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runs up to me and leans over, catching his breath. “You have to come.”
    His manner frightens me. But I pretend that I don’t care. I am a princess, after all.
    Besides, I’m busy. The quicksilver on this sheet of tin didn’t form an even layer. Lately my hands shake as bad as Venerio’s. I’ll have to wipe it all off and apply it again. I must live up to my reputation. My mirror technique has indeed been adopted. Everyone on the glassblowers’ island uses it now. So I need to make my technique even better—faster, somehow. Venerio says that’s important, otherwise we’ll be out of a job soon—and he says it angry, sometimes furious; he’s become a grouch. So I’m working on the technique. I’m the best there is.
    I put two fingers on the spot between my eyebrows and massage in a circle to fend off a headache. A shadow comes at me from both sides. I can barely see it, but it’s there.
    Tommaso touches my shoulder. I’m leaning over the low limestone, so it’s easy for him to reach there. Still, I can’t remember the last time anyone touched my shoulder. Or my face. His fingers make me shiver. I have a fleeting image of clasping them and pulling his hand across my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. The poor boy would be shocked.
    Maria the Virgin didn’t answer my prayers, no matter how many times I begged her. I kept growing. I’m enormous now. The tallest men don’t even come up to my ribs; most don’t reach my waist. If I ever have a husband, he’ll have to stand on tiptoe to kiss my breasts, and even then I’ll probably need to lean forward. But of course I know I will never have a husband. No one will ever choose me. And I’d never have children anyway.
    Sometimes I press my mouth into the dirt and scream.
    I’ve been a princess for three years now. No one acknowledges it, but I walk like princesses on the mainland walk. Like Giordano showed me. Except now and then my legs give way and I wind up sitting on the ground, muscles atwitch. I have some sort of weakness.
    And I know Venerio has it, too. We’re the ones who touch the quicksilver. I’ll be like Venerio someday, guiding some other person whose hands are still steady while mine do a frantic dance in the air.
    But I don’t let on to anyone. If a person should happen upon me after I’ve collapsed on a path and asks what I’m doing, I yell it’s no business of theirs where I choose to sit. No one knows what happens in my head or in my body. Besides, I’m fifteen; I’m no child.
    Tommaso’s hand brushes my hair aside and rests hot on the back of my neck. I press my lips together. My arms long to circle this innocent child. What I wouldn’t give for a brother, a sister.
    “Dolce,” he whispers, his mouth to my ear, “it’s your mamma.”
    I bolt upright. “Where?”
    “Follow me.”
    “Where is she?” I shout.
    “They carried her to Druda’s.”
    I’m running, racing. These absurd long legs have some use.
    My head goes all swimmy and pain throbs behind my eyes.
Please, please, don’t let me collapse now. Please keep me strong.
I cut along the canal and burst into Druda’s house. Margherita and Druda step away from the mattress where Mamma lies.
    Mamma sees me and opens her mouth, then gags. I quick turn her onto her side just in time—she vomits onto the floor.
    “Mamma.” I rub her back and croon in her ear, “Mamma, I’m here. What do you need?”
    She moans and curls around her stomach. Sweat bathes her.
    “I don’t understand. What?”
    She mumbles.
    I look at Druda and Margherita. “Do you understand?”
    “She ate crabs.” Druda shakes her head sadly.
    “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “Didn’t you see? Dead fish washed up on the beach this morning. All this hot weather…it’s the curse of the algae. No one should eat crabs or clams or mussels—none of that till the poison passes.” Druda lifts her hands to the ceiling as though in prayer.
    I could slap her. “Stop that! Mamma’s going to be