“But—” Iván starts to protest.

“I’ll talk to Juan-Carlos,” Rosario says. “That was a good idea. I’m sure he can spare a man or two.”

Iván slumps a little in relief.

“So what’s our next move?” I ask no one in particular. “We still need to talk to Valentino, I suppose. To find out if he took sweet dream.”

“Yes, we’ll make that a priority,” Iván says.

“The stable hand is gone,” I remind them. “So how do we communicate when one of us has something to report?”

“An assistant cook has informed for us on occasion,” Rosario says. “He’s been doing the job for only a few years, but the spymaster trusts him. I’ll have him identify himself to you, so be ready.”

“Only a few years?” I say.

“Yes, why?”

“You said the spies who disappeared are all people who have been doing the job a long time.”

The prince turns thoughtful. Light from the oil lamp sheens against his black hair, making it appear coppery.

Iván says, “The spies who disappeared . . . exactly how long had they been working as spies?”

Rosario considers this a moment. “Everyone who disappeared had been working for us at least nine years.”

I say, “I don’t understand how well-established spies were compromised but newer ones were not. That makes no sense.”

“Unless . . .” Iván begins, “the person behind this is not familiar with current operations.”

Rosario sits straight up. “You’re saying it’s someone who used to be familiar with them. Someone who was part of the king’s inner circle nine years ago, before Elisa came to power.”

“I don’t know. Maybe? If so, the only person I can think of is Iván’s father.”

Iván glares at me. “Impossible.”

“Are you sure he’s not making a play for the throne again?”

“I’m sure. Last I heard, he was rotting in an Invierno mine.” Then, softly, he mutters, “Please let him be rotting in an Invierno mine.”

Rosario is shaking his head. “It’s not Conde Eduardo. We’ve kept a very close watch on him over the years. We know where he is and what he’s doing at all times.”

“Then who?” I ask.

“I’ll give this some thought. In the meantime, I need to get you back to the barracks before anyone gets suspicious.”

“No,” Iván says. “We need to get you safely back to your quarters. We’ll find the barracks on our own.”

Rosario nods once and rises from the table.

Someone bangs on the door.

“Who goes there?” Rosario says.

“Nicandro.”

Rosario lifts the bar and opens the door. A small, hunched man in gray robes and a walking cane hurries inside and shuts it behind him. His dear, familiar face is grave, and he leans heavily on the cane with both hands. I haven’t seen him since he presided over my failed adoption ceremony.

“Father,” Rosario says. “We were about to . . . What’s wrong?”

“Your Highness,” he says, his voice thin with age. “I received news from Doctor Enzo. Captain Bolivar is dead.”