“Sorry,” he says.
I lift my chin toward his bow and quiver. “You should be sorry. You’re terrible.”
“You’re not much better!”
I shrug. “Once everyone realized I would never have the height for archery, Hector focused on teaching me how to beat larger opponents. We always thought the biggest danger for me was going to be attacks at close quarters. Rosario is competent with a bow, though. And Mara can put an arrow through the eye of a soaring pigeon.”
Iván frowns. “That might be the level of competence we need. And we might need it soon.”
I’m afraid he’s right.
A few days later, we switch to close quarters combat, and I start teaching everyone how to use elbows, knees, and palms to evade a weapon and subdue an attacker. After that, one of Pedrón’s friends introduces us to basic shield work.
“It’s easy to overuse a shield,” he says. “To rely on it too much. So we’ll go easy until we’re all adept at basic swordsmanship. We will learn it, though, and learn it well. Solid shield work is one of the most effective ways to keep our empress safe.”
True to his word, Itzal encourages us all relentlessly. Whenever someone performs a new skill correctly for the first time, Itzal is there with a smile and a back slap and a “Good job!”
Midway through the second week, we enter the arena to find a handful of second years already there, waiting for us. The sand is wet from a recent rain burst, and their footsteps crunch as they approach.
“Uh-oh,” says Aldo.
One steps ahead of the others. He’s broad shouldered, with a deep cleft in his chin. “I’m Tanix,” he says. “Squad leader for the second years.”
“What do you want, Tanix?” I say. There are only five of them, and there are thirteen of us. We can take them, if it comes to that.
“We’ve been keeping an eye on you,” the squad leader says.
“Keep watching,” Itzal says. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“No call for that,” Tall Arturo says, putting a hand on Itzal’s shoulder. “He’s here at my invitation.”
“What? Why?” says Pedrón.
Tanix lifts his chin and says haughtily, “We’d like to join your class. We think we can help you.”
Aldo says, “We’re doing just fine.”
“Wait,” Iván says. “Let’s stop and think.” His voice is calm and steady—in fact, I can’t remember him ever raising it—but there’s something about it that makes people stand at attention. Something about him. He says, “Are we Royal Guard?”
Several murmurs of assent.
“Are we all Royal Guard, sworn to protect Empress Elisa, her family, and her interests?”
“We are,” Tanix says. “Every one.”
“Tanix and the second years can help us,” Tall Arturo insists. “And we can help them. Their training has been stalled for weeks too, and no one knows why.”
I say, “This isn’t all of you.”
“No,” Tanix says. “Not everyone could be convinced that we need to team up. We’re all in danger of getting cut, you see. The better your class does, the higher the chance they’ll get rid of some of us.”
“The other way around holds too,” Itzal says.
“Yes,” Tanix acknowledges.
“Making us all compete against each other is the best way to keep us divided,” I point out. “Keep us weak.”
“Red has a point,” Itzal says.
“But that’s how it’s always been done, right?” says Pedrón. “After four years, only the best remain in the Guard.”
“Maybe things need to change,” I mutter.
“You’re saying people should stay in the Guard who aren’t the best?” Pedrón says.
“No. I just think there has to be a better way. And now, this year, when everything is weird and our prince might be in trouble, we have to stick together more than usual.”
“Hear, hear,” says Iván.
“Let’s vote on it,” I say. “All first years in favor of welcoming the second years to our unofficial class, raise your hand.”
Arturo’s hand shoots into the air. Other hands follow quickly, even Pedrón’s.
“It’s unanimous,” Itzal says, grinning now. “Welcome to the class, Tanix.”
Tanix and the second years fail to hide how pleased they are.
After a few minutes of wrangling, we settle on a plan for the next few weeks, which will rotate us through swordsmanship with occasional shield work, archery, hand-to-hand combat, and fitness training. None of us is an expert at anything, but everyone knows something. It will have to be enough.
Two weeks after the second years join us, Luz-Daniel, the assistant cook, slips me a note while he ladles refried beans into my bowl. I slide the note into my pocket. Reading it will have to wait until I can break away from the crowd.
As we’re leaving for our afternoon fitness session, I say to anyone who is listening, “I need to use the latrine. See you all out there.”
“I’ll guard the door for you,” Aldo says. My fellow recruits have been taking turns at this, allowing me peace and privacy for tending to my personal needs.
“Thanks, Aldo.”
While Aldo stands in the doorway with his back to me, I pull the note from my pocket and read.
Three barrels date syrup destroyed. Searching for others.
From Amalur: continued health. Baby soon.
Keep training.
Relief hits me like a brick, and I almost loose a sob. Rosario understood my note. He’s taking action. Elisa and the baby are fine. The prince knows about our training and approves.
But my relief is short-lived, because when I read the note a second time, I realize that thirty-seven barrels remain unaccounted for. Enough to poison an army.
“Red? We’d better hurry,” Aldo says from the door.
“Coming.” I toss the note into the latrine and cover it with mulch, then hurry to rejoin Aldo at the door. “Let’s go.” As we jog through the tunnel toward the arena, I add, “Aldo, you were great last night. Your parrying reflexes are incredible. I’m learning a lot from you.”
He beams. “And you’re learning fast. Which is good.”
“The two of us are on the small side. We have to work harder than everyone else.”
“Yes,” he says solemnly. “In addition, I bear the great burden of beauty.”
“But you soldier on.”
“By the grace of God.”
We are the last of the recruits to arrive, and we barely have time to take up our positions before Bruno enters, followed by two other Guards.
“Good afternoon, first years. Today, you’ll be running the walls. This time, you’ll carry packs filled with sand.”
We know better than to groan aloud, but I sense some of the boys around me drooping. It’s a very hot day, the worst kind of day for running.
“But first, I’m afraid we have to announce a cut. We’ve put it off as long as possible, but the time has come.”
Everyone around me is frozen in place. A muffled din of voices filters toward us from the nearby stables. The sun beats on my scalp. I can hardly breathe. Don’t get cut, Rosario said. If I’m kicked out of the Guard, I will have failed him.