Tall double doors of polished mahogany mark the entrance to the ambassador’s quarters. An Invierno seneschal stands before them, tall, pale, and lithe, with shining hair the golden brown of sun-kissed wheat fields.
“Good evening, Sergeant,” the Invierno says, in the lilt of one who was raised to speak the Lengua Classica.
Iván tenses in the space beside me. I can almost feel heat coming off his skin.
“These two recruits will be attending the prince tonight,” DeLuca says. “I’m to deliver them to the Guard in charge.”
“This way.” The Invierno opens the door and ushers us through a short hallway into a long dining room with a curved ceiling. Blue glass lanterns line the ceiling, casting the walls of the dining room in something like moonlight. A porcelain vase in an alcove overflows with blooms, filling the room with the scents of freesia and lantana.
Several attendees are already seated at the table. Conde Astón of Ciénega del Sur glares at me in challenge as we enter. There can be no doubt that Valentino’s father blames me for his son’s failure.
Beside him is Lady Jada, the mayor’s wife. As usual, her black hair is tied back too severely into a neat chignon. Jada can be frivolous and unintelligent, but Elisa has always valued her kindness and loyalty. Her smile toward me is warm, which I am happy to return.
Next to her is Lady Carilla, who waves at me while grinning brilliantly, and it takes all my discipline to resist waving merrily back. She is short and plump with a small overbite and a weak chin, not nearly as beautiful as the young women Rosario usually spends time with.
Whenever the girls at court have been kind to me, it has always been a ploy to get close to Rosario. I’ve wondered if Carilla is different, if given time and slightly different circumstances, we might have been friends.
At the head of the table is the prince himself, and he stands as we enter. He is wan, with dark circles under his eyes, but his carriage is strong, his stride confident, as he approaches.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” the prince says. “I’ll escort these recruits to Guardsman Fernando and make sure they are returned safely to the barracks later tonight.”
DeLuca opens his mouth as if to protest, but changes his mind. “Yes, Highness, of course.”
“This way.” Rosario guides us through a door at the end of the dining room and into a small kitchen. The area is warm with a busy hearth and milling with servants. My mouth waters at the scent of fresh turnip slices soaking in salted lime juice.
Rosario shoves us into a corner behind a shelf of dry storage. “Listen,” he whispers once we’re out of sight. “Fernando is not here tonight.”
“Why not?” I whisper back.
“Then who is your acting Guard?” Iván says.
“You are.”
“What?” I whisper, too loudly. “Is Fernando—”
“I’ll explain later. For now, just listen. You will stand behind me at either shoulder. Do not let anyone except Carilla approach close enough to touch me. Serving staff have been instructed to hand items to you, and you will in turn place them before me. Understood?”
My heart is ferocious in my chest. Something terrible has happened. “Of course,” I say.
“Whatever you need,” Iván says.
“I don’t expect any trouble tonight,” Rosario says. “Truly. But we’re going to take precautions anyway. Ambassador Songbird is aware of the situation. He’ll be sitting on my right, across from Carilla, as an additional buffer. After dinner, we’ll talk more. Now, let’s go.”
“Rosario, wait.” I grab his arm. “Do you have a taster tonight?”
He glares down at my hand grasping his arm, as though I’ve affronted him. Rosario’s mind-set is that of an imperial prince tonight, not a friend. I release him.
“Sorry,” I say hurriedly. “But it’s important. If you don’t have one, I should taste all your food first.”
His gaze softens. “I have a taster, thank you. But Red?” He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me straight in the eye. “Please never, ever taste my food. I can’t risk you. You either, Iván. Now let’s go.”
I stare at Rosario’s back as we return with him to the dining room. Does he realize that by becoming Royal Guards, Iván and I will put ourselves at risk every single day?
The ambassador, named Spring Floods Spark Songbird Joy, arrived during the short time we were in the kitchen. He stands tall behind his designated chair, for Invierno custom forbids him from taking a seat until the guest of honor has done so first.
He wears a soft robe of light blue trimmed in dark gray embroidery, and his long copper-gold hair is tied back in a queue. He greets Rosario formally, but when he sees me, he frowns. “Lady Red Sparkle Stone,” he says. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“I’m just Recruit Red now, Excellency. But it’s a pleasure to see you, as always.”
Ambassador Songbird cracks a rare smile. “You talk like a true Joyan, saying what you do not mean.”
I smile back gamely. “I am a true Joyan, Your Excellency.”
“And yet these Joyans refused to accept you as their princess.” The dining room is suddenly silent, save for the muffled sound of food sizzling in the kitchen. He adds, “I was really hoping they would. It would have been best for everyone.”
“That has no bearing on whether or not I’m a true Joyan,” I say. “I’m sure you can agree that most Joyans are not princesses.”
Someone clears their throat; I’ve been talking out of place. I’m only a Guard recruit, with specific instructions to comport myself with quiet decorum.
So I take up a posture behind Rosario’s right shoulder—head up, hands behind my back, heels together—which I hope will put an end to anyone addressing me.
“And Lord Iván,” the ambassador says. “Excuse me, Recruit Iván. I’m equally surprised to see you.”
Unlike me, Iván is wise and does not answer, simply stares straight ahead from his post behind the prince’s left shoulder.
Though everyone is acquainted, the ambassador formally introduces each attendee and then recites a blessing from the Scriptura Sancta. Servants sweep in with the first course—a tomato bisque soup with lobster and scallions. Just as Rosario instructed, a steaming bowl is handed to me first, and even though I know he has a taster in the kitchen, I give the soup a good long sniff for the scent of sweet dream before setting it before him.
“I hear Altapalma had a marvelous tomato harvest this year,” Lady Jada observes, spooning up her soup.
“That countship suffered terribly after the Year Without a Summer,” Conde Astón observes. “It’s good to see the land recovering finally.”
Rosario’s shoulders tense because he knows where this will eventually go; Astón never wastes an opportunity to criticize Elisa.
“The Year Without a Summer was just as devastating to Invierno crops,” Ambassador Songbird points out.
“I heard that many Inviernos blame our empress for all that mess,” Lady Jada says. “Can you imagine? Women get blamed for everything, I suppose. Even the weather!”
“Well, actually,” Conde Astón says, “there’s been some discussion among scholars at the university that our empress was indeed to blame, that she changed the weather patterns that year with her overuse of magic. It altered the delicate spiritual balance of the world.”