sparrow and lion

Chapter 2: promises are made to be kept

A child taken in off the street was just as useful as one born of your own flesh and blood. Or so the tiny noble's father decided after a few moments' speculation. And, thus, the orphan was presented as the lord's newly discovered illegitimate child and officialized as an heir to the family's titles.

This was a lie, of course. But better to believe that he had bedded a maidservant and broken his wedding vows than that he had chosen to adopt a homeless child out of the goodness of his heart. That would have been a lie, too, but it was no matter: Another pawn on the board was of no consequence to the courts but of vital use to the lord.

In all of this, there was really only one hurdle to be overcome: That both of the children were named Leo. But that was easily dealt with. One of the children must simply change its name. And so one of the Leos became Wren and the other got to remain Leo and nobody questioned it because no one bothers to learn the names of a hand before it is dealt and so nobody ever knew the difference.

For two years, the children were inseparable. At age six, the merchant family the tiny noble had been betrothed to fell from grace and wealth, lending the lord a full two hands to play as he chose. When the children turned seven, he used them.

Wren would marry the daughter of a respected shipyard owner. Leo would become the mistress of an illustrious kennel club. Both were distinguished matches for the household and improved the lord's prospects immensely. Wren couldn't so much as look at a boat without vomiting and Leo adored dogs, but it was Leo who ran weeping from the room. Wren chased her, as he always did.

Contrary to how it may have seemed to the servants, with Leo always leading and Wren always trailing in her wake, the boy was a much faster runner than the girl. He chose to stay behind her for one reason: It was very important that he keep her always in his sight. It felt, to him, that his life had begun that night in the alley and a big part of him feared that it would end all over again if she ever got too far away.

Which was why, despite their elaborately decorated bedrooms in opposite wings of the household, they had not spent a night apart since they met. The lord raged at this and threatened to lock them in their respective suites - what self-respecting noble had anyone sharing a bed when even husband and wife had their own rooms? - but the children remained undeterred and the maidservants and the governess did nothing to dissuade the pair from curling up beneath a tangle of blankets - together - each night.

But the promise of a distant separation had been signed and Leo ran until she reached a tangle of abandoned gardens at the back of the estate and went to her knees upon the crumbling cobblestones. Wren stopped behind her and did nothing as she beat her fists against the ground until her hands bled. He knew better than to intervene. Leo's every extreme was calculated. She was the ideal daughter of nobility in that way: Each act was as intentional as the breath of hesitation before an actor spills forth into a character's monologue in front of a rapt crowd.

Leo rose to her feet and stared at her bleeding hands. "That's good," she said. A mean little smirk curled up the corners of her lips. She looked at Wren. "What?"

He didn't know how to answer her. Leo knew that. Wren rarely knew how to respond to anything. It made him absolutely useless. So Leo made herself excessively useful in his place. He felt the horror and humiliation of this betrothal. She acted upon it. Her bloodied hands were sure to cause quite a stir at this evening's banquet.

"Sit down," she told him. Wren sat.

"You hate boats," she said. Wren nodded.

Leo said nothing for a very long time. Wren wished he knew what to say. But it was always like this. Leo responded. Wren reacted. They were seven and everyone already knew how their lives would play out. Leo would be sent to some faraway country estate to keep her out of the family's hair and Wren would be subservient to the lord of his intended house and never interfere with the running of the estates or businesses.

Wren didn't know how to talk to people. In fact, even to Leo, he rarely spoke at all. It was she who talked for the both of them and, with today's arrangements set in writing, there was an end date even to that. But what could he do about it? They couldn't run away. They would both be caught.

"I don't want to marry anyone," Leo said.

Wren looked at her.

Leo looked like she was going to cry. "I don't want to go far away," she said. "I want to stay home with you."

Wren looked down again.

"They're just trying to get rid of me." She sniffled loudly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "He hates me. He's always hated me."

In the bare branches of a dying bush, a long-legged spider was weaving its nest. Wren hated spiders. He sidled closer to Leo. He wanted to cry, but she was doing it instead.

"I don't want to marry anyone," she said. "I want to stay here." The hand she kept wiping her nose with was smeared with both blood and snot now.

Wren didn't know what to say. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped her skin clean. What was he going to do if she disappeared? He didn't want to be alone again. But children can't handle the politics of adulthood. They don't know how to spend their lives with someone and never grow to love them. And he didn't know how to stop this. "You have to get married," he told her. "It's the rules."

"Whose rules?" she demanded, sobbing in earnest now. "I don't want to."

Wren didn't know the answer to that either, so he just sat next to her and listened to her weep for a long time. And then the answer came to him. "I won't let him marry you," he said.

Leo looked at him.

"I'll marry you," he said.

"And then I won't have to leave?" she asked.

Wren shook his head. "I'll marry you and we'll stay."

Leo stared at him for so long he thought he'd said something wrong, but then she nodded. "I'll marry you, too," she said.

Which, of course, is how marriage works, but consent matters.