Carrying a pistol seemed unwise in my case, since gunpowder and balefire might not be the best combination, so Marcello had decided I should receive instruction in the rapier. Balos was infinitely patient with me, but all my training had been with daggers, and I didn’t know what to do with two and a half extra feet of steel. It didn’t help to have Zaira and Jerith watching me from a bench at the edge of the practice courtyard, slowly demolishing a tray of pastries between them as they offered up commentary on how I was doing.

Balos finally called a break in our sparring session, rubbing his smooth brown scalp and shaking his head. I kept my mouth sealed as I carefully replaced my practice sword on its rack.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering.” Zaira lounged on her bench, nibbling almond biscuits. Scoundrel lay adoringly at her feet, snatching up any crumbs that hit the ground. “These lessons are pointless without magic. If the only useful thing Lady Precious here can do in a fight is say the release word, why don’t you have her practice that?”

Balos and Jerith exchanged glances. “Because balefire is incredibly dangerous and destructive, and one tiny accident could kill us all?” Jerith suggested.

Balos nodded. “Balefire isn’t something we can unleash in practice. At least, not around other people. It spreads too quickly. You should only unleash it when the situation is already deadly—when there’s no other way.”

Zaira grunted. “Tell that to the doge.”

I spotted Marcello on the far end of the practice ground, slumped on a bench, staring at his knees. I hadn’t realized he was there; he’d been out investigating a report of a rogue alchemist on the mainland when the lesson started. He must have come in quietly while I was sparring. I crossed the courtyard, propelled by frustration at both my lesson and my mother, ready to make some self-deprecating comment about my poor performance driving him to despair.

But he didn’t look up as I approached. Defeat dragged at the line of his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly, settling onto the bench next to him. “Did something happen with the alchemist?”

He lifted his face. His eyes remained dull and distant. “What? No. There was no alchemist. Just a jilted lover poisoning his rival without any help from magic.”

“What is it, then? Something’s bothering you.”

Marcello sighed. “Istrella. I need to tell her why we’re going to Ardence.”

“What? Have you still not told her about the cannon project?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“I know.” He pushed his hair back from his forehead with both hands. “I went up to her tower last night resolved to tell her, but I couldn’t. She was so happy, working on her vanishing crown. I couldn’t ruin her day.”