“Family emergencies,” Mary said. “Messages can be sent to family members to return home.”

“Suppliers!” Steven said.

“Explain,” Dax urged.

Steven pulled on the brown hairs growing from the bottom of his chin. “A person could order supplies through the relay stations instead of traveling to another city to buy them.”

“Or,” Chelsi said, “factories could collect orders first before manufacturing goods.” Her curls bounced with her enthusiasm.

“Criminals could be caught faster,” Rebekah said. “Information about them could be sent to all the towns and all the guards could be searching for them.”

“Already happening.” The words slipped from my lips without thought.

She spun on me. “How do you know? You just make them. You don’t decide what the Council does with them.”

Dax answered for me. “For special circumstances, the stations are used for distributing information. However, that could become the norm for all criminals.”

He continued with a list of other possible uses, but my mind had snagged on Rebekah’s comment for two reasons. One, the students didn’t know about my defying the Council’s order. Amazing, considering how fast gossip and speculation shot through the Keep’s campus.

And Rebekah made an excellent point. I wasn’t involved with the decision-making process for how to use my glass messengers. Why not? A faint memory of Zitora mentioning the committee rose to the surface of my mind. At the time, I had no interest in being a part of it, trusting the Council to decide. Another mistake.

Dax’s voice interrupted my musings. “Think about how these stations will affect society.” He held up three long fingers. “Give me three changes we will see.”

“They will eliminate the need for long-distance messengers,” Steven said. “People will lose their jobs.”

Chelsi agreed. “Less travel means the demand for horses will drop.”

“But,” Rebekah said, “the need for caravans will increase.”

“Explain.” Dax kept one finger raised.

“If it is easier and quicker to order goods, then more merchants will place orders for merchandise from factories all over Sitia and the items will need to be delivered.”

“The demand for horses would increase then and all those out-of-work messengers can get employment from the caravan owners,” Mary said.

“Good. Do you think the government should charge people to use the relay stations?” Dax asked.

The answer was unanimous.

“Of course,” Steven said. “The stations cost money to run, and you have to pay the magician.”

Another snagged thought. The stations didn’t have to pay for the glass.

“You’ve all been focused on business and commerce. How do you think the stations will affect Sitians?” Dax asked.

Chelsi jumped in. “Arguments over priority. Some people always think their message is more important than everybody else’s.”

“Arguments over the cost. I’m sure someone will argue emergencies should be free,” Mary said.

“I’d bet a few wealthy business owners would want their own station. Pay for all the costs so they could use them anytime they wanted.”

“Ahhh…. Now you’re thinking.” Dax beamed at Rebekah.

“Which creates another problem. Anyone?” When no one spoke, Dax looked at me. “Opal, you’ve been too quiet. What do you think will be the biggest problem?”

“Supply.”

“Explain.”

“As the uses for the glass…messengers increases, demand will increase. However, the supply is limited.”

“Exactly!” Dax shouted.

He kept the debate going, but my mind filled with a horrible vision. I saw myself twenty years in the future, working at a huge glass factory. Workers crafted glass messengers and I made an endless circuit, blowing magic into each one, creating hundreds a day. Since society couldn’t function without my glass messengers, I couldn’t leave for fear I would be hurt or killed, and would spend the rest of my life imprisoned in the factory.

11

“OPAL?” DAX’S SOFT VOICE HELD CONCERN.

I glanced up. The other students had left. “Sorry.” I grabbed my books and stood.

“I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“Not at all,” I lied. “You just gave me a lot to think about.”

“Good. You’re in a unique position. You should be considering all the possibilities. This extends beyond the Keep and the Council.”

His words haunted me throughout dinner. My future vision wouldn’t dissipate no matter how hard I tried to focus on another topic or memory or my food. What would happen if I stopped making my glass now before it became ingrained in society?

Could the Council force me? Of course. All they needed to do was threaten harm to my family or Kade or threaten to invite Devlen to help change my mind. Would the Council stoop to such measures? If they believed it was vital to society, I guessed they would.

I arrived at Master Bloodgood’s office at the appointed hour. Worry gnawed on my ribs like a hungry tree leopard. He called me in before I even knocked.

“Please sit down.” First Magician sat behind his desk, all traces of a friendly grandfather gone. He studied me as if I were prey. “How were your classes?”

I wouldn’t play this game. Not anymore. “Master Bloodgood, please don’t pretend. Do me the honor of acknowledging the fact you already know how my classes went and everything I did and said today.” Suicide. I braced for his reply.