The Springborn

SABELLA

MARCH 10, 1886

MORNING

S omeone knocks on the bedroom door before dawn, and I know before the door swings open that it is Calder.

I am wide awake, washed, and dressed, but Sparrow is nestled between Branna and fur-clad Cleona. They sleep like sisters, arms and legs sprawled over one another. I should have woken them all an hour ago. Instead, I’ve been packing their trunk, relishing the last bit of silence before our journey. And arguing with myself about giving up Calder. My intellect demands that we revert to being friends, but my heart insists upon the opposite.

The door clicks shut behind Calder. Yes, I was awake before, but now I am more than awake. I cross the room to meet him, hardly daring to breathe lest I awaken the sleepers. He and I may not have another private moment together for a while. I should voice my doubts to him, but in his presence, my heart wrestles my good sense to the ground and pummels it unconscious.

We stand two feet apart, facing one another. His hungry look makes my pulse race. Carefully, as if approaching something dangerous, he takes a step toward me. He reaches up to trace the curve of one of my antlers. “You look like the queen of the forest,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to be queen,” I whisper in reply.

He steps closer and cradles my elbows in his hands. He presses his forehead to mine and shuts his eyes. His breath brushes my face. His hands, still cupping my elbows, tremble almost imperceptibly. “Doesn’t matter. You rule me. I can think of nothing but you all day. You and me, and the life we could share.”

“I think of us, too,” I confess. Perhaps I should not have, but here in the near-darkness, so close to him, I lose all good sense.

“Us,” he says. His eyes are still closed, but he’s smiling. “I like the sound of that.” And then his fingers slide to my shoulder blades, and his head tips to one side, and I cannot think, I only want him to kiss me—but a giggle comes from the bed. We spring apart.

“Go on,” Branna says. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“We were only talking,” I say.

“Didn’t look like talking to me. Looked like you?—”

“Where’s that saw, Sabella?” Calder interrupts. The candlelight isn’t dim enough to hide the beet-red of his cheeks. I point underneath my bed, and he fetches the tool. “We’d best get on with the sawing. Yonaz is waiting for your trunks, and he’s always ill-tempered when forced to rise before the sun.”

I sit on the chair near the fireplace and submit to the blade, half dizzy from our almost-kiss.

“Now, good thoughts,” Calder says. “Close your eyes. We’re in a boat on a blue lake, surrounded by water lilies and paddling turtles…”

His voice enthralls me as he continues. I lose myself in his imaginary world. No tears slip from my eyes as he works the blade. I hardly notice when the first antler comes off.

He stops sawing. The second antler breaks free. I look up at him. He holds the saw in one hand, the silver-gray antler in the other. His face is pained and remorseful.

“Don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault,” I say. I stand and take the antler from him. Perhaps he’s imagining how it would feel to lose his wings every morning. “It doesn’t hurt me, remember?”

He looks unconvinced as he hands me the antlers. I hold them to my chest and confess, “I’ve been hiding these under the bed."

“I wondered. Rob and I will haul the lot out to the woods before we take to the road.”

“You might have to make two or three trips, unless you find a big crate to carry them in. I should have been sneaking them out and burying them all along, but Darlis and Sparrow kept me busy all the hours heaven sent.”

“No need to apologize.”

Across the room, Branna yawns loudly and stretches her arms wide. “What time is it?”

“Time to leave,” Calder says dryly. “Get dressed or prepare to be tossed into the wagon in your nightdress.”

“Calder Hadrian! What a scandalous thing to say!” Branna says.

He points to a closed trunk. “Is that one ready to go?”

“It is,” I say. “And the others will be as soon as these slugabed girls are dressed.”

Calder lifts the trunk and I hurry to open the door for him. “Thank you for…everything,” I say as he passes by. I’m probably blushing more than he is, but I don’t care one jot.

“You’re welcome for everything. And almost everything.” He kisses my cheek and heads for the stairs. I place my fingertips over the place where his lips pressed against my skin, wishing to safeguard the kiss forever.

“Shut the door, Sabella! You’re letting a draft in,” Branna shouts, causing the baby and the dog to whimper.

If there is a draft, I fail to notice it. Heaven help me.