Tris had used shawls to make a nest for Chime by the window, but when morning came, she turned over in bed and felt a glass corner poke her right eye. She opened the left: the cause of her discomfort was Chime s tail. The rest of the glass dragon was draped over an extra pillow, just as Little Bear sprawled over her feet. Tris grumbled and gently moved Chimes tail, then got up to begin her morning clean-up. At least she didn t have to worry about feeding her starling, Shriek. After four years of screaming at her the moment she woke up, Shriek had joined a flock of Hataran starlings when she and Nik o passed through that country. Tris, secretly a romantic, told herself that a particularly comely lady starling must have caught her birds eye. She never let on to anyone that she missed the speckled bird s chatter any more than she admitted to missing Sandry, Daja, or Briar.

Screams in the kitchen and Little Bear s deep-throated barks interrupted Tris as she made her bed. She raced downstairs. The maid was in

hysterics, having discovered what she called monster- Chime - in the honeypot. Little Bear h ad already decided Chime was family. He stood between the maid and the glass dragon, barking a warning. The cook scolded the girl for being upset while Tris ordered Little Bear outside. Together Tris and the cook managed to get Chime clean. By the time sh e was free of honey, the glass dragon had begun to produce flames like bits of honey glass.

I keep some?asked the cook. re so pretty.

Tris, glad to find a way to calm the servants, shared out the flames with the cook, the housekeeper and even the trembling maid, then went to finish straightening her room. She hated to let others do housework, but looking after her own room and the workroom that Tris shared with Niko was all Jumshida s staff would permit her to do. After a light breakfast, she made a shawl into a sling, tucked Chime into it, then set off for Touchstone Glass with her dog at her heels. She would check on Kethlun as she had promised Niko, then explore more of the city s glass shops.

She had almost reached Touchstone when the flare of magic caught her eye. Three priests, two in white tunics, one in a

kyten, all in white head-veils and complex red stoles that marked them as servants of Tharios s All-Seeing God, stood where an alley opened on to the Street of Glass. One priest wielded a censer of smoking incense: cypress, Triss nose told her, with myrtle, cedar and clove cypress for death, myrtle for peace, clove for protection, cedar for purification. A white candle burned between the priests on the ground. The female priest carried a basket full of them. The third priest was the mage. Power flowed from his moving hands and lips to sink into the ground under the candle.

s going on? Tris asked the stocky older man who leaned against the open door of Touchstone.

man dropped dead there last night, the Tharian replied. He was plump and grey-haired, light-skinned for a Tharian, with small, sharp, brown eyes and a chunky nose. He wore a pale blue tunic. His shopkeepers short, dark green stole lay over his shoulders, its ends han ging even with the hem of his tunic. the

prathmun collect the remains and scrub the site, the priests must cleanse the area of all taint of, well, death. No one here may do business until then.

Dies,Tris pointed out, watching as the ai r between the three priests turned magic-white. you also cleanse for dead animals and insects?

The shopkeeper shrugged. are a

shenos. You re not used to our ways. The death of humans, the highest form of life, clings to all that it touches. It must be cleansed, or everyone who comes near will be polluted.

The priests turned their backs on the space they had just cleansed. As one they clapped their hands three times, then walked off. It was neatly and precisely done, with the deftness of long practice.

Thank heavens the

prathmun were here first thing, remarked the shopkeeper. they dont come until late in the day. The place cant be cleansed until the remains are gone, and we cant open our doors until the cleansing is done. Lucky for us the district prathmun are reliable, as their kind go.

Tris wiped her forehead on her sleeve to hide her scowl. Of all the peculiar foreign customs she had encountered since travelling south with Niko, she wasnt sure which she disliked more: the creation of the

prathmun class, or the need to ritually cleanse anything touched by death. Tris thought the treatment of prathmun was cruel and the pollution of death stupid. Thinking about it called on every speck of control over her temper that she had.

A good day, the man said. He started to open the shutters on his shop. Tris, remembering why she had come, said,

Koris. . .She didnt know the mans name.

Tinas,the shopkeeper informed her and bowed.

Tinas,Tris said, with a polite bow in reply. m here to see a man who works for you, Kethlun Warder.

s not in just now,Antonou replied. m not - Hakkois hammer, he whispered, calling on the Living Circles god of smiths and glassmakers, is

That! He pointed to Triss bosom.

Tris glanced down. A small, clear glass muzzle with hair-fine whiskers stuck out of the shawl as Chime peered up at her. The girl smiled and tickled the dragons chin with a gentle finger. is why I need to talk to Koris Warder,she explained.

my fires never die,murmured the older man. in,

Koria -?

replied Tris, following Antonou into the shop. It was a relief to get out of the sun, even with her usual cocoon of breezes wrapped around her. Chandler.

sit down,

Koria Chandler, Antonou urged, indicating a chair. This shop was meant for customers, unlike the workroom at the back. The floors and counter-tops were covered with pale tiles in cream or beige to best display the glassware. Arra nged neatly on shelves throughout the room were plates, bowls, vases, figures, bottles of every imaginable size, even pendants and ear and hair ornaments.