“You’ll have to do even more of it tonight.”

“Promise you’ll dance with me at least once,” he says. “I’ll need a break from everyone else.”

“I won’t be dressed for dancing,” I say, indicating my desert garb.

“I don’t care. I just want . . . Red, are you all right?”

My chest is buzzing, my breath coming in gasps. The magic squirming beneath the earth sings to me, yearning to break free. All it needs is a little blood. . . .

Blood welled up on her thumb, dripped to the floor in time with her heartbeat. The girl tried to wrench her hand away, but the White Hair gripped her arm too tight. The amulet hanging from his neck began to glow with blue fire. Its heat warmed her face. . . .

“Red?”

I lurch back into myself. “I’m sorry. I . . . the animagus. He’s nearby.”

“You did that thing where you . . . go away.”

My heart is racing. “Sensing the animagus triggered a memory. Rosario, please let me go call up the recruits on your behalf.”

One of the guards, either Iago or Efren, says, “A rogue animagus is a serious matter, Your Highness.”

Rosario looks to me. His borrowed guards. Back to me. “Fine,” he says at last. “Do it.”

I’m dizzy with relief. “Thank you. I need a letter from you authorizing my entry to the barracks and officially calling the recruits into service.”

“Bring them back as quick as you can. I’ll be heading to the ballroom soon. Meet me there.”

As soon as the ink is dry, we roll up the parchment, seal it with red wax, and stamp it with Rosario’s signet ring. With a final admonishment to the guards to keep him safe, I dash from the suite, down the stairs of the Sky Wing, and into the impossibly busy plaza.

I dodge carriages and horses, pages and hostlers. By the time I reach the Guard barracks, my camel-hair boots are covered in dust and manure. Two Guards stand at attention, holding spears and shields.

Their steel helmets cover everything but their eyes and mouths. I peer closer. I’m almost certain I don’t recognize them. After months of training, moving through the barracks, three meals per day in the mess, surely I’ve chanced upon every member of the Guard by now?

“The Royal Guard barracks are off-limits to the public, by order of Her Imperial Majesty,” says one.

“I have authorization,” I say, waving my rolled parchment with its red wax seal.

“Who are you?” asks the other.

Not only do I not recognize them, they don’t recognize me. I say, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here on the orders of Prince Rosario himself. Do inspect the seal. But I suggest you allow Sergeant DeLuca or Guardsman Bruno to break it.”

The first Guard holds out his hand. I give him the parchment. He examines it closely, grunting. Then he hands it back. “You may pass,” he says with obvious reluctance.