The Springborn

SABELLA

R obbie is already lounging on his favorite sofa in the sitting room when Calder and I walk in. While we were busy working, the bird-legged boy has been busy napping. A blanket covers his propped-up avian feet.

Robbie opens one eye and peers at us. “If it isn’t the lovebirds,” he says dryly. “In consideration of my delicate presence, I recommend that you occupy separate chairs.”

“Not likely, Robin Hallsey,” Calder says. He takes my hand and leads me to sit beside him on a small couch. “You may excuse yourself if you find our company disagreeable.”

“I think I should stay and make sure you behave in a respectable manner,” Robbie says. “Cads will be cads, as you well know.” He reclines against the cushions and folds his arms over his chest.

“Cad? That’s harsh,” Calder says. “Well, I suppose we must pretend he isn’t here, then, Sabella. Like a rash you try not to scratch.”

Robbie grunts. “That’s a fine way to talk about your best friend.”

I scowl at the pair of them. “If you boys are going to spend the evening sparring, I will go help the twins put Sparrow to bed.” I do hope they settle down, because I am anxious to see the mysterious item Calder bought from the traveling merchant.

“Very well. For you, I’ll hold my tongue,” Robbie says. “But I’m not leaving.”

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s talk about something pleasant now.”

Calder recounts the events of his day with the newly hired, comically clumsy stable boy. We laugh as the fire crackles and the wind rattles the windowpanes. After a while, Robbie snores.

“Finally,” Calder says. He inches closer to me on the couch. “It must be eleven o’clock by now. He usually can’t stay awake past nine. He can be a stubborn bird, our Robbie.”

On any other night, I’d be drowsy at this hour, too. But ever since tonight’s dinner ended, I’ve been as twitchy as a mad cat. “I should go upstairs soon,” I say. “Sparrow wakes up before the chickens, and I have to help prepare breakfast tomorrow.”

“Well, then.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. “You must take this and tuck it under your pillow.”

He places the gift in my palm. It is a wooden heart, sanded smooth and painted black, embellished with bright, shiny colors.

“Thank you,” I say, staring at the tiny present. “It’s lovely.”

With one of his hands, he cups the back of my hand. With the pointer finger of his other hand, he draws my attention to tiny details. “There’s a little deer with antlers like yours, and there’s a butterfly with wings somewhat like mine. And there’s a wee little hen. I reckon that stands for Robbie. And on the other side…” He turns it over before he continues. “There’s a bird, for Sparrow, and another bird for whichever twin might be the wild one of the day. Pay no mind to this horribly fat porcupine eating grass. Or is it a raccoon throwing up? You could paint over that, I suppose.”

“It is perfect.”

“And it’s the shape of a heart. To remind you that you have my heart, Sabella.”

“I’m sorry, but ugh ,” Robbie interjects, eyes still shut. “How utterly unoriginal.”

In spite of Robbie’s interruption, my actual, non-wooden heart is skipping like a flat rock over the surface of an endless lake.

“Go back to sleep, Rob.” Calder says. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. In his eyes, there is such longing. If we were alone, I think he would try to kiss me—and I believe I would allow it.

Mother’s stern voice warns me inside my head: Flee now, foolish girl. But I refuse to heed her advice.

“I mean it,” Calder says softly. “My heart is yours.”

Flustered, I say, “Thank you.” And it sounds more like a question than an answer. How can he offer me his heart when we know so little of each other? Yet I can no longer deny that my feelings for him are strong.

“I dislike you both very much,” Robbie says. He sits up and throws a pillow at Calder. It bounces off the arm of the couch. “Separately, you’re tolerable, but together you’re more nauseating than Yonaz’s turnip pie.”

Calder tosses the pillow back. It collides with Robbie’s chest. Robbie raises his arm, aims, and prepares to return fire.

I rise from the couch. “I’m going upstairs before you boys break something.” I take half a step and Calder catches my hand to stop me.

“Wait. I’ll see you to your door,” he says.

“Good night and good riddance to you both,” Robbie says.

“Good night, Robbie. Sleep well,” I say.

Calder follows me toward the staircase. In my hand, I clench the pretty wooden heart. I am warm through and through in spite of the draft that whistles through the hallway like a forlorn ghost.