Page 10 of Of Might and Mettle

Even though Lorelle’s tin hand gleamed in the sunlight, she didn’t flinch when she caught his gaze fixed on it. Meanwhile, he hid the brass of his leg with bulky pants and high boots that made walking even more difficult than the physician had said it should be. But he wouldn’t allow his weakness to show.

At least he had hidden his medal, the one he’d been given as recognition for taking down the loyalists—if indeed he deserved it now—so he wouldn’t have to face her confusion. Face the words that would surely leave her lips: How could he be a hero? He’s not much of anything at all.

The whisper of voices on the summer breeze sent a wave of strength through him, and he lengthened his stride. Only when he rounded the bend did he realize the distinct quiet at his side. Now that he’d stopped, he didn’t hear Lorelle’s footsteps behind him. He turned.

Lorelle stood a few paces back, gaze fixed on the shaded darkness that separated them from the town, where they could clearly make out the sounds of the market and of hammering anvils. Peluche snuffled the ground at her feet, digging his black nose into the mossy soil. Then he hobbled a few more steps, but instead of lifting the leg with the missing paw, he leaned into it, so the walk was almost like a bunny hop. Had Peluche been born that way, or had something injured him?

Antonio shook the thought away. He didn’t want to know.

He fixed his gaze on Lorelle again, on the white pallor on her face, and how her right hand was somehow hidden deep in the fabric of her skirt. He recognized that look, that prickle of insecurity that couldn’t hide in front of an audience. He’d felt that way himself when he’d finally recovered enough to stand before the king and account for his actions. For stopping the loyalists, but also for losing the lives of so many innocents. He knew them all by name now.

He reached into his pocket. “Here.” He held out leather gloves.

She blinked, as if breaking the surface of the water for a gasp of air. Then her brows scrunched and she raised her hands. “Oh, really, you don’t—”

“You can give them back later,” he said. Then he gave her a smile, and she offered a tenuous grin in return.

She took the gloves and slipped them on, her shoulders sagging as if the tension had fled them. As if by hiding her insecurity, she was somehow made whole. He knew that feeling all too well.

They stepped to the edge of the forest cover, and the town opened before them. Red-shingled roofs reflected the noon sun overhead, while pastel houses dotted the rolling landscape from the edge of the forest to the beach and the sparkling ocean beyond. Antonio blinked when he recognized the town. Rio Celeste. Named for the clear mountain river that came down beside it before emptying into the ocean. The same river that had taken them miles and miles away from the palace.

This was the town of the blacksmith whose brand Gabriel had recognized. Pausing, Antonio checked his cloak, but the familiar weight of the grappling hook was gone, swallowed by the chaos of the river. Whatever reprieve he might have had evaporated like morning dew. Antonio would need to investigate, but without drawing attention. And Lorelle was already drawing a few eyes, what with the squirming mass of gray fur in her grasp. As always, he would need to go alone and unnoticed.

He waved Lorelle closer, and she stepped back into the cooler shadows with him. “We won’t be staying here long,” he said, and she nodded, almost as eager as he to keep going.

Guilt tore through him. He was slowing her down. She had a performance, and she could be back sooner if they just went their separate ways now.

“I have to speak with some people for an investigation for the king,” he said. “You can continue on your own to the capital if you wish.”

She paused. Something like worry—or was it fear?—flickered across her features. She swallowed. “I would do that . . .” she said. “But I have no idea how to get back from here. If you don’t mind, I’d rather go with you, Capitán.”

The trust in her eyes made his throat tighten. Before he could speak, she went on.

“And you did save my life,” she said, offering a weak smile, “so if there’s any way I can help in your investigation, let me know.”

He nodded, though something like an echo of her fear flitted through him. How had she ended up in the river in the first place? He shook his head. One mystery at a time. At least, if she was with him, he might be able to protect her in some way from the danger that surrounded her.

“Could you get supplies for the road? And a change of clothes, for us both.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins.

His clothes had dried, but the mud and silt from the river made the linen chafe his skin. And Lorelle surely wasn’t faring much better. Her cream linen dress was brown at the hem and splotched from the river water.

“Thank you.” She nodded, then smirked. “And something for Peluche?”

He let out a sigh. “Fine, get whatever you think you need. Meet me at the eastern edge of town in an hour.” They needed to keep moving. He had to get back to tell the king about Sir Thomas. He had to deliver the message himself. And hopefully with more proof than a burnt strip of paper, now mush in his pocket. This time, no lives would be lost.

He removed his red-and-white uniform jacket and tucked it behind the bushes, grimacing at the sweat-soaked shirt underneath. At least he wouldn’t be recognized. It was hard to tell a person’s loyalty, and he would rather not lose the battle for information before he’d even started a conversation.

She started off and he went in the opposite direction, toward the blacksmith, where the hammering of metal and the blowing of the bellows drowned out any of the sounds of the market. The chaos unnerved him. He couldn’t hear any nearby whispers, whether some judgement of him or some kind of plot.

He ducked into the shade of the building. A few men worked around the room, but one spotted Antonio and came over, wiping his face and hands on a rag.

“Amigo, ¿cómo te ayudo?” he said. When Antonio didn’t immediately answer, he translated. “Ah, you must be one of the imperial sailors. How can I help you, friend?”

Antonio shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Do you sell hooks?”

The man nodded. “We also sell weaponry, but none as fine as yours. Did you get that abroad?”

Antonio’s hand went to his sword hilt. A gift from Papá when he’d joined the guard. “From another one of the Empire’s colonies. Elevsk, if you must know.” Antonio winced. If Papá had offered it to him now, he wouldn’t have accepted it, not since the Empire’s ever-reaching talons had tried to sink its claws into Monte Rico and Antonio had paid dearly to keep the loyalists out. His stomach twisted, and he tasted bile.