Page 17 of The House of Quiet

If that’s the case, she’ll be gone as soon as the House Wife or Cook realizes. Hopefully it’s soon enough for Birdie’s needs. Then she’ll just have to deal with Sky.

There’s a feeling in her chest, though. It takes Birdie a moment to figure out what it is.

It’s not just frustration over this missed chance.

She’s… jealous of Rabbit. Being a maid is the only thing Birdie’s good at, the only reason she’s ever had a place in the world.

Rabbit has no idea what she’s doing, and yet she’s getting opportunities just because she was lucky enough to have the procedure.

She’s not a good maid or a good empath, and she’s still more valuable than Birdie.

It’s why so many families sacrifice everything and risk the rare but possible catastrophic results to get their children abilities. Otherwise, there’s no hope for any of them to do more than merely survive.

Minnow pops back into the kitchen, setting the trays on the counter next to the dishes.

“Dawn’s in a better mood,” she reports to Birdie.

“And I got Nimbus to eat almost all his food. I’ll clean the top floors today; been a while since they’ve seen a broom.

Then I’ll do the dishes. Is that all right with you? ”

“Why are you asking my permission? I’m not in charge.”

Minnow shrugs. “Who is? Near as I can tell, we’re on our own. I’m only asking you because it leaves you down here with all the spoiled monsters.”

“It’s fine.” If Birdie’s down here, that’s more opportunities to see the House Wife or get through that door.

“Golden! See you at lunch.”

Golden? Before Birdie can ask what that means, Minnow darts away. She was right to leave. Today feels much worse than yesterday. Yesterday Birdie still had hope—hope that she might find Magpie, or at least find easy answers. Today she has none of that.

The residents are bored and restless, as well.

Dawn isn’t angry anymore, but there’s a fog of sullen energy in her room.

It’s a struggle to do anything in there.

Sky’s thankfully empty room is a mess of clothes and bedding that takes too long to sort through.

No one has said anything about laundry; Birdie adds it to her list. Forest’s room is completely tidied.

If anything, it’s cleaner than Birdie left it yesterday.

River’s room isn’t messy, but she chatters at Birdie the whole time Birdie’s working, then follows Birdie out, still asking questions. Where Birdie’s from, what it’s like, whether she knows where Minnow’s from, if they were friends before they came to the house, on and on.

Birdie does her best to answer without actually answering, heading straight to Nimbus’s room in the hopes that River will leave her alone. Doesn’t she know she shouldn’t talk to maids?

Unfortunately, River comes in, too. But at least she stops talking. Instead, she sits on the edge of Nimbus’s bed and takes his hand, stroking it gently. It softens Birdie a bit.

“I never find Nimbus, you know,” River says, frowning at the boy. “I’ve looked, ever since he arrived. It’s like—it’s like he’s not here anymore.”

“What do you mean, you’ve looked for him?” Birdie asks, intrigued.

“ Now you decide to listen to me.” River squinches up her nose, then grins mischievously.

“Even my family doesn’t know what I can do.

I worked very hard to make my ability alarming but still mysterious enough that they had to send me away.

I thought it would be to our country estate.

All my grand plans to dashingly rescue myself from my own window in the middle of the night, ruined when they sent me here instead.

Oh, well. Still better than facing betrothal to the minister of defense.

He’s in his thirties , Birdie. Can you imagine? ”

“I—no?”

“Exactly. It’s too wretched to think of. But the truth is, my ability isn’t terribly clever. I am, though. I made it seem threatening. After all, what good minister of defense wants a wife who can read his thoughts?”

Birdie opens her mouth to ask if it’s true, then, that River can read thoughts. The way she phrased it makes it unclear. But before she can ask, River answers herself.

“Trick question! There are no good ministers of defense. But the moral of the story is that I didn’t end up in the House of Quiet on purpose, but I still want to be helpful.

If you think of anything you need, or if you see some way to break through to Nimbus, please let me know.

Or if Minnow needs any help.” River looks down, idly picking at the gold thread woven through the dark blue coverlet on Nimbus’s bed. “Tell her that, would you?”

Birdie nods, then pauses. “Actually, you can help me with something. Do you know exactly how many people are in the house?”

“Do you think there’s anyone you haven’t already met?” River narrows her eyes.

Birdie tries not to look crestfallen. Another silly maybe , tormenting her. Maybe Magpie is still here, somehow, hidden in the back where Birdie hasn’t been allowed. There’s got to be enough space there for more than one person.

Birdie shrugs and turns it into a curtsy. “Just trying to learn the house so I can best serve everyone here.”

Birdie steps into the hall, leaving River and Nimbus.

Her stomach hurts, and her heart aches. She misses her secret friend.

Sitting outside their door, telling them stories.

The hiss of a drawing being slid through to her.

Feeling a little less alone in the world.

She left her poor friend locked away on the empty third floor of the minister’s country manor, and for what?

Half in tears, Birdie rushes to the greenhouse, needing a few moments alone to gather herself. Besides, if Rabbit can be drunk and Minnow can run off to do nothing upstairs, Birdie can sit during the day. She weaves through the reaching plants, ducking under branches and fronds, and then—

Forest is on the bench. Her impulse is to hide and avoid disturbing him.

But he shifts, making it clear he’s aware of her.

Now she has to pretend she was in here for an approved, necessary purpose.

As she walks past Forest like she’s on her way to do something important at the far end of the greenhouse, he holds out a tin full of crystallized-honey treats.

Birdie pauses, dragging her gaze off the floor to his face. Large, deep-set, remarkable eyes over a nose she can describe only as innocent. It’s at odds with his decidedly manly cheekbones and jawline. And full lips. Very full lips.

Oh no . She doesn’t know what Forest’s ability is, either. “Can you read my mind?” Birdie demands.

He shakes his head, holding back a smile.

That’s a relief, at least. “Do you ever talk?”

He shakes his head again, smile fading like fog burned away by the sun.

Well, at least if he’s lying and he can read her mind, he’s not going to tell anyone what he finds there.

He scoots, making room for her on the bench. Birdie shouldn’t. But she’s so sad and lonely and frustrated. She doesn’t want to be a maid right now. She just wants to be a girl, sitting on a bench next to a boy, eating something sweet.

Might as well go swimming when it rains , as they say in her quarter.

Birdie sits and takes a piece of candy. It feels even more rebellious than breaking into the minister’s office and stealing confidential letters from his desk.

The burst of sweetness on her tongue is a simple, pure delight the likes of which she hasn’t had since she lost Magpie.

Birdie tries not to smile at how stupid she’s being, but every time she glances at Forest, he’s glancing at her. Like they really are just a boy and a girl, sitting on a bench, eating candy. Like it doesn’t threaten Birdie’s entire world.

The door to the greenhouse bursts open. Birdie jolts up at the noise, terrified of being caught.

“Birdie! Are you in here?” It’s River.

“What is it?” Birdie calls, rushing to the door.

River gestures to the hallway. “Something’s wrong with Nimbus.”