I cursed whatever contrary impulse had driven her out into the twisting alleys of Raverra now, when everyone from dream-poppy smugglers to Ardentine patriots wanted her blood. I peered down the canal as far as I could, but as it angled, it vanished between buildings huddled close across the water. There was no sign of a bushy mane of hair in any of the boats below. Most of the oarsmen had lit lanterns by now, and their reflections glimmered upon the water. In this part of the city, no one could afford luminaries to spark awake at dusk.

I felt Marcello’s eyes on me and turned. He wore a strange expression, reflected lamplight shimmering on his face.

“What?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” He leaned on the stone railing beside me. “Not with you, at any rate, my lady. You’re exemplary.”

My pulse kicked up to a canter. But it was probably a mere empty compliment.

“I hardly think so,” I said. “I’m not being much help in finding our lost Falcon, I’m afraid.”

“I apologize for dragging you all over the Tallows.” He smiled ruefully. “You haven’t complained a bit.”

“I just hope we can find her before anything happens to her.”

“This disaster is my fault,” he muttered, looking out at the lights on the water. “Maybe my father was right about me.”

I reached out toward him, then hesitated as if he were a hot kettle.

But I’d touched a girl who was actually on fire. So I laid a hand on his shoulder. That was safe: something a friend might do. “Zaira can create disasters without any help from you. Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll find her.”

He reached up and covered my hand with his own. Friends, I reminded myself. “You’re right. We will.”

He took his hand back, too quickly. I dropped mine, too, and we stood a moment in silence together, gazing out over the canal. Warmth flooded me, kindling brighter than any luminary, and I could have lingered on that bridge for a long while.

But staring at the water wouldn’t find Zaira, so we continued over the bridge and down a narrow street, walking a little closer to each other than we had before. Around us, shopkeepers shuttered their windows for the night.

“Do you feel anything?” Marcello asked. Before I could get flustered, he added, “From the link?”

“What exactly am I supposed to be—” I broke off, staring at a display table in front of a shop. The round-faced proprietress was clearing away a variety of trinkets, including a very familiar amber necklace.

I all but lunged across the table to point at the necklace as she scooped it up.

“Excuse me. Where did you get that?”

The woman tucked it away in a bag, her face shuttering like the shops around us. “I came by it honestly.”