Rae Carson - The King's Guard

Everyone is staring at me sharply, but I press on.

“I don’t know for sure that Enrico sent a killer after us. I can’t prove it. I do know that during our short time in the training yard, I observed Mandrano’s unquestioned loyalty to you, while Enrico did everything he could to subvert your commands.”

“Such as?” Alejandro prods.

“In your letter, did you specify that Enrico was to send Tomás and Marlo with me?”

“Of course. Just like you asked.”

“He sent two others instead—boys he thought were expendable, that the Guard would be well rid of.”

Alejandro frowns. “We’ll have to decide what to do about him.”

He says it as if the decision is a nebulous, future thing. So very like my friend.

“Or you could decide now,” Rosaura says gently.

“Give him what he wants,” I press.

“Reward him?”

“Give him a title and a small estate somewhere remote. Mandrano is loyal and would mirror your votes in the Quorum for the next few years while you groomed another commander.”

“And who should that be, do you think?” Alejandro asks.

“I have no idea! You’re the king. You figure something out. Though this, at least, isn’t a decision you must make right away.”

Alejandro turns away and faces the wall, crossing his arms. Softly, he says, “We received word of Lord Solvaño’s death just this morning. They delivered the weapon that killed him to me. It was a bronze dagger with a bone handle. The kind issued to attendants of the queen.”

“I didn’t—” Miria starts to protest, but I interrupt.

“That’s the other thing I needed to tell you. I killed him.”

Alejandro whirls to face me, and I step back involuntarily. But he’s smiling. “Liar,” he chides. “You’re protecting her.”

I wilt a little in relief.

“I admit, I was stunned,” he says. “But it’s actually not such a bad situation.”

“I . . . I tried to make it look like an accident.”

“Hector!” Rosaura exclaims.

But Alejandro is nodding. “Vicenç can start circulating the story. Rosaura’s father will take over as portmaster. And now”—he brightens visibly—“Enrico can take custody of the Fortress of Wind.”

“The place is in terrible disrepair,” I say meaningfully. “And the staff there has been horribly abused. Everyone there will be glad for new leadership.”

I recognize the mischievous glint in his eye. It used to indicate that he was about to send me to the kitchens to steal pollo pibil. “The fortress is a place of profound historical and architectural value,” he says. “It should be painstakingly restored to its former glory.”

“Such an important task could only be imparted to someone you trust implicitly.”

“Like the retired commander of my Guard.”

“We must find Isadora and do something to help her,” Rosaura interjects.

“Oh, we will,” Alejandro says, and I know by his inflection that the “we” is both personal and royal.

Rosaura grimaces as she tries to lift the baby.

“Here, let me burp him for you,” Miria says, reaching for the child. She lays him across her shoulder and pats his back.

How do women all know what to do with babies? It’s like they have their own special kind of sorcery.

“Who knows the whole story?” Alejandro asks. “About Isadora, the baby, her escape, your return.”

“Only the people in this room. And Isadora. My brother and his wife know of her pregnancy and have probably made some guesses, but you can trust them. Some of Solvaño’s servants knew Isadora was being held captive, but they weren’t allowed to see her. Even Lucio and Fernando, the boys who went with me, know very little.”

Dr. Enzo takes the child from Miria’s arms. “Let me examine him,” he says. Rosaura looks on longingly, as if she can’t wait to have the baby back in her own arms.

“And how is Isadora?” Alejandro asks. “Is she still as beautiful . . .” He gives his wife an apologetic glance.

“She is everything you remember and more,” I say firmly.

Alejandro smiles, an expression tinged with both joy and regret.

“Your Majesty, a word,” Dr. Enzo says. He cradles the baby in his arms, even as he swipes a finger into the gumless mouth.

Alejandro steps over to the corner to talk to him in hushed tones.

“Hector,” the queen calls, and I move to her side. She whispers, “Miria told me everything about Isadora. Thank you for your kindness to my husband. And thank you”—tears fill her eyes as she stares after the baby in Enzo’s arms—“for him. You have given me an incredible gift, Hector.”

There are so many things I want to say. Your husband—my friend—does not deserve you, being high on the list. I settle for, “You’re welcome.”

She smiles. “You’re learning,” she says. “The less you say, the more your words will matter.”

“What now?” I ask.

“For you, I don’t know,” she says. “A young man who wantonly destroys a quilt handmade for him by the queen of the realm is unlikely to have a promising future.”

Before I can reply, Alejandro turns and says, “The queen and I need some privacy. I probably don’t have to tell you to speak to no one—but I am telling you, speak to no one.”

I cast a final glance toward Rosaura, whose breathing has become weak and shallow. A rock of dread has settled in my gut, and I’m feeling miserable as we leave. I hold the door open for Miria.

“Thank you,” I say to her. “For everything you did.”

“Oh, I don’t know if you want to thank me yet,” she says.

“What does that mean?”

But she walks away without an explanation.

THE palace is frantically busy for the next few days while I sit in my old quarters, no longer the king’s squire and not really a recruit for the Royal Guard. Vicenç ushers a stream of visitors in and out of the king’s chambers, but I am not one of them.

Finally, we are called to the courtyard, every member of the palace household. We stand shoulder to shoulder, all mixed together: Royal Guard and palace watch, laundresses and stable boys, the queen’s ladies and even a few in-residence nobles.

Lucio and Fernando find me in the crowd. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since returning from Puerto Verde.

“Did you hear about the lord-commander?” Lucio whispers.

“No,” I say. I haven’t heard anything.

“He resigned from the Guard. You heard that Solvaño got roaring drunk and fell on his dagger, right? Well, the king has assigned Enrico guardianship of the Fortress of Wind.”

Fernando is eager to confirm this. “Rumor is the resignation was forced . He’s to leave at once to tend to the restoration of the tower.”

“How nice for him,” I say. “He must be happy to finally be a lord of his own land.”

“It’s awful,” Lucio says. “Mandrano’s been named interim lord-commander. He made us scrub the training yard.”

I grin. “But on the positive side, he dumped your wine.”

This earns me a staggering cuff on the shoulder, but Lucio is grinning too.

I search for Mandrano and find him standing near the front. Beside him is Miria. They are holding hands.

Of course.

I immediately regret every word I’ve ever said about him.

He catches me looking at him and glowers. So much for my hope of returning to the Guard. Rosaura’s warnings to keep my mouth shut were meant in more ways than I could have ever guessed.

Alejandro and Rosaura appear at the balcony above us. The buzz of conversation in the courtyard falls silent. They wear royal white, and their golden crowns shimmer in the sunshine. Rosaura’s face is as pale as death, and I know, because I know her, that it is taking all her strength and focus to be here. Even so, she manages to exude radiant purpose.