The Springborn

CALDER

A fter I let Robbie win and he fails to crow about his brilliance, I realize something must be done to distract him from his worries. “Let’s go out for some air,” I say cheerfully.

“I’d rather not,” Robbie says.

“Come on, Rob. A change in scenery will be good for us all.” I stand as well as I can in this blasted wagon, and tug him by the jacket. He grunts and murmurs but gets to his feet.

“I’ll come along, if you don’t mind,” Sabella says.

Near the door, Robbie stoops to shove his feet into his silly boots again. “Please do, Sabella. Calder will only tease me to no end about Cleona if you don’t.”

I press a hand to my heart in feigned bafflement. “When have I ever?”

Robbie opens his mouth to answer, but Sabella says, “No more of that, boys.” And we obey her.

And so Robbie, Sabella, and I venture outside. Sweet Pea the goat comes along, and immediately goes to work nosing hedges and gnawing off twigs, while Branna remains inside the wagon, minding sleeping Sparrow and sickly Yonaz.

Not a cloud mars the sky. Beyond the paths Robbie and I shoveled, snow drifts range from knee-high to shoulder-deep. The afternoon light makes the snow sparkle like spilled treasure. I suck in a deep breath for courage and reach for Sabella’s hand as we follow Robbie along the short pathway to the snow-walled horse corral. When her mitten-covered fingers clasp mine, happiness lights up my insides like I swallowed a star.

“I’m sorry,” she says. And I can scarcely believe my ears.

“For what?”

She darts a glance at me before returning her gaze to the landscape. “For being nosy before, and irritable. You have every right to talk, or not talk, about your wings.”

“Let’s leave all that behind, shall we? This is much better.” I squeeze her fingers. I’m smiling like a fool, but I do not care one jot.

“A hundred times better,” she says. There’s contentment in her voice, and relief.

I slow my pace to buy us more time to talk and to be as alone as we’re likely to be anytime soon. The distance between us and Robbie lengthens. A chickadee lands on Sabella’s antlers but quickly changes its mind about its choice of branches. It dives off and lands with a squeak on the snow. Sabella’s laughter spills out to sweeten the world like honey.

“I’ve missed you. And us,” I say. “Blazes, I never want to get into an actual fight with you.” The thought of losing her, the very thought, is as dreadful as imagining the fire and brimstone of Doomsday.

She laughs again. “Never fighting might be too lofty a goal.”

“Nothing wrong with aiming for the stars.”

Boldness strikes me like lightning. Or maybe it’s recklessness. Regardless, I let the words gush out of my mouth. “I know you’ve said you have to put Sparrow first. And maybe I haven’t been much help with her up until now, but I want to help more, if you’ll allow it. When we reach our new home, we can have a new beginning, the three of us.”

“I would like that, if it’s possible.”

“It is! Let me prove it to you.”

She shakes her head and says, “It isn’t you I doubt. I meant if it’s possible for Sparrow. If she keeps aging so quickly, in a few months she could be…gone.”

“If I can do anything about that, you know I will,” I vow. “Anything.”

“I know that.”

“Worrying won’t add an hour to her life or to yours,” I say. “At least that’s what Yonaz tells Robbie ten times a day.”

“I do not deny it’s true, but…”

“It isn’t easy.” I let go of her hand and wrap my arm around her. My palm settles on the curve of her waist. She leans her head over so her cheek brushes my shoulder as we walk. Somehow she does this without poking me with her antlers.

I think, I would do anything for you . But this sentiment I keep to myself. I hoard it along with the other sappy things I plan to say to her in the future as I hold her in my arms—in a warmer place.

A gust of wind ruffles my coat. The paper envelope in my pocket crinkles enough to remind me it is still there. Guilt sours my stomach. I should give the letter to Sabella. Right away.

I just can’t.