Page 9 of Of Might and Mettle

“You’re the girl,” he said. “From the river.” He seemed to sigh in relief.

“Lorelle,” she said, offering a smile. “Thank you, for saving me.”

His eyes were fixed on her with curiosity, but he couldn’t know about her arm, could he? It had been too dark in the storm, and she’d quickly hidden her arm behind her back as soon as his gaze had turned on her.

“Never seen a ballerina before?” she quipped, hoping to break the tension.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “Not that.” He rapped his knuckles against his left knee, and it pinged hollow and metallic.

She blinked. At best, she’d expected him to say that she was different. At worst, any number of insults that could be thrown her way. But he didn’t look at her with pity or malice, but again with curiosity. And, for the first time in many years, she didn’t feel so bereft of her gloves. She dropped her arm to her side, her hand catching the light.

“Lost it two years ago,” he explained, voice tense. By his tone, it sounded as though he was loath to share the news, but felt compelled to.

She understood that herself all too keenly. It was better to get it out there before the questions could start. Before the judging eyes or the pitying looks or the awkward glances when they just didn’t know what to say to or do with her. But he had a medal of valor. Could it be he had lost his leg in service to the kingdom? There hadn’t been a war when Monte Rico had seceded, but maybe he had taken part in fighting against some greater scheme from the Empire.

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t thank him for his service—at least, she didn’t think he would appreciate it—and she doubted he would take kindly to her sympathy, what with the frown that darkened his features.

“Where do you need to go from here?” he asked. Leveraging himself against the tree, he stood, at least six inches taller than Lorelle herself.

“The palace,” she said. “I have a performance next week for the princess’s birthday.” Anxiety shot through her. How far away was she from the palace?

He nodded, as if he was aware of the event. “We should head out now. It will be a few days of walking.” He started inspecting his weapons, a sword and . . . a revolver. A weapon given only to the most trusted of the king’s men. He clearly had other business—that she had derailed.

We? Lorelle cleared her throat. “I can get back myself,” she answered. “I don’t need an escort—” She started to clarify how she could defend herself, and perhaps make it to the palace faster on her own, but stopped when the soldier’s gaze darkened. “I mean, you don’t have to sacrifice more for me than you already have, sir.”

“Antonio,” he said, then he offered a ghost of a smile. “Well, with what it took to save you,” he said, “I can’t have you falling back in the river now, can I?”

His almost grin invited a smile on her face, too. But she could see the shadows that lurked in his gaze, the haunted purple color beneath his eyes.

She nodded. “All right,” she said, “Peluche and I would be glad for the companionship.” She scooped the pup from the ground with her free hand, holding him to her side, where he squirmed.

He laughed, shooting her a curious look. “Peluche? Really?”

She stuck out her tongue. “He’s cute! Exactly like a kid’s toy. He’d still be cuddling with you if I hadn’t pulled him away. Oh!” She held up the puppy between them. “He’s missing a paw. Poor thing.”

“I wouldn’t call gnawing on buttons cuddling,” he said, grumbling. “And he may be more use as a stuffed animal than he’s worth.”

There was no smile in his voice now, just a frustration that grated. She gasped at his words. “Take it back!”

He started down the path at a slow pace. “Good thing you’re carrying him,” he said, not even looking over his shoulder. “If I did, don’t be surprised if I lose your Plushie somewhere along the way to town.”

She squeezed Peluche tighter.

She didn’t know how the small gray pup had wound up in the river. Maybe the current of water had swept by his home, and his mother hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she’d left him out intentionally, since the mother figured the pup wouldn’t be fit to live for much longer with his defect.

But Lorelle wouldn’t abandon him.

Chapter seven

Rio Celeste

The sounds of the town ahead made Antonio quicken his stride, even though he knew he risked unbalancing himself. They’d walked for hours in a tense silence—though from Lorelle’s soft humming, Antonio figured the tension was only on his end. And that was entirely his fault. But she didn’t go on ahead of him, even when he paused to rest his leg. She’d had the courtesy to thank him for the chance to catch her breath, though she really hadn’t looked winded. And when they started again, she kept to his slower pace without complaint.

Her quiet consideration only made guilt tighten his chest. When he’d told her about his leg, he’d expected her eyes to flash a look of pity, or even admiration, but none of that had come. Only a thoughtful expression had graced her features, as if she’d heard the same platitudes before and was preparing to offer some kind of deeper encouragement. Even though there had been a chance she might say something different, he hadn’t wanted to hear it all the same.

But there was something about her careful manner, the light in her gaze as she smiled at the sun dappling through the trees when they paused to rest, that made him want to talk to her. Want to hear what hope she had—that he didn’t—that made her so much lighter, yet so much stronger.

A part of him knew the answer might lie in the featherlight pages of his Bible, but he hadn’t touched it since before the incident, not even during the grueling months of recovery or the tenuous first months after his promotion. He already felt the scorching scrutiny of man’s gaze—he didn’t need to feel God’s disappointment, too.