“But please don’t say I told!” she added, then she fled, pounding back down the stairs in her bare feet.

Orlín was waiting for her in the common room. “Well? What did you find out?”

“Traders,” Mula said, breathless. “They have spices. Sage and merry jam.”

“Marjoram?”

She nodded.

“Did you see? Or did they tell you?”

“They told.”

Orlín frowned. “When they leave their rooms tomorrow, I want you to get inside and have a look around.”

“You think they’re lying?”

“Joyans are known for it.”

“They have an Invierno with them,” Mula pointed out.

“They do indeed.” Orlín tapped a fingertip to his lip. “Which makes me think they are definitely not traders.” He crouched down before her, grasped her shoulders, pinned her with a gaze. “You must find out what’s in those packs,” he said. “You will not eat until you find out, hear?”

Mula’s lower lip trembled. “Hear,” she whispered.

19

Now

THE next morning, Master Santiago is back, and we return to endless practice of forms. Our forms are perfect. I have no idea why he refuses to progress our training, why he constantly belittles and berates us. At lunch, I sit beside Aldo, Iván, and Pedrón as usual. Across the room, the Arturos and their fellow Basajuaños are deep in quiet conversation with some of the second years.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Aldo says.

“No idea,” I say.

We find out that night, during our unsanctioned class. I instruct everyone to grab their wooden practice swords, but Tall Arturo says, “Wait. We need to talk.” He gestures for us to gather into a cluster in the center of the arena. “Might as well sit down for this,” he says.

Short Arturo adds, “And speak quietly so no one lingering on the walls can hear.”

Iván and I exchange a startled glance as we comply. Soon, we’re all cross-legged in the sand, sitting in a tight circle. Evening paints the sky pink and coral. Two palace guards make their rounds nearby; their silhouettes seem to float along the arena wall, black against the sunset.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

Short Arturo gives Tall Arturo a nod of encouragement. Tall Arturo takes a deep breath and says, “We’ve been talking to the second years. They had a very different first year of recruitment than we’ve had.”

“What do you mean?” says Pedrón, though I have a guess where this is going.

“First of all, they were trained by Captain Bolivar,” Tall Arturo says. “I know Sergeant DeLuca said the captain was busy doing something else, but it’s highly irregular. The captain of the Royal Guard oversees training every year. Every year. The second years have no idea where he is or why he’s been absent so long.”

I sense Iván stiffen in the space beside me. I resist the urge to look at him.

“I’ve been wondering about him,” says Itzal. “I was looking forward to meeting the captain. Supposedly he’s one of the empress’s most trusted men. And a gifted instructor besides.”