“They rented a room and I didn’t hear a peep out of them all night. In the morning, they left,” the owner said.
“Together?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Devlen had said they parted company. Another lie. No surprise there. “Do you know where they were going?”
“Nope.”
“Have you seen the big Sandseed since then?”
“Nope.”
I thanked him for his time. We left.
“Now what?” Janco asked.
“Check the other inns. See if he stayed anywhere else. If that doesn’t work, we can ask around town and hope someone has seen him.”
Janco groaned. “This is going to take all day.”
We searched the entire morning and half the afternoon. All to no avail. No one remembered seeing Ulrick or Devlen.
Janco gestured to the row of buildings. “He could have locked him in any one of these houses, and paid someone to care for him. I hate to give up, but I think we’re searching for a raindrop in a storm. I vote we put the screws to Mr. Warper’s pressure points and squeeze the information from him.”
“You would have to hit the perfect spot,” I said.
“I’m a patient man.”
Dubious, I looked at him.
“All right, all right. So I have the patience of a two-year-old. Happy now?”
“No, but before we try Devlen there is one more place I want to go.”
“Where?”
“Scene of the crime. Perhaps Ulrick had returned to his sister’s glass factory. Gressa’s his only family in the area. The rest live in Booruby.”
“But you said she ran off when Ulrick confronted her about making those fake diamonds.” Janco rubbed the place where the lower half of his left ear used to be.
“I’m guessing she’s long gone, but maybe someone has seen him. Do you have any better ideas?”
“Yeah. Torturing Devlen. That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Janco followed me to Gressa’s glass factory. I imagined the storefront would be boarded up or a new business opened in its place. A colorful sparkle from the window display greeted us. Rows of elegant glassware lined the shelves. Perhaps a new glass artist had bought her studio.
I peered at the vases and bowls. The excellent craftsmanship and intricate designs were the unmistakable marks of Gressa’s vast talent. She had returned.
We entered the store. More of her pieces decorated tables and filled shelves. The centerpiece of her collection spanned over four feet—a delicate yet top-heavy, fan-shaped vase crafted with translucent orange glass defied gravity. The saleswomen wore silk tunics. Their serene smiles and sales pitch were as smooth as the glass they sold.
A tall woman glided toward us. Her expression didn’t change after her gaze swept our dusty travel clothes. Bonus points.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I need to talk to Gressa,” I said. No sense wasting time on niceties.
A tiny wince creased her saleswoman mask, but in a blink of the eye, it was gone. “I’m sorry. The Artist is on important business right now. Perhaps you would like to leave a message?”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“No. She is extremely busy. If you leave her a message, she might arrange a time for you to talk.”
“Might.” Janco huffed. “Which translates to not in a million years.”
The woman strained to keep her polite demeanor.
“This is regarding her brother, Ulrick. It’s very important,” I said.
“Brother?” The woman’s confusion appeared genuine. “She never mentioned a brother.”
“Is she here? Or do we need to search the place?” Janco’s threat was not idle.
The heart of the factory—the kilns and equipment needed to melt and work with molten glass—resided behind the storefront along with Gressa’s office.
Flustered, the woman gaped at Janco.
He turned to me. “We should search anyway. Ulrick could be hiding in the back.”
I led him to the door marked Employees Only. Alerted by the saleswoman’s attempts to stop us, the rest of the sales staff turned their attention our way. Unconcerned, Janco barged into the factory, trailing a line of protesting women.
“Let me know if you see anyone,” Janco said.
We wove through the heat surrounding Gressa’s four kilns, annealing ovens and various benches. The workers glanced at the parade, but kept spinning their rods to keep the molten glass from sagging toward the ground. My hands itched to help. It had been a long time since I’d worked with glass, and the need ached inside me.
The familiar hum of the kilns vibrated in my ears. Not all of the factory employees were in the middle of a project. A large man grabbed a punty iron. The five-foot-long metal rod made a formidable weapon. He ordered us to leave the factory.
Janco continued his search, ignoring the man. Using his picks, Janco popped the lock to Gressa’s mixing room and entered. I stayed by the door with my hands wrapped around the handles of my sais, keeping the man in sight.
Janco returned and headed toward Gressa’s glass-walled office. After another order to stop failed to work, the man swung his rod. I yanked my sais from my cloak and deflected his strike. The clang of metal pierced the air. I switched my sais to a defensive position. With the shafts along my forearms and the knobs up, I could attack or defend, depending on the circumstances.
Two things happened. One good and one bad.
The noise created instant silence, but then the sales staff moved away to give their fellow worker more room to maneuver. A few disappeared.
Janco nodded at me. “Keep him busy.”
Great. My opponent pulled back to bash me on the head. Perhaps barging in here hadn’t been the best idea. I flipped my sais out and crossed them into an X-shape, blocking the head shot. The force of his blow vibrated down my arms.
He jerked the rod back, but I followed, closing the distance between us. I stepped to within a foot of him and jabbed him hard in the solar plexus with the sais’s knobs. He stumbled, gasping for breath.
I caught a glimpse of another armed attacker and turned in time to stop a hit to my stomach.
Janco’s voice cut through the din. “No sign of Gressa or Ulrick. Now what?”
The factory workers abandoned their tasks and armed themselves with rods, jacks and battledores.
“Time to leave,” I shouted, but Janco was already engaged in a fight with two men. “Don’t hurt anyone.” I ducked a wild swing. The workers were strong, but unskilled at fighting. They also outnumbered us four to one.
Janco easily countered his opponents. He had almost cleared an escape path for us. Hope of a quick exit died when the town’s guards burst through the door.
4
Confusion reigned. Between the town’s guards and the factory workers, we were overwhelmed. Janco and I admitted defeat and surrendered our weapons. Explanations about why we had forced our way into Gressa’s glass factory fell on deaf ears. It was obvious we didn’t belong there. As we were led to the guards’ headquarters, I hoped we would get a chance to tell our side of the story.
However, once we arrived at the station, we were stripped of our possessions, dumped into adjoining cells and left. The metallic clang of the lock echoed in my ears with a sickening familiarity. I counted the number of times I had been imprisoned and had to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Janco asked.
Three of the cell’s walls were stone, but iron bars lined the door and front wall, allowing me to talk with Janco. “Just thinking about how this time is a legitimate arrest versus some of my other incarcerations.”
“Ah, yes. I’m sure we’ll be charged with trespassing, breaking and entering and a
ttempted armed robbery. They’ll probably add in resisting arrest and disorderly conduct for good measure.”
“Sounds like you’ve had experience.”
“Knowledge learned from my misspent youth. You gotta love the disorderly-conduct charge. It covers a wide range of behaviors, and, to my mother’s horror, I was determined to test the boundaries.” Humor laced his voice. “Speaking of bad behavior, I think I’ll wait until dark to pick the locks.”
“But they searched you and confiscated your picks.”
He laughed. “Let me tell you a story about a beautiful seamstress in Ixia. Dilana has a fine hand with needle and thread and a fine smile, too—all warm and caring. Although she found my request to be a bit...odd, she acquiesced. With her clever stitchery, she has sewn lock picks into all my clothing. They’re just a ripped seam away.”
“I’m glad you’re using your knowledge for good.”
“My mother’s ecstatic, and my new position earns enough money to pay for her hair dye.” He tsked. “Poor woman went gray at a very young age.”
Poor woman indeed.
“We should be here overnight,” Janco said. “The guards know who you are and are probably contacting the magicians at the Citadel as we speak. If they decide not to press charges, we’ll probably be escorted there. I don’t think the Council will trust me again to bring you home.”
“Who would press charges?” I asked.
“Gressa owns the factory, so it would be up to her.” He paused. “I thought you said she was a fugitive.”
“She was. Something must have happened.” I considered. Gressa had been helping Councilor Moon’s sister by crafting realistic yet fake diamonds from glass. The sister had been selling these fakes to finance her efforts to overthrow the Councilor.
The Sitian Council would honor a new Moon Councilor if she had gained her position through legitimate channels. The Moon Clan had a matriarchal government. The Councilor’s oldest daughter inherited the position, but there had been times in the past when the Moon Clan’s citizens had believed another sister was a better candidate for the job. They would stage a coup, and install their chosen with little to no bloodshed. The Council viewed this as the will of the people and accepted the new Councilor.
However, if the efforts to usurp the present Councilor originated from the dissatisfied sister, and if she used illegal means to purchase weapons and bribe the townspeople, then the Council wouldn’t accept her and they would help the ousted woman regain her rightful position.
Master Magician Irys Jewelrose and Yelena had been in Fulgor to keep an eye on developments, to learn who led the unrest and to protect the Councilor. She had been convinced she was targeted for assassination, an illegal act according to the Sitian Council.
Irys’s signature on my order to return to the Citadel meant she was no longer here. The crisis must have been averted. Otherwise, if the sister had gained power, the Council would have interfered. However, neither option felt right to me.
“Do you feel the...unease in the townspeople?” I asked Janco. “Or is it just my imagination?”
“It’s not your imagination. The people around here are as tight as bowstrings. I could probably play a tune if I brushed up against enough of them.”
“What about your interaction with the guards?”
“Wary and watchful. But that’s typical behavior. I’m surprised by how civil they’ve been to me, considering I’m Ixian.”
“It’s because we don’t automatically assume you’re a vile magician intent on harm like you Ixians do when meeting a Sitian.”
Janco harrumphed. “I don’t assume that.”
“No?” Doubt colored my voice.
“I assume you’re a vile magician.”
“There’s no difference.”
“Yes, there is. I don’t assume your intentions are harmful. I know no matter what your intentions are, magic causes harm to someone somewhere at some time.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re the expert on Sitians. You should have been the one appointed liaison between Ixia and Sitia instead of Yelena. Unless it’s because the Commander and the Council have at least a crumb of intelligence between them.”
“Nasty, Opal. I must have hit a nerve. Perhaps it was my ‘magic causes harm’ remark. You have plenty of experience with that.”
“Shut up.”
“As you wish.”
I brooded in silence. Dozens of examples of positive results from using magic popped into my mind. Stormdancers tamed killer storms, healers saved lives, Story Weavers helped people and my glass messengers sped up communications between the clans. All good.
My thoughts drifted and without a window in my cell, I lost track of the time. I slept on the single piece of furniture in the room—a hard metal ledge. The jangle of keys woke me. A door slammed and two guards appeared in front of my cell.
“Come on,” the guard on the left ordered. He unlocked my door.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You’re wanted for questioning.” He swung the bars wide.
His word choice failed to hearten me. “By whom?”
“Councilor Moon’s First Adviser. Turn around.”
I hesitated and his partner stepped inside. The larger man held a pair of manacles.
Holding my hands up, I said, “They’re not necessary. I’ll cooperate.”
“Good to know,” the man with the cuffs said. “Turn around.”
He loomed over me and I wondered if towns sought bullies to hire as guards on purpose or were they naturally drawn to the job. Or perhaps the mean disposition was a side effect of the position. If I had to deal with guarding criminals all day, I would probably be surly, too.
“It’s really not—hey!”
He spun me around and pushed me against the wall. Before I could draw another breath, my wrists were shackled together behind my back.
“Sorry. Orders.” He pulled me toward the door.
He didn’t sound sorry. I tripped over the threshold and the other man steadied me before I fell into the corridor. I glanced at Janco’s cell. He stood near the door.
“What about my companion?” I asked.
“The Ixian...” The guard’s mouth twisted as if he had a piece of gristle stuck between his teeth. “Stays here.”
“But I’ll be bored and lonely without her,” Janco said.
“Not my problem. I have my—”
“Orders.” Janco rolled his eyes. “Now I know where all the truly brainless Sitians can be found. Right here with all the wimpy Sitians.”
The bully stepped toward his cell.
“Nic, stop,” the guard warned. “He’s trying to bait you.”
“Listen to your friend, Nicky.” Janco smirked. “He’s going to save you from major embarrassment. You’ll never live down getting beaten by an Ixian.” He made shooing motions with his hand. “Now run along like a good little puppy dog.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling as I remembered a lesson learned from Yelena’s brother Leif. Never underestimate the power of the pest.
Nic’s body tightened, and a slight tremor traveled through his muscles as if he fought the desire to strike out. He turned his back on Janco and strode down the corridor. An impressive display of restraint.
Disappointment creased Janco’s face.
Before the other guard could move, I said, “If you get too bored, think of a better ending to your quartz story. The rock-glowing-in-the-moonlight part didn’t make any sense. And having a meeting at midnight is such a cliché.”
“But that’s my favorite part,” Janco whined.
“Come on.” The guard wrapped his thick hand around my upper arm and led me down the corridor.
I glanced back at Janco and met his gaze. He nodded, signaling he unde
rstood my hint. If I didn’t return tonight, he would escape and meet me at Quartz and Moonlight’s stable around midnight. I smiled at the irony.
Of course, my plan included my own escape—a more doubtful prospect. The next time Janco and I had a few minutes together, I would ask him to show me how to pick a lock. It was a skill I hadn’t needed before my apprentice year at the Magician’s Keep, but, by the way trouble kept finding me these past two seasons, my lack of knowledge could be fatal.
The Masters should add lock picking to the Keep’s curriculum, but then again it could backfire on them. The Keep’s cells were warded against any magical escape, but I didn’t know how they protected against mundane methods. Guess I would know the answer in time. I shuddered, thinking about how upset the Council would be when I finally returned.
My escort believed I was cold, and he wrapped my cloak around my shoulders. Nic joined us as we exited the station and walked across the street to the Councilor’s Hall. The white dome of the expansive building could be seen from most places in the city. Fulgor was the capital of the Moon Clan’s lands, and housed all the government and military buildings for the Clan. Constructed from white marble streaked with green veins, the walls reflected the early-morning sunlight.
Wedged between the two guards, I could only glance at the quiet streets before we entered the Hall. There my companions handed me over to the Hall’s guards.
The lobby’s black-and-white tiles reminded me of a huge chessboard. I marveled at the glass chandelier hanging down from the dome high above the lobby.
Even though I had seen it before, the chandelier’s delicate ice-blue panels and snowflake pattern still awed me. And Gressa had designed and crafted the piece when she was only fifteen. Unfortunately, her ego matched her talent.
My new attendants led me up the grand staircase to the first floor and down a long hallway that ended in ornate double doors guarded by two soldiers. They opened the door without uttering a word and ushered us into a huge reception room. Padded leather armchairs lined the walls, books rested on dark mahogany tables and a vast ebony desk filled the center and almost blocked the door on the far wall. My boots sunk into the plush carpet and I worried about leaving dirt on the pale pink floral design.
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