“This isn’t like you. Letting fear stop you like this.”

“I promised I’d take care of her.” He gave me a helpless sort of half smile. “My mother left when Istrella could barely walk, and my father wanted nothing to do with her. I was seven, but I practically raised her along with our nursemaid, until the mage mark appeared in her eyes a couple years later.”

“That must have been hard.”

“No, it was all right,” he said. “It gave me purpose. Something worthwhile I could do, so I’d know my father and brother were wrong when they called me worthless.” His mouth flirted with an ironic smile. “The colonel herself came to take Istrella to the Mews, because we were a patrician family. I told her I was coming with my sister, to be her Falconer when I was old enough.”

I tried to picture Colonel Vasante ten years younger, looking down at this stubborn little boy. “So you went with her? You grew up in the Mews?”

He shook his head. “Only half the time, until I was fourteen and could become Istrella’s Falconer. The colonel declared that since the rest of my family had declined the opportunity to move into the Mews, I should spend at least half my time with them. She sent Istrella home with me as often as she could, to visit, since my father and brother didn’t come to the Mews to visit us there. But they were never glad to see us. We reminded them too much of our mother, and they considered the mage mark her parting curse. Istrella and I liked the Mews better.”

“So you’re all she has,” I concluded. “And you don’t want to let her down.”

He nodded miserably. “I’ve always told myself I’m not truly a failure so long as I haven’t failed her. I can’t ask her to make those cannons, Amalia. She’s just a child.”

I shook his shoulder. “Give Istrella more credit, silly.”

Marcello blinked at me. “What?”

“She’s a Falcon,” I said. “She grew up in the Mews. She understands what’s expected of her.”

“They’re talking about using her work to attack a city full of innocent civilians.” The anguish in his voice wasn’t for Istrella alone. I knew it too well. The same pain cut into my own heart.

“Worry about it when it’s more than talk.” I was too aware of the distractingly small distance between us, the angle of his body toward mine. “Everyone still wants a diplomatic solution. We have time.”

One of the doors to the practice courtyard banged open. A chime sounded, to warn anyone using dangerous magic. Colonel Vasante strode out into the practice courtyard, her boots ringing on the flagstones.

“Playtime is over,” she said. “We have a mission.”