Page 30 of Of Might and Mettle

Antonio’s first day back at the castle had been a whirlwind of duties, and even though he’d tried to catch any more hints of treason among the guards or any hint of contraband making it into the castle, he could see nothing out of order. Sir Thomas was out there, somewhere, and he and his men were coming for the royal family, but Antonio couldn’t do a thing about it. He was in the dark, in the middle of the ocean, thrashing around without any hope for land beneath his feet.

His mind echoed with Lorelle’s words: The king will take you at your word, I know he will. And if he doesn’t, he’ll have to listen to the two of us.

But he’d found nothing out of order, even as he’d patrolled the courtyard and asked for reports on movements within the castle. There was nothing of suspicion. Nothing that would warrant embarrassing himself in front of the king.

But the danger was out there, and Antonio had to do something about it. He stepped into the courtyard again, under the cloak of deepening twilight, as Gabriel stood watch from the allure.

He heard the familiar strains of music filter out from the theater. Had Lorelle been able to integrate back into the ballet? No doubt she had practiced all the last two days back in the castle.

He had the fleeting thought to go and see, but he shook it away. She wouldn’t want to see him. But as he gazed around the courtyard, what else would he find here but the chirp of the frogs and the flowers still dewy with rain?

He should look into the theater, if only to follow up on the Elevski uniforms. He had to make sure they really were part of the costumes of the ballet, as Lorelle had said. He had to be sure.

But even he didn’t believe his own conviction as he entered the theater.

He stood in the shadows of the back row, where he could see over the audience to the bright stage. Now the rest of the wooden soldiers marched onstage, all dressed in deep-blue uniforms exactly like the ones he’d seen in the port.

Disappointment flared up. Lorelle had been right.

And that meant he had no leads—nothing—to give to the king, except whispers of a threat. He didn’t even know whether Sir Thomas was on the island, where he would be, or when he would strike.

If his father were here, Antonio knew the advice he would give him: Get another perspective. And maybe, maybe his brother would get him an audience with the king. Between the two of them, the king would have to listen, if only for his brother’s history of having a sound mind.

They had to warn the king, even if it was nothing but a whisper of smoke on the breeze.

He made his way out of the theater and through the castle’s large hallways. He found his brother stationed outside where the prince had been hidden as of late: the library.

Cristian was fielding about half a dozen men, quietly giving them instructions. He wore the same red Monte Rican uniform as they all did, with the addition of a revolver like Antonio’s. Only Cristian’s revolver was lacking gunpowder, a luxury now that the Empire had put such a high tax on the good. But that was a secret known to a few, and the glinting metal gun was able to cow even the rowdiest crowd when necessary.

Antonio’s creaking knee was louder than all the careful footsteps of the guards, and Cristian looked up at his approach. “Antonio?”

Antonio stepped forward, just outside the ring of Cristian’s men. “¿Tienes un minuto?”

Cristian rubbed his jaw, probably noting Antonio’s tense expression. “For you, hermano, I can spare two minutes.” He grinned. “But not three.”

They stepped aside, away from the lingering guard who might overhear them.

“Ian is a good guy, Antonio,” Cristian said. “I don’t understand why you—”

Antonio shook his head, cutting his brother off. “Not everyone can hear this,” he said. “I—I need to know you’ll believe me, Cristian.”

Cristian let out something like a chuckle. “I’m listening.” But Antonio heard the telltale hitch in his voice.

“Sir Thomas is here, on the island.”

The change was immediate. His expression darkened and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword. “Where?”

Antonio swallowed, throat dry. “I—I’m not sure,” he said. “I saw someone in the courtyard last week, and I lost their trail, but I heard some sailors talk about Sir Thomas in Mar Verde yesterday.”

Cristian nodded as Antonio spoke, though he released his sword. “Do you have anything else?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anything more concrete?”

“Boxes.” Antonio swallowed. “Some costumes for the ballet.”

“That’s not out of the ordinary, Antonio,” Cristian said, his voice carrying a distinct tone of disappointment now. “Do you have any real evidence?”

The words stung, but Antonio had been expecting it. Maybe he’d just been hoping that Cristian would take his word as enough evidence. But maybe Cristian was still of the belief that Antonio woke from nightmares of the terrible event two years ago. Maybe Cristian thought Antonio’s mind was seeing ghosts where none existed.

Cristian put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “I can’t spare the time to look into it right now,” he said. “Not without something stronger than the word of one guard.”