The lower courtyard had been cleared of all decorative items. In their place stood weapon racks, wooden training pell posts, and three tactical sand-tables mapped with northern border topographies.
Now twelve years of age, Angelo and Antonia were no longer chaotic little terror-twins wreaking havoc or scaling light fixtures. They were now tall, lean, and sharply observant.
Miguel stood in the center of the dusty ring, wearing his leather training brigandine, holding two practice swords. Beside him stood Julio, who looked like he would rather face a legion of rogue Alphas than tutor two supernaturally gifted pre-teens.
High above the courtyard, leaning against the polished balustrade of the royal balcony, Diego and I watched with amused pride. Diego had his arm wrapped around my wais
