His reply had always been one word. Contamination. He didn’t want any of his experiments being contaminated by spilled ingredients. It would throw off all his results, he claimed. Contamination also included children with sticky hands and dirty clothes, but his rules hadn’t stopped Tula and me from sneaking in here on occasion. I remembered the one time we hid under his desk, shaking in fear of being discovered, which inevitably happened. Our punishment had been to clean his lab for a season. After that season, we never ventured in here again.

Father sat at his desk and gestured for us to sit in the two other chairs. “What’s so important?”

Zitora explained about the Stormdance sand and fragile orbs. We placed the samples onto his desk.

“You think one of these ingredients is bad?” my father asked, staring at me. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

I told him about the old orbs and the differences I noticed. “The new orbs aren’t as sturdy. Same thickness, just not as dense.” I handed him a shard of Indra’s orb.

He examined the glass and tapped it on his fingernails, listening to the clinking sound. “All right. I’ll work on these. See what I can find.” He sorted through his bowls. “Why don’t you go into the house? Mother will be thrilled to see you both.”

I stood. “Can I help?”

He looked at me in surprise. “It’s better if I do it myself.” He must have seen my disappointment, because he added, “Would you like to learn what I do here?”

“Yes.” I had always wanted to know more about glass, but I knew he preferred to work alone.

“Okay. When we have time, I’ll teach you.”

“Really?” My turn to be surprised.

He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for one of my children to show an interest. Ahir doesn’t have the patience and Mara…Mara is more interested in Leif than glass right now.”

We shared a laugh. Even though Mara had been pursued by every young man in the Cowan lands, only Yelena’s brother, Leif, had caught her attention. But since he was a powerful magician and worked at the Keep, they hardly had any time together. I wondered if Aydan still needed an apprentice. Mara could move to the Citadel and live near the Keep. She would be closer to Leif. And to me.

My humor leaked away. Back at the Keep, I knew no one missed me.

My mother worked in the kitchen. The delightful smell of bread stew permeated the air. Following the scent, I found my mother stirring a large pot. She greeted me with a peck on the cheek.

“Mara told me you were here. What took you so long? Your mother isn’t important enough to say hello to?”

I rushed to apologize. “We had—”

“Urgent business with Jaymes,” Zitora said.

Before she could lay on the guilt about not introducing her, I said, “Master Cowan, this is my mother, Vyncenza.”

My mother perked up at hearing Zitora’s title and launched into gracious host mode. “Opal, go get the good dishes from the cupboard and set the table. Use the fancy Jewelrose tablecloth, and make sure to put out enough silverware.” She clucked over my appearance. “Better get washed first and put on decent clothes!” She shooed me from the kitchen.

Her offers of every liquid beverage to Zitora reached me as I ascended the stairs. My mother wouldn’t be happy until the magician was seated with a drink and snack in hand.

The house had four bedrooms. Tula and I had shared a room. Only seven seasons apart in age, most who met us for the first time had thought we were twins. I entered the room. Tula’s grief flag hung suspended over her bed and I wondered how long Mother would keep it there.

Zitora and Yelena had sewn the white silk banner. They decorated it with animal shapes surrounding a single blade of grass with a drop of dew hanging from the tip. Honeysuckles were sewn along the border of the flag. It was a representation of Tula’s life and personality. A customary endeavor, making a flag for the deceased and flying it from the highest pole, to release the person’s soul to the sky. Then the flag was used to cover the soul’s most precious possessions in order to keep them from returning to earth to retrieve them. After a few years, most people removed the flag and gifted the items.

I had missed Tula’s flag-raising ceremony while a prisoner of Alea. Sitting on her bed, I ran my hand over the quilt. Last time I had seen my sister, she was in the Keep’s infirmary, recovering from being raped and tortured by Ferde Daviian. Alea—another one of those cursed Daviians—had promised Tula would live if I cooperated with her.

Curling up on Tula’s bed, I shuddered as a fresh wave of grief crashed into me. Alea had taken me to the Daviian Plateau, pricked me with Curare and left me paralyzed and alone for hours in her tent. And then he came.

No. I would not think about him.

I concentrated on Tula. My ordeal was nothing compared to hers. When I had finally been freed, I learned Ferde strangled her to death and stole her soul. Two weeks gone before I even knew about it. Two weeks a captive for nothing. She died anyway.

“Opal, are you done? The table won’t set itself,” my mother’s voice called.

I wiped tears from my cheeks as I hurried to wash and change. My thoughts turned to Kade’s grief over his sister, and I remembered thinking about how time would dull his pain. Which was true, but I had forgotten about the occasional knife of grief that stabbed you without warning.

I was mortified during most of dinner. Ahir and my mother were intent on telling embarrassing stories about me to Zitora. The Magician seemed to enjoy them and laughed, but I wanted to hide under the table.