Page 3 of The Starling and the Hatter

Saints, what if I’d escaped my brothers only to starve in my first attempt at independence?

I banished the thought, refusing to let such dark possibilities consume me. Forward was the only way to go. So I pushed myself to my feet and followed along the stream as my tears dried on my cheeks.

It wasn’t until the next day that I thought to sit down and count the money in my pouch. I poured the contents into my palm and all the air rushed out of my lungs. I pushed the coins around in my hand, realizing there was only half of what I’d originally taken from my brothers. I swallowed hard and willed the tears away. The conniving men who had given me the strange brew had also lightened my purse.

It took time for the panic to subside, and even longer to recognize how lucky I was that they’d only taken half. And why half? So I wouldn’t notice at first? Because they were following their own moral code?

I didn’t know, and I never took a drink from a stranger again.

2

Maddox

She stood in the bright sunlight that slanted through the trees in the clearing where we’d set up our tents and booths. This clearing had trees high enough and far enough apart to provide shade, but also plenty of room for crowds and festival performers. This girl was lithe and graceful, moving through the festival crowd on nimble feet. Her movements were so smooth that she glided among the raucous festival goers, nearly disappearing as she did so. She didn’t stand out, and yet at the same time, she did. Her wary eyes and golden hair drew my eye inexorably, keeping my attention. She looked to be, what? Sixteen? Seventeen? Only a couple years younger than I was, and though I was familiar with nearly all of the locals and the traveling performers, I knew I had never seen this girl before.

It wasn’t attraction that I felt, not at first, though she was certainly beautiful. It was curiosity. Something about her called to me. I needed to know more.

Two sides of our large tent were rolled up to encourage festival goers to come in and browse. My parents were the most talented costumers and hatters in the realm—or so we liked to say. Nobles would wander in to purchase our shimmering cloaks for their pampered daughters, while the performing acts came to us for costumes and props, anything to liven their performance and draw more of a crowd. After all, if you couldn’t draw people in, you’d never get their coins.

When the young woman looked my way, I was fortunate that it wasn’t my staring that caught her eye, but my wares.

As she came closer, I knew she wasn’t a festival goer coming for a pretty outfit. She was poor, poorer than most of the other travelers I’d seen, guessing from the state of her clothing and the slightly starved look in her eyes. She was a performer, coming for a costume, though how she expected to afford it, I couldn’t guess.

She came right up to our tent and started perusing the wares that sat out front without ever turning her eyes to me. I was tall enough that even seated, I was noticeable, especially since I sat near the entrance of our tent. So the fact that her eyes had not been drawn to me was a testament to her focus.

I took care to be still, happy with the opportunity to observe her unnoticed as she sifted through different costume pieces.

A shout came from outside and I leaned forward so I could see what had happened, but it was only a jester flipping through the crowd.

When I turned back, her eyes were fixed on the half-finished hat in my hands.

“You make these?” She gestured to the tent, which was overflowing with wardrobe pieces.

“I do.”

Her eyes moved from the hat in my large hands, to the needle that was stuck into the shoulder of my vest for safekeeping, before her gaze settled on my face for the first time. “You’re the owner?” she asked, her mouth pulling to one side. I knew from experience that people assumed I was older because of my height and my full beard. But I was eighteen, and though that was certainly old enough to be considered a man, I still felt my youth.

In answer to her question I shook my head, stunned by the immediate effect that her undivided attention had on me. I swallowed past the tightening of my throat. “It’s a family business.”

Her eyes remained on mine, unwavering and clear. The discomfort that coiled inside me was not reflected in her expression. She was not affected by my gaze the way that I was affected by hers. I set down the unfinished hat and reached for the cup of tea that my father had insisted I take this morning. Tea was his habit, not mine, but I was grateful for it as I took a sip, hoping to clear the nervousness from my voice.

Elise

It took courage for me to step closer to the young man sitting at the work table amidst so many well-crafted costume pieces. He was well established and clearly knew his business. I tried not to be intimidated, but even sitting down he was as tall as I, and his muscled torso and dark hair created an imposing picture. I just hoped he’d be kind enough to give me a fair price, maybe even help me. “And what would you recommend for a girl just starting out who’s trying to make a name for herself as a songstress?”

The young man’s brows jumped. “A songstress, are you?”

I nodded, feigning confidence, even though I’d never actually sung for a crowd before. Still, I had a decent voice, and I did know how to captivate a crowd. I also knew that if I were going to capture their attention, especially on my own, I would have to purchase a wardrobe that would draw the eyes of festival goers as I drew their attention with my voice.

The young man set down his teacup, which looked awkward and tiny in his hand, and looked me over with an assessing eye. “What bird shall you be?” he asked.

My lashes and brow fluttered at the idea. “Bird?”

“It’s only a suggestion, but a songstress is often named after a bird, and it lends itself to easy costuming.”

“Oh.” His recommendation left me surprised but grateful to have some direction. “You’re right. I suppose…” I looked around, hoping to be inspired by some piece of fabric or head dress. “It depends on what you have on hand. You see, I need something ready made so that I can start working.”

A crease of concern appeared between his brows. “Do you have the funds to purchase such an ensemble?”