Mountain jays called after them, and a crisp breeze whisked the clouds through a cornflower sky, heralding a crystal-sharp winter. The girl who would never be called Mula again felt the hollow space inside her filling up, with hope and warmth and maybe even her very own self.
21
Now
THE day before the gala dawns bright and hot, and as usual we are training with Master Santiago. Guardsman Bruno observes us this morning, perhaps to discover why our training is taking so long.
Master Santiago has become extraordinarily creative in his ability to find fault with our forms. I make a game of anticipating what imagined flaw he’ll focus on next—maybe the way Arturo grunts.
Santiago opens his mouth to berate someone, but Sergeant DeLuca barrels through the portcullis and into the arena.
“Sergeant,” says Master Santiago. “What a pleasant surprise. Are you here to inspect these wretched recruits? They persist in evading proficiency, but they are not as shameful as they were.”
“Not at this time,” the sergeant says. “I’m here for two quick pieces of official business, and then you can resume your training.”
Santiago bows his head and steps back, ceding the arena floor. “The class is yours, Sergeant.”
Guardsman Bruno peers at his superior, eyes narrowed. Something about this isn’t part of the usual routine. Well, nothing about our class is part of the usual routine. But DeLuca seems as pleased as a well-brushed pony, and for some reason, this fills me with dread.
DeLuca says, “The time has come for the first years to choose your squad leader. It should be someone with proven competence, with the ability to inspire and make good decisions. Someone who has helped make the rest of you better, someone you trust to lead you for the next three years.”
No one says anything, but it feels like a ripple passes through our group. We’ve known this was coming. I’ve already decided to vote for Iván, whose quiet intelligence has made us pay attention more than once. He’s had just as much training as I’ve had, but he’s so much smoother when talking to people.
“So consider who you will elect while we take care of the second item of business,” he says.
Something about the way he says it causes everyone to go very still.
He folds his hands behind his back. “I’ve received disturbing reports about the behavior of some of our recruits,” he says. “As a result, I’m afraid I have no choice but to make another cut today.”
Guardsman Bruno’s mouth parts in surprise.
I can’t imagine what the sergeant is talking about. Since Valentino’s ducklings were cut, everyone has been on their best behavior. We’re doing everything they ask of us. And more.
Beside me, Aldo shifts in place. I hope it’s not him. He’s the smallest and youngest of us, true. But also the cleverest and quickest.
“Recruit Red, step forward,” DeLuca barks, so much louder than necessary, and my stomach drops into my toes. “Pack your things and go. Her Imperial Majesty thanks you for your service.”
“What?” says Iván.
I try to step forward, but my legs won’t budge. I can’t even look at anyone. I don’t want them to see my face.
“What reports are you talking about?” says Guardsman Bruno.
DeLuca rounds on Bruno. “I do not have to explain myself.”
Bruno doesn’t back down. “I thought my input on the recruits meant something. I’m usually consulted on these decisions.”
“This ruling was handled by those above your rank and station,” DeLuca counters. “And above mine. But if you want to do this here, we’ll do it here. If you want to embarrass your recruits, fine. The fact is, it has come to our attention that having a young lady in the Guard is an insurmountable distraction.”
I can barely hear his words for the blood rushing past my ears.
Bruno inhales deeply, considering his next words. Finally: “Red is one of the best in this class. And this whole class is better than average.”
“You’re out of line, Guardsman,” DeLuca says coldly. “And you’re wrong. For blessed sakes, man, the recruits are still practicing their forms. We’ve never have a class take so long to make so little progress.”
“Sir—” Bruno begins.
“Guardsman,” DeLuca interrupts, “if you contradict me one more time, the only thing you’ll change my mind about is your fitness for duty. Report to my office after class today.”
Bruno snaps to attention. “Yes, sir.”
DeLuca addresses the recruits, though he avoids looking at me. He says, “You don’t understand this now, but one day it will be clear to you. One cannot expect boys your age to learn and grow when there is such a lovely young woman in your midst. It’s our job as your teachers and mentors to shelter you from distractions as you mature into the young men we expect and know you can be.”
I finally find my voice. “I am not a distraction.”
“What?” DeLuca says, apparently surprised that I’m still here.
My face is hot with fury. My fists shiver with an overwhelming need to bash something. “I am not a distraction. I am a Guard recruit, just like the others.”
“Dear girl,” says DeLuca. His indulgent smile makes my skin crawl. “It’s meant as a compliment. Of course you’re not like the others. You’re beautiful and charming. Most young ladies in the palace wish they had half your qualities. You should be proud.”
“Red is not a distraction,” Iván says.
“She’s an asset,” says Arturo.
“You can’t tell us to pick our squad leader and then kick her out!” says Pedrón.
DeLuca turns on them with the same open fury that he showed Bruno. “You are all speaking out of turn, and you’ll run the walls tonight after dinner. It will give you time to consider your words, and how you’ve let this young lady manipulate and deceive you. You wanted proof that she’s a distraction—well, there it is! Your training would be much farther along by now if she had never taken to the sand.”
I stare daggers at him, my fists clenched at my sides. He would never dare cut me for such a ridiculous reason if Elisa were around. I can’t believe he dares it now. Something happened. Or someone got to him. And the only person I can think of with the power to make him cut me, the ward of the empress, is Conde Astón of Ciénega del Sur.
It hits me all of a sudden: He wants me out of the way for the Deliverance Gala. He wants to make sure Rosario is as exposed as possible.
I’m already cut. The worst thing that could possibly happen to me has happened. So I have no hesitation saying, “You are going to regret this, DeLuca. You have my word on it.”
If my threat lands, he gives no indication. “Gather your things and go.”
Suddenly I’m surrounded by recruits. “We won’t forget you, Red,” someone says. “This is wrong,” says another. Hands pat my shoulders. One grabs my hand and squeezes.
All at once, the space around me is taken up with Iván. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Get to Rosario. We’ll figure this out.”
“Get back in line right now,” DeLuca says. “Or there will be further cuts!”