I turn to Aldo. Maybe if I kill him, his men will stop fighting. Or maybe the men are Astón’s. Or are they the condesa’s? Which one should I kill?
Maybe I’ll kill them all. Aldo raised a weapon before the prince, which means I can kill him with impunity. But the others . . . executing nobles without a trial is something I could hang for. But if I don’t, we’ll all die anyway.
I raise my sword, ready to bring it down on Ariña’s neck.
The doors to the ballroom fly open. Someone shrieks. Nobles flee the ballroom like a receding tide, emptying the space. Others pour in, taking their place. They are armed with wooden swords and kitchen knives, pitchforks and blacksmith tongs. It’s Itzal and Tanix, along with the stable hands, the cooks, the stewards, and anyone else they could find.
Arturo is backing toward me, chased down by two imposter Guards. They swing their swords and he’s dodging as best he can, but he’s starting to slow with fatigue. I step in front of him, parrying with my sword. The impact wrenches my shoulder.
“Get back, Arturo. Find a weapon if you can. Help protect the prince.”
He scurries back as I parry another blow, then another. If we make it out of this alive, I’m going to make sure we recruits practice defending against two attackers at once.
They come at me from opposite directions; dodging one blow will send me right into the other. So I drop to my belly, roll away as their swords barely miss impacting each other.
I leap to my feet, guard up, only to find they have both been dispatched. A stable boy stands over one with a bloodied pitchfork. Itzal has walloped the other’s head with the pommel of his wooden sword.
“We took the bell tower,” Itzal says. He breathes heavily, and a bruise is beginning to purple his left cheek. “You could see the whole ballroom light up like a torch from there.”
The sorcerer’s fire was supposed to be the signal to ring the bells.
Itzal adds, “Rito is there with Guardsman Bruno and a few of the second years, holding it.”
“Guardsman Bruno helped!”
“He’s the only fighting Guard who heeded the warning. The rest are passed out in their quarters, some in the mess. Sergeant DeLuca fell asleep in the officers’ latrine, pants around his ankles.”
“The sergeant was poisoned?”
“The barracks were ransacked for uniforms. Red, it’s awful over there.”
The clashes around us are dying down. We’re going to be victorious after all.
“Itzal, great work. You and Rito, you saved us.”
He grins. “I think we all saved each other.”
Only a few small pockets of fighting remain, and our Guards, our real Guards, seem to have them well in hand.
“It’s not over yet,” says someone at my shoulder. Iván is propping up his brother, Juan-Carlos, who has sustained an injury to his knee. “We saw all those mercenaries in the Sky Wing, remember?”
“Right,” I say. “And others were looting estates outside the palace.”
“What do we do?” Itzal asks.
I have no idea. I’m about to say as much when Rosario steps down from the dais, Carilla once again like a burr in his side.
The prince crouches before the sobbing Ariña, tilts her chin up. “Who hired the mercenaries? Was it you?”
Ariña says nothing.
“How you answer me right now will determine whether your son lives or dies,” Rosario says.
Ariña swallows. Then she says, “Me. And Conde Astón. It was both of us.”
“Ariña!” Astón exclaims.
“How do we get them to lay down arms?” Rosario presses.
“Tell them . . . tell them the deal is off. No payment is forthcoming. We were going to pay them with dream syrup. Fighting men will do anything for dream syrup, you know. It’s hidden in the empress’s quarters. Take it out. Burn it.”
Of course. King Alejandro’s former mistress would definitely know secret ways into the Sky Wing. And Rosario would never think to search there.
“And this creature?” Rosario says, nudging the dead sorcerer with his boot. “Did you hire him too?”
“He was . . . a pet of sorts. Addicted to the dream syrup. He played his part, freezing everyone but my son. He did not know he would die today, though.”
“Thank you,” Rosario says. “If everything you say proves true, I will ensure that your son is not executed.”
The prince stands, strides toward Conde Astón. Valentino still holds a blade to his throat, but it wavers. Tears stream down the boy’s face.
“You, on the other hand, will most certainly be executed,” Rosario says to the high conde. “And the Scriptura Sancta tells us that the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children, from generation to generation.”
Rosario pauses to glance at Valentino.
In a softer voice, he adds, “But I don’t believe that. I believe that children should never pay for their father’s sins. Surrender now, Astón. Get word to the mercenaries to lay down their arms, that payment will not be forthcoming. If you convince them, I swear by God’s righteous right hand that your family name will not be stricken from history, and your son Valentino will be named your heir by royal decree and declared a loyal subject, respected and beloved, until he passes the name to his own heirs.”
Conde Astón blinks. “I have two older sons,” he says.
“And they will all live and keep your name. But Valentino is the one who has proven himself. He will be lord of Ciénega del Sur.”
Conde Astón looks to Ariña. Then to the boy who holds a sword to his throat. His hand goes up to cup Valentino’s cheek. “My son,” he says.
Valentino’s eyes are wet with tears. “Why did you do this, Papá? Why?”
“To make a better future for you. For all of us.”
“You were wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” To Rosario, he says. “I will do it. By God’s righteous right hand.”
Rosario steps aside. “Then go. Spread your message. Your three sons’ lives and futures depend on you keeping your word.”
Astón rises, dusts himself off, and flees the ballroom.
“What if he escapes?” I ask, staring after him. “What if he never comes back?”
“He will,” says Valentino, wiping his cheeks. “My father is many things. But most of all, he is proud. He will not let his family name be extinguished.”
Next Rosario turns to Aldo, who lies gasping on the floor, blood pooling beneath his legs. “You stupid, stupid boy,” he says.
Aldo sneers at him. “You would not be saying that if our plan had succeeded.”
Rosario shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you have any idea how happy Red and I would have been to learn we have a brother? All you had to do was come to me, tell me who you were. You could have been a prince of the empire. I would have shared everything with you.”
“It’s my birthright,” Aldo gasps out. “I was born for it. I deserve—”
“No,” Rosario says. “One of the most important things I learned from my stepmother is that no one deserves to rule. Anyone who believes otherwise will make a truly terrible monarch. You made your choices. So be it.”