The Springborn

SABELLA

W hen we reach the corral, Calder must take his hand from my waist in order to work. It is like surrendering a bit of happiness. But I am still happy. All is well between us. The day is bright, and I am determined not to worry about Sparrow—for as long as I can manage such a feat.

Winter birds serenade us as we gather fallen branches and build a fire in the far corner of the corral. We’ll melt snow into water for drinking once the flames settle down. Perhaps we could brew some pine needle tea, as well. It might do Yonaz some good. Mother used to dose me with this simple brew when I had a cold as a child.

The shrill cry of a falcon rends the air. I lose my grip on a handful of sticks. They scatter onto the snow, dark slashes of gray and brown on white.

We tip our heads back and peer toward the bright heavens.

Robbie waves both arms over his head. “Cleona!”

The bird swoops to land on a tree branch, a few feet away from us. She blinks wise, black eyes at Robbie. “It’s her,” he says. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll fetch Branna,” I say.

But Branna must have heard her sister’s call, for she is already jumping down from the wagon. She runs along the hard-packed path, her cape flying behind her.

Calder claps a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “See? Cleona is fine. Quite a pair of bird legs she has, too. If you fancy bird legs, that is.”

“I don’t know why we’re friends. I really don’t,” Robbie says, but his face conveys nothing but joy. “And I do fancy that sort of thing, if it’s any of your business.”

Branna offers an outstretched arm and the falcon swoops to perch there. “Sister,” Branna says. She kisses Cleona’s feathered head and lays one hand on her back before she closes her eyes. Her face is still and peaceful, as if she is praying.

“They’re speaking without words,” Robbie whispers. “They can always communicate like this, animal to girl and girl to animal. It’s part of their gift.”

I have lived with the twins long enough to know this about them, but I simply nod, not wanting to break the silence.

Branna turns to face us. The falcon remains steady on her arm, a majestic and dangerous- looking adornment. “Sister says there’s a town about three miles to the west, as well as a farm a little farther to the north,” Branna says. “All the roads are still too snowy for the wagons, but the terrain looks fairly flat between here and the farm. A horse could probably manage a journey there. But going to the town would mean hiking a steep mountain pass.”

“That settles it,” Calder says. “I’ll ride Mervyn out and find the farm. If I leave right away, I could arrive there before nightfall. If all goes well, I might even return tonight with provisions.”

“Yonaz is worsening,” Branna says. “I think he should go with you. If the farmer has any goodness in his heart, he’ll let the man stay and warm his bones for a day or two.”

Robbie steps forward. “I’ll share a horse with Yonaz and help keep him steady. I don’t weigh much, so Mervyn won’t mind. You’ll have to ride Maeve, Cald. She likes you best, anyway.”

“True enough,” Calder says. “I’ll ready the horses if you go prepare Yonaz.”

Cleona launches herself from Branna’s arm and flies above us in a wide circle. “I’ll help with Yonaz, too,” Branna says. She and Calder head toward the wagon. I follow Calder and, boldly, catch him by the hand.

“You are going to miss me,” Calder says, swinging my arm.

“So you can read my mind as Branna reads Cleona’s?”

“I’ll never tell.”

The four horses lift their heads and snort. Perhaps they hope we’re bringing their supper. Calder has been rationing their feed, but I doubt much remains.

“At this precise moment, for example,” Calder says, “you’re thinking you want to kiss me goodbye properly while no one is looking.” He spins me around so we’re face to face and wraps his arms around my back.

I look into his smug, handsome face, loath to admit that he is right. “Am I now? I thought I was thinking how arrogant you are, and wondering why in the world I would ever entertain the attentions of such a person. In truth, I was going to tell you to hurry back so that the rest of us won’t freeze or starve.”

“No.” He cocks his head and moves a step closer, close enough that I can see the clouds of his exhalations. “You wouldn’t bother thinking any of that nonsense because you know full well we’ll leave you with plenty of firewood and all that’s left of the food. And you know that we’ll be back so fast you’ll wonder if we’ve used magic.”

On the trees and the ground, the snow sparkles like a million tiny diamonds. The sky is a startling shade of bright blue. The breeze seems to hold its breath. In a nearby hedgerow, a few little birds sing. One of the horses snorts. Everything feels a hundred times more real than usual, as if perceived through an enormous magnifying glass.

“Honestly?” I brush an eyelash off his cheekbone with my mitten. Can I say it? I shush the imaginary, scolding voice of my disapproving mother and inch closer to him.

“Yes. Always.”

My cheeks burn with blushes. I look at his chin instead of his eyes. “I would not mind if you kissed me goodbye.”

“You’re sure, Sabella?” I would still almost swear he adds magic to the syllables of my name, if not for the endearing hint of insecurity in his tone. It was in his voice when he asked me if I wanted to see his wings—something little-boyish and sincere.

“Yes,” I say.

He rests one hand on the base of my neck and draws my mouth toward his. I shut my eyes and anticipate the kiss. Instead, he rests his forehead against mine. “Absolutely sure?”

Enough. I stand on tiptoe and press my mouth to his. At first, he laughs. And then he pulls me closer. The kiss is everything I’d hoped for, all sweetness and yearning. I am full of starshine and poetry, a million shared possibilities and aspirations. My palms cradle his face and I kiss him more fervently, losing all track of time and place.

He steps back and ends the kiss. “Whoa there,” he says softly. He rubs his lower lip. “I think you did me an injury.”

“Oh, no! I’m sorry.”

Calder grins. “I’ll live.”

“I shouldn’t have?—”

“Please don’t be sorry,” Calder says. Rarely has he looked more serious. “Don’t regret what was probably the most perfect kiss in the history of the universe.” He gathers both my hands in his and holds them to his chest. His eyes are hazy as he gazes into mine. “I love you, Sabella.”

My breath catches. Seeing his wings stunned me less than hearing these words.

“Calder! Hurry and bring the horse,” Robbie shouts from behind us. “Yonaz is ready.”

Unable to meet his gaze, I focus on the scarf at his throat. “Calder…”

“I mean it, Sabella. I love you. You don’t have to answer in kind. In fact, I don’t want you to say it until you know it’s true.”

“Calder Hadrian, let that poor girl go and bring the darned horse over here before the blasted sun goes down!” Robbie demands.

“Keep your ridiculous bird boots on!” Calder replies. He kisses my forehead and takes a few steps toward the horses. “Lead Maeve for me?”

“Of course.”

Maeve and I follow Calder and Mervyn. My knees quake in the aftermath of the kiss and his confession. Why was I so taken aback by hearing him say those words aloud? And why could I not find it in me to respond likewise?

I am in love with him, but is that the same as actually loving him?

I stare at the back of his heavy tweed coat, searching for evidence of his wings but finding none. Am I drawn to him because of them, because I know he understands how it feels to be different? Or is it because he cherishes me—when no one has ever valued me before? Or because his kisses—even the chaste, bird-peck ones—melt whatever sense I have?

Or, might I love him for himself, as I rightly should—and as he deserves?

I squint up at the sun, searching for an answer it will not give.