Iván’s brows lift. “Good observations. Hopefully no one will notice us staring at everyone’s feet.”

“So what do we do next? Maybe get a message to Rosario and tell him . . . uh, Iván?”

“Red?”

My gaze has moved beyond him, to the shelves and their disarrayed contents. “Where is that dish full of tamarind candies? Didn’t you put it right back there?” I point.

Iván whirls. He swiftly clears the shelves of remaining items—a pair of socks, a rolled-up belt, an extra shirt—and tosses them onto the bed.

He says, “It’s not here. He must have taken it.”

“Getting rid of evidence?”

“Yes, probably. No, wait, let’s not jump to a conclusion. Maybe he was just ridding the room of molding candy.”

I make a sweeping gesture, indicating the whole chamber. “It’s not like whoever it was showed any care for this place.”

“True.” Iván’s lips press together as though in grim thought. Then he says, “I know your rib hurts more than you admit, so let’s go back to the bunk room so you can rest. While you do that, I’ll find the stable hand and get a message to Rosario.”

“I . . . thank you.” I must admit, this task of sussing out an assassin would be a lot harder if I had to do it alone. “What will you tell him?”

“The prince needs to know the poison isn’t being delivered only through duerma leaf tea—he needs to be testing all his food. And I want to ask him about Swordmaster Santiago. Find out what he thinks of the man.”

“That’s too much for one secret note.” I reach into Bolivar’s desk and grab quill, inkwell, and parchment. I dip the nib, but my first scratch produces nothing. I lick it and try again and finally get a good flow of ink. “We must keep words to a minimum, in case the note is intercepted.” I start scribbling.

“Was that part of your royal education too?”

“Yes.”

I blow on the ink to help it dry and show Iván what I’ve written:

Made small progress on our assignment. When can we meet?—IR

“IR,” he says. “Iván and Red?” When I nod, he adds, “I’ll get this to the stable hand messenger.”

“And the next time we’re given free time, I say we track down Valentino and see what he can tell us.”

“Agreed. Let’s go.”

We reach the bunk room without incident. Two of the Basajuan boys are taking the opportunity to rest in their cots. Aldo is back in Traitors’ Corner, cross-legged on his top bunk. He is staring at his ring—one of his precious three items—but puts it away when the door bangs shut. He looks up and grins to see me, but his grin falters a little when he notes Iván at my side.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, his gaze shifting between us. “I thought you were going to take a nap.”

“I am. Had something to take care of first. Girl stuff.”