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Something worth defending. Home.
    Outside the high, white walls, well beyond arrow shot, was a sight not so welcoming. There, jammed between the city and a deep, old quarry used to build the city walls, campfires burned. A red swarm of rage and death, brimstone and smoke, offering a grim contrast with the peaceful firmament. Not by the hundreds did they burn, but by the thousands, mirroring the stars in the sky. How many peasants’ houses did they demolish to feed so much hungry fire? They must be down to burning cacti. How they kept it up night after night, he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Salvador had talked on about supply trains and quartermasters, but Ramiro had let his imagination dwell on his first ride instead. An indulgence he regretted now.
    If only each fire meant a single enemy, but that was wishful thinking. Each fire contained tens of men. Tens and thousands. And behind them, the siege machines waited their turn. A lethal combination for Colina Hermosa.
    He touched the spot above his spleen, and whispered, “Santiago, don’t let me give in to despair.”
    A shadow moved briefly and settled against the wall. Ramiro blinked and, as vision settled, he distinguished one of the Alcalde’s personal guards. A second later, two new shadows strolled around a grouping of flowering prickly pear and palms, heads bent in conversation. He quickly made to leave but was stopped by a wave from one of the figures.
    â€œHere you are,” Salvador called. His brother looked as clean and fresh as if he had come from a dance instead of a bloody battle. “I knew you were near. Stay. Father has been looking for you.”
    Light flared as a servant with a lantern hurried to set it on the edge of the wall before bowing himself away. Alcalde Julian Alvarado was an unassuming man, a head shorter than his eldest son. Gray had conquered his bristling mustache and close-­cropped beard and made inroads on his dark hair. Even in the lanternlight, deep bags were prominent beneath his eyes. And yet something about him commanded respect, and Ramiro stood a bit straighter in his presence.
    â€œTwo this morning. Your firsts, my son. And you helped defend the wall.”
    Ramiro glanced at Salvador but saw only neutrality. His brother must have made inquiries to learn such detailed information. “I think two with the bow, Father.” Instead of pride, disappointment surged for failing to achieve his dream twice in one day.
    Julian took him by the upper arm and squeezed. “And you are well? Your mother’s convinced I need to speak to you. She would steal her baby back from the army, I suspect.” His father smiled, giving new life to his eyes. “Speak up, my son. Are you ready to return to her skirts?”
    Ramiro had known his path in life since before he could toddle: wherever his brother led. “It is my duty and honor to protect Colina Hermosa from all enemies. No matter the task.”
    â€œJust so. Just so,” Julian said. “She faced the same when this tall one went his own way. I warned her that you would follow in his footsteps. She believed that because I was never in the army, her sons would escape it likewise. She still sees the boys,” he said with a small smile, “but I see before me men.” Ramiro tried to stand even straighter.
    â€œBut that is not why I was looking for you, Ramiro. We’ve had several new reports from pelotónes sent east.” The Alcalde glanced toward the seating area. “Come—­let us sit and discuss this in a more relaxed way.”
    Curiosity sparked as to why his father would share such news with him. His father chose the bench against the outer wall, and Salvador took the chair closest to him. Ramiro pushed aside pots of orchids to set the lantern on the table, then dragged his mother’s footstool over for a seat. “What did the intelligence say?”
    â€œZapata has crumbled to the Northerners,”