The Sparrow King #4
But still, they held their hand out for her as she crossed and she took it.
Though it was entirely unnecessary for her safety, it seemed vital for her heart, which threatened to take flight if she did not.
Sparrow did not let go as they walked and slowly, the flames beneath Damiana’s skin receded. She was held, if not consumed.
The trees were not so thick here, but mist crept across the forest floor in thick curls, just as it had in her vision. Ahead of them, golden pools of sunlight streamed into a clearing, where sat a beautiful stone house, covered in ivy and moss.
Damiana clutched the hand to her chest in delight. “This is your home?”
“Yes,” Sparrow said, looking pointedly at the hand Damiana pressed to her breast. “This is where I live.”
Damiana dropped Sparrow’s hand, embarrassed to have forgotten herself.
But Sparrow only smiled, a slow, crooked smile that quirked one side of their mouth up.
Damiana could not look away from Sparrow’s face.
Could not breathe for all the anticipation flaring within her.
Did Sparrow know? Could they feel the inferno blazing inside her? Did they understand what it meant?
Damiana looked to Sparrow’s home, breaking the heated gaze they shared. The sight of the house made her heart ache.. It was as though a dream she could not quite remember was realized in the waking world.
“Do you like it?” Sparrow asked.
“I do,” Damiana replied.
“Another day I’ll show you inside, but I thought today we might take tea in the garden.”
Damiana was momentarily disappointed, until she saw the garden.
The stream fell over a small hill here, and the sound of falling water soothed her heated soul as she examined the dozens of varieties of shade plants and mosses.
A pair of bent willow chairs sat next to a stone table that looked to be made of quartz.
A patch of tightly budded datura caught her attention. They would not bloom until night, but she spotted one cluster of petals that had wilted. Sparrow watched as she plucked it and tucked it into her apron pocket. “If you deadhead them, they will return more plentifully.”
Sparrow’s eyes narrowed, concern, bordering on panic in their features. “Should you have gloves for that?”
Damiana shrugged. “It is only datura.”
Sparrow’s eyes glittered, their vicious smile revealing those lovely, sharp teeth. “Only one such as yourself would refer to the deadliest of nightshades in that manner. What a marvel you are.”
Damiana wasn’t sure what Sparrow meant by that, but the compliment was evident, and she flushed hot.
“Wait here,” Sparrow said. “I’ll bring tea.”
Damiana nodded and sat gratefully in one of the chairs. It fit her perfectly and she leaned back to listen to the trees. Here she could understand them perfectly, as though they were speaking directly to her.
Elsewhere in the forest, listening to the trees was an exercise in paying just the right amount of attention. Too much and the whispers sounded like tricks of the wind, not enough and she’d hear nothing at all. Here though, they spoke to her directly.
Welcome home, they said.
“This is not my home,” she whispered back.
You are Damiana, they replied, as though this explained something.
She hadn’t time to ponder it, because at that exact moment, she caught sight of the hammock from her vision in the distance. It was beautifully crafted, a wool blanket draped over it, one she knew the smell of with certainty. She had smelled it before, in her vision.
The same vision where she was now certain that Sparrow had brought her immeasurable pleasure in that exact hammock.
What did this mean? Arousal rose quickly, and then just as quickly seeped away, replaced by worry.
If she were losing her good sense to fanciful thoughts, she might need to leave this part of the forest. And she did not want to leave.
Something soft touched her fingers. She looked down to find a sleek black polecat nudging her hand from the ground, as though they were a hungry kitten.
“Hello,” she said softly, not wanting to scare it.
Hello, it replied. You are Damiana.
“Yes,” she answered, realizing the creature had used the same phrasing as the trees.
“Galin,” warned Sparrow as they returned with a tray of tea and pastries, “Be gentle.”
“Oh, she is,” Damiana laughed as the polecat jumped into her lap and curled into a ball.
“Strange,” Sparrow mused. “She’s rather vicious usually. She must like you.”
Damiana smiled and whispered a request to the polecat who nodded sleepily.
“What did you ask her?” Sparrow queried as they poured the tea.
“If I might stroke her lovely fur while she slept. I wouldn’t dream of touching her without her permission.”
Sparrow’s lips quirked into that dangerous, crooked smile. “You are the strangest human I’ve ever encountered. Eat your hand pie, they’re fresh out of the oven.”
Damiana didn’t ask how that could be, she simply assumed it was magic, like her picture’s disappearance the day before. She ate gratefully and sipped the autumnal tisane Sparrow poured. It tasted of sweet fern and apple, honeyed and rich on her tongue.
“What food,” she murmured delightedly. The pumpkin pasty was the perfect blend of squash and sharp cheddar, delightful in contrast with the decadent flavor of the tisane. “You’re a wonderful cook.”
“I suppose,” Sparrow mused. “Perhaps you are just pleased not to have cooked for yourself.”
Damiana laughed. “The food is wonderful, but you’re right about the rest. I was a child last time someone made me a meal.”
“What is wrong with your brother that he cannot work or cook?” Then Sparrow blushed, the first time Damiana had seen them do so. She thought the bloom on their cheeks only made them lovelier. She willed her hands to stay on her side of the table, so desperately did she long to touch that cheek.
“I apologize,” Sparrow said. “I didn’t think of how cruel my words might be. Is your brother well?”
“Oh yes,” Damiana replied, seeing what Sparrow meant.
“He is able in body and mind, though his spirit does seem… lacking… at times. He wishes for a wife, but none will have him… Ansel made certain I could not marry so that he would have someone to tend his house. He’s never worked a day in his life. ”
“How do you live?” Sparrow asked, incredulous.
“The garden mostly sustains us, and the money from my drawings and the eggs from my geese, I suppose, though I’ve never seen a single coin. My flock is a rare breed and the eggs fetch a pretty penny.”
Sparrow’s countenance darkened. “You support him completely? What does he do all day?”
“Reads. Books are his great love.” Damiana looked at her hands, uncomfortable. She stroked the polecat for comfort, and Galin rolled sleepily onto her back in Damiana’s lap, stretching out with a tiny sigh.
Sparrow’s pale eyebrows furrowed at the sight of them. “And you? What is your great love?”
Damiana gasped, the words cutting her like a knife. “I must go,” she said, voice wavering. Galin woke and jumped to the ground at the sound of her voice.
Sparrow leaned forward, muscles tense, voice straining with some unknown emotion. “Damiana, I am sorry.”
Tears sprang in her eyes, blurring her vision. “No, don’t be. How could you be expected to know my heart’s desire?”
Sparrow took hold of her hand, their fingers twining through hers, their thumb sweeping over the sensitive skin of her palm, causing her to tremble with need. “What is that?”
A long moment passed between them, Sparrow’s eyes fixed on hers.
The memory of the visions she’d had in the wood roamed freely in her imagination.
Sparrow on their knees in front of her. Sparrow’s fingers deep inside her as she pleaded for more, ever more.
If they touched her, Damiana knew there would never be an end to the ways she would want them.
The way they watched her as she drew mixed in with the memories of the visions.
They way they watched her now. Was she so starved for love that she had to imagine a creature as resplendent as Sparrow would want the same things she did?
Fear and shame collided within her. She told herself that she was nothing more than a curiosity to Sparrow.
A human who did not fear them. It was unusual in these parts.
A curiosity was all she could ever be to them.
Damiana sighed, lying with the truth. “To paint. Only to paint.”
“So paint,” Sparrow said, as though it were simple. There was an edge in their voice, and Damiana imagined it to be irritation and disappointment.
Damiana cleared her throat. Cold truth would surely banish all of these desires. “I cannot afford the supplies.”
Sparrow’s starry eyes glittered dangerously. “You could if Ansel did not spend all your hard-earned coin.”
The laugh that creaked out from Damiana’s throat was dry and joyless. Yes, cold truth had done wonders. All of the heat that had tightened her aching muscles was gone now. “How would I get it from him? He spends it all before he returns home. There’s never anything left for me.”
“I see,” Sparrow said quietly, their voice taut with rage. “If you would still like to go home, I will walk you.”
Damiana didn’t want to leave, but neither did she want to anger Ansel.
Her voice was tight. “Perhaps that would be best.” She had never felt so confused.
How could she feel this way in just two short days, just two encounters?
Despair clawed its way through her throat, giving way to a desperate request. “May I come again tomorrow?”
Sparrow’s eyes slid away from hers, resting on the hammock. “I would have you come again and again, Damiana. You are always welcome here.”
Damiana’s breath caught in a sharp gasp. Sparrow’s gaze shifted to hers. “You saw what I imagined. What I hoped for, did you not?”
It felt as though the world stopped, as though time itself had laid down for a nap. “I—”