I wished I had Zaira’s tongue for profanity, but another cramp robbed me of the breath to speak.
Zaira put her hands on her hips. “If she dies, I will too, unless I get a new Falconer within a few days. I don’t see the profit in that.”
“You want to know what’s in it for you?” Ignazio asked.
“Damned right I do. I’m not helping you out of charity.”
He smiled a tight, smug smile. “How about freedom?”
Zaira went still. “I’m listening.”
Grace of Mercy. I’d hoped she was deceiving them, but that was the one thing she wanted above all else.
Ignazio knew it. He shrugged, relaxed and in control. “You’re correct. If Amalia dies, the jess will give you a few days to get a new Falconer, then take your life if you don’t. It’s a simple precaution to ensure this exact situation does not arise: a rival power freeing a Falcon to work for them by killing the Falconer. But I can offer you an escape.”
“Can you get this stupid jess off me?” Raw hunger colored Zaira’s voice.
I lay quietly, my hand slowly creeping toward my flare locket. I wasn’t sure I could stand again, but I had to be ready to move. Somehow.
Ignazio shook his head. “Alas, no. But I can get you a new one.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gleaming slip of gold: the stolen jess. “This will keep the old one from killing you.”
Zaira snorted. “What good does a new chain do me?”
“I’ll say the release word once, and let you go.” He spread his hands, the jess dangling from them. “You know far too much for me to want to turn you over to the Empire, and I see no possible advantage and a great deal of risk in trying to keep my own secret fire warlock.”
It made sense. By the interest kindling in Zaira’s eyes, she believed him.
Ignazio saw it, too. A cynical smile tugged at his mouth. “In exchange for your cooperation tonight and your silence thereafter, I’ll stay out of your life. Your power will be yours to loose or bind, so long as you keep my secrets. You’ll be free.”
“Free of the Falconers,” I husked. “But not free of you, Ignazio.”
Zaira glared down at me. “The Falconers never gave me a choice. Now I have one.”
“Then make it,” Lady Savony snapped. “We don’t have time for indecision.”
Zaira nodded curtly to Savony, but her eyes stayed fixed on mine. I couldn’t read her expression.
“Do it. Release me.”
Lady Savony jerked her chin at one of the guards. He raised his sword. I doubted I could roll out of the way, let alone fight back.
But Zaira’s words were a double-edged dagger. The question was which hand held the hilt, and I knew the answer. I’d told the doge as much, ages ago.
No one controlled Zaira. She was her own master.
I held her eyes. “I trust you, Zaira,” I whispered. “Exsolvo.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zaira laughed.
She reached exultantly toward the low ceiling. Blue flames shivered down her arms; balefire kindled in her eyes. The brutes recoiled, and Lady Savony flinched. I would have drawn back from her myself if I could have.
Ignazio reached out an uncertain hand, his face bathed in blue light. “Zaira …?”
Lady Savony’s eyes narrowed.
“Finish the Falconer,” she ordered the swordsman, who had paused with his blade poised above me.
He nodded and gathered his shoulders to strike.
Zaira extended her hand toward him as if blowing him a kiss. An arc of fire poured across the air between them, splashing across his chest and running fiery fingers up his neck into his hair. He screamed and fell writhing to the floor. The stench of burning flesh was terrible.
“Kill her!” Lady Savony cried. “Quick, before she burns us all!” And she leaped at Zaira with her dagger.
A wave of blue flame engulfed her before she could even get close enough for Zaira’s magical corset stays to protect her. Lady Savony collapsed in an unmoving, burning heap; the balefire had gulped down her life like a starving wolf.
“That’s for the children, you heartless monster.” The cold, distant note in Zaira’s voice sparked alarm in my mind.
One of the remaining scoundrels drew a flintlock and fired at her. With a flare and shimmer, the ball ricocheted and struck him in the leg. He dropped to one knee, howling.
The door flew open. I barely glimpsed Ignazio’s embroidered sleeve flashing as he slammed the door shut again behind him. Anger flared in me like Zaira’s fire. How dare he run away? But I was still too weak to rise and go after him.
Zaira had enough vengeance in her for both of us. Pale wicked flames flowed from her in waves, embracing the two remaining guards as they scrambled for the door. Their screams tore my ears until I had to cover them. Then the balefire consumed the door itself and poured out into the hallway like an incoming tide, chasing after Ignazio.
But it also spread out from Zaira’s feet, licking along the floor toward me. And it chewed its hungry way out from the burning doorframe, spreading flickering blue tongues along the stony walls.
“Zaira.” I levered myself up on my hands; the room wavered, and a cramp dropped me back to the floor. “Zaira,” I gasped, “can you hear me?”
She made no response. Fire ran up and down her hair. She took a graceful, gliding step toward the door, like a sleepwalking ballet dancer, and then another.
Grace of Mercy. She’d lost herself to the balefire.
“Zaira! You have to stop!”
She made no sign of recognition. The blue flames swept closer to me across the stone floor.
“Revincio,” I whispered.
The room plunged into near darkness as the fires winked out. Zaira swayed and collapsed with them.
Silence fell, broken by my weak cough as I choked on the ashy air. It occurred to me I was breathing in the smoke from the four burned corpses scattered about the room, little gritty remnants of their lives. I gagged.
I wanted clean air and water, and to get out of this terrible place before I died. I wanted Marcello. I wanted my mother. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I struggled to sit up, the room swaying around me.
Light bloomed on the stairs, and I heard the thunder of approaching boots. My heart strained toward the ruined doorway, hoping for a miracle.
But it was Ignazio, with two more henchmen. They paused uncertainly on entering the room. Then Ignazio saw Zaira’s unconscious body and sighed with visible relief.
“Kill them both,” he told his men.
But the one on his left crumpled, coughing, blood spattering on the floor in front of him.
The second drew a flintlock, too slowly. A slim, graceful figure withdrew her knife from his comrade’s back and spun, in the same motion, to slash it across his throat.
Ignazio scurried back away from her, drawing his dagger. “You!” he cried.
Ciardha stepped over the bodies of his hirelings. Not a hair strayed out of place on her perfect head.
“La Contessa sends her regards to her dear cousin,” she said.
Marcello burst into the room behind her, his flintlock aimed at Ignazio’s chest. Ignazio threw down his dagger and fell to his knees, his hands raised as if in prayer.
“I surrender! Please, don’t kill me! I surrender!”
“Then I will deliver you to the Council of Nine for judgment.” Ciardha continued to advance on him, smooth and deadly as a tigress. “La Contessa will decide your fate.”
Ignazio went white as a drowned man’s ghost. He knew what my mother did to people who imperiled her daughter.
This must be a hallucination. But I could think of no more wonderful and comforting delusion to light my way to death than Marcello running to my side, calling my name, crushing me to his chest.
I closed my eyes. “I know you’re not real, but kiss me anyway,” I murmured.
The shadows deepened behind my eyelids as he bent his face over mine, and his breath
tickled my face. But I slid away into blackness before our lips touched.
Ciardha called my name. No doubt my mother required my presence at breakfast, but all I wanted was to keep sleeping. The down-stuffed pillow cradled my head with perfect softness, and my body ached with weariness. Warm light filtered through my shut eyelids, which meant the sun had cleared the town houses on the far side of the Imperial Canal. I wished I’d thought to draw my bed-curtains the night before. Why had I been up so late, anyway? I couldn’t remember.
“Lady Amalia. You must wake up. It’s time for your morning elixir.”
So that was why my mother had sent Ciardha to wake me. Treating me like a child again, as if I couldn’t take care of myself.
But there was something wrong. Something about my elixir.
I blinked my eyes open. A strange bedroom slid into focus: pale blue instead of warm gold, no clutter of books and artifice projects, different bed. Ciardha sat at my bedside, posture perfect as always, holding a drinking glass. My world tilted, rotated, and fit into a new position, like a puzzle piece I’d been trying to insert the wrong way. I wasn’t at home. I was still in Ardence. And it was morning.
“I’m not dead?” I asked incredulously.
“Of course not, Lady. La Contessa made it quite clear you must return alive.”
Memory tightened its claws. I tried to sit up, but failed. “The children! Is everyone all right? Are we at war?”
“The situation is under control, for the moment, though there is work still to be done. Please take your elixir, Lady.” Ciardha’s tone left no room for argument as she proffered the glass.
It seemed impossible she could truly have my elixir, but the scent of anise teased my nose. I raised my head, and she slipped another pillow behind my back to support me while I drank. The familiar taste had never been so welcome.
“Ciardha, I’ve always thought you were good at everything, but this is a miracle.”
“Not at all, Lady.” Ciardha took the empty glass from me. “La Contessa heard some intelligence reports from Ardence several days ago that concerned her. She sent me to see if you needed any assistance gathering sensitive information. I brought along an additional bottle of your elixir as a precaution, per La Contessa’s request.”
“‘Gathering sensitive …’ Are you a spy, Ciardha?”
“I am blessed with a varied skill set, Lady.”
A knock came at the door. Ciardha rose to answer it. I noticed she slipped a dagger into her hand before doing so.
“Ah, Lieutenant Verdi.” Ciardha glanced a question at me.
I was still wearing my grimy shirt and breeches from the night before, but I wanted to see Marcello more than I didn’t want him to see me. “Please, let him in.”
She stepped aside, and Marcello entered the room. Stubble shadowed his face; his eyes were bloodshot, and his black curls uncombed. If he’d slept, it hadn’t done much to refresh him.
Good. I was a terrible mess myself. If he’d bathed and shaven, I might have died of embarrassment. But if we both still shared the wear and grime of our harrowing night, I needn’t feel shame.
“Amalia! You’re awake!” He crossed the room to my bedside and took up my hand, pressing it to his cheek. I trailed my fingers across his stubble, fascinated by the roughness.
Ciardha cleared her throat. Marcello dropped my hand.
“I seem to be well enough,” I agreed. I felt like a crab a seagull had dropped on a rock a few times to break its shell, but that was still an encouraging improvement. “Are the children safe?”
He nodded. “They’re with their parents. Your friend Domenic returned them home.”
I sank into my pillow. “Thank the Graces.”
“It was at Viscount Bergandon’s town house that I caught up to Lieutenant Verdi,” Ciardha said. “When I arrived in Ardence and the Serene Envoy’s staff explained you were being hunted as the duke’s murderer, I guessed you might have gone to your old school friend. If I hadn’t caught Lieutenant Verdi there, he would have run back to you without my assistance or the elixir, and I fear I would have had a disappointing report for La Contessa.”
Marcello ducked his head. “I owe you my thanks, Lady Ciardha.”
“Please, Lieutenant, I am but a humble retainer.”
I repressed an unladylike snort. “What’s the situation in the Ardentine court?”
Marcello grimaced. “Chaos. I don’t know the details. Lady Terringer is still sick—”
“Poisoned,” Ciardha murmured.
“So no one is representing the Serene Empire.” Marcello rubbed a hand through his hair. “I gather there’s a lot of shouting and confusion.”
Ciardha bowed politely. “If I may add some details, Lady?”
My mouth twitched. Marcello didn’t know Ciardha well enough to realize he’d been delivered a stinging criticism of his ability to deliver a briefing. “Please.”
“Today is the doge’s deadline, and I have verified with La Contessa over the courier lamps that he has declined to move it. While the jess has been recovered, Ardence still must return to abiding by the Serene Accords by sundown, or he will order the city’s destruction.”
“Graces preserve us.” I struggled again to sit up, and this time I succeeded. “Is there a new duke? Do they even have someone who could make that decision?”
Ciardha shook her head, her dark eyes grave. “No, Lady. Duke Astor Bergandon had no direct heir, and the succession is unclear. The Ardentine court is split by internal conflict. Domenic Bergandon leads the side calling for reconciliation with Raverra. His brother, Gabril, is urging an opposing faction to repudiate Raverra, relying on Vaskandar for protection from consequences; he is backed by several Lords of the Council, most notably Lord Ulmric. Much of the court still blames you for Duke Astor’s death. Gabril and his allies also lay the fault for the death of Lady Savony, as well as the kidnapping of the children, at the feet of the Falcons.”
“Well, that’s partly true,” I said. “Zaira did kill Savony. But she was a traitor to Ardence and the Empire.”
Ciardha nodded. “Indeed, Lady. But the nobles of the Ardentine Council of Lords have only your word for that. All they know is that Lady Savony, whom everyone trusted, claimed to see you murder the duke; and then she was slain by your Falcon’s balefire within hours.”
I twisted the blankets. “I have to admit that looks terrible.”
“Lady Terringer’s staff are doing the best they can, Lady, but without her authority or direction they are running up against a wall of hostility in the Ardentine court. The situation is delicate, to say the least.”
“Hells. There’s no leadership on either side.” I put my face in my hands, thinking. “Grace of Wisdom help us, this is a mess.”
Marcello shook his head. “Everyone with the authority or connections to represent Raverra and nudge Ardence into line is dead, incapacitated, or more than a day’s ride away. And the Ardentines are too divided to pull it together on their own. We have to beg the doge for more time. There’s no other way.”
“Begging does not win you favors from Niro da Morante.” I took a breath. “But you’re wrong.”
“Oh?” Marcello raised his brows.
“I can speak for the Serene Empire.”
Worry clouded his face. “I was counting you as incapacitated.”
I turned to Ciardha, ignoring him. “Get me meetings with Domenic, Lady Terringer’s staff, and any influential lords of Ardence whose children were among those abducted. Also, why not, Gabril Bergandon.”
Ciardha’s eyes shone. “Of course, Lady. Where?”
“Here. In the Envoy’s Palace. The Blue Room, where Ignazio used to conduct such business.”
Ciardha bowed. “At once, Lady. And I will send La Contessa a message over the courier lamps that you are handling the situation.”
My eyes stung, surprising me. “That’s high praise.”
“Not at all, Lady. It’s merely an observation.” She pierced Marcello with
her dark stare. “Lieutenant Verdi, while I am making arrangements, can I trust you with Lady Amalia’s life and her honor?”
“On my own life and honor, you can.”
“Then I will return shortly.” She bowed and left, with one last warning glance at both of us.
“Will she murder me if I hold your hand?” Marcello whispered once she was gone.
“Let’s find out.” I slid my hand into his. Its wonderful, solid warmth anchored me in a world that still felt fragile around me, as if it could crumble into pain and horror at any moment.
“The life is back in your face,” Marcello breathed.
“I’m sorry for making you worry.”
He looked at me strangely. The moment lengthened.
“What?” I asked, nervous.
“I realized something. When I almost lost you.” His voice went low and rough.
“Oh?”
“I don’t want to go back to acting as if I don’t care for you, Amalia. I’m not sure I can.”
A knot like a hot stone formed in my throat. “Grace of Love forgive me. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No.” He squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you did. Thank the Graces you finally did.”
I shook my head. “It’s easy to say that now, but when you’re freezing in some drafty fortress in the Witchwall Mountains, you may feel differently.” I pressed the heel of my free hand into an eye that threatened to become too damp. “Or even if my mother gives us some license because I was dying—even if she doesn’t send you away—it doesn’t change the basic truth, Marcello. I don’t get to choose whom I court. Not based on my own personal preference, anyway.”
“But we’ve come through so much together.” Marcello’s eyes brightened suspiciously. Grace of Mercy, don’t cry. “Surely your mother—”
“It’s not my mother’s decision.” I reached out and laid trembling fingers on his lips, to stop any words that might break my resolve. Their soft warmth sent a tingling up my arm more profound than Ruven’s magic. “It’s mine. I am a daughter of the Serene City, Marcello. I can’t be selfish in this.” The hurt in his eyes made my throat ache. I couldn’t stop myself from whispering, “No matter how much I want to.”
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