Page 37 of Of Might and Mettle

Lorelle froze. She didn’t look over her shoulder. “What?”

“I—I was wondering, could you show me how you do a pirouette with your arms like that?”

Now Lorelle turned to see the mice girl, her face red with embarrassment, as if she expected Lorelle to snap at her.

“I just, I know how to do them, but la directora says my arms wobble sometimes, and I’m not sure how to fix it.”

A flicker of compassion rose in Lorelle. She hoped she didn’t look as if she’d been crying. “Part of it could be the tail,” she said. “It’s a counter to you. Even if you have perfect form normally, you need to not rely on your arms for momentum. It should come from your legs. I—I can’t show you now,” she said quickly, when the two girls stopped their game to stand and get in position. “But maybe we could do it later.”

In fact, she was surprised la directora hadn’t said anything to the girls earlier. Maybe she’d had so much on her mind with all the changes to the ballet that she would overlook a few of the mistakes of the girls. At least it was better than yelling at them. These girls were young, but if they were in the company, it was because they were at a great level of skill.

“I’d like that,” piped the second girl with a shy smile.

Lorelle nodded, feeling a smile emerge for the first time.

The next number started, and the girls scampered off to get ready in the wings before their entrance. Lorelle was alone in the corridor, lit dimly with flickering gas lamps. The floor was lined with carpet, which muffled the sounds from dancers running behind the stage from the audience.

In a quiet moment like this, she might have sat to play with Peluche. Funny how that had become a thing of comfort. Or maybe it had more to do with the quiet, steady strength of the soldier who’d guarded both of them.

She’d lashed out at him, hurt as she was, but he’d been right. She’d never stopped to let her aunt and uncle talk to her. She would need to talk to them once the ballet was over.

At least, even if she didn’t have a place in the company, maybe she’d still have a home there.

She stepped up to backstage, but was jostled by another dancer pushing past her. It was the wooden soldier.

“Hey, Oliver,” she called, feeling brave from her encounter with the mice girls. “You did really great,” she said. “I look forward to the finale.”

She hadn’t ever spoken to Oliver directly, but he’d always seemed nice enough when she spotted him talking with Isabel. Now he only regarded her through the holes in the wooden mask, and she felt a chill run down her spine. Were Oliver’s eyes always that dark?

He turned and went on, probably to prepare, as their number was next.

Isabel stepped to Oliver’s side. “Hey, Oliver,” she said, offering a sweet smile and reaching for his hand. “How are—”

He brushed past her, leaving her standing with her mouth agape. A pink blush tinged her cheeks, but at least the few dancers that heard the interaction discreetly turned their faces away, pretending not to hear how her fiancé had so carelessly dismissed her.

Lorelle put a hand on Isabel’s shoulder. “He may just be nervous,” she said. “We’ve never performed before the royals before. And there’s more pressure now.”

But Isabel’s eyes were as hard as steel, and Lorelle followed her gaze to where Oliver spoke with Vanesa in close whispers. “No,” she said, voice wavering. “I don’t think that’s nerves.”

Chapter twenty-one

The Belly of a Fish

Antonio strained against the bonds of rope lashing him to the mast as the ship pulled farther and farther away from the shore. Though the day had labored on, dusk had come quickly, and now, he was sure that even if there was another ship in the night, they would never be able to spot Sir Thomas’s ship in the black waves.

On the journey toward his certain death, he’d learned the ship was named Swordfish, for the distinctive carving at the bow as it cut through the water. If he was an ocean-dwelling creature, there would be danger of being lanced by the ship’s point in passing.

For a time, they’d left him below deck, and he’d felt for all the world as though he’d been swallowed by a giant fish. His mind had swirled with worry for Gabriel, for the king, and for the kingdom. Now, he was back on deck, facing his ever-nearing execution as the men discussed what to do with him.

“I think we’re far enough away now,” said the first mate, Payton. “We can throw him overboard and head back to pick up Sir Thomas.”

“But can’t he swim?” asked the second crew member incredulously.

“You got a better idea, James? You try to swim with a weight like that leg strapped to you. No one’s going to find him.”

James still looked doubtful. “I think the Emperor would prefer to see the colonist captain,” he said. “Maybe he’d get more information that way. Useful information.”

Payton scoffed. “It won’t be useful once Sir Thomas completes the mission.”