I peered down through the deep slot in the stone floor, to where I glimpsed lamplight shining on the portcullis bars beneath. My straining ears caught the high music of children’s voices below. I couldn’t make out words, but the dispirited tone pulled at my heart.

“Marcello,” I called. “Can you hear me?”

The voices paused. A face pressed to the bars below, only a sliver of it visible through the narrow gap. I glimpsed one round, wide eye staring up at me, from a child’s face. Then it vanished.

“There’s someone up there!” the girl shouted. “Someone in the ceiling!”

A scuffle, and hushing sounds. Then another face leaned into the portcullis, familiar and startled.

“Amalia! Is that you?” Marcello’s voice warmed me like mulled wine.

“Yes! I’m sorry I took so long. There were … complications.”

“Where’s Zaira? Is she up there too?”

“No.” I braced my hands on the floor against the dread that settled over me. “She didn’t come ask you for a light?”

“No.”

The grim word sat heavily in my stomach, indigestible. But whether she’d fled or been captured, betrayed us or died, made no difference to the moment’s task. One problem at a time.

“I unsealed the portcullis,” I told him. “I’m going to try to winch it up. Don’t let the children trigger it again.”

“You’re amazing.” I caught a flash of white teeth through the narrow gap. “Thank you. Will you meet us outside?”

I sighed, letting a long, precious breath free to find its way down to him.

“Marcello, I’m going to tell you something hard, and you have to accept it.”

A frown rearranged the sliver of brow I could see. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“Amalia—”

“Even if I could break the artifice lock on this room, I couldn’t go with you.” I swallowed, but couldn’t smooth out the roughness in my throat. “I’d slow you down too much. Ignazio is getting hired murderers to come kill you right now. You need to get those children to safety. You can’t wait for me.”

“I’m not leaving you here!” Anguish tore his voice.

“You’re all those children have, Marcello. If you let them down, they’ll die.” I found the sharp tone my mother used to snap me back to sense when I was being foolish. “Go. Get them out of here.”

A long pause. He straightened away from the portcullis slot, so I couldn’t see his face anymore—just his hands, gripping the bars until his knuckles stood out white.

“Once they’re safe, I’ll come back for you.”

“Fine. Now, go. Hurry.”

“You’re a brave and brilliant woman, Amalia Cornaro.” Those strong, callused hands flexed once, then let go. “I think I might love you.”