Page 20 of Of Might and Mettle

She glanced around, but was unable to orient herself. She had no idea which street they were on, and whether that little jacaranda tree still sat in front of her aunt and uncle’s house, or even whether they still lived in the same house all these years later. But she knew she was close, closer than she’d been in years, to catching a glimpse of the faces that had abandoned her when she’d turned ten.

“Lorelle.” Antonio’s voice cut through her thoughts. He had his sword unsheathed, the white metal catching the moonlight, and he was a few paces away. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She let out a breath and joined his side. He hesitated, then unholstered his revolver. He fiddled with something, internal mechanisms clicking, before he handed it to her.

“Here,” he said. “I want you to stay out of harm’s way, but consider it an insurance.”

She took it, but balked at the weight in her hand. “Don’t I need two hands?” she asked.

“Not if you’ve got an iron grip,” he said, offering a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “But if I’m careful, you shouldn’t have to use it.”

“And if I do?”

“Point and pray you have good aim when you pull that trigger.”

She swallowed and nodded. “What about your fellow guards? Is there anyone you could call for help?”

His gaze darkened. “Come on,” he said, ignoring her question. “The ships are this way.”

She followed him through the shadows of the buildings until the docks opened before them. A few ships bobbed in the moonlight, and both imperial sailors and Monte Rican guards walked up and down the boardwalk, directing where boxes should be placed. This looked just like the second town, where the passport guy had been instructing the sailors to unload for inspection. What was different here?

A few sailors brought a box up to the end of the docks and set it apart from the rest. Antonio sucked in a breath. “Stay here,” he said, then crept forward. The soothing lull of the waves and the rushing wind hid the quiet creaking of his knee as Lorelle looked on from the shadows of the warehouse.

After a moment, she went after him, gripping the revolver at her side. The boards creaked ahead of her where Antonio’s shadow moved against the backdrop of the waves. She reached him just as he opened the crate.

Gold buttons winked at her, reflecting the moonlight from the navy-blue fabric. She ran a finger down the buttons, the careful embroidery.

“What are these?” he asked. “Why would they want Elevski uniforms?”

Lorelle swallowed. “They don’t,” she said. “They’re costumes for the ballet. La directora ordered them a few weeks ago. She’s been waiting for them.” She moved some aside, finding costumes in the familiar white and gray of the snowflakes and mice. It hadn’t been necessary to order more, what with the company having enough costumes already, but la directora had insisted, and so it had been done.

Antonio let out a groan of frustration. “I’m a fool,” he grumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging with such force that Lorelle winced.

“What-what are you looking for?” she asked. “Maybe it’s not in this box, but another one.”

“Not what,” he said. “Who. Sir Thomas.”

“Is he the one who . . . ?” She cut herself off, suddenly feeling as if she was treading dangerous water that she better not stir up.

“Yes,” he said. “He had planned a coup with some men from the Empire—and even our men here—to destroy the castle with enough gunpowder to send half the mountainside crumbling. No one believed me when I said we were in danger. I went to stop him myself . . . here”—he waved at the docks—“and we fought. We stopped the gunpowder from making it to the castle, and some of it even sank, but the blast took out the whole port.” He winced, as if remembering the moment when fire had seared his skin, and she wished she could drop the gun and reach out to him.

“Many said that Sir Thomas must have perished,” Antonio went on. He swallowed, as if the words were hard for him to speak. “But I saw him. I swear I did. But it was easier for everyone to believe that the attack was over, and that there wouldn’t be another one.”

“And would he be here now?” she asked, dread coiling in her gut.

Antonio glared out across the docks. “I thought he might,” he whispered.

“Maybe he is,” she insisted. “If you come back with a few guards, people you trust, maybe you can investi—”

Antonio shook his head. “No.” His gaze darkened. “I should have done this alone from the beginning. Even guards aren’t to be trusted. Didn’t you see some of the men? They’re Monte Rican, but they sail under the imperial flag.”

Natives to Monte Rico, now sailors for the Empire. “But just because they work for the Empire doesn’t mean they’re against us,” she said. “It’s not that simple.”

It was more and more common for Monte Ricans to move elsewhere. By sheer size alone, there were more jobs with the Empire. So many, that many of the merchants from Monte Rico spent half the year trading in the Empire before returning back to the island’s shores. Countless young men went to work on the continent before settling down with homes here—if they came back home at all. And even within the ballet company, there were a number of dancers who had grown up on imperial shores, like Oliver.

“Sure,” he snarled sarcastically. “Maybe they’re just here to throw a party.” He closed the box’s lid with a thump, then started down the docks. She scrambled after him, quick as he was moving.

His brass leg locked, and Antonio stumbled. She caught his arm, but he yanked away. Heat crept up her neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, cold shame flowing over her. “I shouldn’t have—”