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Salas frowned, frustrated and oddly scared. He didn’t understand his own fear, nor how to soothe it, just knowing that there was a blooming apprehension to the thought of giving up his previous occupation as a palace bird. “What is wrong?” Salas demanded. “We’re birds. This is what we do. You wanted me back in Suscon. Why not now?”
Lio pulled away completely, and Salas let him. The smile his fellow bird shared with him was exuberant and shy, as though he were expressing something to Salas that was a happy secret. Something to be elated about. “We don’t have to do that anymore, Salas. We’re not birds anymore.”
Lio’s happiness only served to increase Salas’ wariness. “And you wish to be…a bird no longer.”
“I think it’s fantastic to never be one again! We get paid here, too! And the King has delivered Diagorian gold to us.”
Salas turned away from the happy face, unsure how to express with words, even in the language Susconian, how he felt about the turn of events.
“Get dressed!” Lio hurried, finding a pile of lumpy leathers that Salas was sure had not been there the previous night. “Let’s take a walk!”
Apprehension made him twitchy, twitch away, towards anything other than the nondescript pile of suede, yet he nonetheless obeyed. He had no force to match the elated energy of Lio. So he dressed.
As expected, the soft, brown leather tunic was shapeless on him. That, followed by the matching trousers that ended in bizarre tubes of fur, made him feel hideous. With the layers, he looked as though he had grown twice his size, his toned muscles and curves no longer on display for eyes to behold, but instead tucked away and out of sight.
And for some reason, Salas felt more naked than ever because of it.
“I look like a cow,” he mourned woefully, catching his own reflection in a bedroom mirror. He immediately began tearing at the suffocating clothes in an attempt to free himself, looking around for the tatters of his skirt-wrap.
“You look nice!” Lio protested, laughing as he grabbed at Salas’ hands, swatting them away from the tunic’s hem.
Salas shook his head viciously. “With all this leather, some Diagorian butcher will mistake me for a steer and cut me down.”
“I’m wearing nearly the same thing!”
Salas stared at Lio’s own getup with distaste. “Mistakeus.”
Lio folded his arms, ignoring the jab. “Well, you can’t run around naked.”
Salas raised his brows, mulling the idea over.
Lio laughed again and pushed him playfully, shaking his head. “Oh, enough, Salas. There’s no need to show off here. We’re not birds anymore! No one will be staring at our asses. In Diagor, we don’t need to impress anyone.” He said it as though it were something to be pleased with.
And yet again Salas felt himself sink inside. If no one looked at him, how could he impress anyone? What could heuse? What if making an impression was what he wanted? He bit his tongue to hold back these questions, afraid that if he voiced his own concerns, Lio might realize that Salas was set apart from him. He might decide that there was something wrong with him, as he thought so differently from the other birds.
He might snatch his kindness away.
Last came the boots, which proved to be not as hideous as the rest of the apparel he’d adorned thus far: fur-lined and leather, they came with a decorative strip of ribbon embroidered with flowers, (ironically, as there were no flowers Salas knew of in Diagor) stitched into the outer sides. Minding his broken leg, he very carefully slid them on. A perfect fit.
“I’ve seen Princess Newtalia wear similar ones,” Lio commented politely, looking over Salas’ new footwear with a smile.
With the mention of the little princess, Salas was reminded of the muff and jewelry he had left somewhere in the cell of the castle dungeons. If they were still there, he would need to find a way to retrieve them, yet he also knew he would break another leg before he stepped foot into that cell again.
“You’ll need to retrieve them for me,” he voiced his thoughts aloud to Lio.
“What?” Lio said.
“Come. You said you would show me around the castle.” Salas tucked his crutch under his arm and strode confidently to the door yet still he hesitated at the chamber exit, unsure if he could bear it if the door turned out to be locked. He would break down in front of Lio, and who knew what else he would do.
Nothing will happen to you now. You’re free, like the other birds—your companions.
Of all that passed between him and the King the other night, this statement by the King had stuck with him most of all. He was free, he had to remind himself. Yet he did not feel it.
But then his hand was closing around one of the door handles and twisting. It swung open.
Salas and Lio began walking through the dim stone corridors. Despite being in the presence of someone who thought highly of him, the newfound encouragement could not stop the shame and trepidation that crept up on him whenever they passed a palace guard. Which ones had stood by when he’d been brought to the well? Which one had dragged him, kicking and screaming, and demanded that he service them?
“Are you okay, Salas?” Lio’s brows furrowed with concern as they passed yet another man in uniform.
