“It’s not that this is better,” he said. “It’s that she didn’t get to choose.”
The chill night air cut straight through my stockings. I rubbed my ankles together to keep them warm. We’d been walking for hours, and a dull weariness spread through my limbs.
“Now what?” I asked.
“We keep searching. She’s around here somewhere, looking for her lost dog, of all things. Can you pick up any sense of where she might be?”
I tried to focus. Water slapped against the walls of a nearby canal. Someone was singing not far off, in a voice lubricated with wine.
An itch nagged at the back of my mind—a feeling I’d forgotten something important.
“Maybe,” I said.
Marcello nodded encouragingly. “Where? Which way?”
“I don’t know.” But if I had to pick a direction …“That way?” I pointed, unsure why it felt right, only knowing it did.
“All right.” His voice deepened with grim purpose. “Let’s find Zaira, before someone else does.”
We hurried across Lost Ring Bridge. My intuition kept pricking me to turn here, then there, through narrow streets and pocket courtyards, into the maw of an alley, past windows that glowed with golden lamplight. My breath came quickly from our pace, but I didn’t dare slow down and risk losing whatever delicate thread I’d picked up. After what I’d seen and heard, I was more desperate to find Zaira than ever.
Finally, raised voices rang out not far ahead, one with Zaira’s unmistakable brashness. I exchanged glances with Marcello, and we broke into a run.
We burst into a small plaza in time to see a man broad as a tavern door knock Zaira to the ground. Five more stood by, their restless anger charging the air.
“Bloody demon,” one shouted as Zaira slowly raised herself off the flagstones. “Orthys will dice you into pieces for what you did!”
Hells. This was not how I’d hoped to find her.
“Stop!” Marcello called, drawing a rapier in one hand and a flintlock pistol in the other. “In the name of the doge’s Falconers!”
For lack of a better idea, I drew my dagger and stepped up beside him, trying to look dangerous in my plum velvet jacket. The word Exsolvo tickled my throat, but I swallowed it for now.
The men did not appear impressed. They spread out, drawing their own daggers, and a couple of pistols as well. One round mouth pointed directly at me. I tried to hold my dagger like Ciardha had taught me, despite the queasy flutter in my belly, planning where and how to strike once they came close enough. My flare locket might give us cover to escape, but I couldn’t use it until we had Zaira back.
“Well, Orthys was right,” the biggest one said, laughing. He had an odd scar across his cheek, with prongs like fingers. “They went and hooded the harpy. She was lying, boys. She can’t light a candle with her jess on.”
Zaira bolted, but one of the men grabbed her. She cursed and spat as he twisted her arms behind her back.
That left four to face Marcello and me. They advanced across the square, menace strung between them like a net.
“Unseal me, you moron!” Zaira screamed at me, struggling with useless frenzy. “Say the word, and I’ll burn them all down!”
“My lady, don’t,” Marcello hissed. “She can’t control it. And we can’t trust her.”
“Do it!” Zaira urged. “I’ll kill them all!”
The big one rounded on Zaira, his fists raised. “Shut up!”
Another in a leather cap shouted, “Don’t let them release her! Shoot her Falconer!”
My breath crystallized to ice in my lungs in one white instant.
The flintlock pointed at me fired.
Chapter Eleven
Two loud cracks hit my ears, echoes ricocheting off the walls around the square.
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.”
I shrugged, trying to look as if mortal danger was an old friend. And it was, after a fashion. “No apology is needed. But I agree, let’s get to the Mews.”
Zaira’s eyes shone in the moonlight. “I’m not done here.”
“We don’t have much time before they’ll be back with reinforcements,” Marcello said. “We have to leave now. This isn’t safe.”
“I won’t pretend it is. But …” Zaira’s voice dropped to a mumble. “I haven’t found Scoundrel yet.”
“Scoundrel?” It dawned on me, then. “You mean … your dog?”
Marcello threw his free hand into the air. “A dog! That’s right. You almost got the Lady Amalia killed over a dog!”
Unshed tears gleamed in Zaira’s eyes. She rubbed at them fiercely.
“All right.” Some strong, bitter emotion lay under the surface of her voice. “Fine. You’ve caught me, for now. Back to the Mews. I could use a bite to eat.”
I shivered as a soldier rowed us across to Raptor’s Isle. The chill settled into my bones, making my limbs weak and clumsy; I’d stumbled getting into the boat, to my embarrassment. And the feeling I’d forgotten something important persisted, though Zaira was right there, huddled sulking in the middle of the boat.
I couldn’t erase from my mind the image of her jumble of blankets in the corner of the mouse-infested laundry. My own canopied featherbed seemed obscene in contrast.
I wanted to reach out to her, somehow, but I
didn’t dare mention the laundry. And certainly not the old woman.
“This Orthys seems like an utter bastard.” The word sat uncomfortably on my tongue, but I offered it up like an olive branch.
Zaira glared. “No worse than you lot.”
She turned her back to me and settled into angry silence. I didn’t try again.
The lights of the Mews blurred across the water, until I could no longer tell how far away they were. Weariness dragged at me far more heavily than I’d expect this side of midnight.
Hells. I knew what I’d forgotten.
My elixir. I could see the bottle, sitting on my desk next to my books, ready for my evening dose. But with the Zaira emergency, I hadn’t remembered to take it, or to bring one of my three-hours’-grace vials, and I’d never expected to be out this long.
Now the last dose was wearing off, and slowly as a bud unfurling, the poison that almost killed me ten years ago was taking hold again.
My breath came in little gasps, as if I’d run a race wearing a corset. I tried to slow it down, but I couldn’t. My vision swam at the edges, narrowing toward the center. No one had noticed—Marcello was talking to the soldier at the oar, while Zaira muttered to herself—but I couldn’t hide the poison’s effects forever.
I could do this. I’d been late with the elixir before. I had a few hours to get home before I lost the capability to do so unassisted. I’d simply need to make my excuses as soon as we landed and head home. My mother didn’t need to know I’d forgotten.
The boat bumped against the dock. Marcello extended a hand to help me out. I stared at it, thinking through the process of standing up and stepping onto the dock as if it were a complex mathematical formula. Zaira had already scrambled out on her own.
Marcello frowned. “Lady Amalia? Are you well?”
“Fine,” I said. “Just tired.”
“Lady Amalia!” a new voice called. That couldn’t possibly be …
It was. Ciardha, impeccable in her Cornaro livery, stood on the dock among the soldiers, an earthenware bottle in her hand.
“Your mother was concerned you were out so late in the chill.” Ciardha’s lie was smooth and fine as Loreician silk. “She sent me here to meet you with some mulled wine.” She proffered the bottle, locking eyes with me.
Marcello laughed. “Well, well! Rank has its privileges! I wish someone met me with mulled wine after a long night.”
It wasn’t mulled wine in that bottle. I should have known no error of mine would escape my mother’s notice. I climbed out of the boat, my cheeks heating. She had to be the most interfering woman on earth.
“Thank you, Ciardha.” I took the bottle and uncorked it; the familiar scent of anise wafted out. I gulped the elixir down, trying not to make a face at the bitter aftertaste.
“La Contessa says to do what you need to do here, then come home and rest, Lady,” Ciardha murmured. I noticed she wore daggers sheathed at both hips, and I’d wager she had more in her sleeves and boots. She must already be aware of the trouble we’d had in the Tallows.
“I’ll just make sure everything is settled first.” And sit down until the elixir had a chance to work and my dizziness faded, but I didn’t tell Ciardha that.
Zaira’s voice cut across my thoughts like a serrated knife. “I don’t give a damn,” she told Marcello. “I’m starving. You may have dragged me back here, but you can’t stop me from going to the kitchens to get something to eat.”
Zaira turned on her heel before Marcello had a chance to reply, stalking off into the Mews. Marcello jerked his head at a couple of soldiers, who followed her. Clearly he wasn’t taking chances with Zaira anymore.
Marcello sighed and turned to me. “My lady, might I have a few moments of your time? There’s a matter I should discuss with you.”
“Certainly. Perhaps we could go in and sit down for a moment?”
“Of course.” The tightness Zaira had left in his face softened. “I’ve had you on your feet all evening. I apologize.” He dipped a bow, which I waved off, and led the way through the Mews gates.
Instead of proceeding to the garden as we had last time, we entered a grand hall. Portraits of famous Falcons and Falconers of history lined the walls. My vision was still too blurred to make out the ceiling fresco, but the rush of movement and light in the painting suggested a scene of one of the great battles the Falcons had won for Raverra.
We’d scarcely crossed the threshold when Colonel Vasante strode up to Marcello, iron-gray braid swinging behind her, boots reporting like musket fire on the marble floor. Her uniform doublet hung stiff and heavy with gold embroidery. Marcello saluted; her eyes narrowed in response.
“A word aside, Lieutenant, about tonight’s escapades,” she commanded, without so much as a glance my way.
Marcello gave me an apologetic grimace. “My lady, would you mind waiting a moment? I’m so sorry.”
I sank onto a convenient bench. “I’ll just sit here.”
Marcello and the colonel withdrew into a side room. I took the opportunity to put my head down until the hall steadied and my breathing came under control. Weakness still dragged at my limbs, and probably would until tomorrow morning. If past experience held true, there was a headache in my future, too, and I shouldn’t walk too close to a canal edge for the rest of the night on general principle. But I wasn’t going to die.
Once I felt a little more human, I got up and went to the modest door Marcello and the colonel had gone through, intending to knock and find out whether I might head home at this point. But they’d left the door ajar, and Colonel Vasante’s voice cut through the gap.
“—a fire warlock, for Graces’ sake. The doge himself made it quite clear he considers her both extremely valuable and incredibly dangerous. And you lost her, Lieutenant.”
Marcello muttered a reply. I hesitated, then remembered my great-grandfather and the privacy of others, and leaned against the wall in a position to hear better.
“I’m sure the doge would be impressed by your excuses,” the colonel snorted. “You absolutely cannot let it happen again, Verdi. She doesn’t have to love us, but we need her cooperative and loyal enough to follow orders if the doge wants to use her. Especially now. And we must be confident she’s not going to burn down the city or defect to our enemies. If she’s not playing nice within a month, the doge will decide she’s too much of a risk. You know what happens then.”
“I know.” Marcello’s tone trickled icewater down my back.
“On top of that, I hear you got the Cornaro heir shot at.” The disbelief in Vasante’s voice could have withered roses. “You do realize if La Contessa’s only daughter gets killed in our care, she’ll have us executed within the week.”
Marcello’s voice was strained. “I’m aware. Believe me.”
Why did all my friends think my mother would kill them?
“You do what it takes to keep them both out of trouble, Lieutenant. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
That sounded final. I retreated to my bench and sat down, heavy with the impossibility of Zaira “playing nice” within a month and the implied mortal consequences should she fail to do so. Mere seconds later, Marcello opened the door and reemerged, alone.
“Is everything all right?” I asked him.
He mustered a smile. “Of course.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He shivered as if the cold of the air had finally reached him. Then he slumped on the bench beside me, face in his hands. “I can feel everything I’ve worked for collapsing around me,” he said softly. “I don’t know how to fix it. I got you shot at. I let Zaira run away, but worse, I can’t win her trust no matter what I do. I’m going to lose my position and go home in disgrace to my father’s scorn. And fail to save Zaira from herself. And maybe get you killed, too.”
I stared at him a moment in silence. The burden of his words lay heavy on me, dragging me down along with the poison and the long night and all my days of fearin
g fire.
But impatience licked up in me like a candle flame, a spark of scalding light. “Hmph. Well, if you think like that, of course you will.”
Marcello lifted his head, a stunned look in his eyes.
“We’ve failed to make any progress with Zaira, yes. That just means we’re doing this wrong. We need a new tactic.”
Marcello spread his hands. “Like what?”
“I don’t know yet. But we’ll think of something.” A group of soldiers passed through the hall, shucking off their uniform coats on their way to bed, grumbling good-naturedly about the chill in the Tallows. They must have been some of the ones helping us search for Zaira. “She’s angry at being stored here like a weapon in the armory; I can’t blame her for that. Especially after we brought her back here against her will again, when all she wanted was to find her dog.” The faint glimmer of an idea started to form in the back of my mind. “If we want to be her friends, we have to start treating her like one.”
Shadows still haunted Marcello’s face. “Kindness may work wonders, over time. But even if there’s hope for her, that doesn’t change the fact that I endangered you.”
“You most certainly did not. I take my own risks, Lieutenant. It wasn’t your doing.”
His eyebrows formed a dubious line. “I brought you into harm’s way.”
“Do you think I can’t make my own decisions?” I demanded. “I knew it might be dangerous. I chose to go. If you shoulder all the blame for risks we took together, you also by implication claim all credit for our success. And to that, Lieutenant, I must take exception.”
The ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth. “You are too much for me, my lady. I am routed again.”
“Well, good.” I had to turn him to another topic before he could trot out his buts and howevers. I asked the first question that sprang to mind. “What would have happened if they’d killed me? In terms of the magic of the jess?”
“Your death would have released her powers,” Marcello answered, his mouth stretching uncomfortably over the word death. “But only temporarily. If she didn’t return to the Mews within a few days to receive a new Falconer, she would die. The idea is to make it not worthwhile to kill Falconers. It neither neutralizes the Falcon’s magic nor frees the Falcon to switch allegiance.”
The Tethered Mage Page 14
