The Blood of Caged Birds (Mortalsong Book 1)

by J. M. Stredwick

  “Your father is more than capable of staking his claims on the trade routes,” Alphonse interjects for Claire’s sake.

  “I must say, Monsieur Benjamin, you have me surprised,” Francis sneers through peach fuzz whiskers. “You are young but skilled in your profession. I had not known you alone to barter with the grand masters of trade.”

  “Our father has raised us well then,” Benjamin says, mouth curling slightly in response to what I take as Francis being threatened by Benjamin’s bold move in contacting my father of his own intent. Though, I cannot imagine why he would be. Perhaps it is because all relations were to be handled through Francis whilst my father was en route.

  “Only now, you’ve sent him on a course he’s never traveled.” Claire burns in her seat, relating herself closely to Francis and his newfound position upon the matter.

  “That boy made the man aware of a piece of the ocean he’d long ignored.” Monsieur Alexandre thumps his hand on the table, shocking the lot of us.

  My hand goes to my lavender clad bosom, stunned by his outburst. Benjamin eyes me and prepares to calm the situation.

  “It was inevitable,” Benjamin concurs. “Your father had it planned long before now. I had simply informed him of recent developments we’d been made aware of. This spurned him to make the decision.”

  There is no doubt everyone can smell the smoke coiling from Claire’s mouth and taste its coming stench on the previously clean wind. Her anger does that. Or, perhaps, I am the only one painfully aware of his offense, highlighted and made known to her by Francis.

  I do not blame Benjamin. My father is ever searching for new trade as his entire way of life is founded upon it. I do not know why this is such a shock to Claire. In any case, I can understand her worry as we have heard stories of buccaneers looting trade ships as if it were some sort of profession. The longer he stays buoyant, the more opportunity for Pirates to pillage his ships. Father knows this, and he obviously wagers it worth the risks.

  “I, for one, find myself rather chilly,” Claire says. “Would any of you like to accompany me in a brisk walk round the gardens?”

  “It would be my honor.” Alphonse draws her from the table with the kind extension of his hand.

  Monsieur Francis is quick to rise and follow alongside them. With a dithering motion, Monsieur Alexandre garbles something sour about the putrid weather under his breath, pinches the buttoning at the neck of his waistcoat, and blunders off towards warmth within the Maison.

  It is sudden, like a gust of icy air hitting us in our faces as Benjamin, and I look upon the other as innocently as possible. Alone.

  “Erm.” I try with all the goodness and properness that resides in my bones to stop the giddy smile from twisting my lips, fumbling about with my tea cup mindlessly.

  Benjamin’s brows tether into concern. “Forgive my boldness. I wasn’t aware it would be a mortal offense to…”

  “It’s not,” I say before he can reach the end of his sentence.

  He smiles, and I return the sentiment.

  “Claire has a special relationship with our father. She thinks that he should be home more amongst the family. She’s still angry from this last parting. Our mother isn’t her favorite person to be trapped with either.”

  I find that releasing this information to Benjamin is blithe. A sway of guilt crosses over me in indulging myself such freedom in speech, but his attentiveness strips me.

  “Ah.” He nods. “Then it’s made known to her that I was the one who offered him the suggestion of the goods on African soil. I’m winning them all over, aren’t I?”

  “Who?” I laugh at his succinct sarcasm.

  “The Bonteque clan.” He gestures around him, lazing back in his chair.

  “And is that your intention then?” I fix him in a coy stare. “To win them over? Might I inquire as to why you would do that, Benjamin?”

  Though I begin the flirtation, I know that I cannot not defeat him with my racy banter. I know this because of the way he looks at me. As if he is absorbing every bit of me, even the pieces I would rather kept hidden. I could lose it all to the spellbinding force that works inside him to produce such a reaction in me. I feel hazily intoxicated by his presence, abreast the waves of adrenaline and prayer that the racking of emotion might be mutual.

  “I have to make sure they like me before asking for your hand, now, don’t I?” he teases.

  I am stunned by his audaciousness. More adrenaline spikes my heart.

  “Benjamin…”

  “Unless, that is, you do not feel as I?”

  “Benjamin…” I repeat, mouth shaking with pleasure and amusement. “I do not know what to say.”

  Standing, he trails round to where I am seated and hesitates. I recognize the urge to touch, but it may come across as far too comfortable. In reality, we don’t know each other that well. This glint in his eyes causes my heart to thunder. Shall I give him some inclination that I feel the same? But I cannot.

  “Let’s walk.” He offers me his arm.

  I am then aware of his physical being. When I allow my arm to rest in his, it sends triumphant tingles through me.

  I hadn’t realized his height. I recall the night of Claire’s celebration when I had stood tip-toed to plant my chaste kiss upon his lips, and my cheeks burn with the memory. Heat climbs in my bones as I grip his arm. Is this what Claire feels for Francis? As if she were some inebriate, ever indebted to drink of him? I do not want to feel so completely imprisoned, yet I cannot tear myself away from the feeling.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Giselle,” he supplies the silence with words. “I know I sound presumptuous. Foolish even.”

  I appraise him quizzically. “Foolish?”

  “I do not take you to be the kind of woman easily convinced to spend her life with just anyone.” He keeps his sight steadily ahead of us, steering us in the opposite direction of the rest of the party. It is spoken in factual lightness.

  “But you played me so well at the ball the other night,” I toss out good humor to add lightness, loathe to be serious when all I want to do is gawk at his princely features and taste his lips once more.

  He smirks cockily. “For you, perhaps, it was all games, but for me? I was perfectly serious.”

  I can’t fathom why he would desire me against the surplus of ladies populating the cities of France. His unique way of viewing the world, the teasing quality of his voice, the mystery of his foreignness. It is a heady mixture that would make any girl swoon. Am I weak in reacting this way? Fully enjoying his attentions, even if the prospect of marriage is not even scarcely possible?

  “I cannot afford to be serious,” I tell him grimly. “I do not want to face reality in this moment. Not while I am with you. We would be wasting our time, so please don’t make me.”

  Benjamin slows his pace and takes my hands in his, checking round to see if anyone is near. He watches my face openly, testing the emotions sifting between the cracks in my armor. “I thought you felt the same as I?”

  “I do,” I insist, linking my fingers between his. It thrills me to do.

  “Then why can’t we speak of it?” He is confused, and even in this confusion, he can’t help but smirk as our hands entwine. I know that he feels the desire as well, the heat of allure and fascination. The appeal of our solitude snaps in the spring air, the ruddiness of our cheeks mingling with the white plumes of our breath.

  “You know my mother objects to us. When I asked her to allow you and your brother to visit, she was not happy. Even now, Benjamin, I believe she is out making social calls to secure our betrothals. I cannot bear to think…”

  I clench his hands tight and find my gaze dropping to the ground. I dare not see the hurt in his striking eyes.

  “If you go off and get betrothed, it will make for an awkward time when I come to take you away on my ship.” His tone is jovial.

  “Be practical.”

  “I am.” He laughs freely. “I am going to make you my w
ife and we are going to set sail from Marseille and begin our own trading business. Then, when my father passes, I will take my percentage of the company and manage that as well. We will be free to do as we please. Go where we like. We can return to France in between voyages, you can choose a Chateau wherever you desire. We will have it all, Giselle. I will give you everything that I have.”

  There is a stirring in my chest, a restlessness that goes soft and pliant as he speaks. I peer up at him, assessing his authenticity. Do I dare to dream that large? How will I make my mother see that he is more honorable than any other man I have ever met, that he alone is the one I will agree to tie my life to? I am convinced there is no man like him to ever exist before nor will there ever be one like him again.

  “How can I respond to such a perfect suggestion?” I smile, a heap of emotion inflaming my throat.

  “I think I have a few ideas.” Benjamin snickers and draws me close, pulling his hands that are enclosed over mine to his sides so that I am pressed sharply against his chest.

  He leans down to nuzzle my neck, his breath tickling my ear and the delicate skin below in a way that I can only describe as sensuous. I have never experienced this lack of boundaries, and I might have previously argued in my head over the etiquette of it were it not for the intoxicating scent of him, like mulled cider and cinnamon.

  “Benjamin!” Alphonse’s voice accosts us, and we jerk apart. Claire and Monsieur Francis follow behind a few steps, peeking out to see what the trouble is.

  Alphonse’s expression is near rage but polarizes upon Benjamin. Claire seems thoroughly pleased.

  My heart is thudding in my chest, a chaos so frenetic I do not know what to do.

  So, I do the only reasonable thing I can think to do in a moment of barefaced scandal.

  “Run,” I utter.

  Benjamin eyes me in disbelief.

  “Run!” I laugh breathlessly and gather my silk skirts in fistfuls, taking off down the walkway. Benjamin’s head turns from me to the rest of our critical onlookers three times, back and forth before deciding to damn it all and follow my lead.

  “Mademoiselle!” Monsieur Francis shouts.

  “A race!” Claire cackles gleefully. “Come Francis! Monsieur Alphonse!”

  We run like thieves through the maze of garden, Benjamin chasing me, pursuing me, firmly on my heels within seconds with the length of his strides and the easiness that his breeches allow him. He seizes my hand as he bypasses me and hauls me along, dragging me forcefully round a bend of hillside that leads to a gated portion showing the side entrance of our home. My bones undulate with urgency.

  I can hear Claire’s spirited laughter as she and the others ramble after us round the bend of moist grassy hillside. I am shocked that Francis has followed her so boldly, allowing the veneer of his strict caricature to slough away with Claire’s enthusiasm. I imagine Alphonse left slack-jawed and awestruck by the random discord of what they’d just witnessed, and the idea that I will pay the penalty for my actions is a whisper on my consciousness. I’d have to thank Claire for her intervention, making my actions far less adulterating with the addition of participants.

  We fly up the stone steps and track the muddiness of our shoes into the halls, clattering like fledgling beasts.

  “Giselle.” Benjamin slows me. “What are we doing?”

  I beckon him to follow me through the doorway to the family salon and hastily close the doors behind us.

  I cannot help the bubbling of laughter that purges from my mouth, like some hissing, glorified entanglement of happiness at the breaking of rules. I double over with the weight of it. Excitement. I haven’t felt this much of it in all my life.

  “Forgive me.” I can hardly catch my breath. “I panicked.”

  “I’ll say.” He grins and searches my eyes with a sloping seriousness. “Now that I have you to myself…”

  He pulls me close, and I cannot ignore the rush of joy in his gentle passion.

  “Give me your answer,” he urges me.

  “My answer…”

  To explain the corralling forces of my mother and father, my duty as a woman to be wed in order to create neat ties to wealthy families is difficult. I never expected to have such care for the man I might marry. I haven’t imagined I might find a love so perfect, as it had always been removed from the landscape of my mind. I have tried to be the loyal daughter.

  “We will have to convince my father and mother,” I tell him. “It’s just that I fear their refusal.”

  “Giselle, I know your mother finds me inadequate as a marriage prospect. That is why I have to persuade her and your father that it would be to their advantage to let us marry.”

  “I will tell them that you are the only one I will agree to spend my life with. I just can’t imagine, especially now…” I tremble anxiously in his loose embrace.

  “Is that a yes?”

  What should I say? I clench my hands over the ridges of his brocade coat, smoothing it down the curve of his chest. Could I do it? Could I give up this life and everything it entails? Being so close to him, experiencing his presence, the aroma of his skin, the wayward glow of his eyes. How will I part myself from him now that I know that someone like him exists in this world? Or am I as foolish, as judgeable as Claire? Anyone looking in on us could think me drenched in madness. If I say no, I am damned to a life out of my control, a fish dependent upon the currents. If I say yes…I stare up into his eyes. Who is he? What does he consist of? In his darkest moments, the basest of times, what traits and choices of his will rise to the top?

  “Yes,” I say.

  My face flushes and I cannot breathe, chest constricting, lungs uninflatable.

  As we hold one another, there is a surge of energy between us, something so tantalizing that we both look upon the other with shock. The laws and formulas that we are told naturally hedge a relationship don’t apply to us; our connection subsides on some deep foreign plane of soul. As we lurch forth, before our lips can touch, we are interrupted by a clunking from the door handles.

  “Ah hah!” Claire boasts her profound satisfaction in discovering us beneath the shadows of the softly lit drawing room.

  Francis settles himself back into his natural reform, adjusting his coat and reassembling his disinterested sneer. Both are breathing heavily from the run. Alphonse has gone to look elsewhere. Claire sweeps towards me, allowing her skirts to fall to the floors in a flourish around her.

  “What were you thinking? Have you lost your senses?” she asks me.

  “They saw us. I didn’t know what to do.” I revel in my foolishness.

  “If mother was to discover...” Her brows raise. “I’d hate to think of you being punished for this…”

  “Thank you for what you did back there,” Benjamin addresses Claire and Francis, his smiles receding, hidden behind solemnity. “Alphonse will be less simple to keep quiet.”

  Claire’s attentiveness towards me pans into a dry rage for Benjamin. I know what is to come and watch helplessly, like one of the crowd members in the Colosseum watching a lioness digress over how she first would like to tear apart her victim.

  “We did not do it for you. Frankly, I am unable to attest for Francis’s reasoning, but I myself did it only for the good of my sister. I do not want to see her reprimanded for your carelessness. In fact, I do not want to see her with you in any measure, but I see that she has different opinions on the matter. But let me make you aware of how this will end, shall I?”

  “Claire!” I am abashed. I reach for Benjamin’s hand.

  “Giselle will be wed to someone far above your station. In fact, our mother is securing said betrothal any day now. The motions will already have been said and done. You not only have disregarded all ideals of properness and respect for a lady such as my sister, but you have sent our father on a wild goose chase around the Africa’s, something that he would not have done if it weren’t for something you said to him. My sister may love you, but this must end. I would advis
e you to leave the instant these dealings are done.”

  Her voice echoes across the drawing room like a slap. My heart pounds in my ears like thunder, anguish felling my previous elation.

  Rage takes over my body. I’ve never once have spoken my own thoughts and opinions for her relationship with Francis. I always worry for her, agreeing to a relationship where she is vying for the affections of a man who will likely cast her aside for another.

  “How can you stand there and speak that way?” My voice is a brittle whisper. “I have never once commented upon my disapproval of Monsieur Francis. Commenting to Father, having him sent to stay at here in our very home?”

  Claire fixes me in unblinking astonishment.

  “I’ve stood by your side, no matter how foolish I thought your decisions to be. You are throwing your innocence at his feet. Now, you’re at the mercy of a man that is classless in his attentions for you and a hundred other girls, stringing you along like some oblivious puppet.”

  I hear Francis scoff, but I continue, undeterred, “I have tried to keep the peace…”

  “I never asked you to forget your convictions,” Claire smarts. “You act as if I’ve forced you to become this sniveling creature, sacrificing everything for me.”

  “And what would you have done had I told you what I really thought of him? Told you that I disagree with the way you are handling the situation? You throw the wildest of fits Claire! You are nothing like the sister I remember..”

  Claire approaches me quietly, heels clopping thrice on the marble floors, eyes lowered until she stands just before me. Letting out a crisp breath of air, she studies my face.

  “You know nothing of what I endured,” the words are ushered past her lips unwillingly, and then she turns, striding from the room, her crown jilted.

  Francis gives me one last glare. Now he knows what I think of him.