Rica withdrew discreetly from the room, with a bow and a sympathetic grimace. I sighed. “Ardence.”

“What, the entire city?” Her brows lifted toward her elegantly coiffed hair.

“Of course. If he wanted to send a warning to an individual, he’d have an assassin attend the party, not a fire warlock.” I rose from my bed, a restless unease chafing at me. “I know it’s an unpleasant reason to be invited. But we don’t either of us have a choice about going. We may as well try to enjoy ourselves.”

“Oh, I’ll enjoy myself.” Zaira smoothed the front of her dress, glancing back at the mirror. “Me, attending a ball at the Imperial Palace? This is too good a joke not to laugh. We’ll see by the end of the night who’s the butt of it.”

She smiled a narrow smile that didn’t reassure me at all.

We were an hour into the ball, and Zaira hadn’t stabbed anyone yet.

Raverrans and Ardentines mingled, drinks in hand, tension in their shoulders. I stood behind a statue and watched the ballroom, trying to get a feel for the situation before plunging myself into it.

Zaira appeared to be having a grand time. She looked spectacular in the crimson gown and knew it, with jewels sparkling at her throat and the corset flattering her figure. Young courtiers clustered around her. Her teasing laughter rang through the crowd, more delicate than usual, and every motion of her wrists as she talked or sipped her wine carried an extra twirl. I suspected she knew very well the men and women surrounding her found her fascinating largely as a curiosity; but I doubted they knew she was mocking them with her courtly flourishes. Ignazio lingered nearby, thank the Graces, keeping an eye on her.

The doge himself presided at the head of the room, with attendants and advisers dancing a screen around him to manage everyone seeking a moment of his time. My mother glided through the crowd with the ease of a shark, equal parts fascinating and dangerous. The Ardentines gathered in knots and dispersed again, like a murder of crows. I scanned the faces of the diplomats for anyone I might know from my days in Ardence, when I attended functions with Ignazio while he was Serene Envoy.

I spotted Domenic, impossible to miss even across the ballroom with his bold laugh and slashed sleeves. He was looking fine tonight. His doublet tapered smartly to show his strong shoulders and narrow waist to full advantage, and he moved with the grace and confidence that had caught more eyes than mine in the Ardentine court. I hurried across the ballroom, snatching a glass of wine from a servant’s tray in passing.

“Domenic!” I called as I approached. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”