Page 69 of The Starling and the Hatter

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked as I held her tight, lending her all my strength.

Elise

It was them. They were here. There was no question about that. The wolf wagon was unique and unmistakable. If it was here in Winhaven, then my brothers were here as well.

The moment I spotted it, I’d turned to run. Instinct had taken over and I’d entirely forgotten that I was on my way to the palace as an invited guest of the Duke and Duchess of Winberg. My only thought had been to flee, so I’d turned to do just that, only to have Hatcher’s arms catch me. I clung to him, my face burrowed into his shoulder both for comfort and to hide my face. My quick breaths echoed in my ears as I willed my heart to calm. I must keep my wits about me if I were to avoid Daggon and Morley.

A moment ago, I’d been nervous but euphoric at the idea of going to the palace. Recognition from the sovereign rulers of our land would surely improve my ability to earn my living. Not only that, but I had Hatcher at my side. With his hand in mine and his comforting presence at my side, I’d almost been ready to tell him what I’d realized, to ask him if he could ever love me as more than a friend.

“Elise,” Hatcher whispered in my ear. “Elise, tell me what’s wrong. What did you see?”

I pressed my face into his shoulder even more and held my breath. I didn’t want to say it. Saying it made it more real.

“Please tell me.” The worry in his voice tugged on my heart.

“My brothers,” I whispered so low that I wondered if he would hear. “My brothers are here.”

He tensed and his arms convulsed around me. “Where?”

I lifted my head, just enough that I could look up at him. “Do you see the huge wagon? The one that looks like a great animal?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the wolf. That was my home, my stage, my livelihood. If it is here, so are my brothers.”

“Let’s go then,” he said immediately. “Let’s leave right now. We can’t let them find you.”

I nodded, grateful for his decisive attitude.

He turned us so that we had our backs to the wagon and kept one arm around me as we walked.

As we neared the back of the crowd, we were halted by the same servant who had encouraged me to gather my things and follow the entourage in the first place. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Hatcher answered.

“Well then, come, come,” he said, gesturing toward the crowd that was gathering around my brothers’ act. “We must stay with Their Graces. They would be most disappointed if those they deigned to invite were to get lost in the crowd and not show up.” He said it kindly, but there was a clear message behind his words. A message that said my attendance was not optional. The duchess had chosen me, and as such, I would be performing for her tonight—by force if necessary. He gave us another smile, gesturing behind us.

I pulled out my cloak and put it on over my costume as we reluctantly turned around and joined the crowd that stood waiting to watch my brothers perform.

“If the duke and duchess are choosing the most impressive entertainers, they will choose my brothers,” I said with certainty, pulling my hood up to cover my hair.

“Where is your hat? The one with the veil?” he asked.

“We are in Winhaven!” I said, sounding hysterical. “We are at the northern tip of Winberg. My brothers always stayed south. We never came here, not in all the years I was growing up. There was not supposed to be a reason to veil my face here or in Stormbrook or Lorta.”

“Right” was all he said before looking over his clothing, examining the material, then looking over at me. He ran his hands over my cloak, then lifted it to look at the Starling cape that was underneath. Then he crouched to look over the hem of my skirt before straightening and with only a slightly abashed expression said, “I can make something to cover your face, but I’ll need some of your petticoat.”

“Take whatever you need.”

He gave a solid nod, then pulled a knife from his belt and started ripping out the dark brown lining of his vest before kneeling down and cutting a wide strip from the bottom of my cream petticoat. A few people in the crowd around us gave us odd looks, but most were clamoring to get closer to the wolf wagon, exclaiming over its size and design.

“Put your hands out,” Hatcher said, standing directly in front of me.

I did as he asked, essentially becoming his work table as he set the pieces of fabric on my hands, then pulled a needle from the shoulder of his vest and thread from a pouch at his waist. He started ripping, folding, and stitching while I looked on in amazement. He pulled feathers from my costume, adding them to the patchwork he was creating.

“Your Graces!” the voice of Daggon called out. My head shot up to stare at him and my stomach tied into a knot. “We are most honored that you would condescend to watch our little performance!”

The cadence of my brother’s voice, the volume and tone were all so familiar and made my stomach turn. The memories crashed over me. Daggon had always been the one to announce while I’d stayed out of sight, the bangles and chains that had adorned my costume meant to represent my enslavement to the beast. Daggon had always claimed that in order to free me, the greed of the beast must be fed by contributions from the audience. Of course it wasn’t actually the beast-like wagon that was greedy. It was him and Morley. Morley who had sat inside much of the time. He was the one who made the wagon roar and move, bringing it to life.