Page 2 of Of Might and Mettle

She worked through stretches, warming up her muscles, ignoring the murmurs of the rest of the group to see her there early. The stage lights brightened and the audience dimmed as the stagehands set to work. The conductor lifted his hands to the orchestra. With a tilt of la directora’s head, the music began.

The first number started, and the snowflake girls emerged. In a few minutes, it would be Lorelle’s turn, the cardinal delivering a message through the storm of snowflakes and woodwinds.

Lorelle let out a breath and stepped into the light. Into the life that she called her own. The stage lights erased the rest of the world in a blinding wash of white, and her heart soared in her chest, beating faster with the quickening tempo of the violins.

Suddenly, she fumbled, her shoe catching at a slight dip of the floor, and la directora’s grating voice stopped the music.

“You can do better than that, Lorelle,” she said. “Otra vez.”

The girls groaned in annoyance as they reset to the beginning. La directora liked to start practices all over again at the first mistake. It made sure no mistakes would ever be repeated again. That way, if any of the ballerinas had the energy to dream after a hard day, it would be of pliés and pirouettes.

When it was Lorelle’s turn again, she came out and performed without a mistake, disappearing again into the wings. The others danced, spinning in time to the music as the snowstorm intensified and horns beat a steady warning. Vanesa and Sara emerged, and the way they worked together at the center of the snow flurries was something that Lorelle envied. When they came back to the sidelines, they let out tense breaths and nervous giggles that they had passed the scrutiny. But when they spotted Lorelle, their easy camaraderie grew icy.

Lorelle offered a polite nod, not trusting herself to smile unless it was a grimace. Her heart ached for what she’d never had . . .

A family.

A home.

Love.

Warmth.

She let out a breath and prepared to step out again, as a cardinal on her way to find the wooden soldier. To walk on the stage, a friend in the storm, but also her greatest enemy. Only in the spotlight could she catch glimpses of smiles and laughter and imagine that, among them, she had a faceless family waiting for her. And for a moment, she wouldn’t be so alone. So forgotten.

But the spotlight also burned. Even though, at twenty-four years old, she looked the part of a confident ballerina on stage, beneath her practiced routine was that ten-year-old girl desperate for a home. And as much as she imagined that the faces out there were smiling just for her, they could never know who she really was.

If they did, the stage would shun her, too.

Chapter two

Phantom Intruder

The music of the theater filtered through the humid air as Antonio tracked the shadow flitting through the courtyard. A movement between the hedges had lured him moments before, and he’d silently beckoned another guard to take his post as he’d stepped into the dusk. His breath was tight in his chest, but he tried to will his beating heart into submission. He wouldn’t believe the rumors. He would capture this cloaked figure, expose him as a thief or a servant looking for his love in the darkness of twilight.

He wouldn’t believe it to be what his mistrustful mind was screaming at him, that the figure was one of the greatest threats to Monte Rico: a loyalist to the Empire.

Impossible.

But if such an impossibility was likely, it would be due to his failure. His hip ached now that he had walked a few yards down the path, and he fought the rising panic in his chest that the figure could slip out of his grasp. He quickened his pace, ignoring the way the brass joint in his left leg creaked with every hurried movement, loud enough now to be heard over the orchestra music that drifted from the open windows of the theater. Golden light streamed into the courtyard, but inky shadows pressed at the edges surrounding the outermost wall that overlooked the river.

Antonio heard the clomp of boots and the crunch of stones up the stone steps of the wall. He lunged forward, toward the wall, to the allure overlooking the cliff’s edge, just reaching the rope as it went slack. He pulled the revolver from his belt, cocked it, squinting down into the gloom.

Yards below, the figure hugged the nearly vertical cliffside. Just one misstep would send him tumbling down to the river below. Even though the river was deep, its current was strong, and it would pull the masked figure away. Maybe he wouldn’t need to fire the gun; it might alert any hidden hostiles, as well as fellow guards who harbored secret loyalties against Monte Rico. This man couldn’t have gotten into the king’s courtyard unseen without some help.

Antonio would need to handle this alone.

Pebbles skittered. A gasp cut through the air. Antonio held his breath, his finger tensing on the trigger, but no splash came. A few moments later, a boat pushed out from somewhere along the cliff’s base. A small lantern illuminated the boat, like a lonely firefly over a summer meadow, but it revealed nothing of the man’s face. Antonio holstered the revolver, gripping the rope with fingers so tight it chafed his palms.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t have had to hide up here like a coward. He would have swung down the rope and gone after the figure, even if they both tumbled into the river below. His legs would have helped him push against the current, tread the water that would try to claim his life. But that time was dead and gone.

Words reached his ears over the pulsing of his heart, which also thumped in his palm wrapped around the rope.

“Capitán?” A guard spoke, his voice urgent. “What is it? Is there an intruder?”

Antonio swallowed the anger and helplessness rising in his throat. With a swift slice of his knife, he cut the rope and pulled the grappling hook, passing it to the guard. “No,” he said. “Maybe.” Frustration made him grind his teeth at the unknowns that faced him. “Figure out where this might have been made, speak with Cristian. Ask him to investigate the blacksmith’s brand. I want a name by dawn.”

He looked at the guard, Gabriel, who stood even straighter. He was young, merely nineteen, but humble and eager to please. He was one of the few that treated him like he was normal. But Antonio wasn’t sure whether that made the boy more endearing or only hurt more than the sneering jabs of those who thought he’d gotten his position out of pity. Because he would never again be the way he had been.