Marcello saluted, with far more energy than he’d shown a moment ago. “Of course, my lady.” His old wistful smile spread across his face. “After all, you aren’t under my command. If you’re going to try this mad rescue against my advice, it’s still my duty to protect you.”

“And I have to go with her,” Zaira grinned. “She may be an idiot, but she’s my Falconer.”

“Excellent.” I beamed at them.

Beatrix appeared with a wine tray, timid and pale in the face of this nighttime uproar. She cast about fruitlessly for a place in the foyer to set it down.

“I’ll head upstairs and tell Ignazio,” I said. “Zaira, why don’t you two repair to the sitting room with the wine and fill Marcello in on the details of our adventures following Lady Savony? I should only be a few minutes, and then we can go.”

“You might want to wash your face before you talk to Ignazio,” Zaira said dryly.

My ears burned so hot they threatened to pop off my head. “I’ll go do that now.”

Without waiting for an answer, I fled across the foyer to the stairs, covering the lower half of my face. My need to wash might be genuine, but I also had to take my elixir. Let them think it was only embarrassment that drove me to my room.

I leaped up the stairs, the marble banister flying under my hand. Halfway up, I heard Marcello cry out in outrage. Zaira must have gotten to the part about the children in the drain.

The thought of those thin faces and reaching, pale fingers tightened my chest. We had to get them out of there tonight.

I paused at the washroom to wipe off the worst of the grime with a cloth. The soft warmth of the artifice-heated water felt good on my face.

I could do this. It would be all right. First my elixir, then Ignazio, then the children. If we could free them, we could still stop Savony’s war. Domenic could help us get the situation at the River Palace under control, and once Gabril knew how Savony had betrayed him, we might even gain the Shadow Gentry as allies rather than enemies. A few hours to take some key pieces away from Lady Savony, and we’d have a much better report to make to the doge. One that wouldn’t point to balefire as the simplest solution.

Feeling a bit heartened, I crossed the hall and threw open the door to my own room, planning to head straight for the wardrobe where I hid my elixir bottles.

The smell of anise hit me, sickly strong.

My desk drawers, chest, and wardrobe stood open. Someone had searched my room.

A sick feeling twisted my stomach. I hurried to the wardrobe. Shining shards of glass scattered across the rug. A large fresh stain surrounded them.

Grace of Mercy.