Domenic spread his palms. “I don’t know exactly. She dismissed them out of hand. Some of them wanted to gather their household guard and search the envoy’s palace by force, but Duke Astor arrived around dawn and pulled them into council to discuss Ardence’s official response before anyone could do anything too rash.”
Lady Terringer’s message to the doge had mentioned incoherent demands. If she knew nothing of the incident and had been roused from her bed before dawn to find raging parents flinging accusations at her door, she might not have made much sense of what they were saying.
“This doesn’t add up.” I tapped the table. “This wasn’t done with the doge’s knowledge, and I can’t believe the Falconers at the imperial garrison in Ardence would dare take such steps on their own. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have access to the imperial seal.”
Zaira frowned. “Curse my tongue for speaking well of those bastards, but I have to admit I never saw any brats at the Mews who weren’t mage-marked.”
“Even so, it happened. I know some of the children who were taken.” Domenic’s fingers tightened on his cup. “I know their families. Maybe Gabril and the Shadow Gentry are right after all, if the doge is stealing children. I’ve heard they’re getting ready to do something about this. I’m half tempted to join them.”
The Shadow Gentry—the gray-masked secret society Ignazio had mentioned, which wanted Ardentine independence. Hell of Discord. If Domenic’s brother was a member, that wasn’t good. And if they were taking action on their own, that was worse.
“Domenic, be careful,” I warned. “Don’t go stumbling into treason. We don’t know what the truth is here. There’s got to be some deception at work.”
“The truth is the children are gone, and their parents are grieving and angry.” He shrugged, a defeated motion. “If it wasn’t the Empire, I don’t know who could do such a thing.”
Zaira patted his shoulder. “The Empire isn’t the only demon in the Nine Hells, believe me. It’s just the biggest and ugliest.”
That startled a smile out of him. He squeezed her hand. “Thanks. That’s a great consolation.”
“I’ll help you find out what happened to the children.” I caught myself before adding I swear. “My mother may have more—”
His chair scraped the floor. “You can’t tell La Contessa what we talked about. For Graces’ sake. I’d be dead by morning.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“She’s on the Council of Nine,” he said. “She executes a dozen traitors before breakfast.”
“Never before breakfast,” I objected. “And she doesn’t execute them. She just condemns them to … Oh, never mind. I won’t tell her. But I won’t be able to accomplish as much without her help.”
“I’ll take that trade.” He relaxed. “Thank you. Even if you can’t find out anything, I’m glad you’re willing to listen. A lot of Raverrans would have just shouted at me about the Empire and never admitted the Falconer system might have problems.”
Zaira crossed her arms. “Anyone who can’t see it’s got problems isn’t looking too cursed hard. By the Demon of Madness’s pimply buttocks, you’re arguing about whether they stole these particular brats, not whether they’re child stealers.”
“They don’t steal children,” I objected.
“No, you’re right. They conscript them into the army. That’s so much better.” Zaira gave me a challenging stare over the rim of her mug as she sucked down the rest of her coffee.
“Not much better, perhaps,” I admitted, “but the Falconers are at least an improvement over the alternatives Eruvia has come up with thus far. Loreice burned the mage-marked at the stake before Raverra brought it into the Empire. In Vaskandar, the mage-marked have raised themselves as bloody conquerors, abusing the people as their whims dictate. Every place and time in history there have been no laws to protect or regulate the mage-marked, they’ve become either victims or tyrants.”
“Less terrible is still bad. And I’ll tell you an alternative: leave us alone,” Zaira snapped. “I wasn’t bothering anybody before the Falconers found me.”
“You killed three men and were about to set the city on fire,” I protested. “If you weren’t in the Falcons right now, you’d probably be executed for murder.”
She glared at me. “They had it coming, and you know it.”
Domenic stared back and forth between us. “It sounds as if your induction into the Falcons was more dramatic than the incident in Ardence,” he said. “And that involved angry aristocrats storming the Serene Envoy’s Palace.”
“Damned right. I don’t do things by halves.” Zaira frowned. “Though, come to think of it, neither does the Empire. Maybe you’re right about the Falconers not taking those rich brats after all.”
“Oh?” I asked.
“I’ve never heard of Raverra being shy about admitting when they have someone by the bollocks. If they did something like this, they’d brag about it, not deny it.”
Domenic put his forehead in his hands. “I don’t know whether to hope you’re right or wrong. If the Falconers have started grabbing political hostages, Gabril and the Shadow Gentry may have the right idea; but I’d trust the Serene Empire to at least not harm the children. If this is some sick deception, there’s no guarantee they’re even alive.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Graces protect them. We’d better pray Duke Astor and the doge listen to each other, and combine their efforts to find them quickly.”
Domenic grimaced. “We may have to pray fairly hard. I know my cousin, and I regret to say he doesn’t even listen to his own advisers.”
Zaira grunted. “So long as he has the common sense to make sure he knows what really happened before he throws shit in the doge’s eye and it’s too late to say sorry.”
I winced at the metaphor, but had to agree with the sentiment. Of all the blessings of the Nine Graces, Niro da Morante held Mercy in the least measure.
“Well, that was more interesting than when you took me to the market,” Zaira said as we crossed the wide expanse of a public plaza on our way back to my boat.
If I ignored the guards walking a few paces away, pretending to be laborers who happened to be heading in the same direction, I could imagine the two of us were friends out for an innocent stroll. The sun struck warm and bright on the buildings ringing the great square, and scents of wine and herbs battled for dominance with the ever-present salty tang of the lagoon.
It was too beautiful a day to feel so cold and queasy. “I don’t know what to do, Zaira.”
“I’ll tell you what to do. Take me for coffee with your friend again, but pick a less depressing subject of conversation next time.”
I shook my head. “I mean about what we just learned. I need to pass on the information on the abduction of the Ardentine heirs. The doge must know more by now, but I doubt he has the full Ardentine perspective. But if the Council of Nine finds out Domenic has a connection to the Shadow Gentry, he could face serious difficulties.”
“You’re not allowed to get him in trouble. I like him.” A savory smile curved her lips. “And he has quite a fine set of shoulders, that man. No turning him in as a traitor.”
“He’s my friend! I would never do that. Besides, he’s not a traitor.” I dropped my voice. “But his brother may be.”
Zaira cast a glance at me sideways, her dark eyes sober. “The one who’s mixed up with the group with the overly dramatic name?”
“The Shadow Gentry.” I tucked my lip between my teeth. “From what Ignazio said, they sound flat-out treasonous, and they may have ties to Vaskandar. If Domenic gets drawn in, or gets blamed for his brother’s actions … Well, I can’t let that happen.”
“No,” Zaira agreed. “We can’t.”
The space between us seemed to warm with our agreement to protect Domenic. Finally, we had something in common.
Zaira and I were due back at the Mews for a special training session Marcello had arranged. We caught him as he
emerged from a drill in a crowd of other Falconers, a long flintlock rifle resting on his shoulder. We walked with him as he returned the rifle to the armory, talking with our heads together, voices low.
“We learned what Ardence thinks happened in that supposed Falconer incident.” I filled him in on the basics, without mentioning Domenic’s name.
Marcello sucked a breath through his teeth. “That explains some things. We have some new reports in through the courier lamps, but they weren’t making sense.”
“What new reports?”
He glanced around as we entered the armory. A few other Falconers who’d attended the drill deposited their rifles in the racks along the wall and left, one teasing the other about spilling his powder. Marcello waited until they were gone.
“Reports that several nobles of the Ardentine court claim Falconers took their children in the dead of night, like you said. And that Duke Astor Bergandon is demanding we return them at once, in rather forceful terms.”
“But we don’t actually have them?” I tried to sound certain, but my voice rose to shape a question despite myself.
“We most certainly don’t.” Marcello shoved his gun back into its place with unnecessary force. “That’s not how it works. It’s impossible so many children would appear with the mage mark in the same place and time, and we don’t just barge in and grab them in the night. We talk to the parents and give them time to think about it—days, usually, or even weeks, unless there’s an immediate threat to the safety of innocents.”
He flicked his eyes to Zaira, who gave him a mocking salute. “Threatening the safety of innocents, that’s me. My favorite pastime.”
“Would you know if they’d taken the children as political hostages? Normal children, without the mage mark?”
Marcello stiffened. “That would never happen. And besides, we’ve checked with the Falconers stationed in Ardence. They didn’t do anything of the sort.”
“Then someone set this up.” The cold certainty of it settled in my stomach. “Someone staged the incident, with kidnappers dressed as Falconers, and a stolen or forged imperial seal.”
Marcello frowned. “Or the Ardentines are lying.”
“I’ve met plenty of liars,” Zaira said. “Our Ardentine isn’t one of them.”
“So you think Ardence is deceived?” Marcello started pacing a tight arc between the weapon racks. “But why would anyone kidnap nobles’ heirs and blame it on the Falconers?”
I could think of only one reason. “To cause trouble between Ardence and Raverra.”
“Trouble?”
I didn’t want to speak the dread certainty that had been growing in me, for fear of making it real. But I forced the words out.
“To start a war.”
“Grace of Mercy.” Marcello’s gaze traveled around the racks of guns and swords that surrounded us, lined up neat and ready. “Vaskandar. Just like your mother said in the Map Room. They’re trying to distract and weaken us so they can invade Loreice again.”
“Maybe.” I bit my lip, thinking. “What’s Lady Terringer doing in response to the duke’s demands?”
“Telling them we didn’t do it, I presume.” Marcello shrugged helplessly. “I mostly know the Falconer end, not the diplomatic one.”
“She’d better convince them.” I dropped my voice almost to a whisper. “And not just so we can get the children back quickly. I don’t like what the Council said, about deploying Falcons to Ardence if needed.”
“What’s this about deploying Falcons?” Zaira asked sharply.
We both turned to look at her, like children caught with their hands in the sugar jar.
Zaira glared. “They were talking about me, weren’t they? I’m not deploying anywhere, except back to the Tallows.”
“No, of course not.” Marcello forced a smile. “No one’s seriously thinking of moving Falcons against Ardence, at this point anyway. This is a job for diplomats, not soldiers. And besides, we don’t put untrained Falcons into battle.” His eyes widened. “Hells. Training!”
“What?” I asked.
“Demons curse me, we’re late.” Marcello slapped his own forehead. “And he hates waiting.”
Zaira frowned suspiciously. “Who?”
Marcello turned toward the armory door, a spark of something like anticipation lighting his eyes. “Come and find out.”
“Here again?” Zaira glared at the familiar classroom door in the wood-paneled hall. It was the same room in which Marcello had tried to interview her. “Haven’t you learned not to try to teach me?”
“I’m not going to try,” Marcello said, a grin banishing the lingering clouds of worry in his face as if he expected something good. “They are.”
He flung the door open. The same classroom greeted us, with its bare walls, half circle of chairs, and low wooden stage. But the stage was no longer empty.
A pair of men about my mother’s age waited on it, both in scarlet-and-gold uniforms. One, lean and wiry with spiky tufts of pale hair, stood with arms crossed on his chest, an impatient gleam in his eyes. A jess shone on his wrist. The other, heavy with muscle, had his hair cut so close I could see his deep-brown scalp through it. He stood more at ease, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his feet as if he were used to waiting and didn’t mind it.
“Finally,” the thin one said. “Let’s do this.”
The other saluted Marcello. “Lieutenant. Reporting for duty.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Marcello gestured to the pale one first, then his muscular partner. “May I introduce Ensign Jerith Antelles and his Falconer, Balos.”
Jerith flicked his fingers in a wave. Balos bowed. “His Falconer for twenty years, husband for fifteen.”
“Mind you, marrying your Falconer is against regulations,” Jerith confided, “but I bullied him into it anyway. He’s worth the demotion, most days.”
Balos winced with embarrassment at the word demotion, but the affection between them seemed comfortable and well broken in, like a favorite pair of boots. I glanced at Zaira’s sullen face, and despaired of ever attaining a shadow of such understanding.
Marcello cleared his throat. “And I have the honor to introduce the Lady Amalia Cornaro and her Falcon, Zaira.”
Balos bowed again, deeper, on hearing my name. Jerith took in Zaira with a glance and chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me which is which. I could have won this game of Spot the Warlock from across a crowded market.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zaira demanded.
“You have a certain look about you.” Jerith smiled innocently.
Zaira snorted. “I suppose you’re here to tell me the Mews isn’t so bad, and I’ll get used to it and come to think of it as a home, and all that other bullshit I’ve been hearing for two weeks from the idiots so addled they like wearing jesses?”
Jerith cocked his head. “Oh, you’re funny. Was I ever this annoying, Balos?”
“Worse,” Balos said.
“You should have punched me in the mouth.”
Zaira stepped forward, fists clenched. “Go ahead and try it. But I’m not cleaning up the floor when I’m done with you.”
I tensed, ready to jump out of the way if Zaira commenced the distribution of more black eyes. But Jerith laughed. “Very nice. I like this one.”
Balos eyed his partner. “I think she meant it, Jerith.”
“I know. That’s why I like her.”
Marcello grinned as though he were watching a circus. “Ensign Antelles,” he explained, “is one of our storm warlocks.”
Zaira’s eyes widened. She stared at Jerith for a moment, her fists relaxing. Glancing back and forth between them, I understood Jerith’s comment about a certain look: they were both thin and keen as stiletto blades, their movements full of a terrible energy barely held in check.
Zaira flopped into a chair, crossing her arms. “So are you here to tell me how to be a good little mage?”
“No,” Jerith said. “We’re here to tea
ch you how to be an effective one.”
“The first and greatest problem for warlocks,” Balos began, his voice deep and calm, “is control.”
“But you knew that, didn’t you, missy?” Jerith flashed his teeth at Zaira, who scowled in response.
Balos continued as if he were used to ignoring Jerith’s interruptions. “The warlock’s challenge is to keep your control. The Falconer’s is to recognize when the warlock has lost it and to make a quick and calculated judgment as to when to seal their power.”
Zaira dug deeper into her chair, uncharacteristically silent. As I settled down two seats away from her, Balos met my eyes with his deep-brown ones. “Warlocks often collapse if they’ve used more than a small portion of their power, since the energy comes from within them until it starts taking lives. But once the lightning—or the balefire, in your case—starts killing, it draws power from the slain, and gains a life of its own. And the more it kills, the greater it grows, until it surpasses its wielder’s control and possesses them with a madness of destruction, the hunger of the fire itself.” Sadness softened his face. “Sometimes you need to let your warlock go for a while, even when the killing madness has taken them. Sometimes more people die if you stop it too soon, before the threat is over. But if you wait a moment too late, your own life could be in danger. And if you fall, no one can stop them.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. But it would never happen, I reminded myself. This was all mere theory, so long as the Empire remained at peace.
So long as whoever had sent false Falconers after the heirs of Ardence failed to start a war.
“All very grim,” Jerith said lightly, watching Zaira’s face. “But the point is, timing is key. And having a Falconer means you can let loose sometimes without worrying about hurting the wrong people.”
Zaira scowled. “I know how to handle my fire, thank you very much. I’m not a child. I’ve lived with this for eighteen years.”
“Of course,” Balos agreed, his tone patient. “But now you have a Falconer, and it’s different. Even more so for a warlock than for, say, an alchemist or an artificer.”
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