I nodded, reluctantly. The Council of Nine had the power to declare war, and my mother held most of the Council under her sway.

“But I did not.” Ruven smiled brilliantly, like a child sure of praise from his teacher. “You are alive. Thus, you know my desire for peace is genuine.” His expression changed, and his extended hand reached in invitation. “As is my desire to court a lady with such noble heritage, and such magnificent political and magical prospects as yourself.”

I drove my dagger home in its sheath, but my face felt no less hard than its steel. “You have much to learn,” I said, “about courting Raverrans.”

I turned on my heel without another word and left him there.

I didn’t start trembling until I was safely in my boat.

Chapter Twelve

My thoughts ran crowded and chaotic as the traffic on the Imperial Canal as my oarsman guided me homeward from the garden party. Dusk was starting to fall over the Serene City, and his oar broke and scattered the reflections of kindling luminaries and bow lanterns into thousands of points of light. People called to each other, from boat to boat, and the strains of music drifted down from a palace window above the canal.

I could now almost draw a line through the points on my map of the trouble in Ardence: Prince Ruven’s visit, and his possible connection to the Shadow Gentry; Duke Astor’s defiance under the Shadow Gentry’s influence; the illicit use of the imperial seal in the abduction of the children. Almost, but not quite. I was still missing some crucial connection.

We glided beneath the golden lights of the Ardentine Embassy, and I spied a familiar figure on a balcony, leaning pensively on the rail and gazing out over the water: Domenic, his springy mane and broad shoulders unmistakable against the glow of lamplight behind him.

“Pull up to the next quay,” I directed my oarsman as I waved vigorously to Domenic. “I’m paying a visit.”

An embassy servant conducted me to the balcony, where Domenic waved me over with a grin, hoisting a half-empty wine bottle in invitation. “Amalia! Come stand with me. I can see all the aristocrats’ bald spots from here. It’s lovely.”

I stepped up beside him. “Just don’t drip ink on them.”

“Once! Once, I did that, and only to Professor Clopis, because he’d been so unfair to Venasha about the classes she missed due to morning sickness.” He sighed. “But you have to admit, my aim was impeccable. Smack in the middle of his pink crown.”

“It took weeks for the splotch to fade,” I recalled. “Did you use alchemical permanent ink?”

“Of course. Only the best for Venasha.” He poured me some wine, and we clinked our glasses together.

“What brings you to the embassy?” I asked.