“What about the ship itself? The Kestrel?”
“Now that was interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ship is long gone, left port more than a week ago. But we tracked down its records . . . it belongs to one of my father’s former mistresses.”
“That is interesting.”
“I have no idea what it means, though.”
“Rosario, maybe you shouldn’t attend the gala. If anything happens, it will be then.”
He straightens, trying to look royal. “I have to. It’s my responsibility. I have to give the annual blessing, show myself around, assure everyone that all is normal. People come from all over the empire to be in the same room with their empress. There’ll be no empress this year, of course, but at least we can give them a prince.”
I’m shaking my head. “It’s not worth it. Not if your safety is at risk. Rosario, I sensed an animagus nearby.”
He draws in breath, but collects himself quickly. “If I don’t go, our adversaries will use my absence to their advantage. ‘See how he doesn’t take his responsibilities seriously?’ they’ll say. ‘See what a coward he is?’” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Besides, I have Efren and Iago to keep me safe.”
“And me.”
He brightens. “And you. I’ll give orders that you’re to be allowed full palace access. Want to stay in my room tonight? You can have the floor.”
I’m so relieved to have somewhere to go. “Yes, please.”
Even though I’m snugged up in the space between the wall and Rosario’s bed, nested into the softest pillows and the most luxurious quilt in the whole empire, I can’t make myself sleep.
I roll everything around in my head: my failed adoption. Captain Bolivar dead, possibly poisoned by the most powerful conde in the empire. Fernando ill, unable to protect Rosario. Barrels of dream syrup hidden somewhere here in the capital. Training for Royal Guard recruits inexplicably stalled. I wish I knew what it all meant.
One thing is certain, Efren and Iago and I cannot protect the prince all by ourselves. He needs a small army if he’s going to get through the gala alive.
Sunrise brings warmth and light into Rosario’s suite. I stand and stretch, glad the long night is over, and look down at my sleeping prince. He always sleeps spread-eagle, taking up his entire giant bed with his gangly limbs. His mouth is open, and a puddle of drool soaks his pillow.
I try to be silent as I fold up my quilt, but he stirs anyway and sits up in bed. “That’s the best I’ve slept in a long time,” he says, following it with a huge yawn.
“Rosario.”
He’s suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. “Now that your hair is shorter,” he says, “your sleephead is spectacular.”
I’d love nothing more than to pretend nothing is wrong and joke around the way we always do. Instead I place the folded quilt across the foot of his bed and say, “We need more protection for you.”
“Every fighting man in the Royal Guard will be at the gala. I’ll be fine.”
“The Royal Guard that Sergeant DeLuca is currently in charge of? That Royal Guard?”
He frowns.
“You know we can’t trust him.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Send me to retrieve the recruits. They’re not fully fledged Guards, but we’ve been training so hard. Surely they’re better than nothing.”
He considers this. “First-year recruits aren’t even issued swords.”
“No, but they have bodies. Bodies that can be barriers between you and an enemy.”
“I hate that idea.” He runs a hand through his mussed hair. “Using the recruits as human shields.”
“They took an oath to die for you.”
“For Elisa, you mean.”
“Elisa won’t be empress forever. When she steps down, they’ll be your Guard. Everyone who takes to the sand understands this.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. In the meantime, be careful what you eat or drink.”
His smile is sad and resigned. “I already took the liberty of securing some trail food—jerky, a canteen of water, some dried coconut. It’s all I plan to eat today.”
“Gross,” I say.
He nods. “It’s going to be the worst Deliverance Day ever.”
Rosario spends the morning suffering a final fitting for his formal gala outfit, which I’m happy to see includes a layer of light armor beneath a silk jacket. Early in the afternoon, he settles into the receiving room of his suite, where he endures visits from the seneschal, the mayordomo, and an unending stream of lords and ladies who have come a very long way just to say hello. He is polite and gracious to everyone.
Efren and Iago search every single person who enters the receiving room for weapons, no matter their station. Even so, I glare at anyone who dares come too close to the prince, all the while keeping my hand ready on my scabbard.
Finally Rosario’s receiving schedule is complete for the day. He breathes deep, scrapes his chair back, and puts his feet up on the desk. “It’s getting harder and harder to smile at everyone.”
“You’ll have to do even more of it tonight.”
“Promise you’ll dance with me at least once,” he says. “I’ll need a break from everyone else.”
“I won’t be dressed for dancing,” I say, indicating my desert garb.
“I don’t care. I just want . . . Red, are you all right?”
My chest is buzzing, my breath coming in gasps. The magic squirming beneath the earth sings to me, yearning to break free. All it needs is a little blood. . . .
Blood welled up on her thumb, dripped to the floor in time with her heartbeat. The girl tried to wrench her hand away, but the White Hair gripped her arm too tight. The amulet hanging from his neck began to glow with blue fire. Its heat warmed her face. . . .
“Red?”
I lurch back into myself. “I’m sorry. I . . . the animagus. He’s nearby.”
“You did that thing where you . . . go away.”
My heart is racing. “Sensing the animagus triggered a memory. Rosario, please let me go call up the recruits on your behalf.”
One of the guards, either Iago or Efren, says, “A rogue animagus is a serious matter, Your Highness.”
Rosario looks to me. His borrowed guards. Back to me. “Fine,” he says at last. “Do it.”
I’m dizzy with relief. “Thank you. I need a letter from you authorizing my entry to the barracks and officially calling the recruits into service.”
“Bring them back as quick as you can. I’ll be heading to the ballroom soon. Meet me there.”
As soon as the ink is dry, we roll up the parchment, seal it with red wax, and stamp it with Rosario’s signet ring. With a final admonishment to the guards to keep him safe, I dash from the suite, down the stairs of the Sky Wing, and into the impossibly busy plaza.
I dodge carriages and horses, pages and hostlers. By the time I reach the Guard barracks, my camel-hair boots are covered in dust and manure. Two Guards stand at attention, holding spears and shields.
Their steel helmets cover everything but their eyes and mouths. I peer closer. I’m almost certain I don’t recognize them. After months of training, moving through the barracks, three meals per day in the mess, surely I’ve chanced upon every member of the Guard by now?