Page 26 of The Starling and the Hatter

Father Dawn, remember me

Remember the day your Starling fell

And joined her sisters three

As my voice faded, I pressed my hand to my heart and tucked my chin into my shoulder, signifying the death of the Starling.

Silence rang for a few moments, which was how I knew I had done my job well, then the applause broke out. I remained in that deathly still position until I saw through my cracked eyelids that several coins had been dropped into the nest that lay at my feet.

Then I gracefully straightened and gave a delicate, sweeping bow, thanking my audience and keeping up a general feeling of dramatic finality for as long as I could. The more time I gave people to bask in my presence, the more likely it was that they would dip into their pockets and say thank you with a few bits or maybe even a copper.

The crowd dissipated, and I gradually fell out of my Starling bearing. I swept into an elegant curtsey to signify to those still around me that the performance was indeed done. When I straightened, my eyes shot to where Robert had been standing, anxious to be reunited with him, but he was walking away, just like the last few observers. He wove his way through the crowd, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look back.

A frown creased my face. I had expected him to stay and say hello. Why would he leave without even acknowledging me? I stepped down off of my box and picked up my nest of coins before going in the direction Robert had departed. But the crowd was difficult to navigate in my costume while carrying my wooden perch, and I soon gave up. The disappointment that washed over me was more than was rational, and my eyes were stinging, which was ridiculous.

The busy movement and cacophony of voices that were so familiar to me suddenly became distorted and uncomfortable. I’d always considered Robert a friend, and I had so few of those that to have him dismiss me without a word left me feeling off balance.

I shook my shoulders, determined to push aside such nonsensical thoughts, and turned back toward Hatcher’s tent.

Maddox

Elise huffed her way into the tent, her brow furrowed. She passed me by without a word and went straight to the back corner where she always changed. Elise had started out with just the one simple cape for her starling costume, but I’d made many for her over the years. First I’d just improved the original, making it more elaborate and eye-catching. Then I’d made her a full dress with a cape that looked like wings. I’d continued to make her different variations, some better for daylight and one specifically suited for night performances.

It was mid-afternoon and I couldn’t figure out why she’d be changing now. “Is everything all right?” I hollered back to her.

“Yes. I’m well enough,” she snipped back.

Drat. Something was very wrong. “Was the audience a bit too frugal today?” I asked, hoping to prompt her into telling me the truth. I knew it wasn’t about money. Having grown up in the festivals, she always took the ups and downs of people’s generosity in stride.

“Nothing is wrong, Hatch,” she insisted. “Blast.” She huffed in annoyance and my throat swelled, knowing what was coming next. That sound of defeat meant that she needed help, and she was going to ask me for it. After an overly dramatic growl, she finally spoke. “Can you help me? This knot won’t budge.”

I swallowed. “Of course.” I’d perfected the casual response. The first time she’d asked for help with her clothing, I’d nearly fallen over. Kat and I were close, but she’d never asked for help with wardrobe. Of course, we had Dorothy for such things, and Kat wasn’t a performer who had to change behind a hanging curtain in the back corner of our tent.

I pushed the curtain aside and ducked under the rope that held it up. Elise’s back was to me. In her haste to get out of her costume, she hadn’t loosened the laces enough before pulling her arms out of the sleeves. The bodice was bunched up around her hips where she’d tried to force it down, and her hands rested at her waist, her fingers tapping against the cording of her stays. I was grateful she’d never needed help with those, at least. Still, each time she so casually asked for help in and out of her clothing, I went a little more mad. I wasn’t uptight or a prude, but I was in love with this woman, and being this close and yet so very far away was torture.

I braced myself and straightened the fabric so that I could get at the laces she’d tangled in her hurry and frustration. As I picked at the knot, I had to ask. “Are you going to tell me what has you so upset?”

“I’m not—”

“And don’t tell me you’re not upset. I know you too well for that, so why not just share the burden and see if I can help?”

She sniffed in her stubborn way.

“Come on, Lisey,” I cajoled, using the nickname only I called her. “Just spit it out.”

She glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes raw and vulnerable but somehow filled with trust. “I saw an old friend of mine today.”

“Mm-hmm?” I tried not to be too excited about that. Elise kept to herself, trusting few and letting even fewer get close to her. The fact that she’d so easily become part of our family spoke more to her desperation at the time she’d met us than it did to anything else. So the idea that she could be reunited with an old friend was exciting, as was the fact that she was volunteering information about her past.

“I was singing my song, glancing over the crowd,” she continued wistfully, “and there he was.”

My stomach dropped at the word he.

“He watched my whole song, and I expected him to stay and at least say hello to me, but he walked off before I could even catch his eye afterward. Why would he do that?” Anger and hurt seemed to swirl around her.

“I don’t know,” I answered as my envy raged. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“I said goodbye to him a week before I met you.”