He turned, and a smile sparked his warm brown eyes. “Amalia. There may be some hope for this party, after all.”

“I’m surprised to see you at a stodgy old diplomatic reception.” I grinned. “Don’t tell me you came just for the food.”

“I only wish. Though they do have those tiny pauldronfish in lemon butter no one in Ardence can get quite right.” He sighed, and a shadow passed over his lively face, stilling it to more somber lines. “I’m here because of last night’s crisis with the Falconers.”

I fingered my falcon’s-head brooch. “Crisis?”

“You haven’t heard? I don’t know the full details; the news came in over the courier lamps just before the ball.” He glanced over to where the ambassador spoke animatedly with the doge. “Best not to mention it here, perhaps. But we should talk later. In the meantime, give me something to be cheerful about! We never got to talk about your projects. Are you working on anything new? I’d love to hear—” he broke off, straightening, as he stared past my shoulder.

“Who’s your friend?” Zaira demanded, bumping me to the side with her copious skirts. I suspected the glass of wine in her hand wasn’t her first.

Uh-oh. I set my teeth in a smile. “Zaira, this is Viscount Domenic Bergandon, cousin to Duke Astor Bergandon. Domenic, this is—”

“Ah! You must be the Lady Zaira.” He swept into an extravagant flourish of a bow.

“You’ve heard of her?” I couldn’t imagine that was a good thing.

Zaira lifted her glass to him, in lieu of a curtsy. “Of course he has. I’m famous throughout Eruvia. But I won’t tell you for what.”

Domenic laughed. “I must confess the ambassador only told me of you this morning, my lady. But in addition to leaving me ignorant of your no doubt richly deserved fame—and I would be delighted to guess the cause for it later—he also neglected to mention your wit and beauty.”

A rosy glow touched Zaira’s cheeks. “Well, don’t you have a pretty mouth? I like a man with a nimble tongue. But if your ambassador forgot all the best parts of me, what did he tell you?”

I took a deep sip of wine to hide my flush. I’d never actually had a nightmare about Zaira crashing into a conversation with Domenic and making salacious comments, but only because my sleeping mind lacked a sufficiently cruel imagination.

“Well …” Domenic’s expression slid from gleeful appreciation to something graver. He glanced at me, offering an awkward shrug. “To be honest, my lady, I’ve heard you were taken against your will to become a Falcon. But I also heard my friend Amalia here is your Falconer, which seems impossible. I confess I’m having trouble making the pieces fit. Might you enlighten me as to the truth?”