Father Nicandro’s eyes narrow. “I thought I might have sensed something earlier this morning, but then it was gone, like a breeze.”

“I’m certain of it.”

“I believe you, dear girl. Unlike you, I can only sense Godstones when they are drawing magic. You’ve always been more sensitive than I, and I’m an old man besides.”

“Do you know of anyone attending the gala who would retain the services of a sorcerer?”

“I do not. Is your Godstone with you?”

I reach for my amulet and lift it toward him.

“Good. Keep it safe. It may keep you safe.”

“How will my Godstone help?”

“I don’t know that it will . . . though in the past, the empress achieved some immunity to the magic of others with her own Godstone. In any case, now is not the time to discuss the finer points of theology.” His shoulders slouch, and he suddenly seems ten years older. But when I peer into his face, his eyes are full of fire. “I’ll get a message to the prince as quickly as possible.”

Getting a response from the prince could take hours, so I pick one of the largest cushions and settle in for a long wait. After a few minutes, though, I’m twitching to move around, to do something. So I stand, kick all the cushions to the side of the room to clear a space, and draw my new sword.

I haven’t worked with a real sword in months, and it feels foreign and cold in my hand as I start moving through the forms. But my wrist and forearm adjust. I’m stronger now, thanks to endless practice with Master Santiago, and the sword is so well balanced that by the time I hit Bulwark, I’m grinning. I feel so fluid. So powerful.

I whip the sword through the air, performing some swipes that Iván taught us during our nightly class. Then a few thrusts. Careful of my footwork, I move through some parrying positions I learned from Aldo. The sword sings.

My blood is warm, my forehead damp with sweat, by the time Rosario himself enters, accompanied by two fully armored guards.

“Little sister,” he says.

“You shouldn’t have come yourself!” I tell him. “It’s not safe for you to . . .” The look on his face silences me.

“I just . . . wanted to see you.”

I sheath my sword and wrap my arms around him, hugging him close. “It’s good to see you too, little brother.”

He clings a little tighter than usual, then disengages, saying, “Nice sword.”

“I thought it might come in handy.”

“Father Nicandro says you were cut from the Guard.”

“Yes,” I say, avoiding his gaze. His two accompanying guards wear breastplates trimmed in blue steel, marking them as knights of the Eastern Reaches. “I’m glad Juan-Carlos was able to lend you some men.”

“Efren and Iago have proven themselves invaluable,” Rosario says. “I’m so grateful to them and to Juan-Carlos. You may speak freely in front of them.” He sighs deeply. “I really wish you hadn’t been cut.”