The Faceless Crowd
Chapter twenty
Lorelle stood in the wings, waiting for her music cue to step out on stage.
Isabel had helped her fix her hair and tie her shoes for the performance.
La directora had tried to offer the role of Maria to other dancers, but none took it.
Vanesa spoke up for it, but la directora only glared at her, as if she blamed her for embarrassing the company, and the role went uncontested back to Lorelle.
Isabel hugged her now. “You’ve earned this,” she whispered. “Don’t let that girl get to you.”
She wouldn’t, but she still didn’t understand why Vanesa would go to such lengths just to get the role, shoving her during rehearsal and exposing her secret.
It couldn’t have been solely jealousy—Lorelle wasn’t a better dancer than Vanesa, just better at memorization—and she doubted Vanesa had done it out of murderous intent, but what else was there?
Vanesa could be a bit petty, but Lorelle would have never thought her fellow dancer to be cruel.
Maybe Vanesa was hoping for favor from the royal family.
Wasn’t that what Lorelle herself was seeking? Favor from the princess?
She shook it away. She didn’t have time to worry about Vanesa’s motives. The princess had given her a chance to perform, one last chance to prove herself, and she would take it. She checked the ribbon at her elbow, making sure her right glove was on tight over her hand.
Peluche slumbered in a dark corner, nestled as he was in her satchel.
He hadn’t left her side since he’d bounded into the theater that morning.
The servants had all but decided to cast him outside of palace grounds before Lorelle had heard what was happening and claimed him.
She didn’t want to think of what it meant that the pup was here.
Could it be that Antonio had abandoned him?
She hoped that he’d at least have told her if he no longer wanted Peluche .
. . but something in her balked at the idea.
That wasn’t the Antonio she’d come to know.
The music crescendoed, and her thoughts slipped away as she straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t Lorelle anymore, but Maria, on her way to greet the wooden soldier sent by the Toymaker.
In the audience, smiling faces greeted her entrance, and Lorelle’s heart soared with warmth that flowed through her.
Smiles flashed while she danced her routine, and claps reached her over the music when the number ended, transitioning to the next.
At least with the smiles and applause she could pretend she wasn’t so alone.
But it wasn’t the same as before. When she looked out, she almost expected to see the steady gaze of a certain captain, but she caught on another familiar gaze and almost broke character.
Tía Clarisa and Tío Zacarías sat in the second row, just three seats from the center aisle, beaming at her. Tears brimmed her eyes, and her smile wobbled, but she blinked it back, remembering her role and flowing into the next dance as the wooden soldier emerged.
The flutes fluttered staccato notes as she gestured, pantomiming her desperate request for the soldier’s help against the mice. Trumpets sounded with the soldier’s brave response, waving his musket that the Toymaker had given him.
Then they went on to gather forces, to speak to the rest of the toys in the kingdom: the brass soldiers, jack-in-the-boxes, windup clockwork animals, plush stuffed bears and wolves, and even a few china dolls.
As Lorelle stepped off the blinding lights of the stage, she let the tears come in full force. Isabel was at her arm, steadying her.
“?Qué pasó?” she asked, voice low in a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes flashing over Lorelle’s shoulder to other dancers flitting around them. “Who pushed you?”
Lorelle shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just, my family, my aunt and uncle—” Her throat tightened and she couldn’t speak any more.
Isabel nodded. “They’re here,” she said softly. “Are you glad?” Even though Isabel asked carefully, she looked as if she were ready to defend her should Lorelle say otherwise.
Oh, how a part of her wished she could go to them now. Even if she didn’t know what she would say, at least she knew they would wrap her up in a hug like when they’d taken her in.
But then they’d given her up to the academy. Turned her away. Her mouth went dry. “I—I don’t know,” she said.
La directora caught them. “What’s going on?” she snapped, her eyes flashing when she caught sight of Lorelle. Lorelle quickly dabbed at her eyes, hoping she hadn’t smudged any of the dark lines accentuating her eyes.
“Nothing.” Lorelle stepped back. “I need a moment to freshen up.”
She ducked away from both Isabel and la directora, backstage toward a few rooms where other dancers waited for their turns.
A couple of corps mice girls waited here, playing some kind of card game.
They glanced up when Lorelle passed and then did a double-take, but Lorelle didn’t stop.
She didn’t want to hear what jeers came from their quiet whispers behind her.
“Permiso,” one voice called meekly. One of the mice girls, by the young tone of her voice.
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.”