19. Strength
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.”
Papá produced a handkerchief, catching her hand and wrapping her fingers around the fabric. “What do you want to do now that you are of age? Whatever it is, consider it granted.”
She met his gaze and looked away over the courtyard, over the castle walls, over the mountains and to the stars sparkling over the ocean waves.
“I—I want to see the world, Papá,” she whispered.
“I want to dance—and even if I hate it, I want to try new things. I want to know more of our allies and be a voice for our people.”
The more she learned of the world between leather-bound pages, the more she wanted to be a part of it, play a role beyond the figurehead assigned to her.
Maybe she could sit in court and hear from the people.
Or maybe she could sail beyond the island shores and be a voice of peace for other independent kingdoms struggling to be free from the Empire.
He squeezed her fingers. “Then do it.”
His words loosened something in her chest. She flung her arms around him in a hug, much as she had four years ago, and she couldn’t help the hot tears that pricked her eyes. He believed in her. In her.
“Thank you, Papá.” She sniffed, pulling back and wiping her nose with the handkerchief. “Thank you for seeing me for more than my illness.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his wiry beard tickling her skin. “You are strong, mija. Never forget that.” He straightened, offering his elbow. “Shall we? We wouldn’t want to be late to your own party.”
They left her room. In the hall, their footsteps echoed, with the swish of her skirts and . . . a tapping? She glanced over to see Papá had a cane. She gave him a curious look. “Did you get injured?”
He laughed, his chest rumbling. “No.” He smiled. “Sometimes the old hip injury flares up, and I’ve learned it’s easier to lean on something that can carry the weight.”
She grinned, squeezing his arm. “Don’t get old on me,” she teased.
He laughed. He was about to say something else when a guard approached.
She caught the whispers of Empire and Elevsk, the wintry kingdom that shared a border with the Empire.
Papá untangled her arm. “Go on, Teresa,” he said.
“I have to tend to something urgent.” He followed the guard down the hall, leaving her at the edge of the courtyard.
She stepped into the courtyard, the marble walkway cool beneath her feet.
At least with her wide skirts no one would know she went barefoot.
She didn’t need to risk twisting her ankle if she did fall over, which was all the more probable now that she didn’t have Papá’s arm to steady her.
Maybe she should have asked for his cane before he left.
Most of the people she had seen walking through were now within the theater. Only the quiet song of insects and frogs reached her as she crossed the courtyard—until a tense voice caught her attention. Two guards argued in the darkness of the hedges.
“—Antonio, he’s been—”
“He’s late,” said the second guard. He was older, and Teresa recognized him as Yair’s guard, Cristian, but why was he here? “I can’t take any more time, Gabriel,” he said. “I have to see to the prince. If you see Antonio, tell him to mind his post.”
“But Comandante Fuentes—” Gabriel started, but he cut off when Cristian left and didn’t turn back.
Alone now, Gabriel let out a frustrated sort of sound.
Teresa’s heart beat just a tick faster. She could help this guard, somehow.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, her heart thudding in her ears.
She could hear Mamá’s voice in her head: What would you be able to do? She hurled the words from her mind, focusing not on her weakness but on her strengths. She had a voice in her position as princess, small as it was, and that would stand for something.
Gabriel’s eyes widened and he bowed. “Princesa, I’m so sorry to disturb you on this day.”
“But something is bothering you,” she said. “Maybe I can help.”
Gabriel swallowed. His eyes darted about the courtyard at the few people who mingled there. “There are loyalists in the kingdom,” he whispered. “They’re planning an attack on your family.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “When?”
He grimaced. “I don’t know. But soon. They took my captain, and I don’t know where he is.”
“How?” she asked. “Do you know how they plan to attack?”
He shook his head. “But I know someone who would. The steward. He is a part of the plot and he took Antonio. I need to tell the king or the prince. They’re in danger.”
She glanced around at the guards on the allure, and then at those stationed at the corners of the courtyard. “Why not tell one of the other guards?”
He swallowed. “I’m not sure who is in on it.”
She straightened. “I’ll tell one of them. They’ll have to listen to me.”
“Or silence you.”
The guard’s words stopped her cold. She swallowed. “I know where my father is. Come.”
“You can’t be seen with me, princess,” he said, ducking further into the shadows. “It’s too risky for you when they know who I am.”
Fear pressed in. This guard would be faster if he could find Papá on his own, not following her wobbling footsteps. “My father will be meeting in the councilroom,” she said. “You can find him there now. There are servant’s passages that can take you—”
A hand caught her elbow, and a figure appeared between her and the guard. Teresa yelped and yanked her arm free, feeling the pain in her tender shoulder but creating distance anyway.
Cerise stood before her, concern etched into her features. “I’m sorry I scared you, princess,” she said. “But your mother is looking for you. The ballet is about to begin.”
Teresa swallowed down the sudden burst of panic. She caught the guard’s gaze behind Cerise, and he nodded solemnly. He would warn her father.
She could play her part as well to keep her kingdom safe. She would warn her mother, her family. And hopefully, this time, someone would listen.