“Because if Prince Ruven brings it back to Vaskandar, he might be able to use it to trigger eruptions in all the volcanoes of the Witchwall Mountains, turning the border into a wasteland of ash and fire.”

“Oh.” Zaira’s mouth clicked shut. “Carry on, then.”

Venasha soon hurried back, her face pale. My heart dropped several stories at her expression. “Venasha, please don’t tell me …”

“It would seem Prince Ruven likes erotic poetry.” She shook her head, face grim. “It’s gone.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I swore.

“Come on.” Zaira spun back toward the exit. “It hasn’t been that long. We can still catch him, and break his smug jaw.”

“Thank you, Venasha.” I turned and started a brisk stride toward the palace gates with Zaira. “He said his carriage was on its way. If he was truly planning on leaving the city, the book could be packed in there, if he took it earlier—and volume one almost certainly is.”

“You distract him, then,” Zaira said. “Keep him away from the coach for as long as you can. I’ll get the book.”

We stepped out into the brilliant sunlight drenching the Plaza of Six Fountains. On the far side of it, a line of coaches waited to receive visitors to the palace. A black carriage, carved in smooth, asymmetric curves, stood among them, like a crow among doves, emblazoned on its side with the crowned tree of Vaskandar.

Prince Ruven was halfway across the plaza, heading for his coach, purpose in his stride and something tucked under his arm.

I didn’t wait to see what Zaira would do. I hurried to intercept him, petticoats rustling. Why did I always run into Ruven when I was laced into some completely impractical gown?

“Prince Ruven!” I called.

He stopped and turned. The smile that spread across his features was taut with malice.

“Lady Amalia,” he greeted me. “Such fortune, to meet you here. I was concerned I might miss my chance to bid you good-bye.”

I’d caught up to him. I realized I had no plan for what to say to keep him distracted, and no idea how much time Zaira would need. “You seem ready enough to leave. Have you been planning this for a while?”

“My departure?” He spread his arms modestly. “I am no self-sacrificing hero, Lady Amalia. I can read the wind well enough to know which way the fire is blowing. I have no desire to be in Ardence when it burns to the ground.”

I stared. His gesture had revealed the object he carried, without any apparent attempt to hide it: Interactions of Magic, Volume Two.

“You stole that book,” I accused.

“This?” He glanced at it with exaggerated surprise, as if seeing it for the first time. “I’d forgotten I was holding it.”