Chapter Twenty-Seven

Istrella picked up my coffee cup in both hands. “I’m sorry about this,” she said anxiously. “I know you don’t like coffee. And I know you don’t like Prince Ruven. I feel terrible about the entire business.”

I tried to scream for help, but the only sound I could make was a breathy wheeze. I stared at the coffee cup with more revulsion and terror than if it had been full of blood and Black Malice. I didn’t need my ring to know it was tainted with Ruven’s poison.

There could be no greater torment in the Hell of Nightmares than falling under his dominion. I’d rather jump into a pit full of vipers, or take a bath in Zaira’s balefire. Panic exploded in my brain, cascading like a spilled oil lamp setting off a room full of powder kegs.

Istrella leaned across the table with the cup, her tongue between her teeth in concentration, her brows furrowed with worry.

I struggled to move, but it was as if some invisible wall lay between my mind and my body. The hum of Istrella’s device filled me, and I sat just as I had been, cupping the copper lump in my open hand. There was nothing I could do to fight her; I was going to become Ruven’s tool, and betray my friends and my Empire.

Blisteringly hot coffee sloshed over my lips and dribbled down onto the table. I couldn’t even flinch at the scalding pain. But not a drop made it onto my tongue.

Istrella blinked. “Oh, right. Your mouth is closed.”

Is she doing this on purpose?

Istrella fumbled at my lips, prying my teeth apart with her slim fingers. “I am so sorry,” she said. “Really, I can’t tell you how much I’d rather not be doing this. I mean, I literally can’t. If I try, I’ll probably start babbling about the research I did into human nerves to create this device instead, which is actually quite interesting.”

No matter how hard I strove to struggle and thrash, to make even the tiniest movement, the only thing I could control was my breath. And now Istrella was tipping the coffee cup toward my lips again, her hands trembling as she fought against her compulsion.

I blew out all my breath at once, as hard as I could.

Hot coffee sprayed over my lips, my chin, Istrella’s hands. She yelped and jumped back, dropping the cup. It shattered, splashing coffee everywhere; the table jerked as Istrella bumped into it.

The lump of copper fell out of my hand.

I leaped to my feet at once and made a grab for Istrella, my heart still pounding violently in my chest. She let out a squeak of surprise and bolted from the room.

I ran after her, chasing her down the keep’s stone corridor. “Istrella! Wait!”

“You know how it is!” she called back over her shoulder. “Sometimes you just have to run!”

I was gaining on her, despite the tingling that lingered in my nerves. She rounded a corner only a few steps in front of me—

And ran directly into Lord Caulin, the Chancellor of Silence.

Whatever he did was so quick I couldn’t follow it. He stepped neatly to the side, moving with swift precision, and caught Istrella in his arms as she suddenly collapsed. His calm expression never wavered.

“Istrella!” I cried.

“She’s quite all right,” Lord Caulin said. He lowered her carefully to the floor and offered me a deep bow. “This is most fortuitous, Lady Amalia. I’ve just come from Raverra with new evidence about the traitor. I’m here to place this Falcon under arrest.”

“What is the meaning of this, Lord Caulin?” Marcello demanded as he strode into my sitting room, anger in every tautly controlled line of his face.

I had insisted that Istrella be brought to my rooms rather than a holding cell; Lord Caulin had insisted on guards. This had led to Istrella awakening groggily in a chair at my dining table, with two soldiers standing watch on either side of her, just as her brother burst in.

Relief and anxiety swept over me at the sight of him, both from a single source: there was no way Marcello would let anything happen to his sister.

But he had no idea who Lord Caulin truly was, or how much danger Istrella was in. And I couldn’t tell him.

Lord Caulin spread his hands disarmingly. “Good evening, Captain Verdi. As I was just telling the Lady Amalia, my investigation has finally borne fruit, and I regret to inform you that it incriminates this Falcon.”

The harsh laugh that erupted from Marcello held nothing of humor in it. “My sister, the traitor? Your investigation couldn’t be farther off base if it led you to the bottom of the ocean.”

Istrella grimaced, blinking as if she couldn’t quite pull her vision into focus, her artifice glasses askew on her forehead.

“Oh, dear,” Lord Caulin sighed. “Do you want to tell him, Lady Amalia, or shall I?”

Marcello spun to stare at me, green eyes wide with shock.

“She’s under Ruven’s control,” I told him, my voice wound tighter than a violin string.

“What?!” Marcello stepped back as if I’d struck him.

“No, I’m not,” Istrella piped up. “I can’t possibly imagine what you’re talking about. Surely if I were under a malevolent Witch Lord’s control, my dear brother would have noticed the many hints I would have tried to give him over the past few weeks.”

Marcello flinched.

“The evidence is rather conclusive,” Lord Caulin sighed. “The Mews clerks helped us assemble a list of people who might have accessed all the relevant papers, and we compared it to those physically present at Durantain with the necessary knowledge to alter the wards. That left only a few suspects, so naturally we searched your sister’s tower.”

“You’d better not have disarranged my projects!” Istrella cried, nearly lunging to her feet. One of the guards stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Some of them are very delicate! And dangerous, for that matter.”

“Yes, well, two of the searchers will likely take a few days to recover from their injuries, but no one died.” Lord Caulin flipped the idea away, with a motion like turning a page. “We discovered signs that your Falcon had been feeding the seagulls at her window, and, more damningly, found crumpled-up drafts of letters outlining Falcon leave schedules on the floor nearby. She clearly had been passing messages to the Witch Lords via the birds.”

Istrella sighed. “I was hoping you’d find those,” she told us, “but nobody ever comes in when I tell them not to come in. You people need more native curiosity.”

Marcello had gone pale as if he might faint. “You disabled the wards at Durantain,” he whispered. “When you told us about the weaknesses in the wards, you were trying to warn us.”

“Well, I probably would have noticed those regardless,” Istrella said. “They were inexcusably sloppy.”

“You see?” Lord Caulin shrugged. “She admits it.”

“She’s under the effects of a potion,” I snapped. “I saw the same thing in Vaskandar. If we search her room, we’ll probably find it.”

Istrella glanced at me in alarm, then suddenly snatched a flask from her pocket and began drinking great gulps from it. The guards beside her hesitated for a surprised moment, and then one knocked it from her hand. The remaining liquid spilled across the floor.

So much for that evidence. “Do you have any more?” I asked her urgently.

Istrella looked a bit woozy. “If I did, do you think I’d have swallowed all that down? Ugh, it tastes terrible.”

Lord Caulin hooked a finger over his lips and stared at the flask, his dark eyes glittering. “If there is a potion, this is most interesting.” He paced over, picked up the flask, and slipped it into an inner pocket. “Either way, we need to learn more, which means taking this Falcon back to Raverra for interrogation and examination.”

My insides went cold. If Istrella vanished into the care of the Chancellor of Silence, I held little hope we would ever see her again.

“And why would you want to know more about the potion?” I demanded, seeking an angle to block him.

Lord Caulin blinked, his face a mask of mild-mannered innocence. “Why, to find a way to counter it, of course, Lady Amalia.”

I didn’t believe that for a moment. From what I’d heard of Lord Caulin, he wouldn’t hesitate to use a potion like that if he had access to one.

Marcello straightened, a fire in his eyes to match Zaira’s. “It doesn’t matter. Istrella was controlled against her will; she’s innocent. You can’t arrest her.”

“Ah, but I’m afraid I can.” Lord Caulin offered an apologetic smile. “The doge granted me the authority to apprehend the traitor when he placed me in charge of this investigation.”

“With due respect, my lord, I don’t care.” Marcello bit off each word. “Istrella is a Falcon, and I am her captain and her Falconer. It’s my duty to protect her, and I don’t take orders from anyone but Colonel Vasante.”

“I assure you, the doge himself—” Caulin began silkily.

“Do you have written orders from Colonel Vasante?” Marcello pressed.

“My orders were verbal, Captain. However—”

“From the doge, then? Or perhaps the Marquise of Palova?” Marcello’s face was hard, his tone relentless. Istrella watched him with bright eyes.

Annoyance flickered across Lord Caulin’s bland face. “Let me assure you, Captain Verdi, I have the authority.”

I could imagine his frustration. Caulin and I both knew his true rank, but to Marcello, he was a mere legal adviser overstepping his bounds. And the secrecy of Caulin’s position prevented him from shattering that illusion.

Time to tighten that vise. “It seems to me that Captain Verdi has precedence here,” I said. “The doge granted you authority to arrest a traitor. But Istrella isn’t a traitor; she acted under the effects of an alchemical potion. I can bear witness to that. Without a guilty party, you have no power to arrest anyone.”

Lord Caulin considered me from narrowed eyes. I kept my face impassive, hiding the racing of my heart. I could almost see him calculating how much it would tip his hand to push further, and who would win if I pushed back.

With Istrella’s life in the balance, I was willing to push as hard as necessary. Marcello stood at my side, stern and clear-eyed, back straight and proper in his Falconer’s uniform. There is no enemy more implacable than an honest man, my mother had once told me.

Caulin looked back and forth between us. At last, he sighed. “Very well, Lady Amalia. I bow to your wisdom. But perhaps when you visit Vaskandar for the Conclave, you can attempt to learn more of this most interesting potion.”

“Oh, I assure you, I intend to,” I said. I neglected to add that it would take some of the potion itself to compel me to tell him the recipe.

“Then I leave the Falcon to your care.” Lord Caulin nodded stiffly to Marcello. “I recommend you quarantine her until this potion’s effect fades.”

Caulin bowed to me and left, taking the guards with him. Once he was gone, Marcello’s shoulders slumped, and he blew out a long breath of relief.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with,” Istrella said, settling her artifice glasses properly on her forehead. “Amalia, I’m really sorry.” She opened her mouth and then pressed her lips together, staring at me intently, as if she wanted to say more.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I know you didn’t have a choice.”

She shuddered. “I can’t speak to that. But on an unrelated note, how long does it take a potion to wear off? If, say, you drank something really horrible by mistake. I’m just curious.” Her voice quavered slightly.

“For most potions, only a day or two,” I assured her. “You’ll be fine.”

Marcello knelt down beside Istrella’s chair and hugged her, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry, Istrella. I should have figured out something was wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Istrella’s voice was muffled by his shoulder. “But yes, you should have. I could never get your attention.”

“Since this promotion, I’ve been so busy, and I’ve had so much on my mind …” He held Istrella’s shoulders at arm’s length then, and met her eyes. “But I should never have let that distract me from being a good brother for you. I wish Colonel Vasante had never made me a captain.”

“Don’t be silly.” Istrella frowned at him. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve gotten involved in a project and forgotten all about you for weeks. That doesn’t make me a bad sister. Does it?”

Marcello hesitated. “Ah … no.”

Istrella nodded decisively. “See? Don’t feel bad about being a captain.”

“Thank you, ’Strella.” He managed a smile for her. I wished I could hug them both and tell them it was all right.

“Feel bad about being so obtuse.” She poked him in the forehead. “If you were better at picking up on my hints, I’d never have managed to get Amalia paralyzed.”

“Paralyzed?” Marcello swiveled to look at me, wide-eyed.

Istrella brightened. “Yes! I’m really proud of the device I made, actually. Do you mind if I show you?”

Marcello put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with what I hoped was laughter.

We saw Istrella settled in the improvised workshop in her room. Marcello lingered in the doorway as I said good night.

“I’ll have to keep a watch on her,” he said, his voice low and worried. “At least until the potion wears off.”

“You were wonderful, standing up for her like that,” I said warmly. “She’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

“Even though I missed all the clues she was trying to give me?” He grimaced. “Looking back, she’s been acting oddly for a while, but …”

“Istrella always acts oddly, so it’s hard to tell,” I said, finishing for him. “I feel foolish for not having seen it, myself. Especially after the flare locket she made for Zaira malfunctioned and knocked out Bree’s entire escort of soldiers. I’ll bet that was a trap to try to take out Zaira, if she used it the next time an assassin attacked.” I frowned. “I should get on the courier lamps to Durantain and the fortress where she worked on the defenses the other day, to have them check for sabotage. Though hopefully Istrella will be able to tell us herself about anything else she did soon enough.”

“If you could, that would be wonderful. I shouldn’t leave Istrella alone. And not just because she’s under Ruven’s control.” Marcello ruffled a hand through his hair, as if he could push the worry out of his head.

“Agreed.” Choosing my words carefully, I added, “I wouldn’t want Lord Caulin to come try to arrest her again.”

“Thank you for backing me up against him. I know I can always count on you.” He caught my eyes, then, and his were a deep and impossible green I could fall into for days and never hit bottom. “No matter what happens.”

My breath came up short. We were standing too close. I hadn’t noticed, with all my worries about Istrella; we’d fallen back into old habits from our days in Ardence. But now it was too much, and I took a step back, flushing, my fingers rising up unbidden to fidget with a lock of my hair.

“Of course,” I said. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your friend.”

But I knew, with unbearable certainty, that nothing could be quite the same between us. Not while I courted Kathe, or any other political prospect, and certainly not if I married him. In every interaction with Marcello, we would always be handling this invisible, heavy thing between us, all full of broken edges with which we could unwittingly cut each other.

“Marcello,” I said. “I need to tell you something important.”

His throat jumped. But he nodded, slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Don’t wait for me,” I said.

His face crumpled in pain as if I’d punched him. He looked away.

Hells, this was terrible. I’d rather he stabbed me. I’d nearly rather stab him. My eyes burned, but I blinked back the tears; I couldn’t cry, not now, or he wouldn’t believe me.

“So … Does this mean you’re choosing the Crow Lord?” he asked, his voice harsh.

I swallowed. “I’m choosing duty.” I tucked my hands into my sleeves to keep from reaching out to him. “I’m becoming who I need to be.”

He turned back to me, then, and his eyes shone wetly. “But I love who you are.”

I closed my eyes. “For Graces’ sake, Marcello.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His hand touched my hair, light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. I almost thought I imagined it.

And then he closed Istrella’s door between us.