“But now that the secret is out, she might as well train publicly.”

“Actually, I bet on her too.”

I smile up at him, marveling that I ever thought him horrible.

“We’ve come a long way,” he says, as if discerning my thoughts.

“Even made some friends.”

“Not us, though.”

“Of course not. We’ll never be friends.”

He fails to hide his smile, looking down at the recruits in the sand as they’re paired off for sparring. The morning sun peeks through the palace towers, bathing the stone walls in light and heat. “Well, Princess,” he says. “How does it feel to be the first girl to survive a year of recruit training?”

“Not as good as it’s going to feel to become the first lady-commander.”

His lips twitch. “You’ll have a good shot at it, your mother being the empress, your father being a former lord-commander.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “My parents will be harder on me than anyone. That’s how they are.”

Iván’s gaze moves toward my father, who is chatting easily with a group of nobles who’ve come to watch the spectacle. “He’s the kind of father who’ll always show up, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t hate it.”

“No.”

He bumps my shoulder with his own. “Just the same, I might give you some competition for that commander position.”

“Good! Though, before we think about that too much . . .”

“We have to survive year two.”

“We will,” I tell him with conviction. “All of us, together.”

Author’s Note

POST-traumatic stress disorder affects approximately 3.5 percent of adults in the United States in any given year. Like all mental illnesses, it rarely affects two people in the exact same way. I wrote Red’s experience with PTSD to reflect my own: her sleeping challenges, a socially embarrassing startle reflex, the inability to perceive love from others (even when it’s obvious to everyone else), haunting but imperfect memories of traumatic events.

I’m only an authority on my own experience. So, if you suspect that you or someone you love suffers from PTSD, I strongly recommend talking to a mental health professional. Treatment for PTSD has come a long way, and great help exists. I’m rooting for you.

In writing Red’s story, I’m indebted to the following saintly humans:

My husband, C.C. Finlay, who read multiple drafts and understood when I had to occasionally step away and hide in a cool, dark, safe place.

My whole team at Greenwillow and HarperCollins, but especially my editor, Martha Mihalick, and my publisher, Virginia Duncan, for saying yes to this book so quickly and without hesitation, and then waiting patiently while I took my damn time.

Dr. Erin Murrah-Mandril, assistant professor of English and core faculty member for the Center for Mexican American Studies at the University of Texas at Arlington, who applied her vast knowledge and reading experience to the text.

Shenira Becker, PsyD, who read with an eye toward the experience of trauma and its aftermath.

Early readers Melanie Castillo, Kristine Piedad, and Greg van Eekhout, who all gave editorial feedback based on their own knowledge and perspectives.