The Springborn

SABELLA

JUNE 7, 1886

MIDDAY

I toss the sodden dish towel onto the counter and brush a damp lock of hair out of my eyes. With some kind of enchantment, Delphine keeps her home as humid as a greenhouse, and I’ve just finished washing the dishes from the midday meal in a basin of steamy suds. I feel as if I’m actually melting—yet slumped in her chair by the hearth, Delphine dozes, unbesmirched by a single drop of sweat.

Rhys and Branna were sent to play in the shade of the apple trees after lunch, and I envy them greatly. If I hurry to put the dishes away, I might be able to join them for a while before Delphine assigns me more work. There could be a breeze out there. How I long for a nice breeze.

Over at the table, Calder mutters something. I glance in his direction. A small, yellow blossom has burst forth from the vine encircling his upper arm. Its color is jarring and out of place in this cheerless kitchen. Calder doesn’t notice, as he’s busy scowling at a spoon while scrubbing at it with a gray cloth. Before him, a pile of tarnished flatware awaits his attention. At this rate, he might not finish before Christmas.

Through the open windows, I hear a male voice calling out from a distance.

Delphine does not stir, but Calder drops the spoon and jumps out of his chair. “Sabella,” he says breathlessly. “It’s Yonaz. It has to be.”

I freeze in place. “What should we do?”

The man shouts again. This time, his accented words are intelligible. “Delphine! Come out and show yourself!”

Delphine awakens with a snort. She sits up straight. “Who woke me?”

“Delphine!” Yonaz calls again.

She inhales sharply. For half a second, she looks surprised, but then her face hardens. “Stay here,” she commands Calder and me, as if our vine restraints would allow us to do otherwise. And then she strides out the front door with her head held high, like a queen on her way to meet her inferiors.

“What should we do?” I ask Calder again. My heart races so fast that I feel sick.

Calder shrugs, a gesture which does not inspire confidence. “Hope Yonaz can reason with her? I have no idea beyond that. Without a way to sever these vines, we’re stuck.”

An idea strikes me. “Let me try,” I say, reaching up to test the sharpness of one of the points on my antlers. Perhaps I could use it to break through the vine. I lift my vine-shackled wrist and incline my neck as I attempt to align the point and the plant.

“Brilliant idea,” Calder says. “Here. Let me help.” He holds my hand and directs the angle of my antlers. I feel the point puncture the vine. Pain shoots through my neck as Calder yanks and maneuvers the antler, but now is not the time to complain of discomfort.

After a minute, he lets go. “Blast. It isn’t going to work. The plant keeps healing itself somehow. Now what?”

I straighten and rub my aching neck. “We must keep thinking. Trying. Meanwhile, I’m going to the orchard to tell Rhys and Branna that Yonaz is here. They need to be ready to flee if the chance comes.”

But they must have already heard Yonaz’s voice, for they scamper in through the back door, tracking mud all over the wooden floor with bare feet and hooves. Rhys skids into Calder. “Yonaz is here,” he says. “I heard him. We’re saved!”

“Whoa,” Calder says. “It might not be as easy as that. You must stay calm and pay close attention to whatever instructions Sabella and I give you. Can you do that, Rhys? It’s very important.”

The joy in Rhys’s face shifts to somberness. He nods his assent.

I pat the soft black curls between his tiny goat horns. “Try not to be afraid. Yonaz is clever. He will do everything he can to help us. Now, why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a slice of cake?”

The boy climbs into a chair at the table. He watches me fetch the cake, his head cocked like he’s pondering something important. Branna lies at his feet like a watchdog.

“Do you think my horns will get as big as your antlers?” he asks as I set the plate before him.

“I do not. But if they do, you’ll get used to them.”

“Are you finally used to them?” Calder asks me. His tone is so gentle and sincere that it prods all the butterflies in my gut awake—butterflies I worked so hard to evict. A resurgence of girlish infatuation is the last thing I need at this moment. My skin goes cold and then hot.

I do not know how to answer.

I am used to my antlers in the sense that my neck has become accustomed to bearing their meager weight. I am used to them in that I can sometimes forget their presence atop my head. But am I used to them being always there? Could I live every day of my life from now until death without once wishing them gone, never again begging someone to saw them off? Even if I were not in a state over Yonaz’s appearance, I do not believe I could rightly say.

“Is there any milk?” Rhys asks.

“A little.” I hurry to fill a tin cup, thankful for an excuse to delay answering Calder’s question.

Calder walks past me to the open window and angles his head, trying to catch the sound of Delphine and Yonaz’s conversation.

The butterflies begin to settle down. I hand the cup to Rhys, then cross the room to stand behind Calder at the window.

He says, “It’s hard to see anything through the trees. I only catch glimpses. They’re awfully quiet, whatever that means.”

“Look.” I point over his shoulder at Delphine and Yonaz. “They’re coming this way.” Yonaz is dressed in a suit of burgundy silk, with a black cravat knotted at his throat—as if he is paying an afternoon call rather than staging a rescue.

Calder glances back at me again. “Um… Perhaps you could step aside so I might move away from the window? Delphine probably would not appreciate being spied upon by her prisoners.”

I am suddenly aware of how close I’ve been standing to him. He’s all but pinned to the windowsill. Mortified, I take a huge step backward, catch my foot in the hem of my dress, and fall hard onto my posterior.

Now doubly mortified, I clench my eyes shut and wait for Calder’s laughter. Instead, I hear him ask, “Are you all right, Sabella?”

When I open my eyes, he’s crouched next to me.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Good. You frightened me for a second. Your face went white as milk. May I help you up?”

I nod. He cups my elbows with his hands and pulls me to my feet—as Delphine strides into the room. “Dancing, are we?”

Calder releases me and steps away. “She fell.”

Delphine sneers. “Of course. Conveniently into your arms. You need not tell me tales, Calder. I’m well aware of the little romance between you.” Yonaz comes alongside her. She gestures in our direction. “Here are your friends, safe and sound.”

Rhys rushes to Yonaz, embraces him hard, and sobs. Yonaz pats his dark curls. “You’re safe now. No need to cry.” The fawn, Branna, totters over and rubs her cheek on Yonaz’s side.

“Untie Sabella and Calder immediately,” Yonaz demands. “They could not breach your enchanted hedges if they tried.”

“You know I will do almost anything you ask, my dearest, after you deliver the last of the three, as agreed,” Delphine says.

“I have changed my mind,” Yonaz says.

“You would betray our pact and our plans? You would betray me after all this time?”

Yonaz’s face and neck redden as everyone in the room eyes him. His accent grows thicker as he says, “I am choosing not to betray the children. There is a difference.”

Rhys must sense the burgeoning tension between Yonaz and Delphine, for he abandons Yonaz to cling to Calder. Branna scampers after the boy.

“It matters not whether I take the girl or you bring her willingly, dearest.” Delphine’s voice is soothing, her smile gentle. “I will see the plan to fruition. Let the burden of it be upon my soul, if you must. In the end, you and I will be together. You will forget the children as you bask in my glory and our love.” She moves closer to Yonaz and lays a hand on his arm. “I have missed you.”

He looks unmoved by her speech, but I am utterly baffled. According to Calder, Yonaz has long been the caretaker of the Springborn. Delphine was touted as their oft-absent guardian and matriarch. It appears something darker is afoot, and has been for some time.

Yonaz says, “Prove your love to me by this: remove the bonds from Calder and Sabella and let them take the little ones home. We will find another way to?—”

“There is no other way!” Delphine tears her hand away from him. In anger, she loses none of her beauty, but gains the cold visage of an empress ready to lop off her enemies’ heads with her own sword.

She heaves a dramatic sigh, then says coyly, “Come, sit with me, Yonaz. Let us take a moment to compose ourselves. You may use the time to reconsider, my darling. To remember what has been between us and what will be—when you come to your senses once more.”

Delphine strides across the room and perches on a settee near a window. She takes a black lace fan from her pocket and flicks it open. She proceeds to fan herself languidly. I think she believes Yonaz will yield to her yet, and help her do whatever terrible thing she has in mind.

Calder and I exchange troubled looks. He scratches his neck under the edge of the vine there—which makes me notice the itchiness in my own vine-clad wrist.

Instead of sitting with Delphine, Yonaz starts to pace. Droplets of sweat glisten on his creased forehead. His lips move but no sound comes from them. Is he deciding whether or not to yield to Delphine, or is he trying to think of a way we all can escape her? Not knowing makes my stomach churn.

The air in the room becomes unnaturally still, and I swear I can hear the faint creak and crackle of the vines growing around us as Delphine broods. Even the vines tethering Calder and me lengthen and stretch looping tendrils along the floor.

Rhys pulls Calder close to me. Branna follows. The boy and the fawn are both trembling and wide-eyed.

“It will be all right,” I whisper to Rhys. “Let’s all go into the garden and make Branna a crown of dandelions while we wait for Yonaz.” The longer vines will allow Calder and me to wander outside without asking Delphine’s permission.

If we are lucky, Robbie is out there waiting to escort us away from this place. Yonaz got past the hedges somehow, so there must be a way for us to breach them and flee.

Slowly, as not to draw unwanted attention, we creep toward the door.