The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  Whatever these mysterious allies might want with Gabril and the Shadow Gentry, they didn’t seem to care about bolstering his reputation in the long-term. When it inevitably came out that his supporters were lying, and that Gabril’s assurances to his followers were based on false promises, his influence at court would crumble. He’d be a laughingstock, his career over when he’d barely reached his majority. He clearly had no value to whoever was using him.

  Of course, that made him expendable.

  It was getting harder and harder to see an outcome where Domenic got to keep his brother, whether I betrayed Gabril or his “friends” did. And what brought down Gabril might well take Domenic with him—if it didn’t swallow all of Ardence first.

  It was quite late by the time Zaira and I said our good-byes to Domenic and left Gabril’s town house. A chill in the air made me glad I’d worn an embroidered wool coat, but Zaira rubbed her bare arms as we hurried along. Only a few windows still glimmered with light.

  “Why didn’t you let Domenic escort us home?” Zaira complained. “He’d have loaned me his coat.”

  “Would you like to borrow mine?” I offered.

  Zaira’s sideways glance conveyed disbelief. “You don’t understand the main reason to borrow a man’s coat, do you? Grace of Mercy’s tits, you’re hopeless.”

  I was glad it was too dark for her to see the flush mounting my cheeks. “I didn’t let him escort us so you could tell me what you learned.”

  “At the party?” Zaira snorted. “I learned Domenic has boring friends.”

  “Yes, but how about anything of substance?”

  “I learned he’s told his boring friends nice things about me. That’s promising, wouldn’t you say?”

  “About the plot to cause a war,” I said. “We were there to try to find leads, remember?”

  Zaira shrugged. “You were there to find leads. I was there to have a good time.”

  “For Graces’ sake, Zaira—”

  She stopped and turned to face me, her gown swirling. “Do you really think I’d help you betray a group that’s trying to stop the Falconers from snatching up the mage-marked?”

  “I don’t want to betray them! I want to find out who’s manipulating them.”

  Zaira’s eyes narrowed. “By spying on them yourself?”

  “Zaira, do you understand what will happen if we can’t figure out who took those children?” I slammed my fist into my palm. “Ardence will burn, and it will be our fault!”

  “No, it won’t.” Zaira smiled. “Because for Ardence to burn, you and I both must agree to do it. And we won’t. Will we?”

  Despair clogged my throat. The smile faded from Zaira’s face as she stared into my eyes.

  “You would,” she whispered. “You would do it, wouldn’t you.”

  “I don’t know,” I said miserably. “Zaira, I’m a loyal daughter of the Serene City. If the doge and the Council of Nine give me an order …”

  Her face twisted in anger and contempt. “You’re a damned coward.”

  “It’s not that simple!”

  Zaira stripped off her glove and threw it down at my feet. She brandished a fist, the jess shining on her wrist. “I wear this, and I still make my own choices, for Graces’ sake. You do, too. If you’re going to burn a city, take responsibility and burn it. Don’t give me that milky piss about doing what your mamma says.”

  “Zaira—”

  “No. Don’t say another word. I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.”

  She turned on her heel and strode off, skirts swishing.

  I bent to pick up her glove, taking a deep breath to hold in my anger. Who did she think she was, to speak to me like that?

  It was easy for her to say she wouldn’t do it, but she’d been willing enough to burn Raverra when threatened. Zaira was a survivor. She might not like it, but I suspected she’d loose her balefire on Ardence if her life depended on it. And if the doge commanded, it did.

  I straightened, holding the glove, words marshaled on my tongue, but Zaira was gone. The fading echoes of her fashionably blocky heels disappeared down a side street that led in a different direction than we’d been heading.

  Hell of Despair. Some Falconer I was.

  I hurried after her, and at once came to a cross street. I peered down each way, but neither saw nor heard her. A whiff of garlic and wine beckoned down one street, and faint music down another; the third lay dark and silent. I hesitated, then followed my nose. Zaira was always hungry.

  I passed a pair of drunken merchants heading home, singing a duet, and a rather disreputable-looking cat. I tracked the wine and garlic to a town house that still had a few candles burning, but there was no sign of Zaira. There were plenty of cross streets she could have taken, though.

  I turned a corner to circle back, glancing down every alley I passed. My footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstones, chasing ahead of me in the darkness. Another turn, and I wasn’t sure I was heading in the right direction. The spire of the Temple of Bounty loomed in front of me, slashing a swath of darkness against the stars—but shouldn’t it be on my right?

  Panic rose up from my stomach like bile. She could be anywhere. I’d lost my Falcon in the city streets, and she might well be making a run for it. I shouldn’t have let my guard down out of mere hope she might be my friend now. What was I going to tell Marcello?

  I stopped. Of course. When I hunted for Zaira with Marcello, I’d been able to get a sense of where she was. I tried to quiet my mind, silencing the voice clamoring at me about how stupid I was, waiting for a fluttering pull at my attention.

  There. Toward the river, if I had my bearings. Now I just had to try to navigate in the right direction. At least this time, I’d had the foresight to take my elixir before heading out for the night, and had tucked a three-hours’-grace vial into my bodice for good measure.

  I’d been walking for several minutes with no sign of her when someone called out behind me, “Lady Amalia Cornaro?”

  My heart jumped in an instant of hope, but it was a man’s voice, and of all the names Zaira had called me, my proper title wasn’t one of them. I turned and saw a figure in the street. It was too dark to make out a face. He strode unhesitatingly in my direction, a sword hanging at his side.

  Suddenly every shadow seemed alive, sharp, and dangerous.

  Without a word, I walked away, as quickly as I could without breaking into a run. I touched the dagger sheathed at my hip. The last thing I wanted was a fight, but if it came to that, I’d have to close at once for my knife to have a chance against his sword. Assuming a sword was all he had.

  If he had a flintlock, he could be aiming it at my back right now.

  My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. My legs strained to break into a run, but I was afraid to trigger an attack. I had to find a busier street, or make it to somewhere safe. Even a tavern might do.

  The clop of hooves rose up over my own quick footsteps. A carriage rolled into the cross street ahead of me, drawn by two black horses. Thank the Grace of Luck—a witness. And perhaps a ride away from my pursuer, if I could catch it.

  Obligingly, amazingly, the driver reined in the horses right in the middle of the intersection, fifty paces ahead. The driver and another man scrambled down from the box.

  I took in a breath to hail them, but stopped. There was something familiar and disquieting about the carriage.

  It was a hearse.

  My steps slowed. The two men slid a coffin from the back of the hearse—an empty one, by the way they carried it. Working in silence, they laid it in the street.

  Then they turned to face me.

  Oh, Hells.

  “Take her,” the man following me said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I stepped into a recessed stone doorway and drew my dagger. All three men came at me, closing in a tightening arc.

  This was the best chance I was going to get. I closed my eyes and flipped open my flare locket.

  My eyeli
ds reddened from the flash of intense light. The three men swore in surprise and pain. I opened my eyes the instant the light ceased. My attackers reeled, blinking, blinded.

  It would only last a moment. I pushed between two of them, slashing at one’s midsection along the way. My knife sliced his leather doublet and turned harmlessly on a rib, but I didn’t care. I was past them.

  As I drew in a sharp breath to scream for help, a wet rag hit the back of my neck. It reeked of peppermint.

  Sleep potion. I hurled it away, but already the world swayed sickeningly. My scream died on my numb lips, and my knees buckled under me.

  The strangers caught me before I hit the flagstones. I tried to fight them, but I couldn’t move; my body was limp and useless. It was all I could do to keep my grip on my knife.

  If I released Zaira, she’d know I must need help, assuming she noticed the return of her powers at all. But given how we’d parted, she might laugh and keep running.

  “Careful,” one of my captors said in a clipped Ardentine accent. “The Owl wants her unharmed.”

  Another grunted as they dragged me toward the hearse. “We taking this one to the same place as the brats?”

  “No. This one gets special treatment.”

  “Exsolvo,” I tried to say. But it came out as a soft, breathy “Ehhhhhhhhhh.”

  “Quickly now. We can’t be seen.”

  They bundled me into the coffin.

  Terror blazed in me like balefire at the thought of the lid closing, and it burned through the numb cloud of the potion. I managed to swing my knife arm wildly up at the men bending over me. One of them cried out and reeled away, clutching his face.

  “She’s not out!” Another lunged and pushed me back down into the coffin before I could more than raise my head, his face snarling with frustration around a nose crooked from previous breaks.

  “Quick, the potion!”

  Something warm spattered on my face. But it didn’t smell like peppermint.

  The broken-nosed man released me and straightened, swearing. I managed to turn my head in time to see the scoundrel who’d been standing beside him crumple, blood on his lips, eyes glassy with shock.

  Behind him stood Zaira, in her party gown, a knife in her hand.

  “Egghhhssssoffo,” I tried again.

  The man with the bleeding face slashed at Zaira with his sword. But a glowing ripple shook the air in front of her magical corset, and the blade rebounded out of his hand. Cursing louder, the broken-nosed one fumbled in a leather pouch.

  “Looking for something?” Zaira held up a glass bottle.

  I summoned the shreds of my strength and tried to lunge up out of the casket.

  Zaira, grinning, kicked the lid shut in my face.

  For one moment of sheer panic, I pushed ineffectively at the lid, still too weak to shove it open. The coffin seemed to wrap tight around me, as if I’d been encased in stone. I choked on the close air.

  Then I heard glass shatter against the lid. Something bumped the casket, jarring it to the side. Faintly, the odor of peppermint seeped in. I held my breath.

  Zaira flung the lid back, holding her remaining glove across her nose and mouth. She wrestled me up out of the coffin; I tried to help, but my limbs dragged like bags of sand.

  Three bodies lay sprawled in the street. The nervous horses had dragged the hearse several yards off. Broken glass glittered in the moonlight.

  Zaira pulled my arm over her shoulders and helped me stagger away, half hauling me. When I finally had to gasp in a breath, the fresh air cleared my head, bringing more feeling back to my body.

  “You’re luckier than you deserve.” Zaira tossed her glove aside, now that the air was safe to breathe, but didn’t slow our pace. I had to struggle to keep up. “And Grace of Victory’s bloody sword, you’re useless.”

  “Thank you.” I seemed to have regained control of my tongue. I had better put it to good use before Zaira disappeared again. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

  She flicked a glare at me. “I almost didn’t, Prissyface. I was trying to decide whether to go back to Ignazio’s house or run for it when you traipsed past my hiding place, blind as a beggar to the footpad after you. Then I remembered that if you die, I die too, unless I get a new Falconer. So I figured I’d better make sure he didn’t kill you.”

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I should give you more credit.”

  Zaira grunted. “I’m not sorry for anything I said to you. I meant every word of it.”

  “I know.”

  A night watchman passed on the far side of the street. He glanced at us and shook his head in disgust. Mortified, I realized it looked as if I was drunk and Zaira was helping me home.

  It was yet another reason to be ashamed. But there were other reasons I could actually do something about.

  “Zaira—” I swallowed to wet my throat. “You should know. If the doge orders you to unleash your fire, and you refuse, he’ll have you killed. He as much as told me so himself.”

  For a moment, Zaira was silent. Then she muttered, “That old bastard.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not fair.”

  Zaira glanced at me sidelong. “Please tell me you’re not still expecting things to be fair. Even you can’t be that stupid.”

  “Well, no. But I wish they could be.”

  “Wishes are worthless. You can’t even wipe your arse on them.”

  There was more I needed to tell her. “Another thing, Zaira. Domenic likes you. A great deal.”

  “No more talking,” she grumbled. “Save your strength for walking on your own cursed feet.”

  But as I pulled away from leaning on her, I could have sworn she squeezed my hand.

  By the time we arrived at Ignazio’s town house, I had recovered save for a lingering headache. The potion might be powerful, but its effects didn’t seem to last.

  Beatrix admitted us, fretting as she took my coat, the shadows under her eyes suggesting she would normally have gone to sleep long ago. “My ladies, there’s a gentleman waiting for you. I told him the master was abed, but he refused to either wake him or depart.”

  Before she could finish, Marcello burst into the foyer from the front sitting room, where he’d clearly been waiting. He came straight to me, his face pale, and touched my cheek.

  “Amalia! There’s blood on your face! Are you all right?”

  Alarmed, I raised a hand to my face. The fingertips came away smeared with dark red.

  “Calm down. It’s not hers.” Zaira pulled us toward the sitting room. “Bring the lady something strong,” she called to Beatrix. “Three glasses.”

  It must have been the man Zaira stabbed. I scrubbed at my face with my sleeve. I did need a drink.

  “What happened?” Marcello demanded.

  “Some men tried to kidnap me. Ardentines, by their accents.”

  “I found them stuffing her into a coffin.” Zaira sounded admiring. “Good trick. No one asks why you’re dragging a body around.”

  Marcello swore. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “No. They tried to knock me out with a potion.” I could still faintly smell peppermint in my hair.

  Marcello handed me a handkerchief from a pocket of his uniform. I rubbed fiercely at my face.

  “I should have gone with you.” Anguish twisted Marcello’s voice. “I should have—”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have been there. It turned out fine.”

  Zaira flashed her teeth at him. “We didn’t even have to set anyone on fire, more’s the pity.”

  “Thank the Graces you’re safe.” His arms folded around my shoulders in a swift, fierce hug. Surprise locked every muscle in my body, brittle as glass, but all I wanted was to melt into his chest and forget everything that had happened tonight.

  Zaira cleared her throat. “I’ll go get a wet cloth. All you did was smear the blood around.”

  She left. I became painfully, achingly aware we were a
lone.

  Marcello started to release me. But I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him there. With infinite care, as if I could shatter us both, I laid my head on his shoulder.

  I was all but nuzzling his neck. Grace of Love, he smelled good.

  His arms settled back into place, shaping themselves to me this time with gentle warmth. “You’re really all right,” he breathed.

  I could lift my mouth to his. It was only the space of a few inches. I could take this terrible day, this miserable situation, and put something good and wonderful in it. I could let my guard down, for once, and not be alone in my jeweled box of a world.

  Marcello stroked my hair, his fingers tangling in the curls Beatrix had pressed in for the party. “Why did the Graces make you a Cornaro?” he whispered.

  The weight of my name settled over me like a stifling fur cloak. I stepped back, not quite out of his arms, but putting space between us. “So we could save Ardence.”

  Glass clinked. We moved apart as Beatrix set a tray of drinks down on a gold-inlaid table, her eyes averted. She bobbed a quick curtsy and fled the room, passing Zaira on her way in.

  “Time’s up, lovebirds,” Zaira called. She flung a cloth at me without warning; it smacked cold and wet into my face.

  Marcello muttered something into his drink about not being lovebirds. I perched at the edge of a divan and worked on wiping the blood off, glad to bury my face behind the cloth for a moment. Zaira snatched up a glass from the wine tray and dropped into a chair, snickering.

  Marcello settled as well, with a deep, steadying breath. “Do you have any idea who tried to kidnap you?”

  “The Owl,” I remembered.

  “Who?” Marcello asked blankly.

  “Oh, come on, that joke’s too easy,” Zaira protested. Then she sat up straight as if a mouse had bitten her. “Wait! An owl! I know I saw an owl.”

  “An owl?” I certainly didn’t recall seeing one.

  From her sleeve, Zaira procured a sealed letter. “There! When Mister Boring and Rude Host kicked us out so he could have his little secret meeting with you, I stole his mail.”

  I stared. “Zaira, I thought you refused to spy on them.”