A thin-faced woman in mourning black nudged up next to him, wineglass in hand. “Nonsense, Hollis. There’s no such thing as too far. Those imperial stingroaches have my daughter. I’ll tear them all apart with my hands if I have to.”

Hollis lifted his brows in alarm. “Now, my lady, don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

The lady in mourning sniffed. “No less than they deserve. Until they give my daughter back, I’d as soon stab a Raverran as look at one.” She turned to me with a wolfish smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

Hollis grimaced with sympathy.

I gulped a swallow of wine to buy time, but she still waited expectantly. “Ah, I’m, well …”

“Amalia.” Domenic had slipped up by my side. He bowed an apology, his face tense. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But my brother wishes to speak with you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gabril Bergandon shared his brother’s warm-brown skin, deep-set eyes, and winning smile. But he’d curled his hair into long Loreician ringlets, and his neat little beard and slight build reminded me more of his cousin, Duke Astor. He received us privately in his study, which held a single bookshelf full of Ardentine history; the Bergandon crest hung prominently above his chair.

“Gabril,” Domenic introduced us, “this is Zaira, the Falcon of whom I spoke. And may I also present my friend, Lady Amalia Cornaro.”

Gabril barely glanced at Zaira, but his gaze lingered on me as we all settled into leather chairs. “Indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Amalia. Your cousin is sorely missed as Serene Envoy in Ardence. I appreciate the friendship your family has continued to show our city in this troubled time.”

His voice held a compelling resonance, and he radiated an unusual confidence for such a young man. I could see why people listened to him. It remained to be seen, however, whether he had anything to say.

“I’m delighted to meet you at last,” I said.

Domenic leaned forward, urgency filling his voice. “If you appreciate the friendship of the Cornaro family, you should understand how much more valuable it is than that of Vaskandar.”

Gabril’s eyelids twitched with annoyance. “We’ve already discussed this, brother. I’m aware you dislike my friendship with Prince Ruven. I don’t require your approval.”

“It’s not a question of my opinion of Prince Ruven.” Domenic’s voice heated with the flames of an old argument. “Though, since you bring it up, I should mention he’s the twisted spawn of a stingroach and a cobra. But my point is that Vaskandar’s friendship—even if it were genuine, which it’s not—only antagonizes Raverra and makes our situation worse.”

“Domenic,” I murmured. Starting a fight with his brother was not going to help.