“Is there a point? Just ask your question.”

“Your countship has been in disgrace ever since, even though your brother is a Quorum lord. Your coffers are empty. You hate Inviernos, so you can’t possibly agree with the treaty Elisa brokered. So my question is this: Why did you join the Royal Guard? Why do you want to protect the person who brought such misery upon you and your family?”

He’s silent a long moment, staring at me. I hate staring; it’s one of the reasons I cover my mark. One less thing for people to gawk at.

The constant drip plink of the spigot echoes around us. I force myself to meet his gaze without flinching, even though my feet are twitching to run, my ears growing warm.

“You’re right,” he says at last. “The empress ruined my father, and our countship is slow to recover from the devastation.”

“Then why—”

“I loved my father. But I hated him too.” His slight grin is self-deprecating. “Those things can be true at once, you know.”

I’m not sure what to say to that.

“He was the worst person I ever knew,” he continues. “And no, I don’t feel like telling you about that. But the day the empress stripped him of his title and exiled him was the best day of my life.”

I blink. “Huh. Well, in that case I’m glad for you.”

“We really should get back to the barracks,” he says. “You think our clothes will dry in the next few hours?”

“Hope so.” I head toward the doorway, and Iván follows.

“I haven’t told anyone that,” he says to my back, “about my father, I mean.”

Without turning around, I say, “Besides you, only Hector and Rosario know about me killing that animagus.”

We enter the hallway and step quietly toward the bunk room. “Meet me after dinner tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll use our free time to investigate Bolivar’s quarters.”

“I still have the key,” I assure him.

“All this confiding and conspiring,” he says. “I hope it doesn’t mean we’re becoming friends.”

“Of course not,” I snap.

Just before being enveloped by the darkness of the bunk room, I note a hint of a smile edging his swollen lip. I turn my head away before he can see any reaction on mine.

I’m prone on my cot, trying to fall back asleep. My stomach is in knots, my lowest right rib feels like shards of glass, and daggers of pain stab my skull in perfect time with my heartbeat.

I reach into the drawer and root around until my hand closes around my Godstone. It’s cool and hard, with faceted edges. I bring it to my chest and run my thumb along one edge, back and forth, back and forth. I give a passing thought to the long-dead animagus this stone once belonged to, then I decide I don’t care about them.

Just like Elisa showed me, I send my awareness deep into the earth, seeking the magic that lives there, swirling beneath the skin of the world. She taught me this as a meditation—because I refused the comfort of prayer—to help quell the maelstrom that comes when I can’t control my fear.