My shoulders relax a bit; I’m not in trouble.
He scans the group. “How about this? Recruit Red, you take the army boys and the Basajuaños, they’re all fairly advanced. If you’re teaching them, you can’t possibly hurt anyone. I hope. Start drilling them in the five basic escapes while I bring the others up to speed.” When I hesitate, he asks, “You do know the five basic escapes?”
They were the first thing Hector ever taught me. “Yes, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Ask me when you need help with something. The rest of you partner up over here. Not you, Itzal—you’re with me!”
Pedrón jumps up and gets back in place. “Can you show me that again, but slower?”
“Sure,” I say. “Pair up with Arturo—the other Arturo, short Arturo.”
I show him again, but slower.
I’m worried the other recruits will think I’m lording my training over them, but they’re all competitive, they all want to be the best. By the end of the morning session, we’re sweaty and sore, sand scraped and bruised, but we’re all grinning.
Bruno orders us into line and inspects us. Half to himself, he says, “You performed better than I expected after speaking to Master Santiago. Maybe we should have started with the unarmed combat.”
I exchange a glance with Iván. Hopefully one of us has done well enough to earn time off.
“Recruit Red,” Bruno says.
“Yes, sir?”
“You may take the afternoon off. We’ll see how much your group really knows.” As relief surges through me, he looks over the rest of the recruits, the ones that he’s been training. “Iván!”
“Yes, sir?”
“You did creditably well. You’re free too. Now all of you, go get something to eat, and I expect to see everyone but Red and Iván back here before the next bell.”
Finally, a spot of luck. Or maybe it wasn’t luck at all. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Rosario had engineered the whole thing. Iván meets my eyes on the way to the dining hall and we exchange a small nod.
It’s time to go see Valentino.
“You’re very good at unarmed combat,” Iván observes as we walk together to the palace after lunch.
I’m not sure how to respond to that. “I had a good teacher.”
“It’s more than that,” he says. “You react like your life depends on it. Every single time.”
Sometimes life is a good teacher too.
Like many of the empire’s most powerful nobles, Conde Astón keeps quarters in the Sky Wing, the finest part of the palace, where modern architecture promises fresh water plumbed from the underground river, glass-pane skylights, and high balconies overlooking interior gardens. The door to the Ciénega del Sur suite is not far from the royal apartments, where I lived before joining the Guard. Beside the door stands a spearman in full armor.
“We’re here to see Valentino,” I tell him.
“Lord Valentino is not receiving visitors,” he says.
“He’ll be happy to receive us,” I say.
The spearman plants himself in front of the door to bar our path.
Iván steps forward. He’s tall enough to look him dead in the eye; if it weren’t for the spearman’s pointed helmet, they’d be of height. Iván says, “Please tell Lord Valentino that Lady Red, ward of our beloved empress, and Lord Iván, brother of Lord-Conde Juan Carlos of the Quorum of Five, both wish a few moments of his time.”
I give Iván a sharp look. We’re recruits now, without title. But the spearman inclines his head slightly and says, “Wait right here,” and disappears into the suite.
“It wasn’t a lie,” Iván whispers while we wait. “I mean, not exactly.”
“Did I say anything?”
“You had that look.”
The spearman returns. “Lord Valentino will see you now.”
The parlor is dark with mahogany shelves, all filled with parchment and even several books. High clerestory windows fill the place with diffuse light, and a deep stone hearth—cool at the moment—gives off the sharp scent of pine ash.
A tapestry with the Ciénega del Sur crest hangs on the wall. It depicts a river flowing between two low mountains. In the center of the crest, where the river and the mountains come together, a sun rises. The design is so stylized that the sun looks like a crown resting on pillows.
Valentino sits at a writing desk, wearing blue silk robes with golden embroidery. His skin is sallow, and dark circles make hollows of his eyes. A walking cane topped with the head of a brass viper rests against the desk. When he sees us, his eyes light up and he struggles to his feet.
“Red! Iván! I’m so happy to see you,” he says, reaching for his cane.
“No need to get up,” Iván says.
“Oh, it’s good for me, or so the family physician says. Come join me on the divan. I’ll have my man fetch some . . . well, not wine, as I’m sure you can’t stay away from the barracks long. How about some chilled coconut milk with honey?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say.
He lifts a bell from the desk and rings it, then makes his way slowly to the divan, which is a lavishly cushioned affair in deep, dusty purple. He plunks down and sinks into the cushions as though his short trek across the room was as tiring as a lap around the palace walls.
“As much as I’m glad for the company,” Valentino says, “I’m sure you’re not here to check on me.”
His forthrightness makes me smile. “Checking on you is part of the reason we’re here,” I say. “Does your family physician expect you to make a full recovery?”
“He does. It’s been slow; I was badly poisoned. But I expect I’ll be able to join the army recruits in a few months. Because of my father’s station . . .” Valentino pauses to stare at my hairline. The pause lengthens.
I stare back at him, saying nothing.
Valentino blinks. “Er, because of my father’s station, joining the army will come with an automatic officer’s commission, so long as I survive their recruit training.”
“You’ll excel in the army,” Iván says. “I have no doubt.”
“Thank you.”
I say, “I wish there was a way for you to come back to the Guard.”
Valentino gives me a sad smile. “Me too. But once cut, you’re cut forever. It won’t be so bad in the army. Beto and the others joined up already, as soon as they left the Guard. They say it’s a lot harder than Royal Guard training. The food isn’t nearly as good, and none of their boots fit quite right, but . . .”
His voice trails away at the look on my face.
“Oh, Red, I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” Valentino says. “I did not ask them to do that, and when they visited me, I gave them all a stern talking-to.”
“They needed more than a stern talking-to,” Iván grumbles.
“They did,” Valentino agrees. “But I was bedridden at the time.”
A servant hurries in, and Valentino orders three glasses of chilled coconut milk.
After he leaves, I say, “Valentino, I believe you when you say you didn’t ask the Ciénega del Sur boys to attack me. But do you know if anyone else did?”