“Red is not a distraction,” Iván says.

“She’s an asset,” says Arturo.

“You can’t tell us to pick our squad leader and then kick her out!” says Pedrón.

DeLuca turns on them with the same open fury that he showed Bruno. “You are all speaking out of turn, and you’ll run the walls tonight after dinner. It will give you time to consider your words, and how you’ve let this young lady manipulate and deceive you. You wanted proof that she’s a distraction—well, there it is! Your training would be much farther along by now if she had never taken to the sand.”

I stare daggers at him, my fists clenched at my sides. He would never dare cut me for such a ridiculous reason if Elisa were around. I can’t believe he dares it now. Something happened. Or someone got to him. And the only person I can think of with the power to make him cut me, the ward of the empress, is Conde Astón of Ciénega del Sur.

It hits me all of a sudden: He wants me out of the way for the Deliverance Gala. He wants to make sure Rosario is as exposed as possible.

I’m already cut. The worst thing that could possibly happen to me has happened. So I have no hesitation saying, “You are going to regret this, DeLuca. You have my word on it.”

If my threat lands, he gives no indication. “Gather your things and go.”

Suddenly I’m surrounded by recruits. “We won’t forget you, Red,” someone says. “This is wrong,” says another. Hands pat my shoulders. One grabs my hand and squeezes.

All at once, the space around me is taken up with Iván. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Get to Rosario. We’ll figure this out.”

“Get back in line right now,” DeLuca says. “Or there will be further cuts!”

Before Iván can step away, I grab his collar and whisper back, “Make sure no one eats or drinks tomorrow. Especially during the annual Deliverance toast.”

Hands grab me. My eyes are locked with Iván’s as DeLuca drags me away.

Iván nods once, slightly.

DeLuca shoves me through the portcullis. “Guardsman Bruno,” he says. “Escort this civilian out of the barracks by the quickest route possible.”

Bruno watches over me as I gather my baby rattle, my Godstone, and Father Nicandro’s book from the drawer. I leave the broken shards of my dye pot where they are. They’re useless now.

“Ready,” I tell him.

“You must change out of your uniform too.”

I stare at him.

“I’m sorry, Red,” he says. “I don’t agree with DeLuca’s decision, but . . .”

“But you have to follow orders.”

He nods.

“Can you at least give me a little privacy?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

He turns his back, and I quickly shuck shirt, vest, belt, boots, and pants, and re-don the desert garb I wore the day I first took to the sand.

I stare at Bruno’s back a moment, wondering if there’s something else I ought to do while his back is turned, something sneaky that might help me. . . .