Aldo is silent a moment. “Huh. Good point.” He stares at my hand as though the Godstone it holds might grow legs and scuttle away.

“What?” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s weird thinking how that . . . thing . . . used to be lodged in some sorcerer’s navel.”

Which is why the Inviernos have so many names for it. Life stone, soul spark, umbilical stone, anima-lapis, Godstone. A living material that grows as hard as a gem before falling out at age three or four. But like bones, Godstones last long after the body’s death. “Definitely gross,” I agree.

“Shut up, you two. You’ll get us into trouble,” says the army recruit boy.

“I think I’m already in trouble,” I tell him, and he surprises me by chuckling.

At last DeLuca finishes his tour of torpid abuses. He centers himself before us, hands clasped behind his back. “As many of you know, Her Imperial Majesty is not in residence. She travels in state to Amalur, the capital of Orovalle. A highly trained and trusted contingent of the Royal Guard was left behind to protect her interests here at home.”

I barely choke back a laugh.

The rich conde’s son raises his hand.

“Yes, recruit?” says Sergeant DeLuca.

“I expected to see Captain Bolivar here today. Is he not overseeing recruitment this year?”

DeLuca’s right eye gives a slight twitch. “The captain is otherwise occupied.”

Which is a bold-faced lie. I don’t blame him for it; I wouldn’t want Elisa’s enemies to know that the captain of her Royal Guard is missing either.

DeLuca continues, “Because of our reduced manpower, we’ll be training recruits to take on responsibilities as quickly as possible. Those who show themselves loyal and competent will be assigned official Royal Guard duties within the year, starting with watch shifts, commissary, and supply routes. We’ll add to these responsibilities as recruits demonstrate potential.”

At this, a few boys shift in place, and excited murmurings filter down the line. I understand their eagerness, but uneasiness tickles the back of my neck. It usually takes years for the Guard to vet its recruits for loyalty and discretion, even for simple duties like escorting supplies and standing watch. It’s the only way to keep Elisa and her family safe.

“I see you’re all eager to get started,” DeLuca says. “Fine, then. To the weapons rack, ladies!”

I grit my teeth as I follow everyone to the other end of the arena, wondering if DeLuca hates women in general or if it’s just me.

“You!” the sergeant says, pointing to the boy who tried to look down my shirt. “Tell me your name again?”

“Pedrón.”

“Pick a weapon, Recruit Pedrón.”

“Yes, sir.” Pedrón obediently sets his pretty coral blanket on the ground and peruses the weapons—swords, daggers, spears, shields, a maul, a longbow, a crossbow, a single-bladed ax, a double-bladed ax. He reaches for the crossbow.

“No projectiles!” DeLuca calls out. “Today we are evaluating your close quarters combat aptitude.”