Marcello jumped, then bowed. “Of course, Your Serenity.”

I clamped my lips shut on a noise of surprise or protest. The idea of Zaira following anyone’s commands right now was ludicrous.

“And you, Lady Amalia?” The doge’s attention turned to me, and I tried not to flinch. “Are you prepared to take the field and unleash your Falcon if necessary?”

I could feel my mother’s eyes boring into me. Here in front of the Council, one wrong word, whether of submission or of rebellion, could reroute the rest of my life.

“Your Serenity,” I said carefully, “forgive me, but I’m not clear on where you are suggesting we deploy my fire warlock.”

Someone let out a breath of surprise or relief. I couldn’t tell who.

The marquise of Palova frowned. “Yes, it’s a bit early to be throwing a fire warlock into the fray, isn’t it? We’re not at war.” She waved at the cluster of green stones. “This troop movement could be a show of force by one Witch Lord to impress another, or an attempt to intimidate the Empire—a baring of the teeth. Vaskandar does things like this every few years, and it usually comes to nothing.”

My mother leaned in, her fists on the table. “I suggest we hold the Falcons in reserve for now. Give our new Serene Envoy a chance to bring Ardence into line, and wait for better intelligence on Vaskandar’s true intentions. They are our strongest weapon, and best kept up our sleeve.”

A rumble of assent rose up from the generals and half the Council. The doge nodded. “Very well. We’ll wait before deploying any Falcons. But I want them ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Colonel Vasante saluted. “Of course, Your Serenity.”

The tension fell from Marcello’s shoulders, and he swayed as if it had been the only thing holding him up. Without thinking, I grabbed his elbow, steadying him.

His startled eyes flicked to mine, and I released him at once, flushing. But he smiled.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t talking about my overly familiar hand. I smiled back, but only faintly. I’d bought us time, perhaps. Nothing more.

If the duke of Ardence didn’t prove himself amenable to reason soon, Zaira’s balefire might become the doge’s next tool of persuasion.

Chapter Eight

You can’t hide in those books forever, Amalia.”

My pen jumped, leaving a trail of ink across my carefully drawn diagram. I turned to face my mother, struggling to hold in a bitter outburst.

“Hello, Mamma. I didn’t realize you were in my room.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Then you need to work on your awareness, girl. Even with the wards and Ciardha protecting it, our palace is not assassin-proof.”