The Blood of Caged Birds (Mortalsong Book 1)

by J. M. Stredwick

  “How was I not aware of this?”

  “It does not surprise me. Mother keeps things to herself. You were busy as ever with your lessons. In any case,” she swallows tightly, “he became much worse as time went on. I wrote mother commenting on his aggressions, at first mentioning his behavior. After the third or fourth time of him pushing me and pulling me around I wrote her demanding that she rescind the betrothal. I explained what he’d been doing. I told her he was…violent.” She cocks her head slightly and there is a steeliness that darkens her face, her teeth set on edge. “She did not listen.”

  I clasp her hand.

  “She was on his side. She berated me for being unruly and childish. She slapped every harsh name to my own and downplayed it, even told me that she did not believe me.” Claire stands, roused in anger, chewing along the soft knuckle of her index finger. “I wanted so much more. I wanted love and happiness. Now, that will never happen. I will be stuck in this depression, my screwed and distorted state of mind all because she did not waver in her decision, and because that bastard of a man took what little I had to offer to the man I might someday love. Funnily enough, after he’d stuck himself inside me, he wrote mother canceling the betrothal.”

  Tears have begun to creep down my white cheeks, and I grip my thighs as if my hands were talons.

  “Claire you are not ruined,” my voice is throaty.

  “I am. I am ruined. You are never the same once you have been so unforgivably violated, not to mention that society will not take me as an honorable woman if they knew. No man in his right mind would marry a damaged creature as I.” She sits back on her bed, head hanging between her hands. “Perhaps that is the reason I have been pushing marriage to Francis. My ‘plan’ as I told you.”

  “Do not say that.” I come to sit before her, reaching up and holding her beautiful face in my hands. Her pain sends shocks of sorrow through my chest, and I hold her as she cries. “I do not know why this happened. I know that mother is disgustingly selfish and has not a care for a soul else on this earth. I know that that man deserves punishment for what he’s done. But I do not know why this happened. All I know, dear sister, is that you will not be damaged forever. Do not let that evil have a hold over you. Your misfortunes do not own you! And disregarding what society might say, you are not worthless. You are wonderful, and your worth is not based off the pointless pretenses of our culture. The man that you marry will be lucky to have you.”

  “The man that I marry? I have not even met the fool.”

  “We will have to take our futures into our own hands. No matter the cost,” I say.

  “Well,” Claire’s voice evens out, and she smirks at me as if she is mildly triumphant. “Who is the rule breaker now?”

  Though deeply afflicted, her strength shines through. I smile in shaky determination, feeling the innocence of my youth shed away from me like a second skin. It makes wonder what dark secrets others with bright smiles and happy eyes cover.

  “We will create our own futures. Mother shall have no hold over us. We can do anything we want sister. Go anywhere, be anything.”

  “Oh, Giselle.” Claire smiles dominantly through a glittery film of tears. “We are nothing without a man. Haven’t you heard?”

  “We should not care for that. We will build a new definition of what a woman is. What she can do. I know that you are passionate about Francis, but he is not worth your time. Let’s forget about this. Let’s run away and do whatever without the ruling hand of men.”

  “What of Benjamin?” she snickers.

  “If you do not want his help,” I sigh, “we will leave him.”

  “Giselle.” She laughs. “I don’t expect you to give up Benjamin in order to reinforce your rebellion. I don’t expect any of it. The last thing I would want would be for you to forswear such a love. Why would you throw it all away?”

  “I don’t want to. I just want you to know that I will do what I must for you to come with me. Benjamin, he can bring us opportunity. He said that he has a small ship. We could sail off or set out for Rome. In any case, I won’t stay here. The only option I see is that we escape somewhere. Together…”

  Claire fixes me in an iron stare, her tone hoarse from crying when she speaks. “Perhaps…”

  Monsieur Alexandre’s words come to me. Flee, he’d said.

  “Come with us. We will hide, and no one will find us. Tomorrow night. Let’s make it then.”

  I know what I have to do. I will have to hurry to stop the hourglass from its quick sands and the dwindle of time as it drags us ever closer to a fate bonded with misery.

  Claire

  Nothing will ever be good. I feel my freedom slipping away like water between my fingers. No matter how hard I try to hold them together, I am unable to keep it all. Francis has left me. When mother pronounced our betrothals, he was gone that very night. Did he tell me farewell? I didn’t think he did well enough. No goodbye would be sufficient enough for him to simply leave after everything that we have had together.

  I stall myself from crying. The cynic in me knows that this is just how men work. He left. Am I really so shocked? I should have seen it coming.

  I do cry because of the harsh world I live in. I pray to whatever god that is above us for him to allow me my freedom, to not force me to marry some fool who will rape me the rest of his days.

  I am sitting on the grass on the hillside overlooking the orchards. I let the dewy grass soak into my skirts. The cold of springtime chills my skin, and I want to scream. To expound my disaster of a life into the earth. Nothing is right. Perhaps, it is my fault.

  I am surprised to see Alphonse walking across the lawn. I look up and he is swaggering towards me. His coat is bristled by the wind, his hair splaying back to reveal his forehead. He seems so immature, but he is tall and growing into his adult self. I can see that in a few years he will be an attractive man.

  “Mademoiselle.” He bows to me. “May I sit?”

  I give him a look that tells him that I do not mind.

  “I offer my apologies,” he speaks quietly, not looking up at me as he stares off into the trees.

  “What for?” I blanch, hoping he did not hear the entire conversation that my mother and I had.

  “For your unhappiness with the betrothals your mother made,” he explains. “I cannot imagine that anyone would be particularly glad.”

  “I don’t even know his name,” I state factually, pulling up a small blade of grass and rolling it between my fingers.

  “Are you going to be alright?”

  I sink my head low, feeling ruined. “Of course not. Everything about this situation is horrific.”

  “Monsieur Francis…he left. Was it because of…” He looks at me then to gauge my answer.

  “There was nothing left for him here.” I smirk, feeling my cheeks ache with satire. “Oh, perhaps you should leave as well. Your brother, too. There’s nothing available to you anymore.”

  Alphonse fixes me in a cold stare. This exchange feels far too forward, as if we are exploring each other for the first time. I find that he has freckles along his neatly structured nose and cheekbones. His hair falls closely to his eyes, always wide and somber.

  “There is something for me here,” he says, and reaches across to take a strand of my hair between his fingers. “I am not him.”

  I allow him this little flirtation and sigh. His hand brings warmth to my face and I feel a sudden excitement. He is not Francis. But Francis will have cause for jealousy if he hears word that I was with him. The game can always continue. I lean my face against his hand and he drops the lock of hair, allowing his hand to fall.

  “I think that you need to get out,” he says then. “A day in Paris.”

  “Paris?” I laugh then at his outrageousness. “Mother would never allow it.”

  “We will have to be quick then won’t we?” He gives me a small smile and stands.

  He reaches a hand out to me and draws me up so that I stand just before him
. Our breaths mingle together, and I wet my lips.

  “Show me the way,” I instruct.

  ________________

  His servants and footman assembled a carriage for us. I dressed myself in travelling clothes, donned a bonnet with an abundance of flowers and made sure that my breasts were amply displayed as it is fun to watch him war within himself over the opportunity to peruse me.

  Paris is only a few hour’s ride from our home in the countryside. I did not think mother would even notice that we’d gone as she is always in her rooms reading or writing letters. She takes her food in her rooms as well. Most days, Giselle and I only see her during the evening meal.

  We cross over the beautiful structure of the Pont Neuf, the Seine River gushing underneath. My insides jostle with pleasure. There are so many people. So many strange and unique beings. I will never stand out in the crowds of Paris. I will be one in half a million people. I close my eyes as I listen to the clopping of the horse’s hooves, the steady flow of water, and the throng of voices rising and falling, barking and whispering. The sun sparkles on the water, and the brightness relaxes me. I inhale the smell of rot and excrement, occasionally reprieved by a breeze of fresh bread and boulangerie sweets.

  “What do you fancy?” Alphonse jerks me back to reality. “There is a newly opened botanical garden or Notre Dame Cathedral is always inspiring. We could catch a viewing at the Comédie-Française? Perhaps there is a ballet or opera this afternoon. Or we could walk…”

  I am in awe that he is so familiar with Paris. I thought he spent his days in Marseille working on ships and the like.

  “You are a mystery to me.” I smile. “I have not been in months and I thought I would be the one to tell you where we should go.”

  He inclines his head a bit and shrugs. “I help my father with his dealings here.”

  “Ah.”

  We are silent for a time. The sun is at full height in the sky. I feel so free in this moment. The world at my feet. There is so much here, so many thoughts and ideas spinning about. This is a place for science and art and reformation of the mind. Certainly, I would do better here than in the small-minded home of my father and mother.

  We decide to walk amongst the city center and go past the recently emptied Palais-Royal. The King relocated his courts to a newly renovated Palace: Versailles. I have been once but prefer the dirty worldliness of Paris.

  Alphonse is not afraid of walking for a stretch of time and the exercise does my body good. I feel that I am awakening from a long slumber and I can feel and think again. We near the Comédie-Française where a mass of people has gathered. My guess is to find out show times or they are waiting for entrance. It is lovely people, ladies with high fontanges and spilling curls, men with fresh detailed waistcoats—clothes that, while massed together, create a stench of body oil and powder.

  Alphonse seems a bit distracted and looks on ahead as if he is searching for someone or something.

  “We’re close to my father’s flat,” he says. “Where we stay when we come to work here.”

  I am surprised. “I should see it.”

  We are already alone. The brevity of our solitude is nice. I am not one for formalities and never will be. But he knows this. I can see it in the way his brows lower. He wants me alone, truly alone, in a house where we can speak face-to-face. Where there is opportunity for something more to grow.

  I reflect on him in the time that we walk. He is not a natural French noble. He is not nearly as flirtatious or cunning. I have known so many men. So many of the same kind. They all speak the same statements, whisper the same promises. They are all entrenched by their own egos that they cannot change or even see that they are as foolish as pigs with crowns. The world is theirs to command and nothing should be different. Not when it is glorious for them alone.

  Alphonse is not this way. Not that I have seen. Francis was the same as the rest, always pretending, longing to be worshiped. When I think of him now, in this place, so far away from the games and the masks I must wear, I think I am the one who is foolish. I did just as expected for reasons that would not make sense to a soul. Perhaps, I thought that he would be a lesser of two evils.

  Alphonse blows out a breath and stops. He is studying the front entrance. I do not know what he is making note of, but he lopes on ahead, his coat flapping against his breeches, and draws out a key from his pocket. I wonder if he planned this.

  I follow him in through the doors. On entrance, it smells like dust, mildew, and potpourri. There are tapestries along the walls and large Chinese vases spaced throughout all sporting distinct kinds of fish. Carp?

  Alphonse studies me from aslant.

  I glance at him and smile. “You stay here?”

  “Yes.” He nods then frowns. “Although, I had thought one of my father’s friends was staying here. I wouldn’t have come in if I had seen his carriage…”

  I cock my brow. He would not have come in, but the thought of being alone was so enticing. They are all the same.

  Giselle spoke of running. Tonight even. Can I? I imagine a life outside of what our name can secure us, what our dowries will afford us. There is a split where our futures may go. I wonder, would Alphonse come with us? He does not like Benjamin. I think it better to stay quiet on the matter.

  “What do you want from me, Alphonse?” I want to laugh with glee when I say this. I know what he wants. It is lovely to see him ache over the words he wants to say.

  “Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. I would never force myself upon you.”

  “Ah. So that is what you want.”

  “No!” He lurches forward and grabs my hand. “I would never presume to think that you would even offer it. I would only hope for friendship.”

  “A friendship? Is that what you call it?” I giggle and twist around to look down the hall.

  He starts to pull his hand away, but I hold firm. Something inside me wants to shock and amaze him. Something that will come as a good surprise. The turmoil inside me rises, urging me to toy with him. It will not matter. He will never see me again after tonight. If anything, it will be more enjoyable for me.

  “Show me around?” I ask innocently.

  He swallows, and I see his throat bob. A small curve comes to the edge of his mouth, and he looks at me with darkly lit eyes.

  He does not break our link and leads the way. We walk through wide shadowy halls, our shoes clapping on the marble. I feel his nervousness oozing out of him.

  “This is the salon.” He motions as we pass the entrance. The doors are barred wide, and I smell the slight scent of wine. I wonder if it’s stained into the lounges or chairs. There is a neat table for taking tea and lunch and many decorative items lining the walls. I notice a large shield with a sword mounted above the fireplace.

  Alphonse keeps walking. He is taking me to his chamber.

  We shuffle up a winding of steps and at the top there is another hall and four doorways spaced on either side. He stops at the first.

  “Mine is the last,” he reveals.

  We are close, and I can feel his breath when he fixes me in his sight. He watches me to see if I display anything, any concern. I feel only numb and perhaps mildly amused.

  “Do you want to see the others?” he whispers.

  I give him the affirmation he needs, and we enter into a large room that I assume overlooks the street. Everything is decorated as is common now, with flowers and gold accents, lacquered tables, armoires, and more dainty vases. A giant mirror hangs across from the bed and I go forth to see my reflection. I look irreversibly gray and distorted in my pain, and I wonder if he can see this, if he notices. I untie the hat from my head and toss it to the floor then take out the pins in my hair and let it fall free. He is watching me and I do not feel nervous. I never have.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Making myself comfortable,” I breathe out, and tilt my head back. “Does it offend you?”

  “N-no!” he breaks. “I want you to be comf
ortable.”

  “Sit down,” I command, and his eyes go wide.

  I untie my bodice first, working my fingers at the base of my back. I stand before the mirror, the sunlight refracting onto me. It lightens me now, and I am glad. Untying the bodice is easy. I let it fall to the floor, along with my sleeves. I have full breasts and they demand more attention with the pressure of a corset. I make a show of myself leaning forward and drawing my skirts down to step out of them. Now, I am in my shift and corset alone.

  “You are…” He shakes his head. “You will regret this.”

  I scoff at him, “I will not.”

  Going towards him his eyes travel my body. He does not expect when I turn my back to him and lower myself onto his lap.

  “The corset,” I tell him softly. “It is a struggle.”

  My buttocks rests against his thighs and groin, and I press myself against him. His desire is obvious. The warmth between us is thick and sweet. His hands shake when he tries to fumble with the ties. I wait for him to finish. He is so silent that I wonder if he is more afraid than anything else. I want him to enjoy himself. I want to be the best woman that he has ever had.

  “Done.”

  I snicker and twist my head and torso so that I can assess him. “You have not touched me, Alphonse.”

  “I don’t think this is right,” he tells me, honor edging his tone. “We should be married.”

  I lean close and kiss him softly, tentatively, only a brush of lips. I hang my arms around his neck. Oddly, I feel as if we have known one another far longer than this, as if he will always accept me as I am now. I kiss him once more then draw back.

  “We will never be married,” I say.

  He nods. He knows this, perhaps better than I.

  “I do not want to hurt you or violate you. I have not…” He trails off and gives me a sad little smirk. “I am inexperienced.”

  My laughter echoes through the room. I rise before him and allow the corset to fall as well, one more thing tumbling to the ground. He is now able to see my figure, perhaps the silhouette of my body through the sheerness of my shift and the dance of the sunlight upon me. He is intoxicated by me. I can see it in his drowsy eyes.