“Do you know who made the vase?”

“I’m not telling you! You’ll go right to the glassmaker, undercut my business. Eight and a half silvers. Final offer.”

“Six,” I countered.

“Seven.”

“Deal.”

The woman muttered under her breath as she wrapped the vase and snatched my money. I hoped to find the artist and the best way would be to show the vase around to see if anyone knew who made it.

The woman handed me the package. I could no longer feel the pops through the thick wrapping. Even so, I felt certain the glassmaker was in the market. I hurried toward the east side positive I would find him.

A column of gray smoke rising in the distance must be from a kiln, I decided. The hot smell of molten glass drew me on until I passed through the market and followed a narrow cobblestone street. Convinced I would find the artist working in one of these abandoned warehouses, I peered through all the windows.

One of the buildings had collapsed and covered the road, creating a dead end. When I reached the rubble, all signs of a kiln disappeared. And my conviction fled. The air smelled of excrement and garbage.

I turned to go back.

A man blocked my way.

He held a sword.

Blue Eyes.

8

BLUE EYES. But he should be incarcerated in the Thunder Valley jail with the other ambushers.

Yet there he stood. His blade poised for trouble.

I labored to keep my breathing steady. The collapsed building behind me prevented any chance to run away. In fact, the whole alley was quite deserted. A place I would normally avoid. I must have been tricked by magic. His sword was not his only weapon.

Setting my package out of the way, I pulled my sais from their sheaths, and slid my legs into a defensive position, turning my hips and feet to the right side so I made a thinner target.