“I didn’t mean . . . Is that why he collapsed? Because I injured him?”
“He took some stuff for the pain,” Beto says. “It made him weird.”
“What stuff?” I ask.
Beto shrugs. “All I know is he held back with you yesterday, and you went for his kidney like a spiteful bitch, and now he might be dead. He was my friend.”
I gape at him. If a boy had beaten a larger, armed opponent the way I had, I’d bet my golden baby rattle that Beto wouldn’t call him spiteful or a bitch. He’d use words like tough or heroic or brilliant.
“Valentino did not go easy on Red,” Iván says. “He lost to her fairly. Anyone could see that.”
“Who asked you, traitor?” Beto says. “Son of the Invierno lover. Is that why you’re sticking up for Red? You love Inviernos too?”
Iván is deadly silent for the space of several breaths. Then he plunges his spoon back into his beans and continues to eat, ignoring Beto.
“That’s right,” Beto says. “Back down, you Invierno-loving coward.”
“Beto.” I set my spoon in my bowl and meet him glare for glare. “It’s time for you to find another table.”
“Or what? I can sit wherever—”
“Or you’ll find out if this spiteful bitch can thrash another much larger opponent while unarmed.”
His mouth opens, closes. He looks around to see who’s watching. Everyone is too busy with their first good meal to care. He sweeps his bowl from the table and stands. “If it turns out that Valentino is dead, or if he’s washed out of the Guard because of this, you’ll be—”
“Goodbye, Beto.”
I watch him walk away, and I don’t relax my gaze until he’s seated elsewhere and shoving bread into his mouth.
“Is it just me, or was there actual fire coming out of his ears?” Aldo says.
“Watch your back, Red,” says Iván. “Valentino is his god. He won’t let this go.”
“Well, I’m not an Invierno lover,” Pedrón interjects all of a sudden. “He was just talking about Iván, right? Not me.”
Aldo and I exchange a puzzled look.
“What’s wrong with loving an Invierno?” I ask. When Pedrón starts to sputter, I add, “I mean, I know they’re our former enemy, but Queen Alodia of Orovalle is married to one now.”
“Right,” says Aldo. “Prince Storm. He was an ally to our empress even before he married her sister.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Things have changed.”
“Not that much, they haven’t,” Iván says darkly.
We finish our meal in silence. Servants come to clear our dishes. We wait. The monastery bells ring the first hour. Finally Sergeant DeLuca enters the dining hall, several other Guardsmen at his back. He holds a long piece of parchment in his hand.
Aldo takes a deep breath. “Time to find out if we made the cut,” he says.
My vision narrows. My muscles tense, as though preparing to flee or fight. But there is nothing for my body to do but wait.
12
Then
THE girl forgot, but the body knew.
The body knew hunger. A constant ache in the pit of the stomach. The desperate pleasure of licking a dirty plate just for the taste of food.
The body knew loneliness. The craving for comfort, the search for any sign of kindness. A smile from a stranger in the market was sustenance for weeks.
The body knew pain, bruise and blood and needle.
The body knew danger. The casual slap, the thunderclap of a sudden blow, the grip with no escape.
The body waited.
The girl forgot. But the body would always remember.
13
Now
DELUCA looks at his parchment and calls out four names: “Recruits Sancho, Itzal, Beto, and Iván. Come with me.”
Iván rises from the table, face displaying both incredulity and relief.
“Congratulations, Iván,” I say.
He nods acknowledgment, and follows the others from the dining hall.
“No surprises there,” Aldo says.
“I didn’t expect Iván to be in the first group,” I say. “I thought DeLuca hated him.”
Aldo shrugs. “Iván is the brother of a Quorum lord. Not to mention pretty enough to make an angel cry.”
“I thought maybe it had something to do with him being well trained and in excellent shape.”
“That too.”
It seems as though we wait forever—though it’s probably only a few minutes—before DeLuca returns to claim another group. This time, he calls Pedrón’s name, along with the other army recruits, Andrés and Luca, and one of Valentino’s remaining ducklings. “Oh, thank God,” Pedrón says, rising from the table, and I’m surprised to discover he had anything to worry about. He runs his hand through his short-cropped hair and grins down at me. “See you in there, Red,” he says, and I hope he’s right.
The next group contains most of the Basajuan contingent, including the taller Arturo. The one after that sweeps up all of Valentino’s remaining lackeys, along with the shorter Arturo. My hopes dwindle along with the recruits still seated in the dining hall. Soon only six of us remain, including me, Aldo, the two boys who couldn’t complete the log roll, and two others.
DeLuca returns. He pauses a long moment, staring down at us. He’s torturing us on purpose.
At last he says, “Recruit Aldo. Recruit Red. Come with me. The rest of you may return home. Her Imperial Majesty thanks you for your service.”
Aldo’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. I stand up so fast I knock my knee against the table. As we hurry after DeLuca, I spare a thought for the boys left behind. I feel terrible for them. And so relieved they were cut instead of me.
We enter the bunk room to a smattering of applause. Everyone is standing at the foot of his bunk, each smartly dressed in a brown vest that laces up over a linen tunic. The vest and tunic fall mid-thigh over black woolen pants and brown leather boots. Everything is cinched up by a leather scabbard, empty until we’ve earned the right to carry weapons.
“I knew you’d make it, Red,” says Pedrón, grinning proudly in his new uniform.
“Your clothes are folded on your bunks,” Sergeant DeLuca says. “Please change immediately.”
As Aldo and I walk the gauntlet of uniformed recruits to our shared bunk, Beto says, “Yes, Red, change immediately. I promise I won’t look.” His voice is mocking, his intent clear.
Aldo grabs his new clothes from the top bunk and gets started right away, whipping off filthy pants and shirt. The other recruits whoop and holler, poking fun at his skinny legs. The mockery is undeserved; Aldo may be small, but he’s also fit, with muscled thighs and an abdomen like a granite cliff.
He finishes, stands at attention at the end of his bunk.
“What are you waiting for, Red?” taunts Beto.
I look to Sergeant DeLuca. Does he really want me to change in front of everyone? He returns my look with a raised brow.
All right then. I’ll make this quick. I’ll ignore them all. I’ll be fine.