On the other side of the room, another man blows into a metal pipe, and the liquid glass on the end expands into a delicate bubble. I’m transfixed by the sight, so much so that for a moment, I forget why we’re here. And then, with a start, I realize that’s the point. Tessa has planned the perfect distraction.

Rasmus stands at the edge of the room as mesmerized as anyone else. Carefully, I drape my cloak over the back of a chair in his peripheral vision. He’s already swept the building for potential threats, so his guard might be down. Perhaps if he sees a flash of red from the corner of his eye, he won’t be tempted to look away from the demonstration. Slowly, I back away. Without needing an explanation, Bram appears at my side, again threading his fingers through mine. The glassblower in front of the oven pulls the metal pole from the fire and then starts to spin it. Rasmus leans forward and watches as the glass ripples into a new shape. Tessa gives me a sharp look. Go.

Bram and I back out of the workshop, ease open the door, slip outside.

And then we run.

The crisp air is a shock against my bare arms. The cold bites at my nose and ears. I risk a glance over my shoulder, relieved that no one is following. At least not yet. We run until my legs ache. Until my lungs feel both on fire and coated in ice, like the burn that comes with frostbite.

We weave through alleys and between buildings. Rasmus can’t stop us if he can’t find us.

Finally we slow and then come to a stop. I put my hands on my knees and suck in a lungful of frigid air.

“You all right?” Bram asks.

It takes me a moment to get enough air to answer. “Yes. You?”

“I’m fine.”

“After all this, she better be home.”

The pressure in the air changes just a fraction—the breathless space between when I know Bram will laugh and when he actually does. Finally a full-bellied sound escapes him, rich and full as melting chocolate. “I hope so.”

I’m filled with bittersweet longing.

“Ready?” Bram asks.

“Not really. But it’s too late to back out now.”

Chapter Fourteen

Avalina’s cottage is just where Tessa said we’d find it. The giant oak in front conceals the house from the road, but once we get closer, its cozy facade comes into view—rose-colored brick, white shutters, a small flower bed whose blooms have wilted. For a moment, I’m tempted to turn away. To march back to the glass workshop and tell Tessa that Avalina wasn’t home. As if reading my thoughts, Bram once again slides his hand into mine and squeezes it reassuringly.

It gives me just enough courage to lift my fist and knock.