Page 70 of The Starling and the Hatter

“My friends!” Daggon called out again. “Will you help me? Will you listen to the sad tale of how my wife was enslaved to this beast?”

The crowd cheered, but all I could think was, His wife?

I turned my face to the spectacle, just enough that I was able to see when a beautiful woman with black hair stood on top of the wagon, her face streaked in soot, her costume comprised of ripped strips of fabric knotted around her. Her dramatically distressed costume was coupled with a look of defiance, whereas when I had played the role, I’d relied on my youth and innocence to elicit sympathy.

The woman appeared to be several years older than I—closer to my brother’s age than mine, which was some relief. Were they truly married, or was that just part of the act? Either way, I hoped she knew what she was getting into when she joined them.

I watched the spectacle, my hood pulled far forward to keep my face in shadow while Hatcher worked frantically alongside me.

“Help us, friends!” Daggon called out with dramatic fright. “My wife is trapped in the belly of the beast!”

Those words made my hands start to shake. I remembered all too well what it was like to truly be trapped in the belly of the beast, forced into the dark confines of the hidden compartment on the underside of the wagon. Cold, alone, and crying.

Hatcher put a hand to the side of my face and turned it to face him. “They can’t hurt you. You have me now. Do you hear me?”

It took me a moment, but I nodded, trying to believe.

“You’re safe.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and went back to work.

The display my brothers put on was very similar to the one I’d performed with them hundreds of times. Whenever Morley manipulated the wagon from inside to make it move or roar, the audience would gasp in surprise and delight. Aside from myself, there were probably only a few people here who had seen the wolf wagon in all its glory. This audience was fresh and more than happy to part with their coins when my brother’s dark-haired wife came around, begging for coins to buy her freedom from the beast with her sultry eyes and slinky walk.

When the performance ended, the cheering was loud. Too loud. Or maybe I just felt that way because everything felt like too much to me. The noise, the crowd, the sound of my brothers’ voices, the clank and creak of the wagon.

“It’s ingenious,” the duke declared as the applause died down. “What say you, my dear? Shall we invite them to the banquet?”

“I’d like to say yes, but I do not believe their clever contraption would fit into the grand hall,” she announced with a tinkling laugh.

The crowd chuckled along with the duke.

“A point well taken, so perhaps they might perform in the courtyard when it is their turn to entertain. I hate to leave such talent out just because their act is larger than life.”

I couldn’t tell if the duke was playing the role of the magnanimous ruler or if that was truly his demeanor.

Of course, my brothers greedily accepted the invitation and set to work preparing the wolf wagon to be moved, which would be quite a feat. A guard was left behind to assist them, and the rest of us were directed to the path leading to the palace walls.

As Hatcher and I followed at the back of the crowd, my heart filled with trepidation. I might stay out of sight in this crowd. I might even be able to keep my head down at the banquet and avoid being seen by my brothers. But what of my performance? There seemed to be ten or twelve performers or groups that had been selected, and I had no doubt that every one of us would be required to entertain. Without something to hide my face, how could I possibly hope to avoid being recognized?

22

Elise

The closer we came to the palace, the more out of place I felt. The outer wall was high and imposing, guards visible at regular intervals. The great door in the wall was arched, a deep red color criss-crossed with iron bands in diamond shapes. Since my hooded cloak hid me better from behind, we had moved to the front of the group, so as we approached, I noticed a smaller door set into the great door. The smaller door was the height of a man and opened as we approached, allowing me a glimpse of the palace grounds.

They were beautiful. I’d expected a rather harsh, stone-laid courtyard, but what I saw through that smaller door looked very much like a garden. The sight reminded me of the red roses that the servants had been decorating with. The door closed after a guard had come through it, and our group halted when the duke turned to address us.

“Travelers!” he called out, his hands held high. “Allow us to welcome you to Winhaven Palace. Our feast will begin in one hour. Until then, we encourage you to enjoy the grounds and participate in some lawn games. Please,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the great door, which began to slowly open. “Follow me.”

I’d been half right. The path we walked was indeed paved in stone, but it was just a narrow drive leading from the gate and up toward the palace. Stretching out and around the palace on both sides were magnificent gardens like I’d never seen before or even imagined.

I’d heard tell of the great gardens of the Kingdom of Dalthia. They were well known and renowned for their expansive beauty, but I had a difficult time imagining anything better than this. There were bushes shaped like animals. There were swaths of brightly colored roses, and wisteria falling from archways. So many flowers grew that I could not name.

As the group dispersed to explore the grounds, I felt Hatcher tug on my hand. “Come,” he said.

I followed him off the stone path and between two tall hedges that had been sculpted into the shapes of a turtle and a griffon. Beyond that, we found a pathway also lined in hedges. “Is this a maze?”

“It looks like it.” He turned to check over his shoulder. “It also looks like a good spot to stay out of sight while I finish this headpiece.”

We ran together through the maze, taking several random turns, trying to get lost. We eventually ran into a lovely dead end with a bench sitting between two well-kept rose bushes. “Here, sit,” he said, pulling me down to sit on the bench as he crouched in front of me. His eyes darted to me, then down to the fabric and needle in his hands and then back to me. “How are you?” he asked, his concern pulsing off of him.