âWe have a mission for you,â Zitora explained. She had twisted her honeyâbrown hair into a complex braid. The end of the braid reached her hips, but she fidgeted with it, twirling it around and through her fingers.
A mission from the Masters! I leaned forward.
âThe Stormdancersâ glass orbs have been shattering,â Master Jewelrose said.
âOh.â I relaxed in my chair. Not a magical mission.
âDo you know how important these orbs are, child?â Master Bloodgood asked.
I remembered my lessons about the Stormdancer Clan. Their magiciansâcalled Stormdancersâhad the unique ability to siphon a stormâs energy into an orb, taming the stormâs killing winds and rain, and providing an energy source for the clan.
But why me? I was still learning. âYou need a master glassmaker. My fatherââ
âTime is of the essence, child.â Master Bloodgoodâs tone saddened. âWhen an orb shatters, it kills a Stormdancer.â
Chapter 1
THE HOT AIR pressed against my face as I entered the glass factory. The heat and the smell of burning coal surrounded me in a comforting embrace. I paused to breathe in the thick air. The roar of the kilns sounded as sweet as my motherâs voice.
âOpal!â Aydan yelled above the noise. âAre you going to stand there all day? We have work to do.â He gestured with a thin gnarled hand.
I hurried to join him. Working in the heat had turned his gray hair into a frizzy mop. Dirt streaked his hands. He grimaced in pain when he sat at his workbench, rubbing his lower back with a fist.
âYouâve been shoveling coal again,â I admonished. He tried to look innocent, but before he could lie, I asked, âWhat happened to your apprentice?â
âRan off once he figured out how hard it is to turn fire into ice.â Aydan grunted.
âWell, Iâm here now.â
âYouâre late.â
âSorry, I had aâ¦test.â I sighed. Another frustrating, fruitless endeavor. Not only had I failed to light the fire, but I knocked over the candles, spilling hot wax all over my classmate Paziaâs clothes and burning her skin. Her expensive silk tunic was ruined. She sneered in disdain when I offered to replace her shirt. Nothing new. Paziaâs hostility spanned my entire four years at the Keep. Why would I expect my last year to be any different?
After starting my fifth year of lessons at the Magicianâs Keep, I had hoped to be able to do more with my magic. Paziaâs abilities had grown so much since we sat next to each other during our very first session that the Master Magicians considered allowing her to take the Master- level test.
Iâd learned about Sitiaâs history, politics, how to fight and about the uses for magic, but my ability to tap into the power source remained elusive. Doubts flared and the nagging feeling of being limited to one magical skill churned in my chest. And it didnât help my confidence when I overheard my fellow students calling me the One-Trick Wonder.
âJealousy,â Aydan had said when I told him about my nickname. âYou saved Sitia.â
I thought of the dayâover four years agoâwhen I helped Liaison Yelena capture those evil souls. She had done all the work, I was merely a conduit. I tried to downplay my involvement, but Aydan remained stubborn.
âYouâre a hero and those children canât stand it.â
Remembering his words made me smile. Calling fifteen to twenty-year-olds children was typical for Aydan, a proud curmudgeon.
He tapped my arm with a blowpipe. âStop daydreaming and gather me a slug.â
I grabbed the hollow rod and opened the oven. Intense light burst from the furnace as if a piece of the sun was trapped inside. I spun the end of the rod in the molten glass and twisted it up and out, removing taffylike ball before my eyebrows and eyelashes could be singed off again.
The cherry-red slug on the end of the iron pulsed as if alive. Aydan blew through the pipe then covered the hole. A small bubble appeared in the molten glass. Resting the pipe on the metal arms of his gafferâs bench, Aydan rolled the pipe back and forth, shaping the glass.
I helped him as he created an intricate vase with a twist at the bottom so the piece actually rested on its side yet could still hold water. In his hands, turning glass into art appeared to be an easy task. I loved the unique properties of molten glass which could be molded into such wonderful objects. We worked for hours, but the time flew.
When he finished his artwork, Aydan stood on creaky legs and said the words that were the reason I came to help him after my Keep classes. âYour turn.â
He exchanged places with me and grabbed a hollow pipe. While he gathered a slug, I made sure all the metal tools lying on the bench were in their proper places. All I needed was my annoying younger brother telling me to hurry, and my patient older sister helping me to complete the feeling of being in my familyâs glass factory.