style="font-size:15px;"> “You wish, snake spit,” he countered.
“I know, fly breath.”
“Opal, that’s enough. We’re on a time schedule,” Zitora said in exasperation. “Ahir, where is your father?”
His eyes lit up. “Is Opal in trouble?”
Ahir ignored her annoyed frown, relishing the possibility that I might be in trouble.
“Ahir, you don’t want to keep Master Cowan waiting,” I said.
“Oh boy! You must be in big trouble.” He rubbed his hands together. “He’s in the factory, working with Mara.”
Ahir trailed behind us like a dog hoping for treats. Zitora hesitated on the threshold of the building. The heat and roar from the eight kilns presented a physical force, but she pushed through. To me, the thick air and pulsing growl wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. Home.
My father worked at a gaffer’s bench with my sister assisting him. His wide, adept hands pulled and plucked at the molten glass with ease. Hunching over his work, he didn’t notice us. The familiar sight of his broad shoulders and strong back tugged at my bruised body. I wanted to hop into his embrace so he could make everything all right again.
Instead, I signaled to Mara. She paused in her duties and sent me a welcoming smile. Her perfectly shaped features and wide tawny-colored eyes attracted men to her like snakes to the heat. She had gotten Tula’s and my share of beauty. With her long golden curls and curvy figure, she had the complete opposite of my, with my straight hair and athletic build. While all of us had brown eyes, hers were light and interesting; Tula’s and mine were dark brown and ordinary. Ahir’s were almost black, which matched the color of his short moppy hair.
I let Mara know we would wait for Father outside. Ahir tried to come with us, but Mara snapped her fingers at him and pointed to another kiln. He hung his head and slouched back to work.
“It’s an oven in there,” Zitora exclaimed. “How do you stand it?”
I shrugged. “Growing up, I spent more time in the factory than the house. Probably the reason I hate the cold.” I rubbed my arms. “It gets really hot when all eight kilns are fired. Eight is too many for my family to handle, so we hired a few locals, two uncles and a bunch of cousins to work the kilns. Shifts help with heat exhaustion. My father makes us take a break after each piece we make.”
When my father came outside, his shoulders brushed the doorway. He squinted. In the sunlight, his resemblance to Ahir was unmistakable. Although only a few black strands remained in his short gray hair and Ahir still had a couple more inches to grow before catching up with Father’s height.
“Opal.” Father crushed me in a bear hug.
I suppressed a wince. Five days of hard riding had not been conducive to healing. My injuries remained tender to the touch. He released me.
“Father, I would like to introduce you to Master Cowan, Second Magician. Master Cowan, this is my father, Jaymes Cowan.”
He shook her hand, and invited us inside the house for refreshments. Heat and the smell of molten glass radiated off his body.
Zitora declined. “It’s an urgent matter. Is there a private place we can talk?”
He shot me a look of alarmed concern. A familiar situation. If I had been guilty of any misdeed, I would have burst into tears and confessed upon seeing his ire. I quickly shook my head lest he suspect me of being in trouble.
“We can talk in my lab,” he said.
We followed him to a small one-story building tucked behind the factory. He led us into his laboratory, where he experimented with various sand mixtures and chemicals to produce glass of different colors and consistencies. Metal tables lined the room. Tools and various measuring equipment hung from neat rows of hooks, and stainless steel bowls had been stacked in precise piles.
The countertops gleamed in the light. Not a speck of errant sand marred the tables or crunched under a boot. Mother used to complain of Father’s messy armoire, and would wonder out loud how he could keep his lab pristine, yet fail to hang up his clothes.
His reply had always been one word. Contamination. He didn’t want any of his experiments being contaminated by spilled ingredients. It would throw off all his results, he claimed. Contamination also included children with sticky hands and dirty clothes, but his rules hadn’t stopped Tula and me from sneaking in here on occasion. I remembered the one time we hid under his desk, shaking in fear of being discovered, which inevitably happened. Our punishment had been to clean his lab for a season. After that season, we never ventured in here again.
Father sat at his desk and gestured for us to sit in the two other chairs. “What’s so important?”
Zitora explained about the Stormdance sand and fragile orbs. We placed the samples onto his desk.
“You think one of these ingredients is bad?” my father asked, staring at me. “How did you come to this conclusion?”
I told him about the old orbs and the differences I noticed. “The new orbs aren’t as sturdy. Same thickness, just not as dense.” I handed him a shard of Indra’s orb.
He examined the glass and tapped it on his fingernails, listening to the clinking sound. “All right. I’ll work on these. See what I can find.” He sorted through his bowls. “Why don’t you go into the house? Mother will be thrilled to see you both.”
I stood. “Can I help?”
He looked at me in surprise. “It’s better if I do it myself.” He must have seen my disappointment, because he added, “Would you like to learn what I do here?”
“Yes.” I had always wanted to know more about glass, but I knew he preferred to work alone.
“Okay. When we have time, I’ll teach you.”
“Really?” My turn to be surprised.
He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for one of my children to show an interest. Ahir doesn’t have the the patience and Mara… Mara is more interested in Leif than glass right now.”
We shared a laugh. Even though Mara had been pursued by every young man in the Cowan lands, only Yelena’s brother, Leif, had caught her attention. But since he was a powerful magician and worked at the Keep, they hardly had any time together. I wondered if Aydan still needed an apprentice. Mara could move to the Citadel and live near the Keep. She would be closer to Leif. And to me.
My humor leaked away. Back at the Keep, I knew no one missed me.
My mother worked in the kitchen. The delightful smell of bread stew permeated the air. Following the scent, I found my mother stirring a large pot. She greeted me with a peck on the cheek.
“Mara told me you were here. What took you so long? Your mother isn’t important enough to say hello to?”
I rushed to apologize. “We had—”
“Urgent business with Jaymes,” Zitora said.
Before she could lay
