Two showers of sparks flared in the dim air—one aimed at me and the other from Marcello. A shriek sounded from one of the second-story windows overlooking the plaza.

The man who’d fired at me staggered, red blooming on his chest, and sank to the ground. Smoke rose lazily from the barrel of Marcello’s pistol. He took a step forward, angling to place himself half in front of me.

The pain I’d braced for never came. The scoundrel had missed. A wave of dizzy relief swept through me.

“Let the Falcon go, and get out of here while you can,” Marcello warned.

They wavered, fear in their eyes. For a moment, they might have run.

But then the man with the scar shouted, “That’s his one shot! Shoot the girl, and let’s get the harpy to Orthys!”

“Now!” Zaira yelled. “Unleash me, you idiot!”

“Very well.”

The voice that came from my chest rang cold and clear, with the sure calm of command. It could have been my mother’s. Believe without a doubt you are in control, she had told me, and you will be.

They reacted to it. Even Zaira and Marcello. For an instant, they paused, and I had their absolute attention.

“If you want to burn like the others did, so be it. But you’ve chosen a terrible way to die.”

Orthys’s hirelings exchanged faltering glances.

“It’s a good thing,” Marcello added, “I have two more pistols.”

I raised my arm skyward and took a deep breath, uncertain whether I was going to shout the release word or escalate my bluff.

It was too much for the ruffian holding Zaira, who knew he’d be the first to burn. He swore and pushed her away. The man with the last remaining pistol tried to discharge it, and nothing happened. He broke and fled, cursing the damp air.

The others followed in a panicked rush, their footsteps thudding on the stones.

That left us facing Zaira, who stood wary as a cornered animal halfway across the plaza.

“Please, Zaira.” I held out my hand. “If you run, they’ll catch you again. And this time, they’ll shoot us both on sight.”

“If it weren’t for you, I could defend myself fine,” she snapped.

“I’m not sure I’d call burning down the Tallows ‘fine,’” Marcello said. “Lady Amalia, are you well?”

“Yes. It seems the aim of poppy smugglers is not up to the standards of the doge’s Falconers.”

“Thank the Graces.” His voice shook. But he held his rapier steady.

Zaira turned a suspicious frown on Marcello. “Do you really have two more pistols?”

“Let’s discuss that at the Mews.” That meant no. “Lady Amalia, I am ashamed to have put you in danger. No apology can suffice.”