“Oh?”

“Guy in there showed me the door faster than I could eat a slice of apple pie.”

“That is an impressive amount of speed,” Devlen agreed.

“And he smelled like black licorice.”

“Which you do not like.”

“Not at all.” He’d always hated it. The candy tasted of fear and deceit.

“Shall we go talk to him again?” Devlen asked.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

They entered the thick air. Five kilns roared, masking the sounds of the glassworkers who sat at benches and shaped the molten slugs of glass gathered onto the end of their pontil irons. Assistants scurried, fetching tools, cracking off pieces and filling the annealing ovens to cool the piping-hot glass slowly. The open windows did nothing to dispel the force of the heat.

The older man Leif had spoken with earlier directed the traffic, but once he spotted them he hustled over with a scowl. The spicy scent of red pepper burned the inside of Leif’s nostrils. Anger had replaced the man’s fear.

“Get out,” he shooed. “I’ve no time for your nonsense. I’ve orders to fill.”

“This will not take long.” Devlen projected his voice through the noise. “Your office.” When the man hesitated, he leaned closer and said, “Now.”

The man bolted for an open door to the left. Nice. And it’d been the reason Leif waited for Devlen before confronting the lying glassmaker. They followed close behind. Leif shut the door on the din.

The neat and utilitarian office lacked personality. No pictures hung on the walls. No decorative glass lined the shelves.

Devlen laid his square sample on the desk.

The glassmaker jabbed a finger at it. “I’ve told you—”

“Look again,” Leif said. “Closer this time.”

The man huffed with annoyance and picked it up, pretending to inspect the piece. A fog of black licorice almost gagged Leif. The man was terrified.

“The person who ordered those panels is no longer a threat,” Leif said in his most soothing tone, letting his magic mix with the words. “We’ve halted his operations and are in the process of determining how extensive it is.”

“We who?” he asked.

“Me, Leif Zaltana and my colleague, Devlen Sandseed.”

The man’s fear eased only a fraction. Leif would have been insulted, but unfortunately he’d dealt with Owen and understood just how much of a scary bastard the magician could be. And with the size of this operation, Owen couldn’t erase all the staff’s memories—too many people.

“Also the Sitian Council and the Master Magicians,” Leif added.

“Have you arrested him?” the man asked.

“Not yet. He’s on the run, but every city and town has been alerted and he’ll be caught soon.” Leif hoped.

“Then he remains a threat.”

“I’ll order the local security forces keep a close watch on you—”

“Not me. My family.”

Typical. At least Owen stayed consistent. “Your family, then.”

“And in exchange?”

“A list of locations where you delivered those special glass panels.”

The silence stretched and Leif sensed a variety of emotions. The bitter tang of fear dominated.

Finally, the man pulled open a drawer and rummaged through the files. He handed Leif a stack of papers. Leif scanned the pages and counted enough panels to construct at least ten glass houses. Delivery dates and locations had been written on the orders. The closest one was about a day’s ride west. The others were scattered north and east, up toward the Sunworth River.

“Can I keep these?” Leif asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I’ll inform Captain Ozma of the situation right away. We talked to her this morning and none of her forces have seen anyone matching Owen’s description in this area.”

The man’s relief smelled of sweet grass. “Good.”

They left and stopped by the security offices. Captain Ozma sent a detail to the glass factory to collect more information.

Leif studied the sky. “We won’t be able to reach the closest hothouse today, but, if we leave now, we can make it to the town of Marble Arch in time for supper.”

“Let me guess, there is an inn there that serves some type of delectable dish that you cannot find anywhere else.” Devlen’s tone rasped with smugness.

“Wrong, Mr. Know-It-All! It’s a tavern, not an inn.”

“A thousand apologies.”

“Can you say that again without the sarcasm?”

“No.”

They had stabled their horses in the guards’ barn. Devlen had picked a sturdy cream-colored horse with a dark brown mane and tail. She had lovely russet eyes and she watched Devlen’s every move. Leif had teased him that it was love at first sight. Devlen named her Sunfire, which was a heck of a lot better than Beach Bunny.

Mounting the horses, they headed east and, as predicted, they sat at a table in the corner of the Daily Grind tavern just in time for supper.

“Lots of stone carvers come here.” Leif explained the name to Devlen. “Marble and granite fill this whole area of the Moon Clan’s lands. These people earn their living either quarrying it from the ground or chiseling, shaping and grinding it for use.”

A server approached and Leif ordered without consulting Devlen. “Two ales and two extra-large portions of pit beef, please.”