I fidgeted with my flare locket. “I’m well aware any incident at the party would be the final spark that sets Ardence ablaze, Marcello. You don’t need to remind me. I’ll be careful not to start a war.”
“I’m not afraid you’ll start a war.” He looked up, and his green eyes were open, bottomless wells, clear all the way down to the bottom. “I’m afraid of losing you.”
The quality of the air changed, suddenly, as if a storm were coming.
“Amalia.” His voice went serious: deep as the lagoon and just as dangerous to fall into. “I’m not good at hiding or pretending.”
Don’t say it. I wanted to clamp my hand over his mouth. If he put that look into words, it would be too late to take it back.
“I’m a Cornaro.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a shaky breath. “Hiding and pretending is a family pastime.”
He reached out a trembling hand and brushed my cheek, gentle as a moth’s wing. A shiver ran down my neck.
Grace of Love help me. If I didn’t kiss him now, I’d regret it.
But I’d regret it even more if I got him packed off to some distant keep in the Witchwall Mountains. I folded my hand over his, as careful as if it were a baby bird, and removed it from my cheek. I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go of it.
“I’ll be careful,” I told him.
Marcello closed his eyes, wincing, as if the sight of me caused him pain.
I squeezed his hand. “Besides,” I said, “Zaira will be with me.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then.” His tone was light, too light, as if he didn’t dare place any burden on his voice. But the corner of his mouth quirked. “When Zaira’s involved, nothing can go wrong.”
“It had best go very right.” Disappointment and regret at pushing him away trickled down to join the more general flood of dread that had been rising slowly over me. “We’re almost out of time.”
We had less than forty-eight hours left to unravel this bitter tangle into peace. Or the Empire would write its final argument in fire.
“My, my. So these are your scholar friends? I’ve been missing the benefits of an education.” Zaira’s eyes moved appreciatively over the men and women crowding Gabril’s drawing room. There wasn’t enough furniture for the dozens of people, so many of them stood, holding wineglasses while they conducted impassioned arguments or serious discussions. It was the opposite of a Raverran party; everyone gathered toward the center with raised voices, rather than dispersing to little whispering clusters in corners.
It wasn’t at all what I had expected. There were no masks, no cloaks, no secretive cabal plotting treason. But a certain tension lay under the laughter, softened by a liquid layer of wine. Angry voices cut sharply through the chamber music from time to time, and I glimpsed furious scowls and brooding stares on some faces. Ardentine party dress apparently didn’t include a requirement to put on a false smile.
“They’re not my scholar friends,” I replied. The crowd was mostly young; with a few exceptions, most of the faces I recognized were the heirs of the powerful, rather than lords of the Council themselves. I looked for Domenic, to edge closer to him, but he was already across the room, greeting people.
“Oh, good. Then I’ll have to make Domenic introduce me.” Zaira waved a smug good-bye and sauntered off after him. Long gloves covered her telltale jess, at Domenic’s suggestion. While we had no intention of lying tonight, arriving as a brazenly obvious Falcon and Falconer in this particular crowd might throw down a gauntlet we didn’t want picked up.
Across the room, Zaira tapped Domenic’s shoulder, grinning. He took her hand and drew her into his circle, and in a moment they were all laughing. An eddy of envious misgiving swirled in me, but I ignored it. Zaira was happy. Domenic was happy. I resolved to leave the two of them together, avoid butting in, and wish Zaira the best of luck with him.
Except that she’d dropped me like a soiled handkerchief in a roomful of potentially hostile strangers.
I’d thought of Ardence as a second home, but these weren’t my friends from the university. When they spoke the name of my city, it curled their lips with spite. I didn’t belong here.
I accepted a wineglass from a passing tray and took a long, sweet draft. I wasn’t here to make friends. I had work to do.
“Pardon me, my lady. Are you Domenic’s Raverran friend?”
Blinking my stinging eyes, I turned to find a young man with spectacles and thinning hair at my elbow. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Name’s Hollis. Very glad to meet you.” He jerked his head in a forceful nod, as if I’d said something he agreed with. “It’s good to have another influential Raverran backer. It gives me hope. If even Raverrans can be outraged at what the Empire has done to us, we have a chance to accomplish something.”
“Oh, I’m not …” I swallowed. “… not the only one in Raverra with sympathy for Ardence.” Admitting I didn’t back Ardence against the Serene City was perhaps not the most politic choice at the moment, especially to gain more information. And I wanted to know what he meant by another Raverran backer. “Who else have you met?”
“Of Raverrans who support our cause? You’re the first, actually.” He pushed his spectacles up, as if to examine me better. “I’ve heard Gabril talking about our Raverran ally, but I’ve never met them. You know how he is. ‘Our friend in the River Palace,’ ‘our patron in Raverra.’ He likes his mysteries.” He smiled, inviting me to share his affectionate disdain. “He even has nicknames for them. ‘The Owl,’ ‘the Fox,’ that sort of thing. The only one he’ll call by name is Prince Ruven.”
The patron in Raverra could well have been Baron Leodra, which didn’t bode well for Gabril’s innocence. The friend in the River Palace worried me; it sounded more like Duke Astor or someone in his circle than merely a member of the Council of Lords.
I forced a laugh. “How dramatic. Do you think the mystery is genuine, or is he trying to make his connections seem more important than they are?”
“Oh, they’re real. They’ve given us good information, and they’ve arranged to make sure there were no guards or soldiers in the area when we post our declarations and the like. And Prince Ruven has been quite generous financially to those of us in need of a loan.” Hollis shrugged. “Besides, Gabril is the duke’s cousin. Of course he has connections in the River Palace.”
I dropped my voice. “What about the incident with the Falconers?” Hopefully that was vague enough he could take it either as the kidnapping or the attack on poor Lemi. “Did his connections help with that?”
Hollis blinked in apparent confusion a moment, then frowned. “You mean the, ah, recent altercation? That was a surprise, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “Gabril won’t disavow it or claim credit. I’ve pressed him on it, but he’s been rather evasive. Frankly, I’m worried some of our number may be escalating matters too far.”
A thin-faced woman in mourning black nudged up next to him, wineglass in hand. “Nonsense, Hollis. There’s no such thing as too far. Those imperial stingroaches have my daughter. I’ll tear them all apart with my hands if I have to.”
Hollis lifted his brows in alarm. “Now, my lady, don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
The lady in mourning sniffed. “No less than they deserve. Until they give my daughter back, I’d as soon stab a Raverran as look at one.” She turned to me with a wolfish smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”
Hollis grimaced with sympathy.
I gulped a swallow of wine to buy time, but she still waited expectantly. “Ah, I’m, well …”
“Amalia.” Domenic had slipped up by my side. He bowed an apology, his face tense. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But my brother wishes to speak with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gabril Bergandon shared his brother’s warm-brown skin, deep-set eyes, and winning smile. But he’d curled his hair into long Loreician ringlets, and his neat little beard and slight build reminded me more of his cousin, Duke
Astor. He received us privately in his study, which held a single bookshelf full of Ardentine history; the Bergandon crest hung prominently above his chair.
“Gabril,” Domenic introduced us, “this is Zaira, the Falcon of whom I spoke. And may I also present my friend, Lady Amalia Cornaro.”
Gabril barely glanced at Zaira, but his gaze lingered on me as we all settled into leather chairs. “Indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Amalia. Your cousin is sorely missed as Serene Envoy in Ardence. I appreciate the friendship your family has continued to show our city in this troubled time.”
His voice held a compelling resonance, and he radiated an unusual confidence for such a young man. I could see why people listened to him. It remained to be seen, however, whether he had anything to say.
“I’m delighted to meet you at last,” I said.
Domenic leaned forward, urgency filling his voice. “If you appreciate the friendship of the Cornaro family, you should understand how much more valuable it is than that of Vaskandar.”
Gabril’s eyelids twitched with annoyance. “We’ve already discussed this, brother. I’m aware you dislike my friendship with Prince Ruven. I don’t require your approval.”
“It’s not a question of my opinion of Prince Ruven.” Domenic’s voice heated with the flames of an old argument. “Though, since you bring it up, I should mention he’s the twisted spawn of a stingroach and a cobra. But my point is that Vaskandar’s friendship—even if it were genuine, which it’s not—only antagonizes Raverra and makes our situation worse.”
“Domenic,” I murmured. Starting a fight with his brother was not going to help.
He gestured in my direction, ignoring my hint. “With allies like Amalia, we don’t need to force a confrontation. It’s not too late to take a different road—one that won’t lead to bloodshed.”
I glanced at Domenic in alarm. That sounded far more advanced than I’d hoped.
Gabril sneered his contempt. “Are you so eager to accommodate the Empire? I thought better of you.”
“We are part of the Empire, Gabril. For better or for worse.” Domenic waved an encompassing hand around the room. “You could use everything you’ve built here to stand up to them without putting Ardence at risk. To defend the mage-marked, and champion our city. But if you use the Shadow Gentry to make Ardence a prize for Vaskandar and Raverra to fight over, we are the ones who lose that battle. Change course now, before you crash this ship on the shoals of war.”
Gabril glared at Domenic for a long moment. A clock on the mantel measured second after second, plucking the taut string of silence in the room.
But then he turned a brilliant smile at me, cocking his head. “Well, Lady Amalia? What is your opinion? Is he right? Is our wisest course to avoid confrontation at all costs?”
There was a test in his voice. One I needed to pass to gain more information.
Tell them nothing, my mother said once, and they will fill the meaninglessness of your words with exactly what they want to hear.
“If you know my family,” I said, “you know the answer to that question.”
A slow smile curved Gabril’s lips. “Very well,” he said. “I think perhaps I do.”
He turned to Domenic. “I beg your pardon, Domenic, but would you and the Falcon mind giving me a moment of Lady Amalia’s time in private?”
Domenic stared at his brother, gripping the arms of his chair. A vein in his temple pulsed.
Zaira snorted and stood. “The Falcon certainly doesn’t mind. I’m dying of boredom in here. At least there are drinks in the drawing room.”
Domenic rose more slowly. “You’re making a mistake, Gabril.”
“In speaking to Lady Amalia alone?” he asked innocently. “I should think not.”
“Amalia?” Domenic looked a question at me, to which I returned a minute shrug. I had no idea what Gabril wished to discuss, though I was quite curious to find out. Zaira was already heading for the door.
He nodded stiffly to Gabril. “We’ll talk later, then.”
“I look forward to it, brother.”
The door closed behind them. Gabril eased back in his chair, smirking.
“Now we can drop the pretense, my lady.”
If he could, lovely. I had no such luxury, so I tried to return a knowing smile.
“My brother is a good man.” Gabril sighed. “And brilliant, of course. But he’s hardly subtle. You, of course, are a Cornaro; subtlety is in your blood.”
My mother might disagree in my case. But I kept my mouth shut and smiled to acknowledge the compliment.
“Poor Domenic.” Gabril shook his head. “I’ve told him again and again I have it on the best authority Raverra will back down at the last moment if we stand fast against them. But he doesn’t have the stomach for this kind of daring move, I’m afraid.”
My insides turned over. I didn’t know what his “best authority” was, but mine was the doge himself, and I was dead certain he wouldn’t back down. I knew exactly what would happen if Ardence forced a confrontation.
I wasn’t sure whether to try to convince him of how wrong he was, or play along for more information. It didn’t help that Gabril himself might be the manipulator trying to start a war. The kidnapped children had certainly given new strength to the Shadow Gentry.
Best to hedge my bets. “To be fair, he only wants to ensure the safety of Ardence. Bold moves have their risks.”
Gabril chuckled. “Oh, of a certainty. Which is why I’m glad for the chance to talk to you, Lady Amalia. This is a rare opportunity; all the court is united in its outrage over the stolen children. Once, few listened when I called for a return to the days of Ardentine glory, when we were a great power in Eruvia.” His eyes sparkled. “But now, when I call for us to stand up to Raverra and remember our pride, everyone pays attention.”
“Hmm,” I said. He seemed to take the sound for agreement.
“We are united at last, ready to stand strong as Ardentines again. We have Vaskandar at our back, to give us the power we need to resist the Empire and its Falcons. The Council of Lords has found its courage, and they will not allow my cousin the duke to fold to the doge’s demands.” His excitement drove him to his feet, and he started pacing. “Our day has come. Ardence can be free and proud again, as it once was. So I have been promised. However”—he swiveled to face me—“we must rise against Raverra, but we must not push it to the breaking point while it can still destroy us. And that is where you come in, my lady.”
I would, indeed, “come in” if Ardence pushed Raverra too far—by releasing Zaira’s flames. But I affected puzzlement. “I do?”
“Indeed.” He sat back down. “Domenic tells me you are dedicated to avoiding war. And that is desirable at the moment. Prince Ruven has warned me that while Vaskandar can provide us with some protection, it cannot yet shield us from the full might of the Empire. How much can we demand before Raverra will balk? Can we press our advantage to eliminate the Raverran trade privileges choking our own Ardentine merchants? Keep our mage-marked rather than surrendering them to the Falconers? What is the line we cannot cross?”
Gabril’s perceptions were so far from reality I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “How aware are you of the current state of negotiations between Ardence and Raverra?”
“More aware than most.” He leaned in toward me. “Our friend in the River Palace tells me the doge has given my cousin a time limit, which he’s too afraid to tell even the Council of Lords.”
I stared, nonplussed. “If you know that …”
“Why am I still seeking confrontation?” He chuckled. “Because our Raverran friend tells me it’s a bluff. The Empire doesn’t dare attack one of its own cities, especially with Vaskandar poking at its borders. Once we prove to everyone their threats are hollow, then we can begin the real negotiations.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral. If his Raverran friend was still telling him things, it couldn’t be Leodra. “You ask how much you can pu
sh,” I said carefully. “I would suggest the more critical question is when.”
He set his chin on his hands. “Oh?”
“If you press too hard before the time limit runs out, you risk putting the doge in a position where he has to enforce it.” Never mind that Ardence had crossed that line long ago. I’d buy time however I could. “If you wait until afterward, you can see how he responds. That in itself should give you a clear idea of who holds what cards at this table.”
If Gabril were a Raverran, he would have read a warning in my words. But he was an Ardentine. He nodded with apparent enthusiasm. “That makes sense. The Grace of Wisdom has truly blessed your family, Amalia Cornaro. I am fortunate to count you among my friends.”
Guilt pinched my gut. I was still unsure what the sides were in this conflicted mess, but I was fairly certain Gabril and I were on different ones.
Domenic took me aside soon after I returned to the party from Gabril’s study. Zaira lounged on a divan across the room, telling some salacious story that had all the people around her laughing.
“Amalia, can I ask what he talked to you about?”
“You can, but I don’t think he said anything secret, merely expressed opinions with which he knew you would disagree. He seems bent on direct confrontation. He doesn’t have a very realistic perspective, I fear.”
Domenic’s brow creased with concern. “I was hoping you could get through to him. He keeps insisting his secret allies know what’s truly going on, and that they have a plan that can’t fail. I’m dubious.”
“You should be,” I said bluntly. “His so-called allies are either manipulating him or are fictitious. They’ve told him things I know are false.”
Domenic punched his own thigh. “Hell of Madness. I told that idiot not to trust Ruven, or anyone so ashamed to be his friend they won’t let him speak their names. What are they using him for?”
“I wish I knew.”
The Tethered Mage Page 30