This time, the quiet that fell on our boat was softer, punctuated by the working of the oar and the rush of the prow through the deep green waters of the lagoon.

“Well,” he said at last, “at least you and Zaira can agree on one thing.”

“What?”

His mouth quirked. “That a certain lieutenant is an infuriating fool.”

“Only sometimes.” I smiled, so he wouldn’t take it too much to heart. “Most of the time, I think we’d still disagree about you most vehemently.”

The last of my anger slipped away as the Imperial Canal fell behind us and our oarsman rowed us toward Raptor’s Isle. But something else crept in after it, growing with the inexorable chill of the shadows that swallowed the canals each day at sunset.

The doge is after the colonel already, asking if our new fire warlock is safe and sound and ready for duty, he’d said.

Ready for duty.

For Marcello, that word meant following his colonel’s orders and keeping his Falcons safe. For me, it meant fulfilling my social obligations and learning to govern the Empire. But for Zaira, duty meant destruction and death.

She was such a skinny thing, hunched grumpily in her boat, glaring across the water at the Mews. It seemed impossible she could contain so much fire.

All I wanted on returning home from our disastrous outing in the market was to skulk off to my room and bury myself under the covers with my Muscati spread across my knees, consoling myself with artifice theory and perhaps a rosemary biscuit. But Old Anzo waited for me in the foyer, and diverted me from my path to the stairs with a discreet cough.

“La Contessa wants you in the drawing room, Lady Amalia.”

Foreboding lodged in my throat like an olive pit. The drawing room door was closed. That meant Council business.

“Should I change first, Anzo?”

He shook his head, sympathy softening the motion. “I believe she wants you now, my lady.”

Perhaps she merely wanted to ask me how my day had been, and the drawing room door was closed because she had a headache. I straightened my lace cuffs and took a deep breath.

“All right. I’m ready.”

Chapter Six

I wasn’t ready. And if my mother had a headache, it had no bearing on the status of the drawing room door.