The Springborn

SABELLA

JUNE 4, 1886

MORNING

R obins chirp merrily outside the bedroom window to announce that morning has dawned. Rhys’s arm is thrown over my chest and his small body nestles against my side. He sleeps deeply, his breaths slow and even. I remember climbing into bed with him last night, how he grabbed hold of me with both hands and sobbed until sleep overtook him.

The red-brown, spotted fawn Branna rests atop the blankets near the foot of the bed. Her ears flick now and then as if she’s dreaming of bothersome flies.

I might have slept for an hour all told. Delphine was correct in her assumption that sleeping is difficult when stiff antlers branch out from one’s head—especially when one is also secured to the bedpost by an unyielding vine, and bedmates with a restless boy and a fidgety deer.

A dew-dampened draft of air wafts into the musty bedroom. Delphine left the windowpane raised a few inches, trusting the bars beyond it and the vine tether to prevent my escape. The sound of flapping wings quickens my heartbeat as I imagine Cleona visiting in the form of an eagle or raven. That daydream dissipates when I remember the twins cannot change unless they are together—and that one of them must always be human. They cannot be fawn and bird, only fawn and girl.

A yellow flower bursts open on the vine where it crosses my ribcage, a poorly placed ornament on my filthy lavender and white dress. The flower makes me miss Sparrow more than I already did. Her fascination with botany is deep—although she would not appreciate this particular plant’s habit of holding people captive.

Delphine knocks once and enters without waiting to being invited. “Time to rise, Sabella. I must say I am quite looking forward to having someone else cook my breakfast.”

She unfastens the vine from the bedpost and holds it like a leash while she waits for me to get up. I gently lift Rhys’s arm and set it on the pillow, determined not to wake him. My antlers scrape the headboard as I roll off the bed and scramble to find my feet, but Rhys does not stir. Branna eyes me forlornly and then rests her dainty, furred chin on Rhys’s foot.

“Graceful you are not.” Delphine taunts me with a grin as I struggle to regain my balance. What does she expect from me after scanty sleep and almost a day without food? It takes all my willpower not to scowl at her.

We go downstairs. The big room is quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire. My eyes scan the room for Calder. Until I see him, I hold my breath. But there he is, sitting perfectly still on the floor near the fireplace. The vine that binds his wrists swoops up to encircle his throat on its way to an iron hook meant for the hanging of a kettle. He stares at the coals in the hearth. I imagine he’s spent the night wracking his brain for some notion of how to get out of this predicament.

“Get up, Calder,” Delphine demands. His body jerks like she’s startled him. “There’s a spring house at the edge of the back garden. Fill the buckets and bring the water into the kitchen. The vine will allow you to go only that far, so do not attempt any foolishness. Death by choking would be a gruesome way to start the day.”

“Could I perhaps borrow the use of my hands if I’m to carry buckets?” Calder asks in a strained but polite tone. Delphine waves her hand and utters a few syllables. Part of the vine unwinds from his wrists then reattaches itself as a cuff on his left upper arm.

Calder’s gaze passes over me as if he’s looking for signs of injury. Our eyes meet for half a second—long enough to strengthen my resolve to get all of us out of this mess. There is so much I want to say to Calder, to shout at him, to whisper to him. He abandons his makeshift bed and walks toward the door, the vine at his throat lengthening with each step to accommodate his movement.

“Sausage and eggs are in the pantry,” Delphine says to me. “Summon me when the meal is ready.” She leaves me to my task, scaling the steps with slow grace. I hear her bedroom door shut, and I sigh. Her absence is a relief.

As Delphine’s kitchen has no cookstove, I must try my hand at fireplace cookery. I hang a shallow, cast iron pot from one of the hooks dangling over the fire and wait for it to heat so I can fry the sausages and eggs. If Delphine expects a fine, well-cooked breakfast, she is about to be greatly disappointed.

Calder returns with buckets sloshing. “My word, I’m hungry,” he says—as if that were our worst problem. The buckets clunk against the stone floor when he sets them down.

“I hope you like burnt sausages and charred eggs, then,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at him before dropping a glob of butter into the pot. It hisses and bubbles. The scent of it makes my stomach grumble.

“Where’s Delphine?” Calder asks.

“Upstairs.”

He crosses the room to join me by the fireplace. “Have you come upon any cleavers or hatchets to use on these blasted vines?” he whispers. “If she hadn’t taken my pocketknife, I could have gotten away the first day.” he whispers. Frowning, he scratches the red welt the vine has left on his throat.

“No. I’ve checked the entire kitchen.” I tip the dish of raw sausages into the pot and they sizzle alluringly.

“I saw nothing useful in the back garden, either.” He peers into the pot as if it contains a leprechaun’s golden bounty rather than a few morsels of meat.

“Rhys and Branna aren’t tethered,” I say, rolling the sausages over with a long-handled fork. “But there are vines securing the doors, and bars on all the windows; they could not escape any easier than we could.”

“There has to be a way out. Think. How can we use our gifts to thwart hers?”

The sound of Delphine’s footstep on a creaky step brings our conversation to an end. “Why is breakfast not yet on the table?” she says. “Does the boy distract you too much, Sabella? Need I tether him elsewhere?”

“Sausage takes time to cook,” I say as matter-of-factly as I can. I bustle over to fetch the bowl of brown eggs from the table—and make no reply to her comments about Calder.

“Say what you will, I think you’re dawdling,” Delphine says. “Calder, go upstairs and wake the children or it shall be noon before we eat. Clearly, this girl finds your charms overwhelming.”

I clench my fists as I stare into the fire. The woman is exasperating in every way.

After Calder leaves the room, Delphine gives me a threatening glare. “Did I interrupt your plotting when I appeared? Do not think you’ll leave this place unless I allow it. Every plant and tree within a mile of here is under my command.”

I whack one eggshell hard against the rim of the pot and then another, expressing my frustration in a way that will not buy me more trouble. Unfortunately, I believe she is telling the truth about the plants. We may be well and truly stuck here.

Yonaz might be able to find and rescue us—if Sparrow has had success in healing him. He has known Delphine for years. He knew her when she was the guardian of the Springborn instead of a threat to them. To us .

But hoping for rescue feels as futile as wishing on a distant star.