A week later, Mikko and I are seated at his kitchen table, devouring freshly baked oat muffins that Kirsi prepared for us. I slather on a thick slab of apple butter and hum in satisfaction as I bite into the warm, savory treat.

“Mm. Might move back for the food.”

Mikko shudders. “Ugh! My worst nightmare. Mom’s been making just as much food as she did when you were still living here, but I get to eat double without you. It’s awesome.”

“I won’t rat you out as long as you share the goods now and then,” I tease. “Least you can do for your poor, starving brother.”

“Fine, I’ll bring you a gift basket,” Mikko promises. “Now, stop thinking with your stomach and start thinking with your wallet. Prices have gone way up since we finished working for ole Garman. Let’s hear your best schemes. How we gonna get rich?”

I open my scuffed leather satchel, pull out my notebook, and rip out a page. I slide the paper over to my brother, hand him a pen, and gesture toward the blank page. “Five minutes. Jot down everything you got. We’ll see whose ideas bring in the most money. Loser buys the winner drinks at the pub.”

“Deal! I want a flagon of mead.”

I flip over a tiny hourglass filled with sand to signal the start of the five-minute challenge, and we bend our heads over our sheets and scratch out our plans. Every few bites, I pause to furiously write down new ideas for how we can afford a top-tier [Enchanter] to enable the Iron Lunk to move. We thought we had the funds covered, but the last quote Mikko got back from the capital was almost twice what we’d budgeted.

The longer my list grows, the less and less likely the proposals become, but I don’t have time to wait for inspiration to strike. Five minutes goes by in a flash, and the last grains of sand trickle out before I’m ready to give up. Conceding isn’t in my nature, but a bet is a bet. I sigh, set down the pen on the table, and push the paper away from me.

“Time! Here ya go.”

“You look glum, Nuri,” Mikko says. “Guess I’m gonna win again.”

Rereading my ideas, I laugh quietly at my flights of fancy, but the mirth dies on my lips as I realize how ridiculous they sound. We need sound investments. Options look bleak now that I’ve finished the Grotto and follow-up projects. Other than the occasional bespoke piece for Lord Garman, the work I’ve done lately is too basic to be highly profitable.

I need to find a new way to build income. My salary from the glassworks is plenty for my room and board, but not for special projects like the Iron Lunk. Who knows what else will catch my interest in the future? Better to be prepared, just in case.

At least Lionel’s Aunt, Althea, cleared me for further mana work. She’s not technically an arcane healer, but she assures me that gentle, persistent mana use is known to reinforce Skills.

If we see another attack like the Shadow Jaguars, or a disaster like a Rift opening, then I might need to outfit myself with weapons. I could technically carry around Hellfire and Brimstone if necessary, but the glass swords my father left me are far too sharp to risk a training accident. I’m not well trained with swordplay, and Ember loves them. The way they glitter with their own internal fire reminds me of her name.

Besides, I want to make my own weapons someday. I’ll never reach the pinnacle if I rely on other people’s work to get me there.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Mikko picks up my paper. He coughs to clear his throat, and reads the list aloud in his most sophisticated voice.

Do window work for Silaraon Convince Lord Garman to buy a commission for each room in his summer house Host a competition between the two glass sister studios; raise funds from the community to reward the winners Sell off my father’s glass swords (never happening! Stop it, Nuri) Delve a Rift and find rare monster parts to sell to the Silaraon City Academy

I’m back to laughing by the end. “All right, fine. You’ve probably got this one wrapped up. Guess I better make good on our deal and get you an entire flagon of mead next time we’re at the pub.”

He’s never going to let me hear the end of this one. Let’s hope he wins fair and square, though. That would mean his ideas are useful. I tap the table to get my brother’s attention, since he’s staring out the window with a dreamy expression. Probably daydreaming about his mead already.

Mikko looks up, smirking at me, which means he’s feeling confident. “You ready for this? Sure you can handle my level of genius?”

I nod. “Whatcha got, Ko?”

“Take a look,” he says, spinning his own sheet of paper to show me his short list, written in his trademark bold handwriting. He’s underlined the final entry. “Pretty much nailed it.”

Make awesome armor Advertise it to the Royal Army ???? Profit

“No doubt we’ll be rich,” I deadpan.

“No doubt,” Mikko chuckles.

“Guess my money’s safe. You’ll have to buy me a mug, not the other way around. That’s what I get for trusting you to come up with an actual plan. It’s debatable who has a better head for business, you or the training dummy we’re designing.”

Mikko laughs at the affectionate insults and shakes his head. “Nah, mine’s the best for sure. Yeah, fine, you’ve got more fleshed out ideas, but just watch. I’ll pull it off.”

“Maybe we can come up with a combination of the two lists,” I say with a grin. “I’ll admit the first line has promise. What kind of armor do you have in mind?”

“Honestly? Not sure. I’ve never made actual plate before. Maybe I’ll start with a helmet or a shield. Something simple.”

“Will that sell?”

Mikko shrugs his big shoulders. “Not for the kind of money we’ll need, based on the way prices are shooting up. If I use mana-infused metal, then it will be stronger than anything short of an enchanted set of armor, though. Not many [Blacksmiths] can work it, unless they have a strength-enhancing Skill.”

“Mana-infused? Sounds expensive.”

Mikko winces. “Very.”

I scratch the back of my head, mulling over the problem. “Ko, your boss is pretty relaxed, right? Will Aatos front the investment costs in exchange for a cut of the profits?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Master Aatos is pretty picky about that sort of thing,” Mikko says, tapping his big, sausage-like fingers on the table. “Gotta prove myself first. That means prototyping the armor, which means buying a small amount of mana-infused steel. Worth the gamble?”

I finish my last bite of muffin, chewing slowly while I consider the risks involved. “If you’re not able to pull it off, then we’ve cut into a big chunk of our savings. But I think you should do it, anyway. If you succeed, then you can start taking more expensive orders.”

“All right. Then get to it.”

I push the platter of food toward my brother, whose eyes light up at the prospect of more muffins. “Hey, I know you don’t like fiddling with detail work, but maybe filigree on the edges, or a custom crest, will appeal to a nobleman.”

Mikko stuffs an entire muffin into his mouth, chews three or four times, and swallows the whole thing. He washes it down with a mug of cider, then lets out a loud burp. “Uh, maybe. Lord Garman’s our only noble client, though. He doesn’t seem like much of a fighter.”

“Maybe he can talk with a friend of his. His [Chamberlain] seems pretty well connected. I’ll bet he knows someone. He’s always sniffing around town for exotic decorations and deals.”

“Sounds like you volunteered yourself to go talk with him,” Mikko says, grinning. “You’ve always been better at that sort of thing than I am.”

“I wonder why,” I reply flatly.

“Silver-tongued, y’know?”

“You’re just too lazy to go to Lord Garman’s estates,” I grumble, but we both know that I prefer to do the talking. Mikko’s more of a hit things hard kind of guy. Smooth talking and going over numbers isn’t exactly his forte, although he can do it if he has to.

Mikko picks up another muffin. “Thanks, bro. Let me know how it turns out. I’ll stay here and take care of the baked goods. I don’t want Ma to think we’re neglecting her.”

I roll my eyes. “Truly, a noble sacrifice.”

“Thanks for noticing!” Mikko replies brightly, another muffin already in his mouth.

=+=

As we agreed, I wrap up my orders at the studio just after lunch the next afternoon, and take the rest of the day off with Ember’s blessing. A little over an hour later, after trudging halfway across the city, I approach Garman’s estates with a plan—and a desperate backup idea, just in case my original fails. I don’t have great confidence in my secondary course of action, though, so I’m counting on convincing the venerable Lord Garman to commission a bestiary.

“I’m not sure which room he’ll put it in, though,” I mutter to myself as I come to a halt outside his gates. The rest of his house is full of natural wonders from around Densmore: the Grotto was only the beginning, as we soon piled on with designs for waterfalls, canyons, and other crystal formations left over from the Rifts the [Mage]’s guild had closed.

Lord Garman had only drawn the line when his wife suggested we create a life size statue of Araon, saying it was a bit too large and didn’t fit the theme, not to mention that it was far too expensive.

A wry grin twitches at the edge of my lips. I think his real objection is that he doesn’t like the reminder that he lives out here in Silaraon, one of the many Borderlands towns that adopted Araon’s name as a suffix. Desperate to prove their loyalty after Araon the [Conqueror] rampaged across half the continent, expanding the country of Densmore to its current borders, the citizens changed their longstanding town and city names in his honor. Cities in the Central region have more traditional Densmoran titles—except for the capital, Modilaraon, which kicked off the trend.

Even if people don’t know where to find Silaraon on a map, the name itself is a dead giveaway that we’re a late addition to the empire, although four-hundred-something years hardly seems like a short time to me. Nonetheless, Lord Garman probably tries to avoid any reminders of his lowly station living so far from the capital.

“All right, Nuri. Enough stalling. Let’s do this,” I tell myself. I slap my cheeks lightly three times, working up my courage, and pull the rope attached to the gate bell.

Moments later, a [Servant] in the Garman livery slides open a narrow metal plate at head height. He peeks out from behind the mesh covering the opening. “Name and business?”

“Nuri, the glassworker Lord Garman hired a few months back for the Grotto. I’m here to see the [Chamberlain] about a follow-up commission.”

“Very good. Wait here, please.”

The rectangular steel plate slams shut. Faintly, I hear the patter of feet on the other side of the gate as the servant trots off to find the [Chamberlain], and I nod in relief. They didn’t reject me out of hand, even though I showed up without an appointment. That’s a good start.

Nearly half an hour goes by before I hear footsteps again, and soon I’m invited inside the grounds to meet with Garman’s right-hand man. Knowing how busy the [Chamberlain] can be in discharging his duties for Lord Garman, I’m actually flattered that I wasn’t told to come back the next day. To amuse myself, I practiced my mana manipulation with my glass training orbs, so it wasn’t a total waste of time waiting around.

‘Understated opulence’ is the term Lord Garman once used to describe his vision for his estates. Towering statues and gold-plated works of art line the walkway to the house, making me doubt that he truly knows the meaning of understated. As I’m ushered through the front door and into a drawing room, it dawns on me that I could probably triple my fees and Lord Garman would never notice the difference.

The door attendant seats me on a divan with the most elaborate textile pattern I’ve ever seen on the upholstery. He’s gone a moment later, slipping out so unobtrusively that it has to be a Skill at work. Idly, I wonder if [Servants] would make good spies or thieves, since they’re good at sneaking by unnoticed.

Moments later, the door opens soundlessly, and the [Chamberlain] sweeps through the doorway, gathering his cloak around himself to ward off an imaginary chill, even though Garman Estates is enchanted for temperature moderation all year. “Ah, the brilliant young [Assistant Glassworker], returned to oversee his domain! Here to propose your follow up works?”

I stand and offer a small bow in greeting, taking the friendliness as a good omen. “You saw right through me. I must be as transparent as glass.”

A faint smile ghosts across his face, there and gone again as quickly as it came. “Wit is a sign of excellent breeding, so I’m told.”

Unsure whether or not I should feel insulted—my glass jokes are hardly clever—I nod curtly in response. “Any chance Lord Garman might have follow up commissions? Designing a masterwork worthy of his collection has become something of an obsession for me.”

“That’s to your credit,” the [Chamberlain] replies. “We have no openings at this moment, however. What do you have in mind? Perhaps we’ll consider it in the future.”

Prepared for this question, I reach into my satchel and withdraw a stack of sketches for his perusal. I hand them over and explain how they’ll all connect. “I was thinking of putting glass animals on display. Imagine an entire bestiary powered by mana crystals, moving around thanks to more of my brother’s gears.”

The [Chamberlain] frowns. “Hm. Not likely. We have neither young children to amuse nor visiting [Hunters] to impress. I’m afraid it’s entirely the wrong tone for the dignified yet convivial atmosphere that the esteemed Lord Garman is working to foster.”

I bow slightly to cover up my disappointment; the corners of my mouth are tugging down, and I barely stop myself from groaning. Instead, I manage to squeak out, “Thank you for your time.”

“I live to serve.” He smiles tightly and turns to go.

Before he can leave the room, I raise my hand to catch his attention. “Please forgive me for being so forward. If I may impose further, would you be so kind as to provide me with a referral to someone who may be more inclined to display the bestiary? Perhaps someone with rustic and vigorous pursuits—a [Hunter], as you mentioned earlier.”

He hesitates for an uncomfortable moment before nodding. “My cousin might have work for you. She’s a [Scribe] at Fort Amyntas, working in the Densmore Royal Army offices out here in the borderlands. The current [Commander] of the Irregulars stationed in Amyntas is a noted sportsman. He’s an expert in forestcraft and tracking, or so I’m told, and likes to show off his kills. I’ll draft a letter of introduction, but anything more falls outside the bounds of propriety. The rest is up to you. I am quite certain you’ll manage something. You’re an enterprising fellow.”

“I’m grateful for your assistance. Please, let me know if you need my services again, and I’ll ensure that you receive priority.”

“My pleasure,” the [Chamberlain] says, a glint in his eyes. By the time he gives me the letter and sends me on my way, I wonder if he’s gotten the better of me after all.

=+=

“Nuri! You’re back!” Ifran jumps up and down in his spot by the furnace, where he’s stoking the fire. The wood-burning furnace is enhanced with an enchantment to burn hotter than usual, but it still requires careful attention.

I grin at my former assistant’s excitement. “I told you that I’d check in on you! You still practicing what I showed you?”

“He’s working hard,” Bijan says.

“Glad to hear it!” I say, although I direct my words toward Ifran, who runs over to slap my outstretched hand before scurrying back to his work.

Bijan hands off his blowpipe to a new assistant I don’t recognize. He must be expanding. With a heavy sigh, the studio master wipes the sweat off his palms and fingers and comes over to shake my hand. We’ll never be friends, but I appreciate that he’s at least trying to act cordial today. “Looking for something? Busy season for us, so.”

His sentence trails off, but the meaning is clear. Perhaps he’s not as cordial as I thought. I force myself to smile. “Calix around?”

A sour expression flashes across Bijan’s face. “Come to steal one of my workers? Never content, are you?”

“Got an offer for you, actually. Commission work. I’ll share profits with Calix, and pay for a workbench. Ten percent more than usual studio fees, since it’s last minute.”

“Twenty-five,” Bijan grunts.

“Fifteen,” I counter, meeting his glare.

“Skip ahead to where you agree to do it for twenty,” the old [Gaffer] calls out. “Good to see you around again! Beard’s growing out nicely.”

“Twenty is fine,” I say as agreeably as I can. Considering I’m talking with Bijan, it’s not an award-winning bit of manners, but it will have to do.

“Thief,” Bijan mutters. He gestures toward an unoccupied workbench in the corner. “You can use that one. Calix won’t be free for another two days, though. Finishing up some windows before the cold snap hits.”

“Perfect. Ember’s got more for me to do this week, anyway,” I say, grinning widely when Bijan scowls at my news. He was clearly counting on delaying my plans. His pettiness knows no bounds.

“Whatcha making, anyway?”

“More animals, I hope!” Ifran pipes up from his station at the furnace. “I still have the little hedgehog you gave me. Sits on my nightstand and keeps me company at night if I get scared.”

I hide a smile, not wanting Ifran to feel bad about still being afraid of the dark. He’s about to enter his teen years, and he’s liable to get embarrassed easily if I draw attention to anything that makes him look younger than his age.

“More animals is right! Sure you didn’t take [Seer] as your new class?” I tease Ifran, who still hasn’t become an [Assistant] like we planned. I don’t think he lacks the Potential for magic, but he does seem like a late bloomer. That’s why I have such a soft spot in my heart for him. He reminds me of me when I was younger and more insecure.

“You actually sold someone on that idea?” Bijan says, surprise coloring his tone. He still hasn’t gone back to his work, much to my annoyance. I think I preferred when he antagonized me relentlessly.

“Yep. [Commander] Ryu over at Fort Amyntas wants to display miniature replicas of his biggest catches. He’s agreed to fill an entire spare room in the barracks. I’ll need gears to make the creatures move around a track. Predators chasing prey, with a figurine of the [Commander] in hot pursuit.”

“Heroic,” Bijan says, rolling his eyes.

I shrug. “That’s the Royal army for you.”

“Better them than me,” Bijan admits, which is as close as he’ll come to praising them. I’m not sure if he has personal history with the army, or if his eternal bad mood is congenital.

“Ifran!” Bijan bellows. “Go fetch Calix from the storeroom, lad. He should be done with combining his batch by now, anyway. Tell him to get back to work so that he doesn’t keep the Royal army waiting. Crossing them’s a bad idea.”

“Change your mind on those windows?” I ask, not able to resist needling Bijan.

Bijan looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Nope. You’re gonna help us finish. Tell Ember I pressed you into service. She can take it up with me if she doesn’t like it.”

“In that case, I’ll borrow the carriage to deliver the pieces when I finish, in lieu of pay for the window work. And I’m sleeping in the loft for the week. Only fair.”

“Do as you please. You always do anyway. Just don’t get underfoot,” Bijan says. His last barb delivered, he stalks back to his bench and takes the blowpipe from his assistant, turning his back to me and ending the conversation.

I grin and get to work with the windows. I’m faster than any of his workers at making the planes of glass perfectly flat, except for the old [Gaffer]. Most of the time, I’m slower since I only have [Heat Manipulation] in my arsenal, but it’s the perfect fit for this job. Since I don’t need to go back to the glory hole to reheat my glass, I can skip traditional methods like using rondelles or rolling the glass flat with a press.

Instead, I grab a blowpipe, collect a gather of glowing glass from the furnace, and blow to create an air pocket. As I spin the glass and continue blowing, it swells up like a giant balloon. Once I’ve reached a sufficient working size for the order—these windows are all fairly standard, thankfully—I bring the pipe over to a long, narrow hole in the floor and turn it to let the glass flow down away from me. I swing the pipe back and forth through the deep groove, stretching out the bulb until it’s a cylinder instead of a globe.

Deft, non-stop applications of [Heat Manipulation] keeps the glass at the perfect working temperature until I’m ready for the next step. Satisfied with my progress, I lift up the long tube of glass, which resembles a clear, empty sausage, and rest it on the marver. The curved end of the glass I position over a small metal bucket set aside for waste. I apply a ring of absolute cold just to the end of the glass, as well as a line of intent along the side of the window-in-progress.

Meticulously controlling the thermal shock functions just like a glass cutter. The bulbous cap at the end of the inflated glass drops into the bucket, and a perfectly straight line slices the length of the glass from stem to stern. I carry the blowpipe over to the annealer, place a second ring to cut off the gather from the pipe, and turn my attention to the cylinder of glass.

Increasing my heat, I use a set of treated wooden paddles to slowly unfold the tube until it’s a flat rectangle lying on top of the enchanted ceramic surface inside the annealer. When it’s done cooling, the window pane will be the most uniform of any in the shop. I’ve always taken a lot of pride in my control and consistency, and though it’s been a while since I’ve made a pane, my hard-won skills haven’t faded.

I rush back to the furnace and pick up another gather. No time for pride in the middle of the work day. We’ve got an order to fill, and the sooner I finish, the sooner I can get started on the flying horse I want to make. My body flows through practiced motions, and the hours pass by in a pleasant blur while my mind soars ahead to the craft to come.

Strictly speaking, the flying horse isn’t part of the commission, since the [Commander] is lacking imagination and only wants to include creatures he’s personally hunted. This one’s not for him, though. No, this fantastical beast is a present for my fine young friend Ifran, but I won’t tell him until the very end of my time in Peliharaon.

An irrepressible smile spreads across my face as I imagine his excited reaction. The gift will be all the more fun for the surprise. I’ll make a new glass animal for him each time I visit. In time, Ifran will boast of an even more impressive fragile bestiary than the [Commander] himself.

Maybe I’ll even be magnanimous and make extra for Bijan’s children. That draws a laugh from me, and I shake my head. Nah, let him make his children their own toys. I refocus on the window order, working while the furnace is hot. Glass waits for no man, and I have dreams to chase.