But of course I can’t think of a single thing.

I shove the Godstone and the baby rattle into my pocket, then grab the Articles. “Now I’m ready.”

Bruno looks me up and down. His gaze lingers on my bound book, but he chooses not to make an issue of it. “Follow me.”

He leads me through the tunnel, past the latrine, to the side gate where they take deliveries for the barracks. When he opens the pass-through door, I step into the alley between the barracks and the stables. The sun is cruel on my face.

“Farewell, Red,” Bruno says. “I wish you every blessing.” Then he ducks back inside. I hear the heavy bar slam down, closing off the barracks to me. The guards standing at this entrance couldn’t let me back in even if they wanted to.

Now what?

The alley is busy with gala traffic. It feels like everyone is staring at me, the girl who just exited the barracks empty-handed. I’m well known here, the former ward of the empress, the half-human hybrid. And now that my hair has grown back to my shoulders, my white streak has surely grown to my ear.

Get to Rosario, Iván said.

I hurry through the plaza to the main entrance of the Sky Wing, where I’m stopped by a pair of unfamiliar guards.

“I’m the ward of the empress,” I tell them. “Lady Red Sparkle Stone. I live here.”

One snickers at my name. Someone is always ready to snicker at my name. But the other says, “Do you have a pass signed by Sergeant DeLuca of the Royal Guard?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t live here, at least not until after Deliverance Week is over. We have strict orders to let no one into the Sky Wing without a written pass from Sergeant DeLuca.”

Someone wanted to be sure I was unable to get in to warn Rosario.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” I tell the guards. Glumly I add, “Happy Deliverance Day.”

There has to be another way inside.

I could access the monarch’s quarters through a secret entrance in the city, but I’d still have to traverse several corridors of the Sky Wing to get from there to Rosario’s suite. If they caught me, I’d see the inside of the prison tower before I ever saw Rosario.

The monastery bells ring the hour. Which gives me an idea. The sanctuary is always open to the public, night or day, all year round. I’ll start there.

I hurry through the plaza, dodging carriages and supply wagons and teams of horses. A few merchants have set up stalls on the outskirts, those who could acquire a coveted palace vendor license. They do quick business this time of year, with so many visitors in need of extra items. I pass a saddler, a counter full of steaming meat pies, even a jeweler.

Halfway past the jeweler, I pause. I dig into my pocket and fish out the baby rattle.

“Lady Red,” the merchant says, trying not to stare at my white mark. I don’t recognize him, but it’s not unusual for people to recognize me. “I thought you were . . . er, how can I help you?”