Zaira waved her glass in my direction, the wine sloshing to the rim. The jess gleamed on her wrist. “Ask her.”

Domenic turned to me, gesturing an invitation. “Amalia? You’ve been holding back quite the story, it seems. What happened?”

“I, ah, yes.” Heat climbed up my neck. Graces only knew what rumors he’d heard. “I’m afraid I met Zaira when she was in some duress, and had unleashed her powers. In the interest of protecting Raverra from balefire, given that she couldn’t stop it on her own”—never mind that she hadn’t seemed to have any intent of stopping regardless—“I was, ah, enlisted to put a jess on her.”

Domenic’s eyes widened. “So it’s true? You captured her for the Falcons?”

“I didn’t have any choice,” I said. “Believe me, I didn’t want to become a Falconer any more than she wanted to be a Falcon. I had to do it to save Raverra from burning.” Although no one seemed to appreciate that part.

Domenic turned to Zaira, one brow lifting. “Would you have burned down the city?”

Zaira shrugged airily. “I believe that was my intent at the time. But I don’t remember very well.”

Domenic put a hand to his temple, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose we all want to burn down Raverra sometimes.” He cast me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry you got drawn into this, Amalia. Apparently they’re conscripting Falconers now, too.”

“I think our case was highly unusual,” I said.

“But given what’s happened in Ardence …” A light came into his eyes I’d seen before. It was the same fierce gleam that had sparked there when a passing merchant had kicked a beggar woman in the Plaza of Six Fountains. He’d called the man out and left him with two black eyes. “I can’t ignore this, Amalia. Maybe my brother, Gabril, and his friends have it right after all. There has to be a better way.”

My skin prickled at the implication of rebellion.

Zaira snorted. “Better for me? Absolutely. I think it’s worked out pretty well for Raverra, though. Having all the powerful magic tame to the doge’s call.”

“And that’s the problem.” Domenic nodded. “You have the courage to state it plainly, Zaira. I admire that.” He glanced again across the room, toward the doge. “But this conversation is perhaps best continued in another place and time. Maybe tomorrow?”

“We’d be delighted,” I said reflexively. Only after the words left my mouth did it occur to me they might be treason.

A soberly dressed Ardentine woman with tiny gold spectacles on a chain around her neck appeared at Domenic’s elbow. “A moment of your time, Viscount,” she murmured.

“Of course, Lady Savony.” He bowed to us. “Excuse me.”

Zaira watched him go. “Now, that’s a fine view. He must be a swordsman, to have such a firm—”