I stare at the boy who used to be my bunkmate.
“Prince Alejandro is the true heir to the imperial throne,” Astón says, his voice booming through the chamber.
Aldo. Alejandro. He’s the son of one of the king’s many mistresses. Rosario’s secret half-brother. I should have realized. Those same delicate features. Those same impossible eyelashes.
The bastard prince eyes me as I skirt the bodies of Father Nicandro and the animagus, to take my place before my prince.
“Red?” Rosario whispers. “What’s happening?”
Nothing good. It appears as though Aldo has saved us all, but I’m not so sure. The drama has yet to play out.
It occurs to me that in all the chaos, I have not heard the monastery bells ring out any kind of signal. It gives me hope.
Lord-Conde Tristán says, “His Imperial Highness Prince Rosario is the true heir, named so by Empress Elisa herself, ratified by the chamber of condes.”
“The empress is a traitor!” shouts a high female voice. A figure comes forward, the crowd parting for her in a way it never would for me. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, with golden skin and eyes like honey, only a shade or two darker than my own. I have seen her once before. Standing next to Lady Malka, on the day that my adoption was rejected. She wears a sleeveless gossamer gown the color of champagne. Her armbands and bracelets drip with jewels.
“Hello, Mamá,” says Aldo.
“Condesa Ariña!” says Conde Astón. “It’s a delight to see you here.”
She inclines her head slightly. “Thank you for commuting my exile,” she says. “I have yearned for my friends here in the capital.”
“You suffered long enough,” the conde says. “The chamber was only too happy to grant your request.”
I’m not sure what to do. This is some form of treachery; I’m certain of it. But I can’t just start attacking people. Or maybe I should.
Others push through the crowd. Relief fills me to see Iván’s face, then Pedrón’s. Valentino is inching forward as well. He still looks wan, but he no longer uses a cane. He has eyes for no one but his father.
The weeping and the cries for help subside. Smoke obscures the ceiling, but the flames have been suppressed.
“Many of you are already acquainted with Condesa Ariña,” Conde Astón says. “The longtime paramour of King Alejandro, and the choice for many of us to become our next queen.” To the beautiful woman, he says, “If we had known that you had borne his child, a prince, we never would have allowed the usurper to exile you. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the kingdom and all who are loyal to the memory of our true king.”
“This is an outrage,” yells Conde Tristán. “Rosario is the true heir, beloved by all. This boy is a stranger! He could be an urchin from the streets of the Wallows, for all we know.”
“Oh, I have proof of my son’s lineage,” says Condesa Ariña, and she holds aloft an item for all to see. It’s a baby rattle, golden just like the one Rosario gave me. Except the one she displays is engraved with the de Vega seal.
Some people gasp. Others hold their tongues.
“A gift from his father, upon news of his birth,” Ariña says. “We kept my darling boy hidden, until such time as we married and I became Alejandro’s queen. But the usurper changed everything. She stole the throne for herself. Threw me out of the capital. Forced us all to accept treaties with our greatest enemies.”
Rosario finds his voice. “You were exiled because you conspired to betray my father. You were stripped of title, your sister Cosmé made heir to your lands and titles. You got exactly what you deserved.”
Condesa Ariña smiles. “I’m sure that’s what you’ve been told. But as you say, my sister retained my lands and titles. She is now queen of Basajuan. That means my son, Alejandro, is not only your half-brother, he is nephew to Queen Cosmé. His claim to the imperial throne is even greater than yours.”
Even though such a claim is ridiculous, everyone in the ballroom is rapt. This was the plan all along. Discredit Elisa and Rosario. Infiltrate the Royal Guard. Lock down the palace with mercenaries. Present Aldo as a heroic, patriotic alternative.
I have no idea what to do. I’ve been training to guard someone’s life, not shore up their political support.
“Empress Elisa invited that animagus here,” Conde Astón says. “You heard him. They were longtime friends. And now innocent people lie charred on the floor of this very ballroom.”
“You lie!” Rosario protests.
“Even I have never seen him before,” Ambassador Songbird says.
“We are so lucky Prince Alejandro was here to save us,” Conde Astón continues, unabashed. “The Inviernos bring nothing but duplicity and death. How many of you lost fathers, brothers, sons to the Inviernos in the war? There can be no treaty with duplicity. There can be no peace with treason.”
“Enough of this!” Rosario shouts. “Red, seize the pretender.”
I react instantly, leaping toward Aldo, my sword raised high.
Aldo is already spinning on me, drawing his own sword. Steel clangs against steel as he parries neatly.
He thrusts for my belly, but I twist my abdomen, and his blade sails past. With a flick of my wrist, I knock the blade aside and move inside his guard, priming my fist to bludgeon his face.
“Stop, or Rosario dies!” someone yells.
I freeze. Someone has Rosario pinned, a knife to his throat. Efren and Iago, the prince’s borrowed guards, are dead at his feet.
Aldo’s grin of triumph falters as he lifts his blade, presses the tip to my heart. “Surrender, Red,” he says. “You are my friend. Truly. And I want you as part of my own Royal Guard. As I told all of you, when I locked you up for your own safety, you can still be in the Guard.”
I gape at him. Does he really believe there can be friendship between us, after what he’s done?
From the corner of my eye, I see Valentino edging closer. Aldo notices, but does nothing. After all, Valentino is weak. The son of his greatest ally.
On the dais, the knife presses deeper into Rosario’s throat. I have to do something. I can’t watch him die. But there’s no way I’ll reach him before that blade slits his throat.
“Well, Red, what’s it going to be?” Aldo says. To Condesa Ariña, he says, “Mamá, please relieve her of her sword.”
Ariña steps forward, and I allow her to take my weapon. It clatters as she drops it to the ground, then kicks it aside.
Beside Rosario, Carilla lifts her hand to her hair. It’s a slow, subtle gesture.
“Why did you join the Guard?” I say, buying time.
“I needed a way inside. Also I really wanted to meet you and Iván, and all the empire’s brightest sons.”
“Why did you pretend to be our friend?”
“I didn’t pretend! You are my . . . I knew that once you realized I was the true heir, you would . . .” He glances toward his mother.
“What were the barrels of sweet dream syrup for?”
“You’re trying to get me to say something unwise in front of everyone, aren’t you?” He puts pressure on the blade. The tip parts my skin, bringing searing pain.