Zezili gestured to the green-glowing mirror in front of them. “You made all of these,” Zezili said, “and more besides. I thought I’d come to the expert.”

“You’re talking about infused mirrors?”

“No,” Zezili said, “the kind I can bash in with a sword. Yes, mother. Infused mirrors.”

“My daughter has a tongue,” her mother said.

“She is spirited,” Haodatia said, “like her mother.” She reached for the heated crimping iron set in a bowl of coals on the counter.

“Once it’s been infused,” her mother said, “they don’t break. You know that. But why do you care now? You never took interest in my art.”

“I was in the area,” Zezili said. “Humor me.”

“I have humored you a good deal, girl.”

“Before it’s infused, you could destroy it, right? Same as any other mirror?”

“Certainly.”

“What if it was really big?”

“Big, what does that mean? Be precise, Zezili.”

Zezili wanted to tell her it was as big as the Temple of Rhea in Daorian, but suspected her mother wouldn’t believe that.

“Big as a building,” Zezili said.

“Ha,” her mother said. “A building.” She scrutinized Zezili’s face in the mirror. “Well, it’s fairly easy to destroy such a thing before it’s infused, but that would likely require help. A fairly skilled parajista could break it, or perhaps you and half your legion hacking away at it.”

“But once some parajista or tirajista infuses it, that’s it? No one can take it out?”

“Take it out? Are we targeting mirrors now on our military campaigns?”

“It’s important,” Zezili said.

“Indeed.” Her mother pursed her mouth, deepening the creases around her lips. She dyed her hair white to match her weathered face when she came to the salon. Zezili saw long white streaks in it, too bold for natural color. Elder women commanded more respect.

“Once it’s infused, the only one who can break it is the woman who created it,” her mother said. She lifted a finger and pointed at the greened mirror. Zezili watched a tiny crack appear on the bottom right of the glass. It spidered up along the edge of frame, ending abruptly halfway up the face. Her mother pulled her hand away. “It’s certainly possible another who could channel the same satellite could do it, but it would take longer. A woman’s patterns, the way she folds together the metal and power of the satellite, are unique. It would take another tirajista two or three weeks to unravel this mirror.”