He whips his sword around, making it sing through the air. “Ah, but he lied. He was the real traitor, or rather, the real traitor’s fool. I guess that makes me the fool’s fool. But had I known . . . I never would have . . . I am dreadful with words; truly, my words are a foul cacophony of noise, unfit for decent ears, and anyway, who wants to learn the three basic stances from which to launch an attack?”
“Hear! Hear!” says Pedrón, raising a wooden sword in his left hand.
“Hear! Hear!” we echo.
And with that, our official sword training finally begins.
Two months later, Empress Elisa returns. We know it because the monastery bells sing a welcoming hymn, and we are relieved of training for an entire afternoon in celebration.
I’m desperate to see everyone—Elisa, Hector, Mena, Mara, the new baby—but no one sends for me or comes to see me. Maybe they don’t want to. Iván believes they must stay away to avoid the appearance of bias or favoritism while they sort out everything that happened. I hope he’s right.
Lord-Commander Dante returns, though, and he thanks us for our service, informs us that investigations are under way so that he and Elisa can come to a full understanding of what transpired and why.
We break into cheers when he promotes Guardsman Bruno to the rank of sergeant. And we break into even louder cheers when he announces that we have proven ourselves, and no more cuts will be forthcoming.
I look around at my fellow recruits, my heart full. Iván, Pedrón, the Arturos . . . I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to any of them. And now we’ll all be together for our second year.
The desert blooms with spring, scenting the air with creosote and lavender, sending orange bougainvillea and purple wisteria creeping up the castle walls.
A month after the empress’s return, we are ordered to report the following morning to the audience hall. All of us are named in the summons: me and the other first years, Tanix and the second years who helped us, Sergeant Bruno, Itzal and the stewards, stable hands, cooks and blacksmiths, Carilla, Valentino.
Bruno gives us extra time that evening to launder our clothes, telling us we must look our very best.
I finally dye the white streak in my hair, using dye that Rosario himself ordered specially for me. Iván helps, scrubbing it into my hair while I hold my head over the drain in the laundry room.
“It’s taking really well,” he assures me, which I appreciate, because I haven’t seen a mirror in months.
I don’t sleep a wink that night. Strangely, I miss Aldo. I miss whispering with him at night, even the way his occasional turning caused the bunk to creak, reminding me he was there. I miss seeing his face looking down at me in the morning.
Being a Royal Guard is dangerous work. I knew when I took to the sand that if I made it through recruitment, I would eventually lose friends to death. I didn’t anticipate that I’d lose one to betrayal, or that the loss would ache just as fiercely.
He’s not who I thought he was, I remind myself. He was never a true friend.
But even if I make peace with Aldo’s loss, I know it won’t help me sleep. Nothing will help me sleep. The soldier sickness will be with me always, no matter how much time passes, no matter how many victories are won.
So I make my bed on the floor and nest myself into the corner. I clutch my Godstone to my chest and make the choice to be at peace with myself.
The next morning we march, bathed and laundered and looking our very best, straight from the barracks and into the audience hall. My heart races, and my throat feels tight.
We are met at the door by Carilla and Valentino. Conde Valentino, I remind myself, for he has taken over rulership of Ciénega del Sur. His father still rots in the prison tower, awaiting his execution.
The double doors swing open, and we gasp. The entire court is in attendance.
Silence greets us as we enter and begin our walk down the aisle toward the throne and dais. Then the muttering starts.
They’re staring at my hair, at my dyed white streak, which is no longer white but rather bright, bright red like a ruby. For no matter what happens today, I am Red. Red Sparkle Stone, citizen of Joya d’Arena and descendant of Invierne, by birth and by choice, and my name is beautiful and perfect, as it has always been.
Elisa sits on the throne, wearing her crown of shattered Godstones, and how she manages to look as regal as ever while holding a swaddled baby is a wonder. Hector stands at her right shoulder, and when he notes my red streak, a hint of a smile quirks his lips. Rosario stands at the empress’s left shoulder, holding tight to Ximena’s hand. The little princess grins, showing off a huge gap in her teeth.
Mara and the Quorum of Five stand behind them, looking on like indulgent parents.
I yearn to run to them all, but I don’t dare. I’m just a Guard recruit.
We reach the end of our march. The audience hall rests in silence.
The empress stands. It’s like a thunderclap when, as one, every single recruit, noble, and servant drops to their knees.
Elisa hands the baby to her husband.
“Rise, Royal Guard, recruits, stewards, courtiers, and staff,” she says.
We obey.
“Traitors rose among your ranks. They threatened this empire. Took Joyan lives to further their own selfish causes. Yet you stayed true. More than that, you dedicated yourselves to exposing these traitors. You prepared yourselves beyond the scope of your expectations and training. And when my heir and our empire were at their most vulnerable, you risked life and limb to save us all. Therefore, it is my great pleasure to bestow upon each and every one of you the imperial medal of honor for acts of extreme loyalty.”
The audience cheers.
I feel a little dizzy. All my friends are being honored. All of them.
When the cheers die down, Elisa continues. “You must forgive me, for this is the largest conferring of the medal of honor in the history of Joya d’Arena. Such a pinning ceremony would last until the night. Lord-Commander Dante will dispense medals at a later time. But, for now . . .”
She pauses. Looks at me. Smiles a smile that makes my heart ache.
“Recruit Red, Recruit Iván, please step forward.”
We do. My legs are shaking. My fingers are numb. I’m not sure why. I know what I want. It shouldn’t be so terrifying to ask for it.
“We conducted a thorough investigation of events. It became clear that the two of you displayed incredible leadership, uniting recruits, pursuing inquiries about a potential traitor, ensuring that Prince Rosario had a protective fighting force with which to defend this empire. Therefore, it pleases me to bestow upon you both the very highest honor in the empire, the Queen’s Star for acts of honor and bravery in circumstances of extreme danger.”
Once again the audience erupts into cheers, and no one cheers louder than the Royal Guard at our backs.
Lord-Commander Dante hands Elisa the medals. She steps forward to pin them herself, first to the collar of Iván’s shirt, and then to mine. The empress and I are face-to-face when she whispers, “I like your hair.”
She returns to the throne and sits. “Now, Recruit Iván, ask a boon, and if it is both reasonable and within my power, I shall grant it.”
Iván bows. “I wish no boon save this,” he says. “Simply a declaration, signed by Your Majesty’s own hand, that all past sins perpetrated by any previous rulers of the countship of the Eastern Reaches have been redeemed through blood and sacrifice, and that it shall forever remain a beloved and loyal vassal of this empire.”