So Silver Bright by Lisa Mantchev Read Free Book Online

words. Like a child, she wanted to clap her hands over her ears and flee. Years ago, she would have crawled under the main stage, into the dark and narrow place under the floorboards where she was safe in her solitude. She could sit, arms wrapped about her knees and mouth filled to bulging with purloined butter-toffee candies and hazelnut chocolates. She could render the candy a bit salty with tears that dribbled, unheeded, down her nose and cheeks and chin. There, she was queen, with no one to gainsay her.
    Just now she was neither child nor queen, neither Mistress of Revels nor wordsmith, only Bertie, very much afraid her father might abandon her yet again. Taking an inadvertent step forward, she shoved her trepidation down. “Nate, I’ll be right back.”
    Nate’s sharp glance immediately took in both her expression and the Scrimshander waiting for her within the alcove. “D’ye want me t’ come wi’ ye?”
    “I’ll be all right.” She gave his arm an appreciative squeeze and turned, quickly bridging the space that separated her from her father. Deciding to be preemptive, Bertie opened the dialogue with “I owe you an apology.”
    The Scrimshander jerked with surprise, perhaps expecting remonstrations rather than olive branches. “You do?”
    “I don’t know if you’ve seen the Aerie?…”
    “Yes, the Aerie. I did wonder what happened there—”
    The hollow clang of an unseen bell interrupted the Scrimshander, and the alcove filled with members of the Innamorati taking a break from the evening rehearsal. Their laughter was raucous and their gestures flamboyant. The performers greeted Bertie with small cries and affected cheek kissing, creating as much noise as a flock of pigeons crowded about a bit of bread. The Scrimshander shuddered when careless passersby grazed his unseen wings. The moment a space cleared around Bertie, he stepped into it and dipped his mouth nearer her ear.
    “Might we find somewhere more conducive to private conversation?” He indicated a restaurant across the street.
    Bertie nodded, extricated herself from the crowd, and followed him. Everything she wanted to say clogged her throat at once as they crossed a small patio crowded with diners, their glittering evening attire tempered by the fire- and candlelight. Her father didn’t pause at any of the tables, instead making his way up a long, narrow staircase, threading through servitors who moved in a saffron-tinted dance of shadows. Their whispers were no louder than the gentle breeze that brought the scent of salt to the verandah where the Scrimshander turned to her.
    “Beatrice.” Her name on his lips contained a lifetime of defeat, echoed by the angle of his head and the slump of his powerful upper body.
    Afraid of what he might say, Bertie leapt in with “We’ve been summoned to the Distant Castle to perform for Her Gracious Majesty. Though I wish it were not so, we must leave as soon we can make the caravan ready for the journey.”
    “Ah.” He nodded, a jerking bob of the head that reminded her of a bird dipping down to drink.
    Bertie took a step toward him and shuddered, wishing he’d picked some other venue, someplace more secluded, with a less breathtaking view than the gracious sandstone balcony overlooking the sea. She could hardly bring herself to go any nearer the water, father or no.
    “I want you to come with us.” The invitation gushed out of her mouth with the burble of warm froth that comes just before drowning. “We’ll pay our respects to the Queen, and then we’ll go back to the theater. I promised…” Desperate, Bertie managed to gasp in enough air to finish, “I promised Ophelia I would bring you back to her.”
    The Scrimshander reached out a hand and traced the shape of her face with rough fingertips, as though to memorize the look of her. Work-scarred, his skin told the story of his struggle to remain human in the face of his wild-bird instincts. The world around them—the ocean view, the