So that was why my mother had sent Ciardha to wake me. Treating me like a child again, as if I couldn’t take care of myself.

But there was something wrong. Something about my elixir.

I blinked my eyes open. A strange bedroom slid into focus: pale blue instead of warm gold, no clutter of books and artifice projects, different bed. Ciardha sat at my bedside, posture perfect as always, holding a drinking glass. My world tilted, rotated, and fit into a new position, like a puzzle piece I’d been trying to insert the wrong way. I wasn’t at home. I was still in Ardence. And it was morning.

“I’m not dead?” I asked incredulously.

“Of course not, Lady. La Contessa made it quite clear you must return alive.”

Memory tightened its claws. I tried to sit up, but failed. “The children! Is everyone all right? Are we at war?”

“The situation is under control, for the moment, though there is work still to be done. Please take your elixir, Lady.” Ciardha’s tone left no room for argument as she proffered the glass.

It seemed impossible she could truly have my elixir, but the scent of anise teased my nose. I raised my head, and she slipped another pillow behind my back to support me while I drank. The familiar taste had never been so welcome.

“Ciardha, I’ve always thought you were good at everything, but this is a miracle.”

“Not at all, Lady.” Ciardha took the empty glass from me. “La Contessa heard some intelligence reports from Ardence several days ago that concerned her. She sent me to see if you needed any assistance gathering sensitive information. I brought along an additional bottle of your elixir as a precaution, per La Contessa’s request.”

“‘Gathering sensitive …’ Are you a spy, Ciardha?”

“I am blessed with a varied skill set, Lady.”

A knock came at the door. Ciardha rose to answer it. I noticed she slipped a dagger into her hand before doing so.

“Ah, Lieutenant Verdi.” Ciardha glanced a question at me.

I was still wearing my grimy shirt and breeches from the night before, but I wanted to see Marcello more than I didn’t want him to see me. “Please, let him in.”

She stepped aside, and Marcello entered the room. Stubble shadowed his face; his eyes were bloodshot, and his black curls uncombed. If he’d slept, it hadn’t done much to refresh him.

Good. I was a terrible mess myself. If he’d bathed and shaven, I might have died of embarrassment. But if we both still shared the wear and grime of our harrowing night, I needn’t feel shame.

“Amalia! You’re awake!” He crossed the room to my bedside and took up my hand, pressing it to his cheek. I trailed my fingers across his stubble, fascinated by the roughness.

Ciardha cleared her throat. Marcello dropped my hand.