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The conductor’s eyes were closed, his face tipped back in an expression of ecstatic pain as his arm swooped commandingly through the air, wielding that twisted black baton; his players answered with every instrument in harmony, but none of them opened their eyes to view his commands, and the sheets of music on their stands were never turned.

“How do they even know what to play?” Margaret whispered.

Amalie couldn’t answer without breaking off her counter-melody, but she shook her head, eyes wide, in shared confusion.

And that supernatural waltz continued to pour through every vessel, as it apparently had done at every single ball thus far, no matter which different conductor or musicians were hired...

A sharp splinter from the branch in Margaret’s hand broke her fierce concentration by pricking her palm as she squeezed down tightly. Wincing, she glanced down at that black, gnarled branch with its unnatural gold and silver metal leaves...

And then, eyes widening, she looked back up once more to where the all-too-similar black, gnarled baton swooped back and forth in the conductor’s hand.

No, it wasn’t the same baton she’d seen the last conductor use, but then again...

Last time, she hadn’t painted her eyelids beforehand with an infusion of eye-bright, had she? Neither had Amalie before the lorelei dismissed this baton earlier tonight as looking ‘perfectly ordinary.’

Apparently, it had been worth spending all those frustrated hours lurking in the court library’s archives after all! As Margaret watched, a new silver leaf flowed gently from the side of the moving baton to swirl and flutter through the air and land on the ballroom floor.

“Aha.” She loved discovering the right answer!

At each new ball, a different orchestra and conductor had been hired...but she was now absolutely certain that the same supernatural artifact, wearing protective camouflage as an ordinary baton, had been left on the conductor’s stand for use every time.

Even if the librarians themselves had been left uncertain of what exactly had been taken, due to their visitor’s refusal to leave any records, this had to be the item that Prince Metternich had retrieved from the court library’s deepest archives...or, at least, one of the items, if he was the same man who’d made that second visit and inspired all of the gossip she’d overheard.

Wearing the sash of an Imperial equerry, it would be child’s play for him to ensure that the ‘baton’ was in place for every ball under a pretense of ascertaining that the ballroom was in order for his Imperial master...just as he then shuffled Margaret herself out of viewing range, as a researcher of the supernatural who might jeopardize their scheme.

But what was their scheme, exactly? If Emperor Florian was secretly desperate to disrupt the current negotiations, why had he bothered offering up so much land and so many unheard-of capitulations in exchange for promised peace?

But then, after working so effectively to enact the late empress’s desires, why would Metternich act now against the wishes of the successor she’d chosen?

Yes, Viennese society had been a hotbed of polite illusions and glittering pretense ever since Florian had first replaced his vampiric ancestress on the throne, but even so...

Wait. Something about that thought brought up a nagging hint of memory from King Thomas’s complaints the other day.

What had he said about the emperor, exactly? Florian wouldn’t tell even the mildest of lies for any reason—Margaret remembered that much, at least—but what was the other example Thomas had given of the emperor’s relentless obsession with honor and etiquette?

Before she could place it, that gnarled supernatural baton gave a final flourish in the air, dragging the conductor’s arm along with it. The waltz came to an end.

The trance broke, and the whole ballroom erupted into confusion. Under Margaret’s gaze, the conductor’s eyes finally opened, and his face turned chalk-white with shock. Musicians throughout the orchestra gave full-bodied shudders as they emerged from the power that had overtaken and played through them. Panicked voices sounded from every corner.

“Quick,” Amalie murmured. “Before the prince can return.”

For just an instant, Margaret hesitated. She hated to flee ignominiously yet again just for the sake of pacifying her enemies, especially now that she’d worked out so much of their underhanded scheme. What she wanted was to stay and to fling off the cloak, to publicly cut all of this nonsense in the bud...

But curse it, she still wasn’t certain of the final details—and she had never yet allowed herself to turn in any assignment before she knew it was complete to the extent of her abilities. Grinding her teeth, she hurried back along the wall with Amalie, avoiding the shifts of the panicked crowd and pulling the other woman to stop only for an instant as they passed her husband and the king.

“Your Majesty,” she hissed.

“Eh? What? Lady Riven? Where—?” King Thomas spun around, eyes wild.

Beyond him, Margaret could already spot a too-familiar figure cutting through the crowd. “There’s no time for explanations,” she whispered, “but there’s something I need you to do for me tonight, before the end of this ball.”

“Oh, I say.” Yanking out a crimson handkerchief, he wiped fretfully at his perspiring brow. “I told you already, didn’t I? There’s not much I can do when it comes to politics, not like...”

“Not like ‘an all-powerful Habsburg,’ I remember,” Margaret said impatiently, waving off the unnecessary reminder. “They appoint their chancellors to enact their wills; you have to work with elected prime ministers, etcetera. None of that is relevant now! All you need do is persuade the emperor to step aside with you and answer one private question: whether he, himself, assigned Prince Metternich any particular tasks at these balls. Then tell me exactly how he responds.”

“But why⁠—?”

Metternich’s tall figure strode toward the hidden door, sending Austrian aristocrats flinching out of his way, and Margaret’s time ran out.