Songbird

Ch 4

“I’m sorry,” I say meekly.

I find Balthazar in one of the unused sitting rooms of the castle. The walls are a sickly yellow. This is where my Grandmother puts up her collection of Italian art. I tell her regularly that such beautiful pieces should not be left to rot in the least used room, but she never listens.

I’m not entirely sure why I want to talk to him. It’s an absurd notion, but since I have no one to blame for the headaches, he somehow has become the person to confront. A small part of me believes that if I talk to him, the pain will stop.

I’m mistaken.

He turns around. His eyes seem dark. “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault I’m illegitimate.”

His words dare me to become angry again, but I don’t give in. “You’re right; it’s far from my fault. I’m apologizing for this whole situation. You seem like a great guy, but I don’t think our relationship is ready to take the next step.”

He scoffs, yet I can see a ghost of a smile touch his face. “You don’t say? I hardly know you, Wren.”

My name is heavy on his tongue. It’s not French, so I’m at a loss as to why he’s having such difficulties with it. “I almost put an arrow through your head, Balthazar.” His name doesn’t sit well in my mouth either. “I think that counts for something.”

His expression flickers into a frown for a moment. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why? It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but my friends call me Bae.”

He must have seen my brief, doubting expression because he says, “Yes, heaven forbid if I have a friend or two.” He offers me a lopsided smile, “I’m not terribly annoying all the time, you know.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” I snap, which may or may not have been the truth. I didn’t have any friends so I automatically assumed that he didn’t either. “I was just going to say… keep the whole archery thing away from my Grandmother. That’s all. Okay?”

He raises an eyebrow. “She doesn’t know?”

“Yes,” I retort. “And I plan to keep it that way. She doesn’t have to know. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

He nods his head in my direction, reassuring me that he understood. I breathe a sigh of relief. “We’re not even married yet and you’re already asking me to keep dirty secrets for you,” he chides.

“It’s not a dirty secret…”

He shrugs. “Honestly, I think it’s the secrets you keep from me that will get you in more trouble.”

I open my mouth to point out once again that I don’t know him, but I stop. I’ve known my Grandmother my whole life, and so far, I trust Bae more than I do her. I consider telling him about my newfound ability. Even as we speak, it’s hard to look at him directly because his aura is just so bright. Like looking at the sun.

Without another word, I turn around and walk to the study.

My Latin tutor is waiting for me. I forgot his name weeks ago because all he lets me call him is “teacher”. I don’t argue.

“Feeling better?” he asks me in Latin as I take the seat opposite from him.

No, the headache is worse today than it was yesterday. I can hardly concentrate on a word you’re saying but I can muddle through the pain because of all the experience I’ve been gaining.

“Yes, very much so,” I answer with a smile.

“I’d hate for you to become ill,” he says slowly, giving me more time that I need to translate. “You have a natural knack for languages. In fact, you’re easily my brightest student.”

I look at him and his eyes are glazed, remembering another time. I recall what the butler said to me when I first met him.

“He’s very young for a man of his profession, but he has no superior. He had the top score on all of his exams. Unfortunately, he hasn’t been teaching for some years. His wife, a fellow linguist, was a victim of the plague and he hasn’t been the same since.”

I must remind of his wife, I realise. It’s an absurd notion, but I can tell that’s the case. With a jolt, I see that it is the case. Like a book, it’s written on his aura but not in words, in colors. I’ve been staring at evident facts the whole time but haven’t bothered translating the vibrant hues into words.

It’s such an abstract discovery that I can’t understand how it’s possible that I see that he hates cauliflower. Or that he grew up near the ocean in Italy. Or that he prefers the cold more than the heat. Maybe the less obvious is more prominent, like how I can tell that he is immune to the plague.

Or that I remind him of his dead wife.

Or that, in concern, if I show any more symptoms of sickness, he plans to convince my Grandmother that she needs to take steps to prevent insanity. He thinks he’s doing the right thing.

Suddenly fearing for any action he might take against me, I sit up as straight as possible and try to take any dreariness out of my voice. For the next hour, I will be the image of sanity and health.

Even if I am actually ‘reading’ his aura and my head feels like it’s on fire.

“Thank you, teacher. That’s very kind of you to say. Are we going to be learning new verbs this lessor or a new conjugation?”