Page 72 of Flame and Sparrow

I spun around to find Dravyn standing in the doorway. He looked a bit wild in the torchlight, his shirt half-unbuttoned and hanging loose, and his hair disheveled, as though he’d just returned from a hike through the hills of his territory.

And, for some reason, my heart started pounding as though I’d been hiking right alongside him.

“I…I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

He moved to the room’s only window, peering through the tall, skinny opening and up at the glowing orb that had faded to a pale shade of moonlight. “The forgelight is simulating the mortal realm’s day and night cycle well enough, isn’t it? I thought that would help.”

“It has been helping. Tonight is just…different. I’ve been busy thinking, trying to prepare myself for whatever lies ahead.”

“Understandable, I suppose.”

Talking about those trials wasn’t going to help calm me down, so I gestured to the figures around us and asked, “Did you make all of these, somehow?”

He nodded but didn’t elaborate immediately, instead moving to pick up the willow tree I’d been staring at. I held my breath as he did, certain his powerful hands would crush such a delicate thing without fail—even if those masterful hands had apparentlybeen the ones to shape it.

He studied it for a long moment. I thought he’d forgotten I’d asked him anything, until, without a word, he placed the tree back down and beckoned me to follow him to the other side of the room.

There were two more torches here, which he lit with a simple flick of his wrist, revealing a door I hadn’t noticed before. A small room lay on the other side, with what appeared to be an oven of some kind in the very center of it. He lit this oven as easily as he’d lit the torches. I drew closer, peering inside the deep well of it to see piles of what looked like broken glass and sand.

Dravyn wrapped his arm lightly around me, guiding me several steps back before he gave another flourish of his hand that caused the oven fire to build to a brighter, hotter temperature. The heat became so intense I automatically turned my face away, burying it against his chest.

Inhaling his smoky scent, wedged between the scorch of the oven and the powerful warmth he radiated, I felt myself briefly drifting closer to relaxation.

I stayed against him for longer than I meant to while he continued to manipulate the oven’s fire, my eyes growing heavy with sleep, until his hand absently caressed the small of my back, sending a not-unpleasant shiver spiraling through me.

I quickly stepped away.

He let me go without comment, already on to the next part of his demonstration; there were various tools hanging from a nearby rack—pliers, tongs, rods of all shapes and sizes. He gathered a few of these things and carried them toward the oven.

I watched, mesmerized, as he rolled up his sleeves and then took a rod with a ringed end and swept it carefully through the oven. When he pulled it from the heat, a glowing, red-hot glob of melted glass clung to the end. He carried this to a nearby metal table and rolled the molten material back and forth against the shiny surface, working it until he had a smooth, elongated sphere at the end of the rod. Then he lifted it, blew gently into the other end, and the glowing sphere began to expand.

Once the material was sufficiently expanded, he took a second metal pole—this one with a sharper tip—and began to shape the inflated glass, pulling and twisting with quick, expert motions.

After he had a general shape worked out, he made use of several more tools to pinch and smooth more precise details into the piece. The heat was intense even for the god of these things, apparently; his loose shirt revealed sweat glistening on his chest, and he occasionally had to pause and swipe his forehead dry of the beads collecting on it.

It was worth the heat and effort, though, because when he’d finished, what had started as a blob of molten glass had become an elegant creature rearing onto powerful hind legs; it looked like one of the golden selakir I’d seen galloping across the hills earlier.

I stepped closer, not caring about the stifling heat, focused only on getting a better look at this extraordinary creation.

“I’ve heard of this art, and read about it,” I said, “but I’ve never witnessed someone actually doing it.”

“It’s not that hard.” He paused, considering. “Would you like to try?”

I hesitated only a moment before nodding. I couldn’t resist; my love of learning and fascination with how things worked briefly overcame the disdain I felt for my teacher.

He removed his latest glass creation from the rod and carried it off to cool while I took a moment to familiarize myself with the tools before me. I touched nearly every one, picked them up, tested their weight, their sharpness, my ability to wield them.

I looked up minutes later and found Dravyn watching me as though he was trying to figure out how I worked as well—what sharpness and weight I carried, what shape I might leave behind.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Together, with his arm steadying mine, we took the ringed rod and collected another end full of melted glass, carrying it to the same table he’d worked against last time.

Dravyn kept his arm braced against mine, guiding the first few twists of the rod, his body so close I could occasionally feel his heart beating against me. A beat that felt almost…human. I don’t know why this surprised me;humanwas the form he held in this moment, after all.

I guess I’d convinced myself a god couldn’t possibly possess a normal heart.

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