Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten, containing the desire to send one of my spiders to bite him.

Skippy hadn’t said much during our trip, preferring to sit at the edges of our conversation as if he wanted to distance himself from us common folk. His snide comments still aimed to provoke me. I remembered his remark after the test about not being able to annoy me enough to lash out at him. Perhaps the Council had ordered him to continue his unpleasant behavior.

“You’re showing your ignorance about glassmaking and storm-dancing,” I said to Skippy. “We’ll need to wait for a storm to make sure the orbs have been properly made before we can leave.”

His gaze shot to the sky again, giving me an idea.

“And it needs to be a big storm.” I threw my arms wide. “One that produces giant waves and howling winds. Where the seawater crashes into The Cliffs and we have to evacuate up to the storm cave.”

The color in his face whitened with each sentence, leaving behind a pale mask of fear. “What about the horses?”

“We let them loose on the beach. Beryl can swim, can’t she?” I asked.

“Swim? I don’t know.” He laced and unlaced his fingers. “Is that a Sandseed-breed skill?”

At this point, Leif lost it. He laughed so hard tears flooded his cheeks. “Some…magician,” he said between gulps. “Can’t…even tell…when she’s…pulling your leg.”

Skippy snapped his mouth shut and glared at Leif. The color rushed back, pooling in a bright red flush on Skippy’s cheeks.

“It’s hard to be rational when you’re afraid,” I said in Skippy’s defense, feeling bad about teasing him.

“You should know. You’re the expert on being irrational and afraid,” Skippy said.

“What do you mean?” I stepped closer to him.

“How rational were you when you stole those magicians’ magic? How logical were you when your own boyfriend managed to confuse you so bad, you still believe he’s a Daviian Warper in disguise?”

I drew my arm back, preparing to punch him. It wouldn’t be a sucker punch. Oh no. I wanted him to know my intentions.

“That’s enough.” Leif wedged himself between us. “Let’s finish our shopping.” He hooked his arm around mine.

I fumed in silence as we searched for a jerky vendor. Weaving through the stalls, I scanned the tables of goods. Leif spotted a smoky pit and hurried off. Skippy stayed with me.

Sparks of sunlight drew me to a stand selling glassware. The colored drinking glasses and bowls had a simple yet elegant design. They appeared sturdy and functional, too.

The stand’s owner noticed my interest. I peered at the woman, remembering when I had been falsely accused of theft and arrested. She wasn’t the same woman who had helped frame me.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the owner asked. “Just two silvers each. Perfect for newlyweds.”

I laughed as Skippy stiffened. She probably thought he was being protective instead of wary.

“Here…” She handed me a plate. “Feel how light they are. And they’re all handcrafted.”

Tiny silver diamond shapes decorated the blue-green glass. “Isn’t all glass handcrafted?” I asked.

She pulled her long brown hair behind her shoulders with a dismissive flick. “No. A few factories have molds now. They just pour in the molten glass and wait. It’s cheating.” The woman’s hands moved as she talked.

“You’re the artist,” I said.

She nodded. “Which is why I can guarantee they’re genuine.”

“Do you have any vases or sculptures?”

“Yes, but they don’t sell as well. The local customers are usually looking for practical.” She rummaged under her table and pulled out several vases, then disappeared again. Muffled sounds emanated from below.

I reached for a red bud vase, but Skippy laid a hand on my arm.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Do you really think I’m going to do something?”

He hesitated, then released his grip. I picked the vase up and examined it. The thin neck widened into a series of three round shapes as if they were beads on a necklace. She would have had to blow into the glass, then pinch it tight with her jacks before blowing again. Well crafted but still under my fingers—no magical potential.

“Skippy, lift the null shield,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“So I can siphon all your magic.” When he flinched, I wanted to punch him again. “So I can assess her skills. She might be a prospective glass magician.”

“Oh.”

The glass throbbed, waiting for me. I concentrated on the vase. It didn’t pop like Ulrick’s. The woman reappeared with her hair mussed and dirt on her tunic. She placed a small crate on the table and opened the lid.

Skippy jerked when she unwrapped a bundle, revealing a miniature person. I almost dropped the vase. She set the statue down and dug in her crate for another. With care, I picked the girl up. The exquisite and exact details made the piece lifelike as if the young girl would hop with glee. Created with colored glass, the four-inch-high statue was a true work of art.

The glassmaker lined up six more people. She sighed. “I can’t sell these.”

“Why not? They’re gorgeous.” I passed the girl to Skippy and examined a swordsman.

“They’re expensive. In order to be compensated for my time and the materials, I need to sell them for half a gold each. Most folks around here can’t afford to spend that much on trinkets.”