Page 25 of The Starling and the Hatter

She was in the back of the tent with my father, helping him cut out fabric pieces.

It had been three years, and still she thought she had to earn her keep. No matter how many times we told her otherwise, she didn’t seem to believe that she was part of us now, that we wanted her for her and not for the extra help she could provide. I just shook my head and didn’t say anything. She didn’t like it when we told her she didn’t need to do so much, and she liked it even less when we thanked her. The number of times I’d heard her say, “It’s the least I can do” was far too many to count.

I heard her come up behind me as I pulled a thimble from the pouch on my belt but kept working, even when she leaned over my shoulder, her loose braid bumping against my back.

“You make such pretty things,” she said with a sigh, her breath puffing against my neck.

My fingers froze as want curled inside me. It didn’t help that she crossed her arms and rested them on my shoulder before settling her chin on her wrists and leaning into my back.

“Do you think you’ll finish it today?” she asked, and I felt her turn her head to look at me, which meant that if I were to turn and look at her, the only logical next move would be to kiss her. Instead I cleared my throat and made my fingers continue with the stitching.

“I do, yes.” I’d do anything for you. Just ask, and I’ll go to the end of the kingdom for it. I inwardly sighed. If my friends knew how I pined, they’d call me a sop for sure. But they didn’t know the agony of having the woman you love right there, and yet not within reach.

Elise reached forward to finger the bits of lace that I was using to create the illusion of feathers. “This is going to be marvelous.”

I puffed up at the compliment, and when she left to go sing her songs, I was both relieved and heartbroken by her absence.

I finished the work on the hat, and when she returned that evening, I presented it to her with a flourish.

“It’s perfect!” she exclaimed and immediately set it on her head, turning this way and that to show me from all angles. “How does it look?”

“Beautiful.” Ethereal, lovely. Not the hat. Her.

“Thank you, Hatch,” she said, and I braced myself against the bittersweetness of having her pop up on her toes and kiss my cheek. It never got easier.

“You’re welcome,” I said and we both got to work. There was dinner to be made and eaten, and then we’d start packing the tent for the journey to Duskmoor.

9

Elise

Our week in Duskmoor had been good for all of us. The skies had threatened rain two of the days, but each storm had obligingly blown over. We heard that the weather as a whole had been kind to Duskmoor this year. Crops had been plentiful, which meant many villagers were not only feeling happy to celebrate their harvest, but also seemed to have a few more coins to spare than usual.

It was the morning of our last day in Duskmoor, and I was standing on the little wooden stool that I used to give myself extra height, deep in the middle of my most popular song story when I spotted him.

He was standing in the crowd, his arms folded over his chest, a smile on his face.

Robert White.

I stuttered in the midst of the song but managed to pull my eyes away from his and continue with my tale. Each time I glanced back, he was still there, still in the same position, smiling as he watched me.

It was a pleasant surprise to see him, a friend from the past, but it was also disconcerting. I’d been vigilant in looking out for my brothers, and even though the entire week had passed and they clearly weren’t here, I’d kept my veiled hat on to obscure my identity. But seeing Robert here was a surprise, especially so late in the week. Could there be others here that I’d known from my days traveling the southern route? I fully anticipated seeing familiar faces in Murrwood since that was the village visited by performers from both the northern and southern routes. Not all of the southerners made the extra effort to be in Murrwood, but enough that their presence was not odd. However, I had not expected to see any of them here in Duskmoor. Were there any others that I knew who had wandered this festival without me seeing them? The idea of someone recognizing me and getting word to my brothers made my gut clench. Would there be tales told of finding the recalcitrant, wandering sister? The lost starling? But as I scanned the crowd again and again, I never saw any other familiar faces from my years traveling down south. My anxiety eased. It was only Robert.

And it had clearly been an age since I’d seen him. He was handsome now. He had not been handsome before, I was almost sure of that. There was a confidence to the lift of his brow and a strength in his shoulders that sent a distinct shiver down my spine. I hoped he would stay until the end. He would wait and speak to me, wouldn’t he? Robert had been the last person from my old life that I’d spoken to. Surely his presence and his smile were a good omen, an indication of good things to come.

As I reached the pinnacle of the song, I pulled my gaze from his, concentrating on singing about how the Starling flew high, high into the sky, the fearsome dragon chasing after her with the steady, thrumming beat of its wings pounding over and over. My voice rose with it and I reached toward the sky, toward freedom with my right hand while the other stretched to my side, displaying the full array of plumage that adorned not only my cape, but my dress as well. The dragon grew closer and my singing became more frantic. Then I lifted my left hand higher, causing the cloak to fall behind my shoulder, revealing the swath of bright red fabric at my side. In that moment, I cut my voice off. I swayed, a look of confusion and pain in my eyes as I slowly lowered my head to look down upon the wound.

The crowd surrounding me had fallen silent, some even holding their breath. Then my voice broke the stillness, the note high and keening, but quiet.

So long I’ve fled the monster

So long my life has been

But now my days are over

My wings are weak and thin

Mother Moon, take me home