Lucy opened her eyes and clawed the blanket off her face, trying to breathe. Sunlight speckled in from a dirty window, rays highlighting the frescoes, yellow flowers against the hallway’s green walls.

Octavia!

The room came more into focus. No, Octavia was not here. She couldn’t breathe because she had been drowning. Where was she now?

A dog bounded from the floor and jumped on her. Her heart thumped. Its paws pressed down on her ribs.

“Peppo!”

Beyond the small dog, a young man in shirtsleeves and suspenders, rough and gangly, stared at her from the doorway. His shirt’s open neck made her look away. The dog jumped to the floor and ran over to the boy. Lucy thought of Khun wandering to Octavia when she was small and his aspect was a puppy.

She inched up to sitting, her body stiff and bruised, and pulled the blanket to her neck. It would not be appropriate for the boy to see her in this nightgown. Of all the things she could have expected if she had failed, Lucy had never considered the idea she might fall into the clutches of a Venetian.

“Do not be afraid,” the boy said. At least he could speak English, even if he didn’t have enough breeding to know he shouldn’t stare at her.

“Who are you?” she whispered. She meant to speak up, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate with her.

“Carlo Borgia. This is my family’s home. You are safe.”

There had to be more to this than there appeared. No person would want to bring a Binder home, and yet here she was.

“Your bird,” Carlo Borgia continued, “he is here, too. My grandfather is an apothecary and believes you are well, although you have damaged your throat, and no doubt your ribs and lungs are in pain. We can bring a doctor here, if you like, or contact your people. You are English? Maybe you are traveling with your family?”

Borgia. Borgia. One of the old European magical families? She tried to hide further under the blankets.

“Your clothes were very ruined,” said Carlo Borgia. “I can get you some other clothes, but in this neighborhood, they will be child’s clothes. And you are not a child?”

“No.” Lucy blushed.

Carlo reddened in return. His eyes moved away from her and toward the ceiling. “It was the clothes you were wearing. Not children’s style. So, where is your family staying?”

Lucy tried to sit up more and little brown dots danced before her eyes. She lay down and covered her eyes with a forearm. “I am traveling by myself.” Her voice grew stronger.

“Please excuse me to be doubting an English lady, but you are not by yourself.”

“Where is Ra?” Her crackling voice hurt her ears.

“Ra?”

“The bird,” she said. She uncovered her eyes.

“He is outside.”

Lucy fought her way to sitting again. “We will be on our way, then, if I can have some clothes.”

“No,” said Carlo. “I don’t think you should go just yet. You almost died.”

Lucy smiled at him. He wasn’t handsome like Drusus. He felt comfortable, though, which puzzled her. Usually talking to other people made her voice squeak. She had little practice. “If I learned anything last night, I found I’m not allowed to die.”

The silence became awkward. Carlo tried again. “Do you want something for pain? Are you thirsty? My mother wants you to have some soup. You want some soup? Grandpa has put things in it that are good for your throat. Or I could make you some tea?”

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” Lucy asked.

“Che cosa?”

Lucy had startled him into his own language. “You know what I am?” Her throat ached.

Carlo scratched his head. “Ah,” he said. “Everyone else seems to, but they’re keeping it from me. You should stay. Maybe you want to try to kill yourself again?”

“No. I don’t want to kill myself again.”

“Si. You jumped into the canal. Yes, I think so. Last night was a surprise. Your bird wants to kill you. Maybe you don’t want the bird to kill you. Maybe you don’t want to fight the bird, so you want to kill yourself, because you don’t want to be killed by a demon?” Carlo leaned against the doorway.

“How do you know about demons? You said you knew nothing.”

Carlo blushed. “My grandpa and my mama, they spoke. I eavesdropped. Why did you jump?”

“I will lose,” said Lucy. “I would rather die than lose.”

“Let me help you.” Carlo stood up straighter. “I am a magician.”

Lucy bit her lip. This lanky boy did not look like a magician.

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Carlo scratched his neck. “Maybe I should say I think I am descended from magicians. Right now, I am an apothecary in training, but I did rescue you. I am responsible for you.”

“You rescued me?”

“Yes. Sorry. I mean, not sorry. You rest and things will be better. My grandfather and I, we might be of some use to you.”

A heavy weight settled into Lucy’s chest, cold. “I must leave as soon as possible. Your family is not safe while I am here.”

“As you say,” he said, waving away her protests. “Later we will worry about safe.” He left the doorway. The small dog curled up on the rug by her bed, and she watched him as she drifted off to sleep.

***

The wind made Octavia’s dress sinuous as she walked from the balcony windows into the pension’s sitting room. Velvet curtains streamed ahead, announcing her like heralds. There were few people in the room. A gentleman on a sofa read a book, shifting so he would not make eye contact with her. Octavia’s eyes flitted over the others: a moody girl on her first trip to Serenissima, as she had called Venice last night at dinner, before she had moved to another table; and a stout, whiskered man whom Octavia admired because he had chatted with her and her family even though he had wanted to run.

Octavia’s eyes roamed the frescoes covering the room’s walls and ceiling, all cherubs and ribbons. There were angels and there were angels. Two years ago as Octavia prepared for her Trial, she had seen a real angel. She shivered and pushed her memory back down.

Other tourists milled about their business on the staircase outside the sitting room, in the world of light. Women in bright dresses, young ladies with hair coifed in ringlets, older women with higher collars and fewer ribbons. Gentlemen varied, dressed in waistcoats and cravat knots, running the gamut from the fop to the every day.

The moody girl drifted into the light. Mr. Darlington, the older gentleman, stacked a few books, smiled at Octavia, and stepped toward the stairs, passing Drusus as he came in.

“I’ve talked to the garrison commander. He will let us know if there is any sign of her. Did she come back? Send word? Anything?” Drusus peeled off his cloak and draped it over one arm. The hem dripped onto the carpet.

“No.” Octavia sat and smoothed her black skirt, which made the settee’s maroon velvet much brighter. Octavia’s voice was as soft as she could make it. Dulcet and pleasant tones, the books had advised for wifely demeanor. She was desperate not to cry, and the mask she had tied in place must not crack while he was watching. “We have to find her. The Trial is in two weeks. She has to go to the Temple of Erasmus. It is a requirement for all Binders.”

Drusus’ grip on his walking stick tightened. Octavia knew under the gloves his knuckles were white. “Temple of Erasmus?”

“We were going to detour, to Egypt.”

“Were we?” He perched on the settee beside her. “When were you going to tell me?”

“This morning I tried. Before this.”

“I was wrong. Here I felt we were a good match, but we have made a poor start.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve reported Lucy’s disappearance to the occupying army. Hopefully, there will be news. Not many people look like her.”

“If she’s smart enough to hide herself as a child, she could hide well.”

“Octavia, what happens if we don’t find Lucy? Can her Trial occur without her visiting the Temple of Erasmus, without her Anchor, without returning to England?”

Octavia studied her hands. “Trials happen whether Binders want them to or not. Having the Trial at Hathersage, at our home, visiting the Temple of Eramsus, all these are things we do to protect ourselves.”

“You don’t want Lucy to fail, do you?”

“It’s inevitable.”

Drusus touched his lips to her head. “What if she wins?”

Lucy could have run away because she knew she would lose the Trial. Did Lucy want to live Bound? Did Lucy also want someone to keep the voices in her head quiet?

“Lucy won’t win,” said Octavia.

Drusus handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at the streaks tears had left. “I won’t let you kill her.”

“I’m going to summon Khun. He can track her.”

Drusus’ voice became flat. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“He can look for Lucy in ways no human can. We must do it. We don’t have much time.”

She sensed the tightness in him. He thought she was wrong.

Summoning Khun would be the only good thing to come out from this entangled mess.

***

Lucy’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She kicked back and forth, gazing at her bookshelves. They were full of stories and histories. A new math primer because she had finished her old one. A guide on etiquette and manners inherited from Octavia. Science. Peerage. The history of the magical families, all these books Madame Dantes would expect her to know this year.

The Binding books were missing. All the magic books were gone.

Ra’s head flitted like a serpent and swiveled toward her. You are destined to be mine, he said, his thoughts slithering into her mind. Even your father knows it.

She knew things would change now Mother was gone. No one would read to her anymore, tuck her in at night, encourage her to show off the small spells she knew. Her father would not look at her. The only good thing would be she could see Octavia again. She missed her sister in spite of what her mother said about her.

Father walked in. His eyes swept over her. She stayed sitting on the bed. She knew if she stood, her height would make him more disgusted with her. Lucy wanted to say something to make him feel better. He didn’t seem to feel bad, but she certainly did, and he must miss Mother terribly. She parted her lips, but he spoke over her.

“You might wonder what’s going to happen now,” he said.

Lucy did wonder, but she said nothing.

“You have no aptitude for magic, Lucia. Further, Ra is dangerous. You are to avoid other people as much as possible, for their safety.”

“Ra has never attacked anyone but me,” said Lucy. “He watches all the time and he kills animals, not people.”

“A poor habit your mother has encouraged in you is this propensity to correct your elders. You will never correct me again.”

Lucy pursed her lips. She felt like a doll, still dressing like a child, not ready yet for long skirts. Her tiny size made her long to be anything but a small girl. “I am sorry, Father. But magic… Mother said I was progressing well. She said I’m especially good at protective blood magic. Watch!”

Lucy removed a needle from her pinafore pocket and poked a finger. From the blood welling up, she reached into it, feeling the blood in her own body, spreading it into a fine, hard mist which cast a red dome around her, strong and safe.

Caius snorted and plastered a patronizing smile on his face.

Her spell fizzled out.

“Well,” said Caius. He bent down to look her in the eye. “Good effort. But it wasn’t Binder magic, was it?”

“No, sir. It’s Julii magic.”

Blood magic, shaping her body. Mother had taught her to listen to herself. Binder magic was learned through study and books, becoming yours if you survived your Trial. Blood magic was easier because you just had to concentrate.

“Not real magic at all,” said Caius.

Apparently Mother had lied to her, as mothers might do to a child who was deficient. This was magic to her, but not to him. Perhaps only her mother could love her, deformed as she was. Her father had repeated the phrase several times today as mourners came through Mistraldol. The entire world believed it.

Mother was gone and it was time to face her new reality. She was a poor Binder, and in this home, this family, Binding was what mattered. Lucy stared at the floor. She could feel Ra’s eyes piercing into her.

Not real magic at all, Ra said, echoing her father

“When everyone is gone, come and get dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Caius left. Lucy fell backward on the bed, shielding her eyes with her arm, and cried quietly. Ra fluttered out the window.