Domenic, despite being in high demand as the new duke, still found time to come say good-bye. His farewell to me was brief but warm, with promises to visit each other and to correspond about the intriguing possibility of canal locks. But he didn’t seem to know what to say to Zaira. He stared at her as if he had lost all language.

Of course. Zaira had to come back to Raverra with me. Domenic had to stay here and lead his city, a fate I happened to know did not make it easy to pursue one’s romantic inclinations. An awkward pity strained my chest.

I made an excuse to leave them alone together in the sitting room. But once the door closed behind me, instead of continuing on to the washroom as I’d announced, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

Poor Domenic. He’d never had a chance. Even if she were free to do as she pleased and live where she wished, and even if there were any chance the doge would allow her to court an Ardentine noble, I doubted Zaira would want to be a duke’s wife—no matter how delightful it would be to watch her shake up the Ardentine court. Besides, Terika waited for her back at the Mews; they might not be a couple yet, but I’d seen the way they looked at each other.

What happened behind that door was none of my business. But I knew one thing for certain: if it was truly what they wanted, neither Domenic nor Zaira were the type of person who would let differences of rank or even the laws of the Empire stop them from courting.

I thought of Marcello’s clean-lined face, wistful smile, and loyal heart. I owed him nothing less. But I was not Domenic or Zaira. I was the Cornaro heir.

I opened my eyes on the palace corridor again.

I wasn’t alone.

A figure in a deeply hooded velvet cloak stood between me and the next luminary. With the light behind them, I couldn’t see their face.

My hand fell to my dagger. “Exsolvo” tickled the back of my throat.

“Good reaction, but you may want to be more subtle next time.” My mother pushed back her hood, freeing the glorious fall of her auburn hair. “There are those who might be offended if you drew on them.”

“Mamma?” My thoughts snarled on the impossibility of her presence. “How … why are you here?”

“Did you truly think I would sit in Raverra and wait to see what happened when word came through the courier lamps you were accused of Duke Bergandon’s murder?” She crossed the space between us and smoothed an errant lock of hair from my face. “I came at once. And the most incredible reports greeted me at each stop. Near dead of poison … Taking over as Serene Envoy … You have been busy, Amalia.”