Before the duke could explode into outrage, I raised my voice to sever that line of conversation. “Our time is short, Your Grace, and we must keep to the point. I came to warn you of this traitor, and to inform you that unknown parties in your own court are using you, and the missing children, and all of us, Your Grace, to start a war.”

“And yet—” the duke began.

“The Lady Amalia has no reason to lie to us, Your Grace.” Lady Savony’s voice cut smoothly across his. “What she says makes sense. I suggest you stop looking to Raverra and Vaskandar for enemies, and search closer to home. You have your opponents in the court; this could be an attempt to overthrow you, as well.”

Thank the Graces. She was backing me. “Indeed, Lady Savony. Well said.”

“And if you will forgive me, Lady Amalia, your five minutes are more than up.” Lady Savony bowed an apology, her spectacles swinging in a neat arc on their golden chain. “Your Grace, while I feel this is more important, Lord Ulmric will become choleric if we leave him much longer.”

Duke Astor glowered at her. “Know your place, Steward. Don’t answer for me like that.”

Lady Savony stiffened. Her notebook snapped shut.

“Despite my steward’s interruption, she’s right.” The duke rose to his feet. Zaira and I followed suit. “I do have to get back to Lord Ulmric. We should continue this discussion on the morrow. In the meantime, I’ll think on it, and do my own investigation. I don’t much like the idea of a traitor in my court, but I agree it might explain some things. I thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

I curtsied. “I only wish to find the truth, Your Grace.”

“I hope you do. Until tomorrow, Lady Amalia.”

Lady Savony followed him out of the room, dipping a perfunctory curtsy in our direction. By the grim set to her jaw, she understood the full implications of my news, and took it seriously.

With the doge’s deadline coming at sunset tomorrow, I could only hope the duke did, as well.

As we passed through the Hall of Beauty on the way out, I spotted Prince Ruven, halfway across the hall, talking to an agitated Gabril Bergandon. The prince seemed relaxed, an amused smile playing across his face; Gabril’s chest swelled as if he were on the verge of erupting like Mount Enthalus.

“We should probably see what that’s about,” I said.

It wasn’t hard to get within hearing range. Gabril was all but shouting. We weren’t the only people in the Hall of Beauty who’d stopped to listen.