Marcello stiffened. “That would never happen. And besides, we’ve checked with the Falconers stationed in Ardence. They didn’t do anything of the sort.”

“Then someone set this up.” The cold certainty of it settled in my stomach. “Someone staged the incident, with kidnappers dressed as Falconers, and a stolen or forged imperial seal.”

Marcello frowned. “Or the Ardentines are lying.”

“I’ve met plenty of liars,” Zaira said. “Our Ardentine isn’t one of them.”

“So you think Ardence is deceived?” Marcello started pacing a tight arc between the weapon racks. “But why would anyone kidnap nobles’ heirs and blame it on the Falconers?”

I could think of only one reason. “To cause trouble between Ardence and Raverra.”

“Trouble?”

I didn’t want to speak the dread certainty that had been growing in me, for fear of making it real. But I forced the words out.

“To start a war.”

“Grace of Mercy.” Marcello’s gaze traveled around the racks of guns and swords that surrounded us, lined up neat and ready. “Vaskandar. Just like your mother said in the Map Room. They’re trying to distract and weaken us so they can invade Loreice again.”

“Maybe.” I bit my lip, thinking. “What’s Lady Terringer doing in response to the duke’s demands?”

“Telling them we didn’t do it, I presume.” Marcello shrugged helplessly. “I mostly know the Falconer end, not the diplomatic one.”

“She’d better convince them.” I dropped my voice almost to a whisper. “And not just so we can get the children back quickly. I don’t like what the Council said, about deploying Falcons to Ardence if needed.”

“What’s this about deploying Falcons?” Zaira asked sharply.

We both turned to look at her, like children caught with their hands in the sugar jar.

Zaira glared. “They were talking about me, weren’t they? I’m not deploying anywhere, except back to the Tallows.”

“No, of course not.” Marcello forced a smile. “No one’s seriously thinking of moving Falcons against Ardence, at this point anyway. This is a job for diplomats, not soldiers. And besides, we don’t put untrained Falcons into battle.” His eyes widened. “Hells. Training!”

“What?” I asked.

“Demons curse me, we’re late.” Marcello slapped his own forehead. “And he hates waiting.”

Zaira frowned suspiciously. “Who?”

Marcello turned toward the armory door, a spark of something like anticipation lighting his eyes. “Come and find out.”

“Here again?” Zaira glared at the familiar classroom door in the wood-paneled hall. It was the same room in which Marcello had tried to interview her. “Haven’t you learned not to try to teach me?”

“I’m not going to try,” Marcello said, a grin banishing the lingering clouds of worry in his face as if he expected something good. “They are.”