Sergeant DeLuca is inspecting the net climb, checking the rope. Satisfied, he clasps his hands behind his back and turns to face us. He announces, “One of you is about to be cut from training.”

A wave of murmurs flows down the line. Aldo whispers, “Who do you think?”

I can’t respond. I can hardly breathe. It’s me. It has to be me. Whoever vandalized my empty bunk last night must have reported me missing.

DeLuca continues, “At least one of you. Maybe more. We’ll be watching closely as you traverse the obstacle course. Excellent physical fitness is essential to protecting our empress. Therefore, the recruit who performs the poorest will gather his—or her—things and leave the barracks.”

The sergeant means to intimidate me by singling me out. Instead, he has filled me with breath and hope. They haven’t yet decided who to cut. I still have a small chance.

“We’ll be evaluating you based on several factors,” the sergeant continues. “Speed, naturally. But also technique and effort. Strength and strategy. And of course teamwork, since you’ll be traversing the course in pairs, working together.”

I glance down the line, evaluating my fellow recruits. I need to pair up with someone tall, if I’m to have any chance of making it over that barrier. Maybe Valentino. No, he appears even more tired than I feel, with blanched skin and hollow eyes—like he’s a ghost of himself. His ducklings mill around him. One pats his shoulder; another says something that makes him laugh. Valentino leans against one of them in a show of weakness that fills me with misgiving. He’s smiling, sure, and even chatting with his friends, but he’s barely on his feet.

Iván or Pedrón, then. I ready myself to dart over and claim one of them as soon as I’m given leave.

“In order to complete the course,” the sergeant says, “both you and your assigned partner must complete it. This is the Royal Guard, and we leave no man behind.”

“Or woman,” Aldo whispers under his breath, but I don’t have space in my head to be bothered by that, because the sergeant just said we’d have assigned partners, and there’s no way he’ll pair me with someone who might allow me a chance of success.

“Recruit Red,” the sergeant says, as though reading my thoughts. “You will partner with . . . what’s that black stuff on your hands?”

“Ink, sir.”

“Royal Guard recruits are to be well groomed at all times. Why did you enter the training arena with ink on your hands?”

“Because it wouldn’t come off on my pants, sir.”

He blinks. “How did this happen?”

“A harmless prank, sir. I’m sure the ink will fade in a few days.” Everyone is staring at my stained hands now, and I fight the urge to hide them behind my back.

“Be sure that it does.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As I was saying, you will partner with Recruit Aldo.”

I try to keep my face blank, even though it feels as though my heart is sinking into my toes. A glance toward Aldo confirms that he is unsuccessful at hiding his own despair. We are the smallest of all the recruits. There’s no way we can finish the course together.