I turned a corner to circle back, glancing down every alley I passed. My footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstones, chasing ahead of me in the darkness. Another turn, and I wasn’t sure I was heading in the right direction. The spire of the Temple of Bounty loomed in front of me, slashing a swath of darkness against the stars—but shouldn’t it be on my right?

Panic rose up from my stomach like bile. She could be anywhere. I’d lost my Falcon in the city streets, and she might well be making a run for it. I shouldn’t have let my guard down out of mere hope she might be my friend now. What was I going to tell Marcello?

I stopped. Of course. When I hunted for Zaira with Marcello, I’d been able to get a sense of where she was. I tried to quiet my mind, silencing the voice clamoring at me about how stupid I was, waiting for a fluttering pull at my attention.

There. Toward the river, if I had my bearings. Now I just had to try to navigate in the right direction. At least this time, I’d had the foresight to take my elixir before heading out for the night, and had tucked a three-hours’-grace vial into my bodice for good measure.

I’d been walking for several minutes with no sign of her when someone called out behind me, “Lady Amalia Cornaro?”

My heart jumped in an instant of hope, but it was a man’s voice, and of all the names Zaira had called me, my proper title wasn’t one of them. I turned and saw a figure in the street. It was too dark to make out a face. He strode unhesitatingly in my direction, a sword hanging at his side.

Suddenly every shadow seemed alive, sharp, and dangerous.

Without a word, I walked away, as quickly as I could without breaking into a run. I touched the dagger sheathed at my hip. The last thing I wanted was a fight, but if it came to that, I’d have to close at once for my knife to have a chance against his sword. Assuming a sword was all he had.

If he had a flintlock, he could be aiming it at my back right now.

My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. My legs strained to break into a run, but I was afraid to trigger an attack. I had to find a busier street, or make it to somewhere safe. Even a tavern might do.

The clop of hooves rose up over my own quick footsteps. A carriage rolled into the cross street ahead of me, drawn by two black horses. Thank the Grace of Luck—a witness. And perhaps a ride away from my pursuer, if I could catch it.