I twisted my good hand in the strap of my satchel, but said nothing. My mother once told me that when you didn’t know where you stood, you should keep your mouth shut and listen.

“Amalia, do you know why I let you run around Raverra without an escort?”

I hesitated, then shook my head.

“Why I let you study magical science in Ardence, or allow you to go out dressed like a country squire’s seventh daughter, or pretend I don’t notice when you visit pawnshops in unsavory areas?”

“No, Mamma.”

“To see what you do, given freedom to make your own choices.” Her words cut the air like a thrown knife. “And to see what you learn. Because I hoped this independence indicated a spark of intelligence or ambition that might serve our family well, and that you might prove yourself worthy to be my heir.”

I had thought, perhaps, it was because she wanted me to be happy. “I did learn things.”

“Hmm.” La Contessa tapped her quill against the edge of her desk. “You have certainly taken bold action. For that, I must commend you.”

“Thank you, Mamma.” She was probably being ironic, but better to be safe.

“The question is what will happen now. The law is clear: you cannot be a Falconer. Yet you are. Do you realize what this means?”

I swallowed. “I’m causing headaches for everyone?”

“You miss the crucial point, child. It means we are the only family in the Assembly to have control of a Falcon.”

I blinked. I hadn’t considered that angle at all. The hundreds of patrician families that made up the Assembly, the great legislative council of Raverra, constantly maneuvered for advantage against each other. Strong magic was a privilege reserved for the state, an edge that could disrupt the delicate balance of Raverran power. “I can’t imagine the doge would allow—”

“You are my heir,” La Contessa cut in. “The doge does not control you. I do.”

My eyebrow shot up in annoyance. “With all respect, if that were entirely true, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

My mother laughed. She had a lovely, warm laugh, which still set the hearts of courtiers and kings aflutter. “Very well then, child. You are a Cornaro. No one controls you. But be careful; the doge will not appreciate that fact. Especially with things as they are now in Ardence.”

That didn’t sound good. “Is something wrong in Ardence?” Domenic and my other Ardentine friends hadn’t mentioned any trouble in their last letters, though I hadn’t heard anything from them within the past few weeks. Nor had my mother’s cousin, the doge’s envoy to Ardence, said anything at our family dinner a month ago. But La Contessa was on the Council of Nine, and personally oversaw Raverran intelligence; she’d know about trouble before its perpetrators did.