“I expect you’ll wash out within a week,” DeLuca adds. “Maybe even today.”
I expect he’ll be surprised.
“Why are you smiling?” he demands, leaning in so that his breath is hot in my face.
A direct question, so I must respond. “Just glad to be here, sir.”
“We’ll see how you feel later. Name?”
As if he doesn’t know. “Red.”
The army boy beside me chuckles.
“Ah, yes, the half-breed who failed to become a princess. And what three items did you bring with you, Recruit Red?” Not Princess Red. Not Lady Red. He’s reminding me that I’m no one.
I’ve been dreading this moment. I open my hands and show him my items.
He peers at my right hand. “What is that?”
“A pot of black dye.”
“What for?”
“It has sentimental value.”
His eyes narrow; he knows I’m lying. “And this here? This is a baby rattle. Are you going to tell me it has sentimental value too?”
“Naturally.”
He grabs the rattle from my left palm and lifts it high for the crowd to see. “Recruit Red is going to protect the empress with a baby rattle!” he says, and a wave of polite laughter sweeps over us.
But the recruits aren’t laughing. They’re staring at my hand. Because by lifting away the baby rattle, the sergeant revealed my third item: a thumb-sized gemstone of glorious sapphire blue. But it is no mere sapphire.
“Holy God,” Aldo says.
A recruit down the line whistles appreciatively.
DeLuca spins back around, my rattle clattering in his hand. His confused look is quickly replaced by shock. “Is that . . . ?”
“A Godstone,” I confirm. “A gift from a friend.”
The Inviernos would call it an anima-lapis. The most valuable commodity in the world. And Empress Elisa is the only person known to have a collection of them.
The Guard takes a step back.
“It’s not going to hurt you,” I tell him, which must be the worst possible thing to say, because something hot and angry flits across his face. Like maybe he hates me.
Slowly, carefully, he places the baby rattle back into my palm, covering up the Godstone. He says, in a voice so low only my fellow recruits can hear, “She is not here to help you now.”
It’s a threat, clear as day. I can’t let it go.
“She is not, sir. And even if she were, she would not help me. I’m to succeed or fail on my own, like any other recruit.”
He blinks. “A pretty speech.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He dismisses me with a shrug and moves down the line, pausing at each recruit to level mild insults and intimidation. Aldo is too small, even smaller than “the little girl.” The boy with quick, dark eyes is the son of a traitor, and DeLuca will be watching him. The army recruit who tried to look down my shirt brought a soft coral blanket with a fringe as one of his three items; the sergeant tells him it’s fit for a real princess.
If I were Elisa, I’d listen closely to every single one, get to know my fellow recruits, evaluate them silently and begin to strategize. But I’m not Elisa, and DeLuca isn’t clever with his slurs, and I find the whole thing tedious.
When he’s at the opposite end of the line, I can barely hear him talking, which is a small relief. The sun is starting to beat against my skin. Sweat dampens the nape of my neck.
“You shouldn’t have brought a Godstone,” Aldo whispers.
He might be right. I should have brought a warm blanket, like Aldo and the army boy did. “Why not?” I whisper back.
“DeLuca has sworn his life and honor to the empress. And you’ve just proven that you’re closer to her than he’ll ever be.”
“So?”
“You’ve made him feel bad. And look bad. He’ll take it out on you.”
“Why is it my job to make him feel good about himself?”
Aldo is silent a moment. “Huh. Good point.” He stares at my hand as though the Godstone it holds might grow legs and scuttle away.
“What?” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s weird thinking how that . . . thing . . . used to be lodged in some sorcerer’s navel.”
Which is why the Inviernos have so many names for it. Life stone, soul spark, umbilical stone, anima-lapis, Godstone. A living material that grows as hard as a gem before falling out at age three or four. But like bones, Godstones last long after the body’s death. “Definitely gross,” I agree.
“Shut up, you two. You’ll get us into trouble,” says the army recruit boy.
“I think I’m already in trouble,” I tell him, and he surprises me by chuckling.
At last DeLuca finishes his tour of torpid abuses. He centers himself before us, hands clasped behind his back. “As many of you know, Her Imperial Majesty is not in residence. She travels in state to Amalur, the capital of Orovalle. A highly trained and trusted contingent of the Royal Guard was left behind to protect her interests here at home.”
I barely choke back a laugh.
The rich conde’s son raises his hand.
“Yes, recruit?” says Sergeant DeLuca.
“I expected to see Captain Bolivar here today. Is he not overseeing recruitment this year?”
DeLuca’s right eye gives a slight twitch. “The captain is otherwise occupied.”
Which is a bold-faced lie. I don’t blame him for it; I wouldn’t want Elisa’s enemies to know that the captain of her Royal Guard is missing either.
DeLuca continues, “Because of our reduced manpower, we’ll be training recruits to take on responsibilities as quickly as possible. Those who show themselves loyal and competent will be assigned official Royal Guard duties within the year, starting with watch shifts, commissary, and supply routes. We’ll add to these responsibilities as recruits demonstrate potential.”
At this, a few boys shift in place, and excited murmurings filter down the line. I understand their eagerness, but uneasiness tickles the back of my neck. It usually takes years for the Guard to vet its recruits for loyalty and discretion, even for simple duties like escorting supplies and standing watch. It’s the only way to keep Elisa and her family safe.
“I see you’re all eager to get started,” DeLuca says. “Fine, then. To the weapons rack, ladies!”
I grit my teeth as I follow everyone to the other end of the arena, wondering if DeLuca hates women in general or if it’s just me.
“You!” the sergeant says, pointing to the boy who tried to look down my shirt. “Tell me your name again?”
“Pedrón.”
“Pick a weapon, Recruit Pedrón.”
“Yes, sir.” Pedrón obediently sets his pretty coral blanket on the ground and peruses the weapons—swords, daggers, spears, shields, a maul, a longbow, a crossbow, a single-bladed ax, a double-bladed ax. He reaches for the crossbow.
“No projectiles!” DeLuca calls out. “Today we are evaluating your close quarters combat aptitude.”
Which is a questionable idea. Many of these boys have had training, for true, but several haven’t had a lick. Any good teacher knows that the best way to determine someone’s aptitude is to try to teach them something.