A man rushing past him startled him. Someone else bumped lightly into him, sending his heart into a frenzy.
“It’s all right. You’ve nothing to fear,” she said.
He sucked in a breath when she brushed his fingers. Surely a casual gesture. But when she slid her hand into his, his pulse spiked.
She was staring ahead, and he did the same. Her hand in his felt both reassuring and serious, like a responsibility. He hoped he wasn’t holding her hand with too much strength.
His heartbeat slowed, and warmth spread from his palm to his chest. Slowly he breathed normally, inhaling the combination of different scents—coal dust, horse dung, and freshly baked bread.
No one paid him the slightest bit of attention. People rushed past him, busy with their errands, without stopping to sneer or point at him. Crowds had always been given to insults and cruelty. The lack of interest in him was a welcome change. He’d never been happier to be ignored.
“Better?” She tugged at his hand.
He nodded.
The park distracted him again. Tall, leafy trees swayed their canopies in the breeze. Green grass stretched in front of him seemingly forever, and birds sang while flying across the sky—the ultimate freedom.
She let his hand go, and the loss of her touch was as painful as one of Murdock’s beatings.
“This is The Regent’s Park.” She gestured around. “One of the most famous parks in London, but not the largest. Richmond Park holds that record.”
“Is there a park bigger than this one?”
“Much bigger. The main path in Richmond Park is more than seven miles long.”
Seven miles. He wasn’t sure how much that was, but for her sake, he pretended to be impressed. The end of the park wasn’t visible. London was big indeed.
She tugged at his sleeve. “And that circular stone thingamabob is the Griffin Tazza, also known as the Lion Vase.”
He stopped in front of the statues of four winged lions balancing a large bowl over their backs. Red flowers grew at the base while blue flowers sprouted out of the bowl. So many colours!
“Sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t think about…you’re probably tired of hearing the wordlion.”
“I’m not hurt,” he signed slowly, wanting her to understand. “I trust you.”
She gave him a graceful nod.
The breeze caressing his cheeks and ruffling his hair was the best gift of his newfound freedom. The gravel path weaved through trimmed bushes and fountains. Maybe the view was mundane for Vivienne, but the variety of colours, scents, and lights overwhelmed his senses in a good way. Life pumped through his veins, and for once, the energy flowing through him wasn’t fear, anger, or the result of a potion.
They stopped where a crowd had gathered around two street performers. An actor in a fine tailored suit played the role of a lord while the other his clumsy servant.
He laughed as the servant kept dropping the tray with the tea cups or tripping on his feet. But when the lord raised his walking stick to hit the servant, he stopped breathing for a moment.
Cold sweat trickled down his back. He winced every time the lord hit the servant, even though the beating wasn’t real and the servant’s groans sounded phoney.
A phantom pain burned his back, and the familiar anger and sense of impotence crawled over him like an army of ants.
The face of the actor became that of Murdock, twisted in anger, his beady eyes glinting. The laughter of the audience mocked him. The sunlight vanished, replaced by the darkness of his cage.
No, he would never, ever go back to the circus. He’d rather die than be caged again.
He spun on his heels, crunching the gravel, and ran away. A buzzing noise rang in his ears, turning into Murdock’s icy voice.
You belong to me.
No, he didn’t.
You’re a beast.
