“I suppose if the duke wanted a war, he wouldn’t need to push and manipulate people into it like a matchmaking grandmother,” Zaira conceded. “He could just start it himself. Still, if we have to burn our way out, I’m ready.”

I raised my brows in disbelief. “Yes, a fire warlock rampaging through the River Palace is exactly what this delicate situation needs.”

Zaira grinned in a manner I did not find at all reassuring.

The guards at the palace gates admitted us upon hearing the name Cornaro. We passed through the Hall of Beauty and climbed the grand staircase to the ducal apartments with an inexorable purpose no servant or functionary dared challenge, despite our tradesmen’s clothes.

At the top of the staircase, we faced an antechamber full of guards and footmen. The same timid functionary from my previous visit approached us, hands fluttering, eyeing Zaira with alarm.

“I need to see the duke immediately,” I told him. “Where is he?”

“Ah, His Grace has retired to his chambers, my lady.”

I drew myself up, attempting to recapture the serene confidence I’d used to face down Ruven earlier. “My business is urgent. The fate of Ardence itself may depend upon the news I bear. I must speak with the duke.”

I had the attention of the entire room, now. The guards, more ornamental than functional in their gold uniforms, stood at attention. The footmen whispered to each other behind their hands.

The functionary swallowed, then bowed. “Very well, my lady. One moment. I will ask whether he can see you.”

He passed the doors that led into the ducal apartments, sending one last nervous glance over his shoulder. I held myself still, refraining from bouncing with nervous energy only with a great effort. The guards watched us, not with suspicion but as a cat stares at a fluttering leaf out the window.

The silence in the antechamber stretched on. I had the feeling at least a couple of the footmen had been about to head off to dinner but now felt they couldn’t until we were gone. One finally straightened as if he’d remembered a vital errand and strode off with exaggerated purpose; another wistfully watched him go.

Finally, the functionary returned. He greeted us with a deep bow.

“His Grace will see you in the Hall of Victory, my lady.” A footman opened the door for me that led to the Hall of Bounty, the first of several audience chambers in the ducal apartments.