“We’ve verified none of the Raverran military forces stationed at the garrison were involved in the incident, Falconers or otherwise. And no one knows where the supposed imperial writs and letters came from. Not the garrison, and not the Serene Envoy. We haven’t been able to trace them.”

My shoulders began to relax; I’d braced for worse news. But Marcello asked, “What else?”

The Falconer laid the paper he held on the table. Elegant, formal script stood out boldly from the creamy vellum, and the imperial seal weighed down the bottom with red wax, the winged horse of Raverra rearing in a circle of nine stars.

“This is one of the letters. The seal is genuine.” The young Falconer’s voice quavered. “An artificer at the garrison in Ardence checked it, and we checked it again here at the Mews. It’s the real thing.”

I gripped the table as if I could steady the tilting world.

Marcello turned to me. “Who has access to the imperial seal?”

“The doge, the Council of Nine, and anyone to whom they directly and personally impart imperial authority,” I said.

“No one else?”

“That’s all.” I closed my eyes. I could see my mother’s imperial seal, heavy with gold and purpose, resting in an artifice-locked secret drawer in her desk. She loaned it to Ciardha on occasion, when she needed proof she was acting on La Contessa’s authority. I had never touched it. “My mother told me when I was little that if I tried to take hers without permission, the protective wards on the seal would knock me out for a week and turn my hand green. I have no idea if that’s true.”

“I see.” Marcello addressed the Falconer. “Have you told the colonel?”

“Yes. She said I should show you and the other senior officers, sir.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The young Falconer saluted, gathered up the letter, and left. Marcello braced himself against the back of his chair, as if he needed it to hold him up.

“What will the Falconers do?” I asked. My breath felt too thin to support the question.

Marcello shook his head. “This is beyond us now. We don’t have the information or the authority to pursue it further. We have to trust the intelligence services and the Council of Nine to take care of it.”

I dug a nail against the tabletop, as if I could bore a hole through the wood. It would be easy enough to plunge back into my books and forget. To leave it to my mother and the doge and their ilk to unravel this scheme and soothe Ardence into peace.

“We can’t let this go,” I said. “We have to do something.”

“Us, personally?” Marcello spread his hands. “What can we do?”