Page 8 of Of Might and Mettle

Instead, she turned her gaze on Papá. His brown eyes—the color of the earth that Mamá and the plants so loved—were warm, like the sun-baked soil in the summer when she dug her toes into the loamy earth.

“Come,” he said, beckoning her with a nod of his chin. When she didn’t move, he repeated, “Ven. Let me tell you a secret.”

Teresa had all but bolted across the room, ignoring the worried look that passed over her brother’s face at her sudden movements, his muscles tensing as if he was prepared to catch her in a fall, but she was caught up in her father’s arms in a big hug.

“You did a good thing, mija,” he said, chest rumbling with his deep voice. “Your mother can’t see it right now, daughter, but you are strong.”

“But not like you, Papá,” she said. She’d seen him practice drills with the soldiers, how he was both fast and strong, able to disarm every guard if he so wished. With a gun, he was quick on the draw, as if able to sense the opponent’s movement before they even thought it. She wasn’t strong. Not like that. She hadn’t been able to play with Yair when she was younger, and even her dancing was slow—on her worst days, she had to control each step as if her limbs were about to go out from under her.

“No,” he said softly, “not like me.”

But why was he smiling? Was he making fun of her? She frowned and looked at the floor, but his rough fingers found her chin, lifting her gaze to his.

“You are porcelain,” he said, “but not fragile. Beautiful in outward appearance and strong throughout. And wherever you are weak, mija, be happy. God’s strength is made perfect in our weaknesses. And I have many.” He kissed her head, his rough beard brushing her forehead, and she smiled.

The porcelain princess. She’d quite liked that.

At least, back then.

It seemed few knew the true strength of porcelain, and if she ever gave away a bad day with a wince or a slow movement, Mamá and Yair were quick to rearrange her schedule. She’d missed out on traveling to allied kingdoms, to her embarrassment when she learned that Mamá had written hurried excuses on her behalf—which no doubt made them think her a terrible liar. And yet her sickness, whatever it was, was hidden, a highly guarded secret. Mamá was convinced that no one would marry a princess with a disease like this, and her voice pounded in Teresa’s skull with all the future that had been ripped from her before she even realized she’d wanted it—she wouldn’t be able to stay in court all day, or travel about the kingdom, and there was no guarantee that she would ever be able to have or raise a family.

So, for the last year or so, Teresa had resolved to let her family believe she was healed. On her worst days, she remained in her room under the guise of studying other languages or history of other kingdoms. On better days, she would venture out to walk the gardens with Mamá or even travel with her brother to nearby cities on trade business—if only to steal glimpses of the world beyond, even if it was only what could be stowed within the wooden frame of shipping crates.

No matter what, she was careful to hide any grimace of pain with a smile. She masked any stumble by clinging to her father’s arm on their short strolls. She wasn’t sure how well she’d played the part, but it seemed that her family was quick to overlook the cracks in her ceramic facade in their relief to see her well.

So as much as she wished she could share her small victory in closing the window against the buffeting wind, she would keep it silent, between her and God. Maybe that would be enough for now.

With a sigh, she went back to bed. At last, exhaustion overcame the fire, and her pain was washed away with the cool embrace of sleep.

Chapter six

Peluche

Lorelle woke to the soft tink-tink of rain hitting metal. She squinted, the gray dawn all too blinding even through the thick foliage, and let out a groan. Water seeped into her dress from the cold, damp sand of the riverbank, and when she wiggled her toes to check whether she still had all her limbs, she could tell she had lost a shoe in the river.

Now came the hard part. Steeling her breath, she pulled her elbow back and propped herself up. Air hissed through her teeth as pain shot through her skull, her world spinning in a whirl of grays and greens before she squeezed her eyes shut. Her head pulsed with her rapid heartbeat, but at least it was still beating. The breath hurt in her ragged lungs, but she could breathe.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. Rain, cool from dripping palm leaves, fell on her face.

The tinkling sound came again, this time with a little growl and a slight tug of her right arm, and she glanced down to spy the little creature she had saved from the water. Now its fur was mostly dry, fluffy and gray like snow-topped mountains, far too thick to be from the tropical heat of Monte Rico. Its golden eyes flashed as it chomped down on Lorelle’s tin hand, gnawing at one of the fingers.

“No,” she scolded the puppy softly, pulling back her hand. It weighed more than usual, and she removed it, opening it to empty the water that had filled its hollow interior. The pinkie finger was bent a little, but with some finagling, she was able to bend it back into place, at least until she could get back to her tools and pull the spring back into its rightful position.

A spike of fear shot through her. Get back. She needed to get back. She was the principal dancer, and if she didn’t make it, la directora wouldn’t hesitate to hand the position to someone else. But someone had pushed her, hadn’t they? Her shoulders prickled from where hands had shoved her over the wall. She would need to investigate once she returned, but she could do nothing from the edge of a riverbank.

Gritting her teeth against the soreness of her muscles, she stood. Carefully stretching each limb, she breathed a sigh of relief when nothing felt broken or strained. Just sore. But that wasn’t uncommon for the twelve-hour days of practice.

She even spotted her sandal along the riverbank and slipped it on. Another unexpected blessing, but welcome, if she would have to walk back to the palace on foot.

The puppy resumed its playful growling. Lorelle found its form, almost white in the growing light of day, as the creature bounded over to the man laid out across the sandy riverbank. Though he wore a cloak, it had shifted, revealing a medal of valor glinting on his chest. A soldier’s star. It seemed the little dog noticed it at the same time, for it growled and went for the shiny silver star.

“No,” she said, reaching down for the pup. “Leave it alone.” She was stepping closer slowly, lest she wake the guard and startle him, when he groaned.

He swatted at the puppy with a hand. “Stop,” he said, voice gravelly. “Enough, basta.”

Taking her chance, Lorelle ducked closer and swiped up the puppy, holding it to her chest. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll make sure it leaves you alone.”

Cinnamon-brown eyes blinked up at her, alight with surprise. Then they squinted in pain when he tried to sit up and leaned against a jacaranda tree. The blue-purple flowers rained down on the slight movement of the wind, already warming up even though it was barely dawn.