Free A Sliver of Stardust by Marissa Burt Page A

docilely by her side, the tip of its head reaching her shoulder.
    â€œDo you typically find yourself having such strong emotional reactions to new scenarios?” Mary asked Wren casually as she pulled the strap against her falcon’s underbelly.
    â€œAbsolutely not. The last time I flipped out like that was when I was four and lost my favorite stuffed animal.” Wren smiled at the memory. It had taken the whole afternoon for her dad to calm her down. “My dad says nothing can ruffle my feathers. You know, because my name is Wren, like a bird?” Wren winced as the unsuitability of it hit her. Could her parents have picked a worse name? She shrugged. “I have no idea what happened just now.” Her analytical mind began to kick in. “Maybe it was the falcons. Like an allergic reaction or something.” Or a phobic one.
    But Mary didn’t give her opinion. While they’d been talking, Jack and Simon had kept busy with their birds. And now Jack was astride his, and the giant falcon setoff with a jerky run, spreading its wings wide, and then took to the air.
    â€œJack!” Mary shouted up at the sky. “Jack! Are you all right?”
    Jack soared past them, steering his falcon up and over the woods. He waved his arms and whooped.
    Mary clapped one hand over her mouth and laughed. “There’s nothing like a Fiddler’s first flight,” Mary said, watching Jack crouch low over his bird. “You’ll see soon enough, when your falcon comes back.”
    â€œRight,” Wren said, feeling sick to her stomach as the reality of what Jack was doing sank in. Not only did she have to be close to the falcon, have to talk to it, and even have to take care of it, but she had to actually ride the thing. They watched Jack do another loop around the mews. “I can’t wait.”

TEN
    Old King Cole was a wise old soul.
    A wise old soul was he.
    He called for the stone, and he called for his bowl,
    And he called for his Council three.
    W ren stood, looking up at Mary’s fully grown falcon. Her own hadn’t returned, and now that the last lingering daylight had faded into shadowy dusk, Mary had decided they would leave for the Crooked House without it.
    â€œMy falcon is strong,” Mary said, adjusting the strap on her saddlebag. “It can carry both of us.”
    Jack was still circling overhead, and Wren could tell Simon was itching to join him. He moved toward his falcon, which instantly offered him its tan back. In one smooth motion, as though he’d been doing it hisentire life, Simon was up on the creature, knees tucked behind its wings.
    â€œExcellent, Simon.” Mary whispered something to Simon’s bird, and Wren thought she saw the creature nod its head in response. “Remember to hold the neck feathers and lean low.”
    Mary reached out a hand, beckoning for Wren to join her on the white falcon. Wren wished the feeling of adventure was back. Or something that might make it possible for her to get up on the thing. She shut her eyes and clasped Mary’s hand. Mary pulled hard, and Wren scrabbled at the slick feathers, and then she was up, seated behind Mary. Her knees tingled. The falcon hadn’t even moved, and the ground still seemed a long way down. The bird stretched its wings and then bounced forward into a choppy run. Wren could feel powerful flapping beneath her, and then they were gaining ground, higher and higher, until they were past the treetops, the dark trail of the road dwindling away below them.
    Wren tightened her hold around Mary’s waist. Next to them, Simon was laughing, hands straight up in the air. “I’m flying!”
    Wren managed a weak answering cheer and peekeddown. Her ears heard Simon’s words and her eyes saw the way the landscape changed below them, but her mind couldn’t actually process what was happening. Flying. In the sky. The air was icy cold, and Wren’s cheeks prickled