I didn’t remember until I was on my way home, with the canal waters lapping at the prow of my boat and the sun stooping to touch the roofs of the town houses, that I was supposed to find out why Prince Ruven had come to Raverra. So I felt a fool, no matter what Domenic said, when my mother came home from the Imperial Palace and called me to the drawing room to ask what I had learned.

I told her everything Ruven had said and done. She pried more details from my memory with fine-edged questions as Ciardha brought her a glass of wine and a silver tray with paper and writing tools. La Contessa dashed off a note and passed it to Ciardha while I spoke.

Ciardha glanced at the paper and nodded. “It will be done, Contessa.”

It could be anything, from getting a nice piece of toast to assassinating the king of Osta. Ciardha’s efficient glide as she left would remain the same.

“I had hoped you would learn more,” my mother sighed when I was done at last.

Shame heated my cheeks. “I did my best, Mamma.”

“No matter.” She tapped her pen against the tray. “He is far too interested in you. You and your fire warlock. And I’m sure he’s not the only one. I want you armed and wearing a flare locket at all times.”

“I don’t have a flare locket.”

“You will by morning. If you ever need to open it, remember to close your eyes, and move quickly: the light will only blind your opponents for a few seconds.” She frowned. “I’ll have Ciardha give you further instruction in the dagger, as well. Daily lessons, every morning.”

I wanted to tell her this was silly, and no one would attack me. But the elixir I took twice a day to neutralize an old poison suggested otherwise, as did the faint scar on the back of my right wrist from an assassin’s knife at a garden party in Palova three years ago. My mother was untouchable, sure in the power that surrounded her like Zaira’s nimbus of fire. Her enemies considered me more vulnerable.

So I bowed my head. “Yes, Mamma.”

She came and laid her hand on my hair, like a benediction, wineglass still in her other hand. “Be unafraid, Amalia. If you are without fear, they will assume there is a reason, and hesitate. And the Grace of Victory will favor you.”

I would rather the Grace of Luck favored me, and kept me out of dangerous situations altogether. But she hadn’t shown me much affection of late.

“You should go change into something suitable for entertaining family. Your Uncle Ignazio is coming in two hours.”

I glanced, without meaning to, at the wall that hid the library listening post. “He’s … no longer in Ardence?”