“I hope Valentino is all right,” Aldo adds.

Beto slams his spoon down, so hard I startle backward on the bench. “What do either of you care?”

“Huh?” I say, even as I try to calm my heart and steady my breathing.

“You’re the one who hurt him.”

“I didn’t mean . . . Is that why he collapsed? Because I injured him?”

“He took some stuff for the pain,” Beto says. “It made him weird.”

“What stuff?” I ask.

Beto shrugs. “All I know is he held back with you yesterday, and you went for his kidney like a spiteful bitch, and now he might be dead. He was my friend.”

I gape at him. If a boy had beaten a larger, armed opponent the way I had, I’d bet my golden baby rattle that Beto wouldn’t call him spiteful or a bitch. He’d use words like tough or heroic or brilliant.

“Valentino did not go easy on Red,” Iván says. “He lost to her fairly. Anyone could see that.”

“Who asked you, traitor?” Beto says. “Son of the Invierno lover. Is that why you’re sticking up for Red? You love Inviernos too?”

Iván is deadly silent for the space of several breaths. Then he plunges his spoon back into his beans and continues to eat, ignoring Beto.

“That’s right,” Beto says. “Back down, you Invierno-loving coward.”

“Beto.” I set my spoon in my bowl and meet him glare for glare. “It’s time for you to find another table.”

“Or what? I can sit wherever—”

“Or you’ll find out if this spiteful bitch can thrash another much larger opponent while unarmed.”

His mouth opens, closes. He looks around to see who’s watching. Everyone is too busy with their first good meal to care. He sweeps his bowl from the table and stands. “If it turns out that Valentino is dead, or if he’s washed out of the Guard because of this, you’ll be—”

“Goodbye, Beto.”

I watch him walk away, and I don’t relax my gaze until he’s seated elsewhere and shoving bread into his mouth.

“Is it just me, or was there actual fire coming out of his ears?” Aldo says.

“Watch your back, Red,” says Iván. “Valentino is his god. He won’t let this go.”

“Well, I’m not an Invierno lover,” Pedrón interjects all of a sudden. “He was just talking about Iván, right? Not me.”

Aldo and I exchange a puzzled look.

“What’s wrong with loving an Invierno?” I ask. When Pedrón starts to sputter, I add, “I mean, I know they’re our former enemy, but Queen Alodia of Orovalle is married to one now.”

“Right,” says Aldo. “Prince Storm. He was an ally to our empress even before he married her sister.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Things have changed.”

“Not that much, they haven’t,” Iván says darkly.

We finish our meal in silence. Servants come to clear our dishes. We wait. The monastery bells ring the first hour. Finally Sergeant DeLuca enters the dining hall, several other Guardsmen at his back. He holds a long piece of parchment in his hand.