Page 12 of Of Might and Mettle

“Antonio?” Lorelle’s quiet voice cut through the noise. “Are you all right?” Her sea-green eyes shone with concern. He took a deep breath, let it out through clenched teeth.

“Just fine,” he answered.

She pursed her lips like she didn’t believe him. “Here, can you hold Peluche?”

He took the wriggling pup into his arms, while she pushed through the throng of the market to a nearby vendor. After a few moments, he followed her, glancing about for any suspicious sailors, and found her bartering with the vendor for carambola, or starfruit.

“One coin for two,” she said, raising the silver piece. The vendor begrudgingly gave her the two carambolas, and she went to another vendor, where she picked up a packet of red spice.

She held it out to him. It smelled sweet and slightly spicy.

“Have you tried this before?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Her grin widened. “You’re in for a treat,” she said, then led them to the edge of town, where she sat in a shaded area. Antonio set Peluche down next to her and retrieved his red uniform jacket from the foliage before sitting across from her. She handed him a starfruit and directed him to cut it into slices. While he did that, she pulled out a small beef empanada and started breaking off pieces for Peluche.

He laid out the starfruit pieces on a handkerchief, glad that Peluche was too occupied to be interested in the fruit. He’d had starfruit as a kid, since it grew so plentifully, but it’d been years since he’d seen it cut in star-shaped pieces. They reminded him of simpler times in his youth, back when his greatest worry had been keeping up with his older brother. Things he wouldn’t be able to do now.

His mood soured.

“Here, try it.” She held out a piece, this one with some of that red spice sprinkled on top. “Take it,” she said. “I can’t very well use my other hand to pick up another piece for myself.” She laughed.

He quickly took the piece. The sweet taste of starfruit exploded in his mouth, made all the sweeter by the contrast of the spice.

“Good, right?” She took a second piece for herself, and Antonio found himself smiling at her joy. How she enjoyed these simple moments. He might have too, if only he could forget the burden hanging over him.

“I was born this way,” she said, playing with Peluche. She didn’t have to say what; he could guess very well what she was talking about. “I can’t remember how my parents treated me,” she said, voice quiet now, as if she was lost to another time. “They passed when I was eight. And then my aunt and uncle put me in the academy. They’re the ones that commissioned my hand, but I know it was out of guilt. They didn’t want me.” She let out a shaky breath and met his gaze. “But you learn to live with it,” she said, shooting him a rueful, wry grin, “even if the rest of the world doesn’t quite understand.”

The starfruit churned in his stomach. “Well,” he said. “I think the world understands plenty what happened to me.”

Chapter eight

Crutches

Even with the sounds of the town fading behind them, Lorelle couldn’t help but notice the way Antonio’s shoulders remained tense, his gait stiff. Peluche kept pace a few steps behind him, his fluffy tail wagging. Every time Antonio’s knee creaked, Peluche let out a little huff of warning to the unseen enemy above him.

“Stop that,” Antonio said, glaring at the pup.

“He’s only confused by the sound of your leg,” she answered. “It would help if you oiled it.” She took a few quick steps to his side and removed her right glove. “My wrist has gears, and if I didn’t oil it, I wouldn’t be able to pass as almost normal.” She moved through a few ballet steps, arm out, then up, then with more deliberate movements of her shoulder and elbow that turned the wrist and adjusted the weighted fingers. It wasn’t perfect form, but acceptable if the world believed she had a wrist brace.

Antonio dropped his gaze from hers. “My knees have always creaked. Brass isn’t any different . . .”

“Yeah,” she said, offering a laugh to coax out a smile, “but now your knee doesn’t heal if you strain the joint.”

And there, that dark cloud settled over him again. “Oiling it won’t give me my strength back,” he grumbled.

She stopped, and he stopped with her, surprise lighting up his features. She looked him in the eye. Those brown eyes that saw so much and yet seemed to absorb all the light in the clearing. “Look around.” She gestured to the large tree that shaded them, the red flowers in full bloom. “What does this look like to you?”

“A tree,” he answered dryly. But he still looked up at the red-flowered branches whispering in the breeze.

“A flamboyán,” she said. “It’s one of the most beautiful trees on this island. And have you heard the macaws overhead?”

“They haven’t shut up since we’ve been walking,” he grumbled, but he followed her gaze upward to where she spotted the blue and yellow feathers flitting through the trees. “But they are nice,” he admitted, though she had a feeling it was more for her benefit than because he really believed it.

“God made the earth and the flying things and all the universe. You and me, too. And what does His Word say? Fearfully and wonderfully made.”

“Maybe I was,” Antonio said, voice low, “but not anymore.”