“Please forgive Red,” Iván says. “She has a terrible habit of letting any old thought spill from her mouth.”

I consider apologizing, but what is there to apologize for? I only spoke the truth.

Valentino has the grace to smile. “She is honest and blunt, just like the Invierno ambassador.”

“She is.”

“Red, you’re not wrong,” Valentino says, and suddenly his gaze seems far away. “I know my father’s reputation. It’s not unearned. In fact, we disagree on many things.”

“Like whether or not Elisa is a good ruler?” I prompt.

Valentino doesn’t rise to the bait. “Many things. Contentiously. It’s why I went to the Guard. He got his peskiest son out of his hair, and I got to do something that would bring honor and reputation to my family that I felt good about. It seemed like such an elegant solution at the time.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out better,” I tell him.

“Me too.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Iván asks.

Valentino is so sophisticated and well-mannered, even when convalescing, that it’s a bit of a surprise to see vulnerability flash across his face. “I would like it very much if you came to visit me again sometime,” he says, unable to keep the wistfulness from his voice. “I’ve read through our entire library. It will be months before I can join the army.” He stares off toward the writing desk. “Frankly, I’m bored.”

I grasp his shoulder. He feels bony and frail. “We can definitely do that,” I say.

He brightens. “That would be wonderful.” His gaze shifts back to the writing desk.

“Did we interrupt some correspondence by coming here?” Iván asks.

“No. It’s just . . .”

“Valentino?” I prompt.

He looks back and forth between Iván and me. Back to the writing desk. Back to me.

“If you decide you want to tell us who gave you the sweet dream poison,” Iván says carefully. “You know where to find us. But we won’t press you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Iván sets his glass on the side table and stands, and I follow his lead. “I wish we could stay longer, but Red and I have to get back to the barracks before our free time is up.”

Valentino gains his feet with the help of his cane. “I understand. Do you mind seeing yourselves out? I’ve already done quite a bit of walking today.”

“Of course,” I say. Iván and I turn to go.

We are nearly to the door, when Valentino calls out, “Wait!”

We turn.

Valentino appears stricken. “There’s something . . . Maybe this is a huge mistake, or maybe it’s nothing . . .”

I peer closer. Stricken, yes, with a healthy pinch of fear for spice. “Valentino, are you in trouble?” I ask. “Do you need help?”

He waves off my concern. “I’m fine, I promise, but . . .” Using his cane for support, he makes his way to the writing desk, opens a drawer, pulls out a rolled-up piece of parchment. “I’ve been doing some work for my father during my convalescence. Mostly accounting and correspondence. I found this, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. Maybe you’ll know what to do with it.” He holds it out for me to fetch.