Page 42 of Of Might and Mettle

“Thank you,” she said. She took another sip of coffee.

Dawn’s rays filtered through the open windows, illuminating their quiet breakfast at the table. Tío Zacarías still had a bit of time before he had to be at the docks, and Lorelle enjoyed the quiet moments before the rest of the world awoke.

The last few days had been a blur. Between the fire in the courtyard and saving the king’s life, Lorelle had gotten to hear none of the outcome, sheltered as she was now in the house she could finally consider home. She hadn’t seen Antonio since he’d taken a bound Sir Thomas to the king, and she imagined he would be busy for a while, rooting out the loyalists from within their ranks.

But she was happy to be with her family. After getting back from the theater, her aunt and uncle had explained why they’d sent her to the academy and given her a tin hand. It was your dream, amor. We wanted to help you reach it, even if it took you far away from us.

With chagrin, Lorelle had realized that she’d never truly been alone or forgotten. She’d been searching for a family among the faceless crowd, desperately hoping to find love in their pleasure at her performance, but she’d had a family waiting in the wings the whole time, praying and sacrificing for her to reach her dream.

She’d been so wrong.

Tía Clarisa poured a fourth cup of coffee, clearly meant for a visitor, and set it on the table. Lorelle’s heartbeat quickened.

She glanced between her aunt and uncle. “Are we expecting somebody?”

Could it be? She forced the thoughts down. She shouldn’t get ahead of herself. His words after they’d captured Sir Thomas . . . surely she hadn’t seen more than respect in his eyes afterward. But there had seemed to be something deeper in the warmth of his cinnamon-brown gaze that had left her heart fluttering.

He’d held on to Peluche, so she couldn’t even play with the pup to ease her thoughts. Maybe she’d have to talk to him about sharing custody of the pup. That is, if he was the one coming this morning. And by the subtle looks shared between her aunt and uncle, she really thought so.

“I need a minute.” She rushed upstairs, bounding two steps at a time, and went to her closet. Tía Clarisa had washed the dress she’d worn last week after the ordeal with the river, but a few more neighbors had passed along old dresses as well. Her favorite was a blue-green linen dress embroidered with hibiscus flowers along the collar and the hem of the sleeves. And Tía had been quick to alter it so she could button the front.

She slipped it on, then put on her old ballet slippers. Whether or not she danced, they were special. La directora had been pulled for questioning, what with at least two of her dancers being involved in the loyalist attack, and now there was question of whether the company would survive the ordeal. But la directora had been cleared as innocent. Isabel had come by yesterday to tell her as much. Isabel had also discovered Oliver, alive but unconscious, in the hedge maze. He was recovering well, and Isabel left shortly thereafter to tend to him again.

A knock sounded, and Lorelle raced to the stairs in time to see a man step into the foyer.

She stumbled on the last step.

The inventor.

“Wh-what is he doing here?” She glanced at her aunt and uncle. They’d spoken about the loss of her hand, and she’d told them she’d been content with it. Though, in truth, a part of her felt missing. Not that she was missing a hand, but like she was missing something that had become part of her identity, an old friend.

“We called him to fix your hand,” said Tía, “but maybe we can create a new one.” She offered an unsure smile.

Their thoughtfulness touched her, and she found herself nodding.

Tío escorted the inventor to the dining room, where he poured plenty of cream and sugar in his coffee. The morning was spent taking measurements of her arms and her hands, each finger, and testing the mobility of her wrist to ensure the prosthetic would match.

“And if you wished, we could make another hand that is more focused on function instead of appearance,” said the inventor.

Lorelle smiled, but she cast a glance at her aunt and uncle. How would they be able to afford this? How could she?

The inventor talked as he packed up his things, preparing to see another client later. “I heard about your performance at the ballet, and that you’re a personal friend of the princess.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Princess Teresa had supported her, but she hadn’t spoken to the princess except when they met. And she felt a bit mortified at the idea of making the princess’s life more difficult because she’d stood up for Lorelle.

“The princess sent this for you.” He winked, handing her a card.

Maybe she was a friend of the princess. Speechless, she took the card and turned it over. It had the princess’s seal: a hibiscus flower. She stepped into the kitchen and broke the seal.

Dear Lorelle,

It was a pleasure meeting you last week, though I wish perhaps in better circumstances. My father told me you had a part to play in stopping Sir Thomas. Thank you.

The inventor is working on some kinds of braces to help my joints, and I’d love to meet with you to see if you can help me work on strength, too. Come by the palace in two days and we can talk more.

Thank you, for giving me hope.

- Teresa