The King's Guard

7

IN the training yard, Mandrano is putting the other recruits through basic exercises, seeing how they handle a sword, their fists, an opponent. Their wild swinging and unsteady legs speak to their exhaustion. I suppose I should feel lucky to miss it all, but the clack of wooden weapons, the grunt that follows a hard blow, the smells of sweat and dust call out to me. It’s everything I had hoped to be doing.

When Mandrano spots me, he turns deliberately away and makes a show of correcting Fernando’s form as the boy skewers a straw dummy with a wooden sword.

I move into his line of sight, and when that doesn’t work, I circle around and get right in his face. “A command from His Majesty,” I say, holding out the sealed parchment. “He requires my aid, along with that of Tomás and Marlo.”

“Why not call upon his own Guard?” Mandrano asks, snatching it from my hand.

“I gather that his Guard is needed for more important duties.”

Mandrano tears it open and reads. “This is horse muck.”

“What’s horse muck?” Commander Enrico strides toward us from the barracks. He pins me with a gaze, and a breeze brings me the lingering sweet-smoke scent of Selvarican cigars.

The other recruits have stopped training or even pretending to train. All attention is now squarely focused on me and the two commanding officers.

Mandrano obediently hands Enrico the parchment. I watch the commander’s eyes. He reads it carefully twice, then feigns continued reading while he considers.

“The needs and decisions of kings are beyond the question of the Guard,” Mandrano says at last.

“Yes, yes,” Enrico says, though I’m not sure he’s convinced.

“A Royal Guard obeys his king instantly and without question,” Mandrano says louder, speaking now to the recruits more than to his commander.

Enrico glowers, but he nods.

“And we trust that he has an excellent reason for giving us this command,” Mandrano adds.

“Indeed we do,” Enrico says, and a wicked smile suddenly curves his lips. “Fernando! Lucio!”

The archer and the bully step forward.

“The two of you go pack. His Majesty requires you to run an errand for him with Hector.”

“That’s not right,” I blurt. “It’s supposed to be Tomás and Marlo!”

Tomás and Marlo exchange an alarmed glance.

I reach for the note and stop just short of snatching it from Enrico’s hand.

He holds it up in a way that’s almost taunting. “His Majesty says I’m to send two other recruits. In my judgment, Fernando and Lucio are best qualified to aid you.”

I’m fuming, and it must show, because a subtle smile plays across Enrico’s lips. He’s taking advantage of the opportunity to get rid of three of us at once. I don’t care about Lucio—he’s only getting what’s coming to him—but Fernando doesn’t deserve this. His only fault is not knowing anyone to whom Enrico owes a favor. I don’t deserve this either.

“Do you have a problem with my commands?” Enrico asks.

“No, my lord!” I answer.

“Good,” he says. “Mandrano, escort these whelps to their quarters so they can gather their things.”

“My lord . . .” I say, and then hesitate.

Enrico watches me like a hangman doling out rope to his victim. “Yes, princess?”

“It should only take a few days to get there and back. We’ll return to our training immediately after.”

Enrico smiles. “There is no mention here of how long this . . . errand will take. We can’t assume you’ll return before the evaluation is complete. It’s possible you’ll miss so much training that you won’t be able to catch up with everyone. We’ll have to decide what to do with you when you return. Understood?”

My heart sinks. “By my king’s command, my lord,” I say.

“Fernando! Lucio!” Enrico snaps. “Clear the barracks of all your things now.”

As they rush to comply, I realize assassins along the highway are now the least of my worries. Based on the looks Fernando and Lucio are throwing over their shoulders at me, they’ll team up to murder me themselves.

“You too, princess,” Mandrano says, though the barb seems halfhearted. He’s looking up at Enrico, a puzzled expression on his face. “Go get that pretty dress off your cot and pack up.”