Her heart thudded. She focused on the towel in her hands. “No.”

“That’s a surprise. Unless you and Zethan...”

“No.” Heli met his gaze. “He’s not my type.”

“Really? He’s a good-looking guy—a young Valek.” A pause. “What is your type?”

Heli considered. No one had ever asked her before. Everyone just assumed she’d eventually get married and have Stormdancer babies. Was he just making conversation, or was he interested in the answer? Her pulse sped up. “Zohav would be more my type if she wasn’t so sour all the time.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

“Oh.” Ahir clutched the pot to his chest. He blinked a few times, as if it helped him sort her comment into its proper pile, like the silverware. “She’s pretty, but you’re right. She’s far too serious.”

Heli relaxed. She knew of a few other same-sex couples, and most people were accepting, but there were always a handful who found the idea to be objectionable, so she’d never told anyone before. Not like she had any time to date anyway.

“You want me to keep it between us?” Ahir asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t gossip about me. But if someone asks, don’t lie. It’s not a secret.”

“All right.” Then he laughed. “I advise patience with my mother. She thinks she’s a matchmaker and will try to hook you up. If you want her to find you a match, just tell her your type, and she’ll try to find you a heart mate.”

Heli grinned. “Did she send you in here?”

“No. I volunteered.” He held up a pot. “Don’t worry. I wanted to ask you about Kade in private. However, my mother thinks otherwise, so when she starts singing my praises to you, just know that they’re all true.”

“Your modesty is staggering.”

He mock-bowed. “That’s me. Actually, I’m looking forward to hearing what she says. I haven’t done anything remarkable. Not like Opal and Mara.”

She wished to reassure him, but she didn’t know him well enough to do so. They finished putting away the pots and joined the others in the living area.

Zethan sprawled on the couch with a hand pressed to his stomach. He groaned. “That was the best meal ever. I’m stuffed to the gills and will never eat again.”

Vyncenza leaned forward. “There’s still a slice of cherry pie left.”

Zethan hopped to his feet. “Mine.”

* * *

After two days of eating, resting and more eating, Heli grew bored. Teegan had given them a tour of the glass factory. Helen’s little kiln at the coast looked like a toy compared to the massive machinery and quantity of equipment needed to run eight kilns. Not to mention the number of workers scurrying about. Intrigued by the scale of the operation, Heli followed Ahir and Jaymes into the building on the third morning, hoping she could lend a hand.

The hot air pressed against her like a physical force as the kilns roared in her ears. Without thinking, she used her magic and pulled the moisture from the heat. It condensed into tiny water droplets, which she blew out the door with a light wind. The temperature in the factory dropped twenty degrees.

All the workers paused and stared at her. Oops. “Sorry, I...”

“That was amazing,” Jaymes said. “Will it last?”

“Until the heat from the kilns builds up again.” Glass melted at twenty-one hundred degrees, so it wouldn’t take long.

“Too bad.”

“What are you doing during the hot season?” Ahir joked.

Jaymes showed Heli how to gather a slug of molten glass from the kiln, spinning it onto a metal rod called a pontil iron so she could help the glassmakers who sat at their gaffers’ benches crafting bowls, vases, goblets and decorative statues. It was hot, tiring work, but she enjoyed being useful. At the end of the day, Ahir taught her how to shape a ball of glass into a flower by using a pair of large metal tweezers.

He inspected her daisy. “Not bad for a first effort.”

“How do you get it off the iron?” she asked. Helen usually had all the glass orbs ready by the time Heli arrived.

“You put in a jack line, like so.” He spun the pontil iron on the bench as he pressed another metal tool into the soft glass, carving a groove. Ahir then carried the rod over to a box filled with sponges. Tapping the pontil with the end of the tool, the daisy cracked off right at the line and fell into the box. “Now we have to wait until it cools.”

“I can cool it.” The air was unstable and easy to push with her magic. A breeze sprang to life.

“No, don’t.” Ahir made a stopping motion. “If it cools too fast, it will crack. Instead, we’ll put it in an annealing oven to cool slowly.” He donned a pair of heat-resistant gloves and carried the daisy to a metal cabinet. A few other pieces were already inside. “It’ll be ready tomorrow.”

“Working with glass takes a lot of patience.”

“And skill. These glassmakers—” he gestured at the empty benches “—they make it look easy, but they’ve spent thousands of hours to get to that point.”

It was difficult to imagine working that hard. Her ability to connect with the weather and harvest storms had always been a natural extension of her. Sure, it took some practice to funnel the energy into the glass orbs, but no longer than a couple hours.

* * *

A brisk wind blew the next morning, and a sheet of dark clouds threatened rain. Jaymes muttered about the weather at breakfast.