Glass Collection: Storm Glass / Sea Glass / Spy Glass. Maria V. Snyder

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СКАЧАТЬ with the drug. My guilt flared, even though Yelena never blamed me, and she even admired the trick my kidnapper had used. I wish I could say the same for my Keep colleagues.

      You can’t let the past ruin your future, I chanted over in my mind. Yelena’s words made perfect sense, yet I couldn’t force my heart to believe them.

      She gestured to the ambushers. I understood and treated each dart with the drug then jabbed each attacker in the arm. After waiting ten seconds, Zitora relaxed. She lowered her arms and the four bandits slumped to the ground.

      Appearing as if her bones had melted, she dropped down to a sitting position. Her energy gone. I retrieved her water flask and a few baka leaves, handing them to her.

      “Thanks.” She chewed for a while, lost in thought.

      The leaves revived her somewhat, but she remained sitting. Minutes passed. I fidgeted and wondered if I should put my weapons away.

      Instead, I checked the horses and fed them. My hands trembled and I blamed the heavy feed bags for the shaking. Quartz rubbed her face on my arm in a comforting gesture.

      Eventually Zitora joined me. She hunched over and moved as if afraid of falling. “We should go.”

      “What about them?” I asked.

      She smiled. “And here they were, all prepared for a fight. No time to properly interrogate them.” She rummaged in her saddlebags, uncovered the glass unicorn I had made for her and rested it in the palm of her hand.

      The core glowed with an inner fire as it sang to me. The vibrations from its tune hummed deep within my soul. It brightened and quieted when Zitora stared at the unicorn, communicating with another magician. What did Master Bloodgood call them? Glass messengers? Interesting.

      Finally she said, “Irys will contact the magician stationed in Thunder Valley. He’ll inform the Stormdance’s soldiers. They’ll send a cleanup crew. Irys wasn’t happy about the attack. She plans to personally interrogate them when they’re in custody.”

      Considering they were going to kill us, they deserved to be interviewed by Master Jewelrose. The morning’s events filtered through my mind and snagged on one question. “Zitora, why did you let them ambush us? You had to know they were coming. Right?”

      A hint of mischievousness sparked in her tired eyes. “I knew. I wanted to see what they were after. My mind reading skills are limited. I knew they intended to accost us, but not why. And I can’t hold them physically and examine them mentally. That’s beyond my powers. Irys could do both, but probably not to all four.” She considered. “A calculated risk, but it worked.”

      “No thanks to me,” I murmured.

      “Did another block that sword thrust? Funny, I didn’t see him. Guess I was too busy using magic to notice.”

      “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. You’re ruining my image of you as the sweet Master.”

      “Good. Now go take the masks off and examine our attackers’ faces.”

      “Why?”

      “In case they escape. You’ll be able to identify them.”

      “They could escape?” An alarming thought.

      “Nothing’s impossible, Opal. You should know that by now.”

      True. I thought about how Yelena had managed to escape after being paralyzed with Curare, a seemingly impossible situation. So why hadn’t I been able to escape the same woman? Twelve days she held me, but I wasn’t Yelena. Not as smart or as brave. By the end of my ordeal, I had been willing to do anything for Alea. Even pricking Yelena with Curare. Although I wondered, if faced with the same situation now, would I react the same? Did being older and wiser make me braver?

      Painful memories threatened to overwhelm me. I bit my lip and focused on the task at hand, identifying our attackers. I pulled their masks off one by one revealing three men and one woman. I studied their features, committing them to memory, sculpting their profiles in my mind. I wondered if I could fashion glass statues to resemble people instead of animals. An interesting and appealing prospect that would have to wait until we returned home.

      Blue Eyes stared at me with cold calculation. Long strands of black hair had sprung from his single braid. I stayed out of reach even though I knew he couldn’t move. The drug only allowed a person to breathe, swallow and hear.

      Clean shaven. No wrinkles lined his ginger-colored skin. I guessed he was in his early twenties. My attention kept returning to his diamond-shaped eyes fringed with thick lashes. I forced myself to search for distinctive features. He had a strong nose and an inch-long scar on his throat below his left ear.

      When I returned to Zitora and the horses, my back stung as if Blue Eyes had the power to burn a hole right through my cloak and skin.

      “Should we wait for the guards?” I asked Zitora when she mounted Sudi.

      “No time. Don’t worry, they’re not going anywhere.”

      “What about predators?” A strange prickle crawled along my spine. It felt as if Blue Eyes’ gaze had transformed into a spider clinging to the skin on my back, and that no matter how far I traveled, I wouldn’t be able to lose the spider.

      “If I loop a protective net around them, will you feel better?”

      “Yes.”

      She guided her horse closer to the prone forms. Her brow creased and I guessed she pulled a thread of magic from the power source blanketing the world. Only magicians could tap into this power. When I worked with molten glass, I could draw magic from the source, but couldn’t replicate the action without being in “glass mode.”

      I ignored the spike of envy. Zitora looped a protective strand around the paralyzed people and then connected it back to the power source so it remained in place. Or, at least, that was what she told me she had done. My awareness of magic was only through the glass. I couldn’t see or touch or smell it.

      The protection would guide an animal past the site without incident, but a human would break the net.

      “What happens if one of the Stormdance Clan members stumbles on them? Or worse, if one of their colleagues is waiting for us to leave to help them?” I asked.

      “No one lives on The Flats. And I can’t sense anyone nearby. What is really worrying you?”

      I couldn’t pinpoint the reason for my unease.

      “Perhaps you’re still upset over the attack.”

      “Perhaps.”

      But as we rode away, the spider of doubt burrowed deep under my skin. If I chased my thoughts to the depths of my memories, I might match the anxious feeling to the incident over four years ago when I helped Yelena capture those malevolent souls. Match it to the fact that I heard their voices calling to me in my dreams from time to time.

      Which is why I wouldn’t contemplate those feelings—pure imagination on my part. I hoped.

      4

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