“Yes.”

“Red.” He looks me dead in the eye. “I don’t think those barrels are full of date syrup.”

“No.”

“They’re full of sweet dream syrup.”

“Yes.”

“Enough to poison an army.”

“Or a gala full of nobles.”

He gasps. “You think poisoned food will be served up at the Deliverance Gala?”

“I don’t know. I do know that the gala would be a really good time for a coup.”

“We need to let the prince know about this.”

“And we need to do it right now. Let’s go find that assistant cook.”

We have nothing to write with. So I pull the last shards of my dye pot from my drawer. One curved shard still shelters a small dollop of dye, with just enough moisture that I’m able to dip my finger and make a large X on the manifest, beside the line item for date syrup. After it dries, I fold it up small and tight and shove it into my pocket.

At dinner, we are served caramelized onions and garlic-spiced lentils on a bed of spinach.

Normally, my mouth would be watering with anticipation over such a meal. Instead, my stomach roils as I stand in line, waiting my turn, my palm turning damp with sweat as it clutches my plate and the folded manifest along with it.

I reach the head of the line. The assistant cook gestures for me to hand him my plate, and I stretch my arm out carefully, hoping beyond hope he’ll see the parchment poking out from under the plate’s edge.

“Here you go, girl,” he says, and sometime between a tong full of spinach and a ladle full of lentils, the parchment disappears, so smoothly that I barely feel it slide out of my fingers.

I’m so relieved as I find a seat that when Pedrón insists on sitting beside me, I actually smile at him.

“How did afternoon training go?” I ask him.

“Not well,” he says. “Itzal is right. He’s going to get cut unless he gets some extra help. I could use some help too.”

“We’ll practice those escapes in our class tonight. You’re big enough that I can teach you different techniques that wouldn’t work for me or Itzal, more than just the five basic escapes.”

Pedrón beams. “I am big.” He waggles an eyebrow. “I’m big everywhere.”

“Gross.” I grab my bowl, rise from my seat, and go find Aldo to sit beside. Aldo has never once been gross with me.

We practice escapes in our unsanctioned class and Pedrón is right; Itzal is hopeless. He might be the clumsiest person I’ve ever seen. But that doesn’t stop him from trying. If anyone can succeed in the Guard on sheer determination, it’s him.

After the oil lamps are blown out and everyone settles into their cots, I lie awake, worried for Fernando, hoping Rosario will receive and understand our message, thinking about the upcoming Deliverance Gala. Finally I give up on sleeping, and I grab the book Father Nicandro gave me and sneak into the latrine. By torchlight, I read.