Once we were out on the street again, Marcello glanced around and muttered, “A job from someone high up. That could be anything. Lady Aurica might have hired them herself, to make the wine glow at her party.”
I pulled my coat closer against the winter evening. “I can’t imagine Lady Aurica getting her party decorations from the Tallows. And while I can envision scenarios where the imperial government would hire gray-market mages, I haven’t heard of anything of the sort planned for her charity dinner.” I turned to Zaira. “What sort of jobs do these mage crews do, exactly?”
We’d reached the bridge; Zaira stopped and leaned on the stone rail, scowling down into the murky canal water. Lamps flickered on poles on either side of her, casting light and shadow across her face. “There are only three gray-market mage crews in the Tallows, and I know all of them. They’re all right. They do little jobs—harmless stuff, like fraud and smuggling, maybe the occasional heist. This sounds like a setup to me.”
I fidgeted with the strap of my satchel, working through the implications. “If Lord Caulin claims to have a tip about Ruven hiring alchemists from the Tallows, but Caulin himself turns out to be the one hiring Tallows mage crews… yes. That only makes sense if he’s trying to set up some kind of deception.”
“Or if he’s working for Ruven,” Marcello said grimly, his voice so low the night almost swallowed it.
“I’d like to say that’s impossible, but Caulin only has his seat on the Council because his predecessor worked with traitors. And there’s Ruven’s potion to consider.” I gnawed my lip. Caulin should be getting his blood tested regularly, but we would be fools to consider any of our precautions infallible.
“Either way, I’ll bet it doesn’t end well for the mages.” Zaira flicked a chip of loose mortar off the bridge at a passing boat. “As usual. Can’t you tell your mamma and get Lord Liar sent to his room?”
“It’s not that easy. He’s a member of the Council of Nine, and we don’t have any proof.” I hadn’t forgotten my mother’s warning; this could be a gambit to get me to make false accusations that would destroy my credibility, or to give him an excuse to move against my friends. “We don’t even know that Caulin is the one who hired them. We have to tread very carefully, or risk stepping into a trap.”
“I agree we can’t confront Lord Caulin with what we have, but we can’t just do nothing,” Marcello objected. “What if he is working for Ruven? What if he poisons half the Council at this party?”
“I’ll pass a warning to my mother, and I’m certain she can at least arrange for additional security at the party. But this is happening tomorrow. We don’t have time to find out whether Caulin is truly behind this, and what he might be up to.” I took a deep breath. “If we want a chance to unravel this, we’ll have to attend Lady Aurica’s party ourselves.”
I scanned Lady Aurica’s party tensely as I danced with Scipio da Morante, the doge’s stiff-backed bore of a younger brother and the holder of their family seat on the Council of Nine. Zaira had a much better partner in Terika, who had offered to come along since we might have to deal with a rogue alchemist—but given the warm flush on her cheeks and the glow in her eyes as she danced with Zaira, I rather suspected she’d had a secondary objective. I did my best to appear to listen appreciatively to Scipio’s rambling story as we circled each other, in the slim hopes it might help sway him to vote for my Falcon reform act; but my attention was on the party around us, afraid that I’d miss something critical if I so much as blinked.
Lady Aurica had opened up her ballroom and hung it with silk bunting trimmed with grapevines and berries, symbols of the Grace of Bounty; the party was open to anyone who made a donation of a ducat or more to the Temple of Bounty’s fund to feed the poor. Hundreds of guests in fancifully embroidered coats and extravagant gowns swirled on the dance floor or frequented the generous buffet, and music and laughter filled the air beneath the soft warm glow of luminaries shaped like apples and pears. The servants wore masks with a vine-and-fruit motif, as a nod to the approaching Festival of Luck and its signature masquerade. The choice muddled the theme somewhat, but I had to admit they looked striking as they passed around trays of wine selected from the Empire’s finest vineyards.
The guards stationed discreetly around the ballroom wore the same masks; my mother had taken my warning seriously and made certain to send Lady Aurica additional security. It was all too easy to imagine a hundred kinds of mischief one could hire a mage to accomplish here, ranging from harmless pranks to assassination.
The dance finally ended without any sign of trouble, and I excused myself before Scipio da Morante could launch into another anecdote about his shipping ventures. Perhaps I should take another pass at the buffet, to use my alchemy detection ring to check for Ruven’s potion and perhaps sample a little more of the pauldronfish risotto. I claimed a glass of wine from a passing tray and started in that direction.
“Lady Amalia,” said a muffled voice, just as I lifted the full-bodied red to my lips.
I turned and nearly spilled it all over my burgundy silk gown. It was one of the masked servants, his head bowed diffidently—except that he spoke with the voice of Lord Caulin.
“Why, Lord Caulin,” I greeted him, somewhat breathlessly. “I confess myself surprised to find you here—and in disguise, no less.”
“Truly?” His voice might be mild, but his dark eyes shone sharp as knives through the holes in his mask. “Yet I hear you are the one to whom we owe the tip that some incident might occur here tonight. Of course I am deeply concerned, as always, about the security of the Serene City. It’s only natural for me to watch over this event in person.”
“Of course.” I offered him a gracious nod, buying myself a brief moment. I had to think of a way to trick him into revealing some hint of his intent. “One of my associates was fortunate enough to stumble across the information, but I’m afraid it was dreadfully vague.”
“What exactly did your contact tell you?” Caulin asked, his tone light and curious, his eyes flicking across the crowd.
“Only that a mage crew might engage in some manner of illegal activity here tonight.” Let him underestimate me. I waved vaguely at our surroundings. “I naturally connected it to your own tip about Ruven hiring mages from the Tallows to use against Raverra.”
Which was true, so far as it went. Never mind that I suspected the mage crew was working for Caulin himself rather than Ruven.
Caulin’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “Just so. I, too, suspect that the two threats may be one and the same. I hope you aren’t here with some impetuous notion of catching the criminals in the act?”
I laughed. “I’m here for the buffet, Lord Caulin, like everyone else. I will confess that curiosity as to what may unfold here provides extra spice, but I know my own limitations and am content to leave the catching of criminals to those who have experience in the matter.” I neglected to mention that Zaira and I had a certain amount of experience rooting out treachery, ourselves.
“Indeed.” I couldn’t see much of Caulin’s face beneath the mask, but his voice sounded like he was smiling. “Very well then, my lady. I had best get back to watching for these miscreants, so we can stop them before they strike.”
“Of course.” I dipped him a small curtsy.
As Caulin moved off, I noted which of the guards and servants he nodded to; those ones must be his. It would be much harder to discreetly intercept Zaira’s associates with Caulin watching.
“You’re stiff as a coffin lid,” Zaira greeted me, sweeping up with Terika on her arm in a great rustling of silk skirts. Both of them were flushed from the dance floor and smiling broadly. “Relax and enjoy yourself. It won’t kill you.”
“It might, if we don’t spot your friends and they poison the food,” I said, my voice pitched low. “Have you seen any sign of anyone you know?”
“Not yet. But if you scowl around like that, they’ll know you’re watching for trouble, and we’ll never catch them.” She s
queezed Terika’s linked arm close to her side affectionately, while Terika picked glasses of wine off a passing tray for the two of them. “That’s why dancing is perfect. Keeps you occupied, leaves your mind free, gives you an excuse to look all around the room. Where’s Captain Loverboy? You could dance with him.”
All thoughts of finding a way to delicately warn Zaira about Caulin flew out of my head. “Oh! I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Your crow beau doesn’t seem the jealous type.”
My cheeks burned. “I think things are confused enough between Marcello and me already.” Nonetheless, my eyes drifted over to where Marcello was in conversation with the officer of the imperial guards providing security for Lady Aurica tonight. He was such a splendid dancer.
Zaira snorted. “Stop overthinking it and dance with your soldier boy. Or I’ll start telling random star-eyed young partygoers that the Cornaro heir is right there and maybe if they dance with you you’ll fall in love and make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, it’s a dare now, is it?” Zaira’s eyes gleamed ominously. “Well, in that case—” She broke off, her gaze going past me. “Hells take it, someone just poisoned the chocolate soup.”
Chapter Four
What?” I swiveled, but didn’t see anything unusual. Zaira was already moving, however, with Terika on her heels; I hurried to catch up, murmuring apologies as we wove past gentry decked out in lace and brocade, brushing against silk and velvet skirts that cleared islands of space in the crowded ballroom.
The chocolate soup stood in its glory at the center of the buffet in a massive shallow bowl, frothy meringue floating atop it like puffs of summer cloud. As we arrived, a stately patrician woman in an ostentatious gold gown was just dipping a ladle with white-gloved fingers to fill her bowl.
“Oops,” Zaira said, and with both hands, she heaved the great bowl over onto the floor.
Chocolate flooded everywhere. I scrambled back, snatching my skirts away from the splashing menace; a few partygoers shrieked, and one young man in fluttering lace cuffs frantically waved his fan at it, as if he could blow the spreading spill away from his fine clothes.
Terika threw her hands to her face in horror as if she’d been the one to knock it over and cried out, “Sorry, sorry!” All attention turned to her at once. As Terika rushed about making a great show of fussing over the mess, I almost missed Zaira slipping away through the crowd toward the side corridor to the kitchen—the same one down which she and I had once lurked to overhear the Vaskandran ambassador’s private conversation.
I caught up to her in time to see her corner a slim young boy before he could disappear into the kitchen. He was dressed like a servant in one of their masks, but I recognized the cellist from the Laughing Siren.
“Have you poisoned anything else?” Zaira demanded. “Are you working alone? Quick, damn you, before it’s too late!”
The boy shook his head, panicked, pressing his back to the wall.
A young woman rounded the corner from the ballroom, resplendent in a lace-trimmed gown of sea-foam green and a spectacular feathered hairpin to match; I would have assumed she was a merchant or perhaps even a patrician lady, but the sharp glare she directed at Zaira was one of personal recognition.
“Now, now, Zaira darling, no need to make a scene,” she said, menace beneath the purring surface of her voice. “I thought we were friends! Or have you washed your hands of us common folk now that you’re eating off silver plates in the Mews?”
“We were never friends,” Zaira snapped. “But I’m here to do you a favor anyway, and stop you from making a demon of a mistake. You’re being used, Miranda.”
I glanced out at the crowded ballroom. We hadn’t drawn any attention yet, but we were bound to, and I definitely didn’t want Lord Caulin to see whom we were talking to. “Shall we take this discussion to a private room?” I asked.
Miranda looked back and forth between us, her eyes narrowed. “All right,” she said at last. “But if you ever want to show your face in the Tallows again, Zaira, this had better be good.”
“First of all, quickly, did you poison anything besides the chocolate soup?” Zaira asked, as soon as the door to Lady Aurica’s private conversation room shut behind us.
No one sat in the cozily arranged chairs; Miranda stood with her arms crossed, glaring at Zaira, and the boy stood uneasily beside her, half hiding behind her skirts. Zaira paced, her hands clasped tight behind her back.
“We didn’t poison anything,” Miranda protested. “And you’re meddling in things you should leave alone.”
“Anything besides the soup,” Zaira growled. “Or I go burn the whole buffet to be sure.”
“Not yet,” Miranda sighed. “And you don’t need to be so dramatic. It’s just sleep potion.”
I blinked. “Sleep potion? Are you sure?”
“I made it myself, so yes,” Miranda snapped.
“That doesn’t make a damned lick of sense,” Zaira said. “You’re not even mage-marked—it would last, what, ten minutes?”
“I’ll have you know mine is good for a full quarter of an hour.” Miranda crossed her arms. “Best you can buy in the Tallows.”
“Didn’t you ask yourself why in the Nine Hells someone would hire you to put sleep potion in the soup at a fancy party?” Zaira demanded. “You must have realized this is a setup.”
“That’s what I was telling you, Auntie,” the boy muttered.
“You’re beyond your depth, Zaira,” Miranda snarled. “If you had any idea who hired me—”
“Oh, but we do,” I said.
Miranda looked ready to spit out a contemptuous retort, but the boy tugged at her sleeve, his eyes wide, and nodded meaningfully toward me. She frowned, then glanced at Zaira’s jess, then back to me, and her eyes widened. “Bugger us all. The Cornaro heir.” She pulled off a credible curtsy.
“It was Lord Caulin who hired you, was it not?” I asked, sharpening my voice. We didn’t have much time; I couldn’t let Caulin figure out we were talking to her.
“I can’t tell you the name of my client,” Miranda said, with a toss of her long black hair.
“If it’s Council business, my mother would know about it.” I smiled sweetly. “She’s at our palace, just up the Imperial Canal. Do you want me to send a message asking her to come give you permission to talk about it?”
“Grace of Mercy, please don’t bring La Contessa into this,” the boy said, turning gray. “Yes, yes, it was Lord Caulin!”
“Giram!” Miranda scolded.
“I don’t want to die in prison.” The boy’s eyes stretched wide and bright as luminary crystals. “I told you this job was no good.”
“And did he give you a reason why one of the Council would hire a gutter rat like you to put a bunch of rich old goats to sleep for a few minutes?” Zaira asked, crossing her arms.
“To turn the Assembly against the Falcon reform act,” I breathed, the realization falling on me like a dropped curtain.
Miranda stared at me blankly. “What?”
“Lord Caulin knows full well the best way to decimate any support for looser restrictions on magic is to make people afraid of mages,” I said. “If he creates an incident here that frightens the Assembly, because many of them are personally affected by the attack, and he makes a show of catching the mages behind it, he can more easily convince them that mages are dangerous and need to be contained.”
“He’s setting you up,” Zaira summarized bluntly.
Miranda crossed her arms. “Then it’s not a very good plan. I could just tell people the truth: that he’s the one who hired me.”
“Not if you’re dead, you can’t,” Zaira said.
“I suspect that’s why he’s here himself tonight,” I concluded grimly. “So he can make certain you die in the scuffle to capture you, before anyone else can talk to you.”
The boy Giram leaned in close against Miranda’s skirts, looking positive
ly ill.
“He’s here tonight?” Miranda demanded sharply.
“Yes, in a servant’s mask, so no one can spot him. In fact, we’d better finish in here soon, before he notices we’re all missing and realizes we’re talking to each other.”
“But you don’t know he hired us to create an incident and set us up as scapegoats.” Miranda fingered her lacy sleeves; I caught the gleam of metal up one of them.
“It’s the only reason for this job that makes any damned sense,” Zaira said. “Weren’t you even a bit suspicious?”
Miranda drew herself up. “Of course I was. I’m not an idiot. That’s why I made him give us a paper.” Her hand stirred toward her sleeve again. “So if anyone tried to arrest us, I could show them we had the Council’s backing. He didn’t want to give it to me, but I told him we wouldn’t do the job without it.”
Zaira snorted. “You should’ve known right then that the old stingroach wasn’t going to let you live. If it was really Council business, he’d just send his own people, not go looking for a mage in the Tallows who he could throw away like a cheap glove when he was done.”
The feathers on Miranda’s hairpin drooped. “It was a lot of money. I’ll admit I got greedy.”
“But you still have the paper,” Giram reminded her anxiously. “You said they couldn’t throw us in prison so long as we had the paper.”
“I’ll bet he told you to be sure to carry it on you in case of misunderstandings,” Zaira said. “Because paper is easy to take off a dead body, and it burns so prettily.”
“Of course I have it on me,” Miranda said, defeat dragging at her voice. “The whole point is to have it in case someone tries to arrest us. Curse him, he played us for fools.”
But my heart had quickened. “Wait. Can I have this writ?”
Miranda and the boy exchanged startled glances. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, a bubble of triumph rising in my chest, “paper is easy to take off a dead body, but much harder to retrieve from a live noblewoman. And incriminating evidence makes the best insurance.”
The Unbound Empire Page 4