Page 34 of Of Might and Mettle

“There are enough that will, and there are enough that don’t care,” Sir Thomas responded. “The rest will have no choice.” He removed his leather gloves, taking a set of white gloves from a crew member.

“The people won’t give up so easily,” Antonio said, though he wasn’t sure it was true now. Hadn’t the blacksmith in Rio Celeste said he didn’t care who was in charge as long as his work was undisturbed? Maybe there were loyalists to the Empire, and maybe there were those who were loyal to the kingdom, but maybe there were more people who just didn’t care than Antonio had hoped.

“I’m sure some may be lost in the battle,” said Thomas, fitting on a glove. “Some may even lose limbs, if not their lives.” He struck Antonio’s leg with his boot, letting out a resounding metal clang that vibrated up his bones. “I heard you have won a medal. Congratulations,” he said dryly. “Forgive me if I couldn’t attend the ceremony for a fraud.”

Antonio scowled.

Sir Thomas shot him a triumphant glower. “Don’t be so sour, Captain,” he snapped. “I’m sure there are those who treat you with respect for your sacrifice. Maybe they even listen to you beyond what you deserve.” Sir Thomas scoffed. “But you know, Antonio, you have one thing I don’t.”

“What’s that?” Antonio said sarcastically. “Morals? Honesty? Loyalty?”

“Honor.” Sir Thomas leaned close, his eyes burning with a fire that was more than just national fervor. This was personal. “You stole it from me. You made me look like a fool in front of the Empire.”

Antonio scoffed. “How would I do that? I didn’t stop you. I couldn’t save the lives of the merchants or the families who were there. I failed. What is there in that for you but honor and glory before the Emperor?”

“You sacrificed something,” Thomas spat. “At least there’s honor in losing a limb for your country.” And now when he raised his gloveless hand, Antonio spotted it. He was missing the littlest finger on his left hand.

“But now,” Thomas went on, “I will have honor. Your colony has had time to see what life would be like on its own, without our protection. Without our endless resources. The Emperor wanted to give it time so you would come back willingly, but his patience has finally come to an end.” He accepted a navy coat from another crew member, slipping it on.

As he buttoned the gold buttons down the front, recognition struck Antonio.

Sir Thomas spread out his arms, a triumphant grin on his face. “How do I look?”

Antonio almost couldn’t draw a breath. The heat was making his head spin.

When Sir Thomas came back into focus in Antonio’s vision, he couldn’t believe it. With the addition of a mask and a musket slung over his shoulder, he looked for all the world like the wooden soldier of Lorelle’s ballet.

Sir Thomas stepped to the railing. He offered Antonio a theatrical bow. “I’ll be occupied this evening,” he said, no doubt with a smile beneath that serious mask. “I have a ballet to attend.” He nodded to his men. “Pull out to sea and get rid of him how you see fit.”

Antonio fought his bonds, but they gagged him before he could shout across the harbor. And before long, Monte Rico was a small mountain on the horizon, like a green whale breaching the surface of the ocean miles away, unaware of the harpoon aimed straight for its heart.

Chapter nineteen

Strength

Teresa sat in her room, overlooking the crowd of people walking through the courtyard to the theater, and wondered whether any of them truly knew her. How much would the rumors and gossip have spread about her condition after her confrontation with the ballet director yesterday?

The lilting strains of musicians tuning their instruments filtered through her open window, and she smiled at the harmony.

It seemed what she’d confessed before the dancers and stagehands in the theater hadn’t reached Mamá’s ears yet—or she would have come to interrogate her. She’d let her family believe she was healed and whole, but seeing the ballerina cast out for her own infirmity, Teresa couldn’t let it stand. Perhaps Mamá did know—most likely she did—but Teresa didn’t want to imagine what her mother thought of her now, the disappointment that would surely linger there.

And all the world could whisper if it meant that she might start to make a change. That God could use her weakness for His glory in the hearts of those just like her. That those who saw her might see hope in Christ, hope for every broken soul, and not a princess with a gilded crown.

In truth, seeing Lorelle dance had given her a hope she hadn’t dared believe in.

A knock sounded at her door.

“Pasa,” she said, and the door opened. Papá stepped in, dressed in his ceremonial clothes. Dark-green suit with polished leather shoes and a silver crown atop his graying hair. Had it always looked that gray?

“Are you well?” he asked, coming to her side. He spoke to her, but he regarded the passersby entering the courtyard below.

She shrugged. What could she answer? She couldn’t say she was healed—that wasn’t true. But she wasn’t as bad as she would be on her worst days, so that was good. Maybe it wasn’t “well” in the sense of the word, but it was what she lived with.

She’d even allowed Cerise to help her get ready—mostly because Mamá always insisted on her wearing a heavy birthday gown with so many layers that it felt like it would dislocate something in her back if she fell the wrong way.

Papá placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “I’m proud of you, mija,” he said. And now she caught his gaze and the brightness of tears. “What you did for the dancer was not easy, and I’m sorry if . . . I’m sorry if by your mother’s silence today, it has given you the impression that we hold the same attitude as the director of the ballet.”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She wouldn’t outright say it, but a part of her had. Mamá’s fearful fretting over her, the anxiety that wound through her every time she thought of her future and what doors would be open—or closed—before her. Yair’s steadfast silence was supportive but also suffocating. He glanced at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. And no doubt, he would be watching her every step now in case she tripped. And even if it was his fault, how could she fault him for it? But still, frustration bubbled up in her and hot tears spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, hoping she wasn’t smudging away Cerise’s careful coloring. “No,” she said, “not you.”