I curtailed the urge to deliver a sharp retort. He had a point. One Falconer had already been attacked, and tensions between Raverra and Ardence had wound tight enough to break into violence at any moment. “I have to. It’s the best lead we’ve got.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“You can’t.” I shook my head. “Can you imagine, an officer of the Falconers walking into a meeting of the Shadow Gentry without an invitation? You’d feel obligated to arrest them, they’d feel obligated to assault you, and it would end in an incident far worse than the ones we’re trying to repair.”

Marcello stared down at his lap, gripping his knees. “Everything is already going to the Hell of Discord, Amalia. I don’t know how we can salvage it. I had nightmares all last night about … about tonight going wrong.”

I fidgeted with my flare locket. “I’m well aware any incident at the party would be the final spark that sets Ardence ablaze, Marcello. You don’t need to remind me. I’ll be careful not to start a war.”

“I’m not afraid you’ll start a war.” He looked up, and his green eyes were open, bottomless wells, clear all the way down to the bottom. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

The quality of the air changed, suddenly, as if a storm were coming.

“Amalia.” His voice went serious: deep as the lagoon and just as dangerous to fall into. “I’m not good at hiding or pretending.”

Don’t say it. I wanted to clamp my hand over his mouth. If he put that look into words, it would be too late to take it back.

“I’m a Cornaro.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a shaky breath. “Hiding and pretending is a family pastime.”

He reached out a trembling hand and brushed my cheek, gentle as a moth’s wing. A shiver ran down my neck.

Grace of Love help me. If I didn’t kiss him now, I’d regret it.

But I’d regret it even more if I got him packed off to some distant keep in the Witchwall Mountains. I folded my hand over his, as careful as if it were a baby bird, and removed it from my cheek. I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go of it.

“I’ll be careful,” I told him.

Marcello closed his eyes, wincing, as if the sight of me caused him pain.

I squeezed his hand. “Besides,” I said, “Zaira will be with me.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then.” His tone was light, too light, as if he didn’t dare place any burden on his voice. But the corner of his mouth quirked. “When Zaira’s involved, nothing can go wrong.”