Silence fell, broken by my weak cough as I choked on the ashy air. It occurred to me I was breathing in the smoke from the four burned corpses scattered about the room, little gritty remnants of their lives. I gagged.

I wanted clean air and water, and to get out of this terrible place before I died. I wanted Marcello. I wanted my mother. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I struggled to sit up, the room swaying around me.

Light bloomed on the stairs, and I heard the thunder of approaching boots. My heart strained toward the ruined doorway, hoping for a miracle.

But it was Ignazio, with two more henchmen. They paused uncertainly on entering the room. Then Ignazio saw Zaira’s unconscious body and sighed with visible relief.

“Kill them both,” he told his men.

But the one on his left crumpled, coughing, blood spattering on the floor in front of him.

The second drew a flintlock, too slowly. A slim, graceful figure withdrew her knife from his comrade’s back and spun, in the same motion, to slash it across his throat.

Ignazio scurried back away from her, drawing his dagger. “You!” he cried.

Ciardha stepped over the bodies of his hirelings. Not a hair strayed out of place on her perfect head.

“La Contessa sends her regards to her dear cousin,” she said.

Marcello burst into the room behind her, his flintlock aimed at Ignazio’s chest. Ignazio threw down his dagger and fell to his knees, his hands raised as if in prayer.

“I surrender! Please, don’t kill me! I surrender!”

“Then I will deliver you to the Council of Nine for judgment.” Ciardha continued to advance on him, smooth and deadly as a tigress. “La Contessa will decide your fate.”

Ignazio went white as a drowned man’s ghost. He knew what my mother did to people who imperiled her daughter.

This must be a hallucination. But I could think of no more wonderful and comforting delusion to light my way to death than Marcello running to my side, calling my name, crushing me to his chest.

I closed my eyes. “I know you’re not real, but kiss me anyway,” I murmured.

The shadows deepened behind my eyelids as he bent his face over mine, and his breath tickled my face. But I slid away into blackness before our lips touched.

Ciardha called my name. No doubt my mother required my presence at breakfast, but all I wanted was to keep sleeping. The down-stuffed pillow cradled my head with perfect softness, and my body ached with weariness. Warm light filtered through my shut eyelids, which meant the sun had cleared the town houses on the far side of the Imperial Canal. I wished I’d thought to draw my bed-curtains the night before. Why had I been up so late, anyway? I couldn’t remember.

“Lady Amalia. You must wake up. It’s time for your morning elixir.”