Page 40 of Of Might and Mettle

Lorelle reeled back as the flames neared. She prayed her family got out safely—she couldn’t shout to them over the chaos of the fire in the theater and the crush of people moving. The wooden soldier—the loyalist—had disappeared, his coat and mask lying on the stage. Antonio had been right, but there was no victory in the revelation.

She ran backstage, where Isabel was ushering a few of the younger dancers, keeping them moving despite the terror plain on their faces. Lorelle scooped up her satchel, checking for Peluche’s squirming form, and latched the bag tight so he wouldn’t jump out.

Screams caught her attention, and she started toward the source. She found Vanesa, batting at the flames licking at the feathers of her costume. Wood cracked as flames seared the walls and up toward the beams that held up the room.

Lorelle tore at Vanesa’s costume, helping her remove the flaming skirt and stomping out the embers.

“Thank you,” Vanesa coughed. Then her eyes widened when she realized who had saved her.

“Come on.” Lorelle grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.” Somehow, she was sure Vanesa was involved in this, and she would have a lot of explaining to do.

They jumped back as a wooden beam fell, blocking the exit out the back wing where Lorelle had been earlier. The only exit was through the stage to the other side. Lorelle yanked Vanesa across the stage, moving quickly as the old wood warped and burned, and they reached the other side.

But now a wall of flames stood between them and the final door to freedom. Vanesa yanked her arm from Lorelle’s grip. “Muchas gracias,” she snapped. “This is all your faul—” Her words cut off in a fit of coughs.

Despite the chaos swirling around her, peace fell over Lorelle. She was in the middle of a storm, but Jesus was calling her to step onto the waves. Staring at the wall of flames, she suddenly knew what to do.

She put a hand on Vanesa’s shoulder. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

Vanesa shook her head, coughing again. She tried to pull out of Lorelle’s grip, but she held tight.

“Do you trust God?” Lorelle asked.

Vanesa shook her head again.

“Well,” she said, eyes watering with the smoke, “now’s a good time to start.” Grabbing Vanesa’s hand, she pushed her through the flames ahead of her and stepped through.

Burning alive didn’t feel like she expected. Where flames licked her skin, it felt like the peaceful waters of the harbor, and before she could marvel at the miracle, she was on the other side, breathing cool night air, her knees digging into the soil.

Arms grabbed her, pulling her and Vanesa away from the theater and into the dousing rain. Lorelle got to her feet, leaning on the stagehand that had helped her. “Thank you,” she rasped.

“How did you get out that way?” the stagehand asked.

Lorelle didn’t know how to answer. Her clothes, hair, and skin were unscathed, as if she had just finished the ballet, not walked through fire. But though she was untouched by flames, her gloves were gone, her tin hand melted to nothing.

“Lorelle!” Her aunt’s voice cut through the air, and Lorelle’s shoulders slumped with relief at the sight of her and her uncle pushing through the crowd. And then she was crushed in a hug, and she felt like a child again, wrapped in the arms of her family.

“We’re so glad you’re all right,” Tío said. “Let’s get you home—” But his words were drowned out.

A terrible creaking filled the air, and they barely got the chance to move farther away as the rest of the theater collapsed in a burning heap.

Chapter twenty-three

Finale

Antonio reached the courtyard just as an earth-rattling boom shook the ground and a blaze of heat spun out from the flaming debris. And he was sure that if it wasn’t for the pouring rain, the whole courtyard would have caught on fire with the collapse of the theater.

Lorelle!

Panic surged in him as his gaze darted about the courtyard, over the throng of dancers and theatergoers. Though he felt a little relief at not seeing any colors of the royal family, the pressure in his chest didn’t lessen until his gaze landed on a familiar figure. Their eyes met across the courtyard, and her eyes widened, but his attention was torn away as a figure rushed at him. Antonio drew his sword.

“It’s me!” Gabriel raised his hands. “The princess got her family out. They’re hidden with the king. You were right. Sir Thomas is here.”

Antonio reached for his revolver but only found air.

“Here.” Gabriel handed it to him. “Your brother put men watching the exits at the princess’s request. We’ll catch Sir Thomas first, then distinguish who’s with the loyalists from there.”

Antonio nodded, pride and gratitude unfurling in his chest. The lad was sharp, and Antonio was grateful that there were more people he could count on.