A night watchman passed on the far side of the street. He glanced at us and shook his head in disgust. Mortified, I realized it looked as if I was drunk and Zaira was helping me home.

It was yet another reason to be ashamed. But there were other reasons I could actually do something about.

“Zaira—” I swallowed to wet my throat. “You should know. If the doge orders you to unleash your fire, and you refuse, he’ll have you killed. He as much as told me so himself.”

For a moment, Zaira was silent. Then she muttered, “That old bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not fair.”

Zaira glanced at me sidelong. “Please tell me you’re not still expecting things to be fair. Even you can’t be that stupid.”

“Well, no. But I wish they could be.”

“Wishes are worthless. You can’t even wipe your arse on them.”

There was more I needed to tell her. “Another thing, Zaira. Domenic likes you. A great deal.”

“No more talking,” she grumbled. “Save your strength for walking on your own cursed feet.”

But as I pulled away from leaning on her, I could have sworn she squeezed my hand.

By the time we arrived at Ignazio’s town house, I had recovered save for a lingering headache. The potion might be powerful, but its effects didn’t seem to last.

Beatrix admitted us, fretting as she took my coat, the shadows under her eyes suggesting she would normally have gone to sleep long ago. “My ladies, there’s a gentleman waiting for you. I told him the master was abed, but he refused to either wake him or depart.”

Before she could finish, Marcello burst into the foyer from the front sitting room, where he’d clearly been waiting. He came straight to me, his face pale, and touched my cheek.

“Amalia! There’s blood on your face! Are you all right?”

Alarmed, I raised a hand to my face. The fingertips came away smeared with dark red.

“Calm down. It’s not hers.” Zaira pulled us toward the sitting room. “Bring the lady something strong,” she called to Beatrix. “Three glasses.”

It must have been the man Zaira stabbed. I scrubbed at my face with my sleeve. I did need a drink.

“What happened?” Marcello demanded.

“Some men tried to kidnap me. Ardentines, by their accents.”

“I found them stuffing her into a coffin.” Zaira sounded admiring. “Good trick. No one asks why you’re dragging a body around.”

Marcello swore. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No. They tried to knock me out with a potion.” I could still faintly smell peppermint in my hair.

Marcello handed me a handkerchief from a pocket of his uniform. I rubbed fiercely at my face.

“I should have gone with you.” Anguish twisted Marcello’s voice. “I should have—”