I stare down at him. Is he expecting a pat on the head? A biscuit? Simply for not being an ass?

He says, “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“How nice.”

He frowns. “I’ll prove it to you.”

I decide to throw this sad puppy a bone. “I know you will, Aldo. Thank you.”

He brightens. “Have a good nap!” he says, and heads for the latrine.

I watch him go, feeling strange, like maybe I’ve given something up, yielded too much. Aldo is the only person in this place who seems to want to be my friend, and I’m not sure if conceding to him chips away at myself or gives me strength.

“Red.”

I jump, startled but not badly. It’s Iván this time.

“You still have that key?” he says under his breath.

“I do.”

“Then let’s go. Quick, before someone sees.”

Together we hurry down the hallway in the opposite direction, into the depths of the Royal Guard barracks.

The officers’ quarters lie just below the ground floor. I know of a secret passage that would take us directly to the monarch’s wing from here, but Rosario would have to give me an imperial edict before I’d reveal it to Iván.

“It smells a lot better here,” Iván says.

“Some of the officers’ rooms back up against the palace wall and have actual windows,” I tell him. “They’re high and small, of course, too small for anyone to use them for access.”

“I’ll never take fresh air for granted again.”

Fresh air isn’t the only difference between the officers’ quarters and the recruit barracks. A plush rug runs the length of the corridor, a woven pattern displaying the de Riqueza seal, trimmed in Royal Guard crimson. Oil lamps light the passage instead of torches. All the door have locks.

By some miracle, Iván and I have this hallway to ourselves. But probably not for long.

“Which room is Bolivar’s?” Iván whispers.

“I’m not sure. I’ve only been to this wing a few times, but I think I can remember the general vicinity of his room . . . I hope.”

“Then how will we—”

“We try the key in all the locks. When the key works, it’s Bolivar’s room, right?”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“The worst.”

We reach a doorway I think might be the captain’s, and I pull the key from my pocket.

“What if this is the wrong room, and someone is in there?” Iván says.

“If that happens, say we’re running an errand for Fernando, but we accidentally got the wrong room. Except you have to be the one to say it. I’m a terrible liar.”

I place the key in the keyhole.

“You think Fernando will back us up?”

“Yes.” If this isn’t Bolivar’s room, it might be Sergeant DeLuca’s. Or the quartermaster’s. I take a deep breath and try turning the key, but it sticks, and the door does not open. I freeze, listening for sounds on the other side.