Now

ALL day long, at every meal, at every pause in training, Iván insists that we must do something to reach Rosario immediately. He seems certain that I can conjure some secret passageway to take us directly to the prince.

And I keep telling him that we must have patience. Rosario is no fool. He will reach out to us again.

I hope I am right.

By the end of the day, Iván is so frustrated with me, I’m worried that he’s going to sneak off to try something stupid on his own.

But as I head to the arena for informal practice, I’m hoping that if he does do something stupid, he will succeed.

Pedrón and the other former army recruits are already in the sand when Aldo and I arrive. We are soon joined by Itzal. Finally Iván comes, looking sullen and worried. I’m both relieved and disappointed.

“Is this everybody?” he asks.

“It appears so,” I reply. Only seven recruits in total, but a low number of students makes for a manageable class. The moon is high, and torches are sconced at the entrance to the barracks, casting pools of orange onto the sand. It’s plenty enough light to see by. “Let’s get started.”

Aldo grabs a wooden sword from the rack, and we all follow his lead.

“So, what do we do?” Pedrón says.

Aldo shrugs. I say, “Er . . . I guess we should line up the way Master Santiago showed us?”

Everyone shifts around in the sand until we’re in two staggered lines of four and three.

“Now what?” Pedrón says.

Everyone is looking to me for guidance. Little do they know that I’ve never taught anyone anything before. But I had Hector, and Hector was a great teacher. “Go through the forms Santiago has shown us so far. Keep an eye on Aldo for a reference if you forget what comes next. I’m going to watch you all and see if I can figure out what’s made Santiago so surly.”

Aldo says, “Let’s start with Bulwark!” and he clicks his heels together, striking the pose. Everyone follows his lead, and I weave among them, eyeing their stance, posture, and grip.

“Now Eastern Wind,” Aldo says.

The recruits go through them all, holding each pose for several seconds, which allows me to evaluate. Pedrón is all power and no finesse, as though he’s trying to pummel the sky to death. Itzal has little body awareness and tends to move in the wrong direction. Iván is near perfect, and I have no idea why he decided to join us.

Once everyone settles back into Bulwark, Pedrón says, “So, can you fix us?”

“Not a chance,” I blurt, before I realize this is one of those moments when a lot of good people would choose to tell a harmless lie.

Pedrón tosses his wooden sword in the sand. “What a waste of time.”

“Wait!” I say, before Pedrón can storm out of the arena.

He gives me a skeptical look, but he stays.