“Everyone has a little duerma leaf once in a while,” I say, thinking of the many times Mara put some in my tea to help me sleep. It gives the drink a spicy taste, almost like cinnamon. “But this is different?”

“Definitely different. Much stronger,” says Rosario. “With a stronger taste and a stronger scent. Someone figured out how to distill it into a syrup from the duerma berries themselves, using a process that remains a mystery. They also figured out how to make very large quantities. Whoever they are, they’re becoming wealthy beyond imagining.”

“This doesn’t narrow things down at all,” I say. “Anyone could have gotten hold of some and given it to Captain Bolivar.”

“Anyone in the Guard,” Rosario clarifies.

We are silent a long moment, contemplating. The oil lamp sputters, casting odd shadows against the hut’s palm thatching. Captain Bolivar startles in his sleep. He wrenches his blanket down, muttering, but does not awaken. Sweat now sheens his brow.

Rosario whispers, “He almost died.” I hear his unspoken words too. He might still die.

“I’ll be honest,” Iván says. “I have no idea where to start. Even with most of the Guard traveling with the empress, the group remaining is huge—servants and support staff, the Guards who oversee training, four years’ worth of recruits. . . .”

“Rosario, you could order a search of the barracks,” I suggest. “See if anyone is in possession of sweet dream poison.”

“I’ve considered it. I just don’t have the staff. Think about who Elisa would normally use for such a task.”

“The Royal Guard,” I say glumly.

“Exactly. If I started searching with my remaining contingent of trusted bodyguards, the assassin would hide the evidence long before they reached him.”

Iván asks, “How do we know the assassin isn’t traveling with the empress? I mean, Captain Bolivar was poisoned before she left, right?”

“It’s possible,” the prince says, “but highly, highly unlikely. Everyone accompanying the empress is a trusted longtime confidant. Most have been with us since before the Second Battle of Brisadulce. And why attack the captain? Why not the empress herself? No, it was someone who has access to the Guard barracks—but not to Elisa.”

“You think there’s something bigger going on here,” I say.

“Yes. Well, I’m not sure. If this were an isolated event, I’d think the poisoner was a rival of the captain’s. Or it was a prank gone horribly wrong. But the way it coincided with the sabotage of your adoption ceremony . . .” Rosario shakes his head. “It feels like an opening volley. Like it heralds something else. Something worse.”

“Maybe it’s Red’s Invierno blood that has someone so riled up,” Iván suggests.

“I’m not an In—”

“You keep saying that,” he says. “And I get that you’re Joyan in your heart of hearts, but people just don’t see you like that. Besides, you deny your parentage so stridently, one has to wonder what you’re ashamed of.”

My fists ball up of their own accord. I’d love nothing more than to give that beautiful face the bloodiest nose. Through clenched teeth I say, “I’m not ashamed of anything about myself.”