An animagus is nearby. In the palace complex. During Deliverance Week.
“Out of the way!” someone calls, and I realize I’ve blocked his horse cart. I step aside, still studying my surroundings, racking my memory for anyone who might have brought an animagus along with them. Ambassador Songbird does not have a sorcerer among his staff. None of the condes or condesas I know of keep one for an adviser. The only animagus who is allowed unfettered access to the palace is Storm, Elisa’s brother-in-law, and he is far, far away.
I hurry into the monastery, more desperate than ever to reach Rosario.
22
Now
THE sanctuary is more crowded than usual, with stable boys in work frocks sitting side by side with noble ladies in fine silks. The altar reeks of burned blood and rose petals, for many choose to perform the Sacrament of Pain during Deliverance Week.
I search the faces, my gaze lingering on anyone in priest’s robes, hoping to see Father Nicandro. But he is not here.
I’m almost to the archival room when a priest steps in front of me, blocking my way. “Can I help you, child?” he says.
I don’t recognize him, so I have no idea if I can trust this man, but time is short and I’m desperate, so I say, “Where is Father Nicandro?”
“Father Nicandro is unavailable at the moment.” Meaning, He’s the head priest and you seem like no one, so go away. “Perhaps—”
“Tell him Lady Red Sparkle Stone is here to see him on a matter of grave urgency.”
He opens his mouth, closes it. Ponders the white streak in my hair. “Very well,” he says. “Have a seat on the bench.” He turns before I can reply.
I adjust my new sword and sit. The bench grows hard beneath my rear. It feels as though an eternity passes, though I’m sure it’s only a few moments, before Nicandro comes shuffling my way, aided by his cane.
“Red,” he says, voice low. “I did not expect to see you. Please come. Hurry.”
He guides me past the archives and into a private prayer chapel. Candles line the walls. Kneeling cushions litter the floors. The arched ceiling is low, trapping heat and the scent of the rose petals that are scattered everywhere. This is where the priests themselves come to pray, when they need a respite from their flock. For now, at least, we are alone.
“Now tell me,” says Nicandro.
“I was cut from the Guard for being a ‘distraction’ to the boys.”
The priest frowns. “That reeks of political maneuvering.”
“Yes. Someone got to Sergeant DeLuca, convinced him that cutting me was a good idea. Rosario’s supporters have been eliminated one by one. I fear for him.”
“I’ll get a message to him at once.”
“Thank you.”
“Wait here.” He turns to leave.
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“There’s an animagus in the city. Maybe right here in the palace.”
Father Nicandro’s eyes narrow. “I thought I might have sensed something earlier this morning, but then it was gone, like a breeze.”
“I’m certain of it.”
“I believe you, dear girl. Unlike you, I can only sense Godstones when they are drawing magic. You’ve always been more sensitive than I, and I’m an old man besides.”
“Do you know of anyone attending the gala who would retain the services of a sorcerer?”
“I do not. Is your Godstone with you?”
I reach for my amulet and lift it toward him.
“Good. Keep it safe. It may keep you safe.”
“How will my Godstone help?”
“I don’t know that it will . . . though in the past, the empress achieved some immunity to the magic of others with her own Godstone. In any case, now is not the time to discuss the finer points of theology.” His shoulders slouch, and he suddenly seems ten years older. But when I peer into his face, his eyes are full of fire. “I’ll get a message to the prince as quickly as possible.”
Getting a response from the prince could take hours, so I pick one of the largest cushions and settle in for a long wait. After a few minutes, though, I’m twitching to move around, to do something. So I stand, kick all the cushions to the side of the room to clear a space, and draw my new sword.
I haven’t worked with a real sword in months, and it feels foreign and cold in my hand as I start moving through the forms. But my wrist and forearm adjust. I’m stronger now, thanks to endless practice with Master Santiago, and the sword is so well balanced that by the time I hit Bulwark, I’m grinning. I feel so fluid. So powerful.
I whip the sword through the air, performing some swipes that Iván taught us during our nightly class. Then a few thrusts. Careful of my footwork, I move through some parrying positions I learned from Aldo. The sword sings.
My blood is warm, my forehead damp with sweat, by the time Rosario himself enters, accompanied by two fully armored guards.
“Little sister,” he says.
“You shouldn’t have come yourself!” I tell him. “It’s not safe for you to . . .” The look on his face silences me.
“I just . . . wanted to see you.”
I sheath my sword and wrap my arms around him, hugging him close. “It’s good to see you too, little brother.”
He clings a little tighter than usual, then disengages, saying, “Nice sword.”
“I thought it might come in handy.”
“Father Nicandro says you were cut from the Guard.”
“Yes,” I say, avoiding his gaze. His two accompanying guards wear breastplates trimmed in blue steel, marking them as knights of the Eastern Reaches. “I’m glad Juan-Carlos was able to lend you some men.”
“Efren and Iago have proven themselves invaluable,” Rosario says. “I’m so grateful to them and to Juan-Carlos. You may speak freely in front of them.” He sighs deeply. “I really wish you hadn’t been cut.”
“I’m so sorry. I know I failed—”
“It wasn’t your fault! I’m more concerned that DeLuca was convinced to cut you at all, because it means someone beside the empress has undue influence on him.”
“That’s what I’m worried about too.”
“Do you still think he’s the traitor?”
I shake my head. “Or at least he’s not the traitor. He gives orders like a man who’s been taking orders, and he talked about how the command came from someone who was ‘above his rank and station.’”
“That’s what happens when you teach blind obedience,” Rosario says. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter who the orders come from anymore.”
“But he’s not innocent. He still had—has—a part in this. Someone gave the intruder a key to Bolivar’s quarters, right?”
“Right.” His face falls, and he stares off at nothing in particular. He has the longest, prettiest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, and even though he’s grown tall and lanky, those long-lashed eyes make him seem as vulnerable as a babe. “Red,” he says. “What do I do?”
“Oh, Rosario, I wish I knew.”
“We only found seven of those barrels.”