The Springborn

SABELLA

I n the hours between lunch and dinner, Calder and Yonaz rest in their bedrooms while Cleona and Branna venture out of doors so the eagle Branna can stretch her wings again. Our host, Hiram, heads to the barn to look after the horses—leaving Robbie and me to sprawl on matching green velveteen sofas in the spacious parlor. Sparrow sleeps in a basket, swaddled tightly, sucking her fist as she dreams. A merry fire crackles in the fireplace.

I ought to be relishing this peaceful interlude. Instead, I fret. I adjust the pillow behind my neck, mindful that my antlers could easily tear the fine fabric of the sofa. Hiram didn’t bat an eye at them, but he might not think so kindly of them if they ruin his furniture.

“I do love a good fire,” Robbie says, tucking one arm behind his head. His yellow-orange bird feet look comical propped on the end of the sofa. “I could stay right here forever if someone would bring me tea and cakes now and then.”

“I’m worried about the baby,” I blurt. “She should not be growing so fast. Have you seen this before among the Springborn?”

“I have not. We’re one of a kind, so far as I can tell. I won’t say it isn’t a little distressing, her growth. But she’s a happy girl. As long as she’s happy…well, we must be content with her lot. None of us gets to choose our gift or the length of our days.” He says these things gently, as if he has already learned how to lose loved ones with grace.

I swallow hard. When I was small, Mother told me tales she’d heard from her granny. One was of an enormous black dog with fiery eyes, the Black Shuck—a harbinger of impending death. I feel as though that wretched dog rests upon my chest, its great weight crushing my heart as it sucks the breath from my lungs. I close my eyes and will myself not to cry. “I cannot bear the thought of losing her.”

“Then do not bear it. Do not think of it. Enjoy her. If I’ve learned anything from life, it’s that tomorrow’s not guaranteed to anyone, so we ought to treasure our friends while they’re in our company.”

Robbie pauses. A burning log hisses and sputters to fill the silence. In a quieter voice, he resumes speaking. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to flee our home. On a day that started out ordinary as porridge, two of us, Springborn called Peony and Geffen, were murdered. We lived near Ashford then, on the other side of the mountain from Miners Ridge. Someone caught sight of Peony’s fox ears and followed her to our cottage, thinking she was a witch who needed killing. Geffen saw the man chase Peony into the yard, heard him call her dreadful names. He tried to stop the man to reason with him, but the man drew a pistol and shot them both. Then he set our home ablaze. We fled with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Calder took it hardest of any of us. Since then, he’s been little more than a shadow of himself. Lost all his shine, even his love of a joke. Sometimes hardly said a word for days on end. Since you’ve been around, he’s got some of his spark back.” He looks at me hopefully.

“Oh, Robbie. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but you shouldn’t credit me. If he’s one of those love-at-first-sight boys?—”

“Oh, but he isn’t. We’ve been close as brothers for roundabout five years, and I admit he’s always been an incorrigible flirt, but I swear I’ve never seen him truly smitten with anyone before.” Robbie turns and sets his clawed toes on the Turkish carpet. He watches the fire and says quietly, “Maybe, just maybe, it’s meant to be, you and Calder. Sure, you’ve just properly met, but I do have this feeling…”

Exasperated, I sit up. “Please stop, Robbie. What I need are dependable friends, not a suitor. I’ve just run away from home. I’m suddenly a mother, without any time to prepare for it. I am afflicted with antlers, and heaven only knows what is wrong with Sparrow. Are these not enough tribulations for one girl of seventeen?”

Robbie stands. He is not tall, yet he seems to tower far above me, his expression dark. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides. “ Never say that. Never say there’s something wrong with Sparrow, or with you. If that is your belief, you should leave, for you do not belong in our company—antlers or no antlers.”

I wince, stung by his words. “Forgive me, Robbie. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m confused. Scared. I’ve been hidden away in my parents’ house since I was eleven years old, called a disgrace and treated as a servant. I had four books to learn about life from, just four, and one of them was about plants. What do I know of portents or fate or people falling in love?”

Robbie sinks back onto the sofa. He sighs and scratches his neck. “I’m sorry, too. I forgot how new you are to all this. I’ve had bird legs since I was four. I almost don’t remember my parents, and how it hurt not to be wanted. They left me on top of a mountain, alone, right after I changed. I ate wild blueberries and slept covered in leaves until Yonaz found me.”

“There you are,” Calder says from the doorway. “I was wondering if you two had eloped.”

“It would serve you right,” Robbie says. “But no, we’re planning a spring wedding in the south of France.”

Calder flops down next to Robbie. “Is that so? No wonder Sabella has been resisting my charms. Who doesn’t enjoy a tasty chicken leg?”

“Shut it, Calder,” Robbie says. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of course I am,” Calder says with utter sincerity. “I have never been more jealous in my life.”

Quite stupidly, I meet Calder’s searching gaze for a moment. For long enough that I feel seen and wanted in a way no one has ever seen or wanted me. Long enough that I wonder if Robbie might be right about a connection between the two of us.

Sparrow cries out from her basket and breaks whatever spell held me. Before I can move, Robbie scoops her up and shushes her. I watch Robbie cuddle and bounce the baby, but I can feel that Calder still watches me.

“Come have tea!” Yonaz shouts from another room.

“Thank the stars,” Robbie says. “I’m parched.” He clutches Sparrow to his chest and hurries toward the door. I spring off the sofa to follow him, but Calder catches my wrist with his fingers.

“Sabella,” he says softly before he lets me go, hiding mysteries and promises in every syllable of my name.

Heaven help me.