“I’ll be there,” Pedrón says.

“And me,” says Itzal.

“Me too,” says Aldo.

Iván remains silent.

“We’ll spread the word,” says Luca.

We get busy eating, but after a moment, Itzal asks, “Aldo, where did you learn the forms? You looked very at ease out there.”

Pedrón snorts. “For once.”

Aldo says, “Mamá hired a tutor for me.”

“I thought you said you were raised on a ship,” I say.

“I was.”

“Who’s your mother?” Pedrón asks.

“No one you’ve heard of. A merchant.”

“A rich merchant, to be able to afford a tutor for classical swordsmanship,” Itzal points out.

“She’s done well for herself,” Aldo says, his voice colored with pride.

“And your father?” Iván asks.

Aldo shrugs. “He wasn’t around.” He says it offhand, in the most casual tone, but his face is suddenly as blank as I’ve ever seen it. “He sent money for a while.”

“Then he stopped?” Itzal says.

“Then he died.”

“Oh.”

I give Aldo a sympathetic look. It obviously pains him to talk about his father.

After an awkward silence, Pedrón blurts, “I wish my papá had sent money at any time in my life! But he was a poor fisherman, always drunk, not a coin to his name.”

“Then how did you get into the Guard?” Itzal asks. “Sponsorships cost money.”

I say, “The Royal Guard isn’t just for rich people anymore.”

“Red’s right,” Pedrón says. “I came in second place at the annual strongman contest. That got me a position with the army recruits. I did well enough there to transfer to the Guard.”

“Still,” Itzal says, “most people who join the Guard are rich. Sons of rich merchants, second and third sons of condes.”

“Do you ever talk about anything besides money?” Iván asks.

Itzal considers this. “No,” he says. “Just money. My father was a moneylender. I grew up thinking about it, talking about it, wanting more of it. Until the Guard opportunity came up, the thing I wanted most in the world was to become grotesquely rich.”

“And now?” Iván prompts.

“I still wouldn’t mind becoming grotesquely rich.” Everyone snickers, and the attention seems to make Itzal uncomfortable. “What about you, Iván?” he says, to deflect. “What do you want most in the world?”

Iván’s eyes narrow, and I imagine his possible answers: I want my countship to regain its reputation. I want to prove myself to everyone. I want my father to stay far, far away. None of your business.

He says, “I want to make it through all four years of training and become a Guardsman so everyone will stop questioning my loyalty.”

“That’s fair,” Itzal says. “What about you, Pedrón?”

Pedrón grins. “I want to marry the most beautiful woman in the world and have ten children with her.” His grin fades as he amends, “Well, I’m not sure I want to have ten children with her so much as I want to make ten children with her.”

The other army recruits laugh and clap him on the back like he’s just said the cleverest thing in the world.