He’s right. Soldiers scurry in and out of the front door, many hefting bulging burlap sacks. They’re dressed in the colors of the palace watch, except . . .
“Look at their shoes,” I say.
They all wear those hefty sandals, the same ones the mercenaries in the Sky Wing were wearing.
“Isn’t that the mayor’s house?” Iván says.
“He and Lady Jada live there. They’re important allies of the empress.” I still remember the man who stood and proclaimed in favor of my adoption.
“I think it’s being looted,” Pedrón says.
“We have to hurry,” I say, and I press forward. It goes against everything in me to pass by, to do nothing, but reaching Rosario must be our priority.
As we near the gate, it becomes clear that the mayor’s home isn’t the only one. I recognize the sigil of Lord Liano of Altapalma, then that of Lady Pilar of Lagunas Azules. Both friends of the empress. Both with an inordinate number of foot soldiers wearing not-quite-right uniforms. It’s a subtle thing. There’s no yelling, no clashing of weapons. Anyone not paying close attention would never know that a takeover is happening right under our noses.
“Red,” Pedrón says at my back. “There may be hostages inside those townhomes.”
“That’s because they plan to take the whole city,” I tell him. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. And none of it will matter if we don’t save the prince.”
Iván grabs Pedrón by the collar. “We’re the Royal Guard, not the City Guard. Our only job is to protect the prince. Got it?”
Pedrón swallows hard, but his back straightens with resolve. “Yes, sir.”
Ahead, Arturo has reached the gate, a giant arched portcullis with speared points that could crush a person’s head if it was ever lowered quickly.
“Do you think they’ll just let us in?” Iván asks. He’s as breathless as I am. Even though we’re well practiced running the walls, running uphill has made my thighs burn and my lungs ache.
“No. I don’t know. I still have Rosario’s letter. Maybe we can talk our way in?”
“What if we can’t?”
“We have to. We don’t have time to figure out something else.”
Iván and I sprint to catch up, dodging horses, ignoring the angry shouts of people accusing us of skipping the line.
“. . . out on maneuvers,” Arturo is saying to one of the palace watch officers. “We’ve just returned and are ready to report to the barracks.”
“You’re not reporting to the gala for duty?” the watch officer asks.
“No, we’re just first-year recruits. See? We don’t even have weapons.”
“She does,” says the officer as I come up behind Arturo. He indicates the small sword hanging from my hip.
“She’s the only one,” Arturo says. “Because she’s our squad leader.”
“It’s barely more than a toy,” I tell him. “A sign of my station more than a real weapon.”
The watch officer considers. My face flames. I just told a huge lie, straight out.
“Fine, go ahead,” he says, waving us through.
We dash into the plaza and step off to the side, out of the way of traffic.
“That was easier than I expected,” Arturo says.
“Too easy,” says Iván.
“They didn’t bother searching us for hidden weapons,” Pedrón says. “Don’t they always search for weapons on Deliverance Day?”
“Lords and ladies are allowed some small personal weapons,” I say. “You can even buy them here in the market stalls. But that was still too easy.”
“They aren’t even asking for invitations,” Arturo says. “I listened very closely. Two carriages ahead of us were allowed to drop off their passengers without any questions at all.”
“They want everyone here,” I say. “As many people as possible.”
“Why?” says Pedrón.
“I have no idea.” My brain races through the possibilities, none of them good. “But I don’t like it.”
“To the ballroom, yes?” Rito says.
“Yes. But first . . .” I put my hand on Rito’s shoulder and look him dead in the eye. “I need you to do something heroic.”
“Just me?” he says, his voice edging higher.
“I overheard those mercenaries saying they would attack when the bells ring. They’re waiting for a signal. If they never hear the signal—”
“Then they won’t attack,” Pedrón finishes.
“Exactly. Rito, I need you to return to the barracks and find anyone who is not poisoned. Itzal, maybe. Tanix and the second years. Check the kitchens and the storerooms too. Surely some of them heard the rumor and refrained from eating or drinking today. Find them all, and get them to the bell tower. Make sure that signal never happens. Can you do that?”
“What if I can’t find anyone?”
“Use your best judgment. Stop that signal if possible, but don’t get yourself killed for no reason. Lay low until this is all over if you have to. Don’t do anything dangerous alone.”
He straightens. “All right, Red. I’ll find everyone I can. If there’s any way to stop that signal, we’ll do it.”
“Good man. The rest of us will make for the ballroom.”
We say our goodbyes to Rito. Arturo wraps him in a tight hug and kisses the top of his head. “Be careful, Rito,” he says.
Rito lays his palm against Arturo’s cheek. Then, with a nod to the rest of us, he dashes away toward the barracks.
The way to the grand ballroom is across the plaza and through a wide tunnel. The tunnel is jammed with lords and ladies in their Deliverance garb, all awaiting entrance. The sun is low, but the air is still hot and dusty. Several people fan themselves as they wait. Serving staff with trays skirt the crowd, offering cold water and hors d’oeuvres.
“I wonder if that food is poisoned,” Pedrón says, staring mournfully at a tray of tiny meat pies garnished with parsley.
“If we stand in line, we’ll never get in before opening ceremonies,” Arturo says.
Iván leans down and whispers in my ear, “Do you know of another way in?”
Only through the Sky Wing, which is swarming with mercenaries. If I lead a bunch of unarmed recruits that way, not only will we never reach Rosario, we’ll never reach tomorrow.
“I’m thinking,” I tell him.
In very short order, I realize I don’t have any ideas.
24
Now
“IT doesn’t have to be complicated,” Pedrón says. “Let’s just shove our way in.”
We can do that? Obviously, I am the wrong size to think of some solutions.
“They’re nobles,” Pedrón explains. “They’ll be angry and make all kinds of threats, but they won’t push back.”
“It’s better than any plan I have,” I say.
“Maybe if we yell ‘Make way for the empress,’ they’ll get out of our way faster,” Iván suggests.