“I’ve heard enough. More than enough.” I rose from my chair. “I’m not going to help you. I’m going to stop you.”

And I cried out, as loudly as I could, “Marcello! Zaira!”

My voice rang out strong and clear. But only silence met it.

Ignazio smiled. “They’re asleep by now.”

“Asleep?”

“Every servant in this town house is mine, naturally. I sent down orders for Beatrix to serve them drinks well laced with a certain potion with which I believe you are already acquainted.” He took down a bottle from a shelf and shook it teasingly. I didn’t have to smell peppermint to guess what it was.

“What are you going to do with them?” I demanded.

“Zaira is still useful to me, if she’s willing to cooperate—and I have worked hard to ensure she will be. Lieutenant Verdi knows too much.” He frowned. “As do those children. I’d meant to rescue them, but if they talked to you about our plan … Perhaps the story might be more poignant if I merely bring their killers to justice.”

“I think not.”

I gulped in a breath, snatched a candlestick off Ignazio’s desk, and brought it smashing down … not on Ignazio’s head, tempting though that might be.

On the bottle in his hand.

He gasped in alarm as the bottle broke; that sharp intake of breath was all it took. He dropped like a stone, sleep potion splashed all over him.

Still holding my breath, I ran from the room and slammed the door behind me. I didn’t know how long he’d stay unconscious. Every servant in the house was hostile, and in a few hours I’d be in no shape to save anyone. I had to act quickly to have any hope of rescuing the children and preventing war.

I tried not to think about how little chance I had of saving myself.

I made it to the sitting room without encountering any servants. Perhaps they would rather not know what was happening in the town house tonight. Zaira sprawled on the floor; Marcello slumped in his chair, a glass of wine lying on the rug below his dangling hand.

I went to him first, an instinct over which reason had no sway pulling me. I grabbed the front of his uniform and shook him, whispering urgently.

“Marcello! Marcello, wake up!”

His head rolled limply on his neck. I switched to slapping his cheeks. “Marcello!”

Nothing. I pulled back my arm and slapped harder.

His face pulled into a slow wince. “Amalia, whaa …”

“Wake up,” I hissed. “We need to get out of here, or we’re all dead.”

That got his attention. He hauled himself upright. His eyes kept trying to drift closed, but he stayed up.

Good. The potion didn’t last long. But that meant we didn’t have much time before Ignazio woke up, either.

“Wha happen?” Marcello slurred.