of the shop, I flinched. The rude saleswoman laughed with a customer. She pointed and everyone in the store turned to look at me. I moved from their sight. Not wanting to make a scene, I circled the building, searching for another entrance.

The storage sheds were located behind the factory. Workers pushing wheelbarrows moved between the shed and main building. I followed a man with a load of soda ash into the heat and roar of the factory. A sense of urgent production radiated from the workers. Serious expressions and quick motions kept them absorbed in their tasks. I spotted a few women bent over their work, but none resembled Cesca.

A hand touched my arm and I spun to deflect it, thinking about the rude saleswoman. A man stepped back with his hands out. I stopped and stared. The green in his eyes was so vivid it reminded me of lush grass lit by morning sunlight. Long black eyelashes outlined his eyes and matched his short dark hair. Even the smudges of dirt on his chiseled chin enhanced his features.

“…doing here?” He shouted over the din.

“I’m looking for Cesca. Do you know where she is?”

He peered at me with distrust. I hadn’t realized Cesca was so famous.

“Why do you want to see her?”