The Springborn

SABELLA

JUNE 13, 1886

EVENING

T he sun is inching down the red-orange sky, and the air is warm and weighted with the scent of honeysuckle. A few fireflies spark in the grass and trees. The world is a pretty place in this twilight hour, one in which I can almost forget my cares for a while.

Almost. Sometime before we return to the house, I plan to ask Calder to help me find a way to prolong Sparrow’s life. She is resigned to her fate, but I am not. And if given the chance, would she not choose to remain longer with us here?

Calder takes my hand and pulls me toward the hedge maze behind the house. I’ve seen the outside of the structure from the garden, but I’ve never ventured inside it.

“Does that remind you of Delphine’s terrible shrubberies, as it reminds me?” I ask.

Immediately, he stops walking and frowns. “For the love of… I did think it would be a romantic place to stroll—before you brought that up.”

One corner of his mouth quirks, so I can tell his annoyance is purely theatrical.

“It was a nice idea, I suppose.” Boldly, I lift our clasped hands and kiss his knuckles.

He grins rather wickedly. “It seems your ideas might be superior. What other thoughts have you been entertaining under those fine antlers?”

I pull him along the path. “I think of hats, mostly.”

“You, Miss Jenkins, are a dreadful liar.”

“I gather your thoughts are of a better quality. Greek architecture, the meaning of life, and such.”

We enter the maze. The walls are seven feet high and composed of some sort of fragrant evergreen. A path of white pebbles crunches under our feet. Nearby, a mourning dove coos.

I expect Calder to continue our banter, but he says seriously, “All of my thoughts are of you, if you want the truth of it.” He gives me a sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the corridor of greenery. “You with fireflies on your antlers, you whispering to baby Sparrow in the wagon, you in the inn kitchen at midnight with breadcrumbs stuck to your chin. Your face when you first saw my wings, all wonder and fascination. The scowl you wore when you first hated me in your parents’ kitchen.”

My heart beats wildly as we round a corner. The path narrows so my shoulder brushes against his as we continue moving forward. The air feels warmer although the sunlight is disappearing fast. I try to steer him back to the banter by saying, “I didn’t hate you then. That came later.”

He looks grim and replies, “Darkest days of my life.”

“Mine, too.”

“Because I do not want to revisit those days, I think I should tell you something.” He steps in front of me so we’re face to face. “Sparrow asked me to take her to the spring. The one Delphine used to give us our gifts.”

“You know where it is?”

He scratches his neck and looks guilty. “I do. It’s a fair distance from here. Delphine took me there when I was ten or eleven. She made me memorize the way, then forbade me from returning there. I never did figure out her purpose in it.”

I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “This is wonderful news. Don’t you see? If the waters can give gifts, maybe they can take them away. Maybe we can cure Sparrow by washing her in the spring.”

When he steps out of my arms, he looks far less happy than I expected. In fact, he looks glum. He says, “I hate to squash your hopes, but I have a feeling the spring doesn’t work like that.”

“We have to try.”

“I know.” He takes my hand and leads me to another sharp turn in the maze. “Well, the good news is that Sparrow has already asked me to take her. The bad news is that I can only take you when the moon is full. Certain markers appear then, spots on trees that glow along the path. Delphine didn’t need them for guidance, but I don’t have the magic she did.”

Disappointment unsettles my stomach. “It will be weeks before the next full moon.”

“I’m sorry, Sabella. Truly. In the meantime, we’ll do everything we can to keep her strong and in good spirits.”

I do not have a chance to answer before he leads me around another bend. The center of the maze comes into view. The sunset’s last red-orange light stains the scene. The space is larger than I’d expected and features a blue-tiled water fountain encircled by curved, stone benches.

Robbie is sitting on one of the benches. He startles when he sees us.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” Calder says. “You’re not looking well, my friend.”

“Oh. I just came here to think,” Robbie says as he stands. “I’ll go now.” His sharp cheekbones remind me of jutting cliffs, and dark crescents underscore his eyes. His bird feet have lost their bright color. We are all grieving the deaths of Branna and Yonaz, but he seems to be suffering most.

“Stay,” I say. “Tell us how we might help you.”

Robbie sits again, his posture slouched. Calder and I take places on either side of him. “Cleona changed,” he says to the ground. “Somehow she did it even without Branna beside her. And I’m worried she won’t change back this time.”

“Oh, Robbie.” I put my arm around him.

“She is a mourning dove now,” he says. “She was on my windowsill when I woke up this morning.” A small sob escapes him.

“She just needs time, Rob,” Calder says. “She’ll be a girl again when she’s ready, I’m sure of it. She loves you.”

Quietly, he weeps into his open palms. Calder gives him a handkerchief, pats on the back, and supportive silence. He sheds a tear or two of his own.

As we sit, I stare at the darkening sky above our heads. The stars come out one at a time, like shy children taking their places on a stage. It strikes me how much of life is change and loss. It creeps up on us warily or falls on our heads like an unexpected storm.

A bird flies over. I shield my eyes with my hand and recognize it as a dove. Our Cleona. She swoops to land at Robbie’s feet. I hold my breath as I wait for his response.

He sniffs, wipes his face with the handkerchief, then leans over and offers his hand. She hops into his palm. Her black eyes shine as she coos.

“She is beautiful, Robbie,” I say.

“Always has been,” he replies.

“I’m hungry,” Calder says—and I can tell by the look on his face that this comment comes not from insensitivity but compassion. Robbie might stay here all night unless we coax him into the house. “Did you know the cook made gingerbread cake today, Rob? We should get some before the boys gobble it all.”

Robbie does not resist when Calder takes his arm and helps him stand. Instead, he cautions, “Slowly. I don’t want to scare Cleona away.”

“Right,” Calder agrees. “You set the pace.”

The dove launches herself from the ground to Robbie’s shoulder. He runs a finger along her feathers. “Let’s go.”

I trail behind Robbie and Calder as we navigate the turns of the maze. Calder regales Robbie with tales of their past adventures. Now and then, I think I glimpse a smile on Robbie’s drawn face. And by the time we emerge from the hedges, I am so full of love for this kind, concerned Calder that I do not think I will be able to eat a single bite of the cook’s excellent cake.

“I will wait for her if it takes a hundred years,” Robbie vows just before we reach the house.

“Of course. I’d do the same if I were you,” Calder says. He looks over his shoulder and gives me a tender look I will not forget for a hundred years, or if heaven allows it, an eternity.