Page 24 of Of Might and Mettle

“Why do you take interest in her?” Zacarías’s gaze narrowed, as if he was gauging what to say next based on Antonio’s answer.

“Truthfully, señor,” he said, “I only wish to help her return for the ballet. I met her a few days ago, and at most, I would consider her a friend. One that I see is hurting, that I want to help.”

Zacarías nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “We lost my brother and his wife sixteen years ago to the pox,” he said. “It hit Lorelle, too, but she recovered. The loss of them hit us all hard, and Lorelle clung to the one thing she shared with her mother: dance.”

“How did she get to the academy?” Antonio asked.

Clarisa let out a shaking breath, wiping her tears with a clean edge of her apron. “We paid an inventor to create a hand for her. One that would allow her to blend in with the rest of the girls, as much as could be expected.”

Something rose up in Antonio. Could it be they wanted to hide her missing hand just as much as la directora of the company? Maybe they really had been ashamed of her and pawning her off.

A knock at the door stopped the rest of the explanation. Zacarías went to answer the door, and a pitter-patter of footsteps came down the hall before a child poked her head into the kitchen. She was maybe seven, with golden ringlets framing her sunburned face.

“Señora Clarisa, Mamá says you have some avocados for us today!” She bounded forward, then froze when she caught sight of Antonio and his uniform, suspicion clear by the narrowing of her eyes.

Clarisa rose and went to the kitchen, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed on him.

Antonio fought a grimace, in case it would give the girl the wrong impression. He’d seen it before, the suspicion when he walked through the streets. Not aimed at him specifically, but at Monte Rican guards in general. It had taken a while for the king to weed out the loyalists, and yet it seemed the general sentiment of distrust remained. Even among youth as little as her.

Peluche let out a yip, and her eyes shot to him. “¡Qué cute!” she gasped, rushing to Antonio’s side. “Can I hold it?”

Antonio wondered whether her mother would really be okay with the child holding a wolf, even a pup, but she didn’t let him give an affirmation or denial, just scooping Peluche up into her arms. Then she held him out, arms straight, and cocked her head.

“It’s only got three paws,” she said, brow scrunched as if she were investigating some great mystery, like why she had to go to bed before the grown-ups.

“His name is Peluche,” answered Antonio, watching to see her reaction turn to disdain.

She laughed. “Really?”

Antonio quirked a smile. “Sí, and don’t tell anyone, but I kind of like it.”

She held Peluche close again, admiration shining in her gaze. “Was he born that way?”

“I think so,” he answered, surprised by her reaction. “He’s so young that if he’d lost it somehow, we’d still see signs of healing.”

Just like how, even two years later, his leg ached from where the physician had sealed the wound. Would the pain ever heal entirely?

“Here, Emilia.” Clarisa returned with a basket, and Emilia dropped Peluche back on Antonio’s lap.

“I like him,” she said, smiling a gap-toothed grin. “He’s just like Lorelle.”

Antonio’s jaw dropped at the girl’s admission, but before he could say anything, she was already skipping down the hall and out the door.

Clarisa chuckled, shaking her head. “That girl,” she said, smiling.

Antonio looked between her and the hallway, words jumbling in his mouth at the questions that he couldn’t figure out how to voice. Emilia was far too young to have met Lorelle in person, and yet . . . how could she know about her unless Clarisa and Zacarías spoke of her—and seemingly, with pride? Maybe they were not ashamed of her after all.

Clarisa frowned, understanding flickering in her gaze. “We love Lorelle like she is our daughter,” she said quietly. “But we did only what she wished when she asked to join the academy. We’ve respected her wishes since then, only stepping out to give her a new hand a few years ago, when we learned she outgrew the old one.”

“And world-class inventors don’t just grow on the island,” said Zacarías, coming back into the room.

Antonio’s throat was dry. He nodded, surprised at the love in the aunt’s eyes. At how much they’d done for Lorelle that she didn’t know. What else had they sacrificed for her?

Guilt tore through him. Could it be that he was just as blind with his own family? That even though his mother hadn’t reached out to him, it could have been his own fault. That he was keeping her at bay. As soon as he got home, once he stopped Sir Thomas, he would see her.

“I noticed her hand is broken,” Zacarías said, rubbing his chin. “We’ll see if we can call the inventor.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “But it would be expensive.”

“I’ll cover it.” Antonio reached across the table, dropping his medal between them. Zacarías’s eyes widened when he saw it, and Clarisa’s hands flew to her heart.