“Unless we can convince them Raverra didn’t steal their heirs, yes, they seem determined to try.”

I crumbled a crostini between my fingers. I wanted to tell him about Leodra, but that was a deep state secret—and I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d take it. “I hope someone finds those children soon.”

Domenic nodded gravely. “I think of them every day. I hope they’re safe, at least. And if we could find them—well, that would help a great deal.” He slapped his leg suddenly. “Oh! And I meant to tell you—they’re not the only thing missing. Did I leave Interactions of Magic here by any chance?”

“You haven’t lost it!” I gasped.

He grimaced. “I can’t imagine how I could have, honestly. But I’ve packed to head home, and it’s not where I thought I left it.”

“Have you checked to make sure it didn’t get mixed up with any library books? Like that time you accidentally returned Venasha’s personal copy of Ancient Ostan Artifice as Art: Tomb Wards and Temple Murals to the university library, and I had to talk her down from shaving your head while you slept?”

Domenic winced. “I learned from that mistake. Though actually, one of my friends from the Imperial Library was visiting and asked if he could borrow Interactions of Magic sometime, and I said of course. Possibly he thought I meant ‘now’ instead of ‘maybe in a few months, when I’m done reading it seven times and gazing lovingly at it and petting it occasionally,’ and took it with him.”

“I’ll look for it. And I’ll have someone check to see if it’s turned up in the Imperial Library.”

“And I’ll ask my friend. Thanks.” Domenic favored me with a brilliant smile. “I’ll miss you, Amalia.”

“You’ll have to come back to visit soon, then,” I said, with forced cheer.

“Of course. Nothing could keep me away.”

But his voice held an edge. We both knew that soon travel between our cities might not be so simple.

Shortly after Domenic left, my mother returned from the Imperial Palace, her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. I was fairly certain she hadn’t slept since discovering Leodra’s treachery. She called for mulled wine, kicked her shoes off in the foyer like a child, and retired to the drawing room for a discussion with Ciardha.

I lurked near the half-open drawing room door, trying to overhear them. But by the time I resolved meaning from the murmur of their voices, they fell silent. I strained closer, trying to figure out what was happening. Had my mother dozed off?

“Come in, child,” La Contessa called. “The door is open.”

Ciardha held the door for me, amusement dancing on her lips. My cheeks warm, I entered the room. Ciardha bowed and left.