Lit torches guided us farther inland. I followed at a distance, apprehensive about what I might stumble upon. As I rounded a tall sand dune, more torchlight spilled upon a pathway threading through a wide entrance in a circular wall made of coral and seashells. The wall served as a perimeter barrier around a sunken amphitheater. Broad steps ascended several yards down to a rounded arena paved in more stone and shells.

As I’d suspected, an additional group of young people had arrived before us and lit the torches blazing throughout the grotto. Bits of glass and nacre from shells embedded in the walls and flooring glittered like gems. Opposite the amphitheater’s entrance, the arching entryway of a tall man-made cave beckoned.

The party raged around me, young people laughing, drinking, smoking, kissing and touching as a quintet played upbeat music. I tuned it out as I slipped down the steps, crossed the arena floor, and stepped into the grotto’s shadows. Rough-hewn walls and columns lit by flaming tapers guided me along a mazelike path that swallowed sounds from outside, leaving me in silence and gloom.

The route ended in an echoing cavern where candles flickered in votives positioned at the foot of a sparkling mural. Bits of glass, pottery, and shells formed an iridescent image of a woman rising from spewing waters, long hair swirling about her like seaweed. Hands open with palms facing up at her side, she greeted worshipers with a meek, motherly smile.

A warm hand pressed against the small of my back. I yelped as Taviano slid close, putting his lips near my ear. “La Madre del Mare.” He reeked of mordid and wine. He slurred as he spoke, his words heavy with his Vinitzian accent. “Her name was Hadria Marenato, the first goddess to rule Venitizia from her throne, here, in Isolas.”

“I didn’t hear you sneaking up behind me,” I said. “You move like a ghost.”

He chuckled low in his throat and waggled his fingers. “Or like Magic.”

I folded my arms across my chest, warding off the cavern’s chill air. “The Marenatos aren’t gods anymore, but they’re still pretty powerful.”

“Indeed.”

“And so are their Magicians.”

He rolled his shoulders in an oblique gesture that sent him weaving, tottering on unsteady, drunken feet.

“When the seat of Magical authority is in the same city, I can’t imagine the Marenatos’ Magicians wouldn’t have some notable influence.”

“What are you talking about?”

No more evasive tiptoeing. Time to get to the point. “The Council of Magic.”

He froze, head cocked to the side. “What do you know about them?”

“Nothing.” And that was the truth. “Only that they exist, and they keep their headquarters in that old basilica.”

“Why mention them, then?”

I traced the silver stitching in his coat’s lapel. “I wondered if you were on the Council.”

He snorted but bowed his head slightly, curling himself around me. His hand slid over my hip. I swallowed my disgust and played along.

“Are you some kind of Magical soldier?” I asked. “Enforcing the laws and arresting those who break the rules?” I stroked his lapel again. “Is there a prison for bad Magicians? A dungeon, perhaps?”

“There is, actually.” His voice was low and growly, his words difficult to understand. “The island is mostly limestone riddled with caverns.” He tossed out a hand, motioning to our surroundings. “Not manmade like this. The Council keeps its worst offenders imprisoned there, in those caverns under the basilica.”

That tidbit of information was extremely useful, but I needed more. “Anyone I would have heard of?”

His head tilted. “How do I know who you have heard of? I do not even know who you really are, Lady Pea-cock.” He chuckled, obviously finding his lewdness clever.

“I told you. My name is Liesl.”

“Liesl who?”

I considered the possibilities. Should I stick to total anonymity or attach myself to someone who might increase my appeal? And why didn’t I figure this out earlier? Swallowing, I settled on an answer: “Liesl Daeg Faust.” Not a total lie—the Daegs were distant cousins, after all, and I didn’t feel guilty for using his name to get what I needed. Daeg owed me much more than this small favor. “My mother was Aeolus Daeg’s sister.”

He inhaled a sharp breath. “Enson Graves was several years ahead of me at university. Do you know him?”

“Daeg’s Magician? Eyes like a wolf? Yes, I know him.” I let my lip curl, playing on the note of distaste I heard in Taviano’s voice when he’d said Enson’s name. “Didn’t much care for him. He was, however, the one who mentioned the Council of Magic to me.” I lowered my voice and put my lips to Taviano’s ear. “He told me the Council had imprisoned a member of...” Hesitating, as if afraid to speak the name and give it power, I whispered the rest. “Le Poing Fermé.”

He jerked back and wavered as he sought his balance. He was so intoxicated, I wondered how he managed to stay upright. “How would Enson know such a thing?” he asked.

“Daeg has spies everywhere.”

“And you are one of them?”

Taking on a haughty tone, I said, “Not a spy. A benefactor. Brigette has served me for now, but who’s to say I’m not looking for someone worthier of my family’s patronage?”

“And you are interested in hiring a member of Le Poing Fermé?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I walked a wide circle, feigning interest in the cavern’s construction. The walls were made of crushed shells and sand, rough and clumpy like something an enthusiastic child might have made during a holiday visit to a sandy seashore. Yet somehow it befitted the Queen of the Sea. “I’m interested in hiring the Magician who was strong enough to imprison a member of Le Poing Fermé. If that rumor is true.”

“Oh, it is true.” He teetered toward me, hair fluttering like dandelion fluff.

I danced away, laughing, hoping it seemed like flirtatious teasing rather than my efforts to keep away from his overly familiar hands. “If it’s true, then tell me the criminal’s name.”

“His name is....” He scratched his chin beneath his mask, cursed, then tore the mask off and threw it across the room, panting as if unable to catch his breath. Narrow chin, hollow cheeks, long nose—Taviano Pesce was nothing much to look at, but something powerful glowed in the depths of his eyes. He tottered toward me again, each step more unsteady than the last. Several feet away, he paused and swayed. “Si chiama... Jonathan Faercourt.”

As if he’d been holding onto consciousness only to answer that question, he promptly fainted, eyes rolling back in his head. He slumped to the floor and coughed a ragged snore.

I edged closer, drawing back my skirts in case he woke and tried to snatch me. “Some Magician.” I snorted. “Can’t even hold your wine.”

Eager to escape his company, I scurried through the cavern and exited into the damp evening air. The music had turned sultry and somber. Like the calm at the end of a hurricane, the party’s kinetic energy had bled away. I kept my attention focused on the pathway, ignoring how the gathering had become something more hedonistic and sexual.

“Hypocrites,” I muttered as I stalked up the stairs and strode through the exit. “Bunch of self-indulgent lushes, just like the parents you’re all so ashamed of.”

Stalking along the sandy path, I searched the beach for a sign of Gideon. Please let him be here. If I have to spend one more minute in this place, I might try swimming back to the hotel.

A spark flared, then a torch waved like a signaling beacon. Kicking up my pace, I tore off my mask and raced toward the flame. Gideon had removed his own mask and cloak, and at some point, he’d strapped on the holster he’d specifically designed for carrying his crossbow at his back. It also acted as a bandolier, keeping an extra supply of ammunition close at hand. He pointed at a narrow water taxi beached beside him. “Need a ride, my lady?”

“How’d you get the boat?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced away. “I, uh, borrowed it.”

“I don’t care if you stole it from the Contessa of Isolas herself.” Grunting, I helped him shove the boat into the water. “If you can get us back to the Terrazzano without drowning, you’ll be my hero.”

He grasped my elbow, holding me steady as I climbed into the rocking boat. After passing me his torch, he scrambled in behind me, taking the pilot’s position at the stern. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me, Evie.” He winked as he shoved his paddle into the water and pushed us away from the beach. “We both know I’m already your hero.”

He paddled us farther into deep waters, bow pointed toward the heart of the city.

“Paddling across the bay seems like hard work,” I said.

“You think I’m not up to it?”