Page 41 of The House of Quiet

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Forest Listening

Forest messed up.

He’s known Birdie for so long. He’s listened to her cry, tell stories, talk about her life and her home and her hopes and her fears. He couldn’t touch her there, couldn’t even see her, but she was the bright star his entire small, dark world came to revolve around. And then she left.

He knew she didn’t want to leave him. She begged him to open the door, but he was too afraid he might hurt her. He should have listened to that fear. He should have respected it.

But if he had, Birdie would be dead. His father set out that same day with plans to have Birdie murdered, and only Forest’s intervention stopped it.

So he can’t regret it. And here, he got to see her.

He got to watch her taking care of everyone.

Laughing and smiling and brushing the hair back from where it falls soft and free from her bun.

She’s the most beautiful girl in the whole world, and even before she knew who he was, she was drawn to him. She trusted him.

And it’s that trust he violated. Because he knows Birdie.

And he knows that she would never have accepted that they could be together, thanks to how she was trained from childhood on to disappear.

To fade into the wallpaper. To never have a need or desire that came before what was asked of her.

She was going to keep her head down and her achingly sweet eyes on the ground.

He could see it happening in that moment in the greenhouse. He was going to lose her, and it was so unfair that he spoke. Knowing what he knows. Having seen exactly what he’s capable of. It was the single most selfish thing he’s ever done, telling Birdie she should do what she wants.

But—

Forest closes his eyes, heart racing so fast he can feel it in his throat. But she chose him, because that’s what she wants, now that she’s at last allowed to want things for herself. It feels like a miracle.

But he isn’t a miracle. He’s a curse. And so he’s waiting in the hall outside the study, listening in, because what if Birdie does something out of character thanks to him? What if she needs him again?

“You,” Arrow snaps. Forest turns to take in the other maid. Not a maid. Arrow’s face is a contradiction. Her round eyes always make her look innocent, bordering on confused, and yet she’s always angry.

She beckons for him to follow. Seeing his hesitation, she rolls her eyes. “He’s a tutor. Birdie will be fine. We need to talk.”

Arrow’s relentless, so Forest lets her lead him into River’s room. He looks around, surprised not to find the other girl.

Arrow launches a furious question at him. “Why are you so selfish?”

He’s been wondering the same thing. He hangs his head. She’s right. He should never have risked saying something to Birdie.

But Arrow continues. “You never stopped to think that what you can do could solve all of this? Could solve everything? You have power , Forest. Maybe that’s the problem.

You’ve always had power, so you don’t know what it is to have none.

You can do more than I ever could, maybe than anyone else in history ever could, and you’re doing nothing , and I need a reason not to hate you.

Make me understand. Make me understand why you can fix this but you won’t. ”

Forest lifts his hands, palms up. Arrow isn’t mad about Birdie. He supposes not everyone’s thoughts revolve around her, after all. But he can’t answer Arrow, for any number of reasons.

With a growl, Arrow grabs a sheet of paper and a pencil off River’s nightstand. “Write it down, then.”

Forest shakes his head.

“Sink me in a bog and stomp on my head, you infuriating lump. Write something and see if I’m compelled to do it.

It can’t possibly work through writing, too.

I know none of these abilities make sense, but that makes even less sense than usual.

I’ve never heard of that. And we pay attention to abilities where I’m from.

We understand better than anyone else all the ways they can be used. ”

Forest looks down at the paper. He thinks and thinks. He took a risk with Arrow on the stairs yesterday, but the parameters were so clear. He needs to make certain they’re that clear this time, too.

At last, he writes down a phrase and holds the paper out to her.

Arrow snatches the paper from his hands. Softly clap your hands together a single time. She claps her hands…then does it several more times. “Ta-da!” she says. “You did it. You wrote a sentence, and now you know that you can’t compel us by the power of your pencil alone.”

Forest wraps his arms around her in a hug, lifting her off the floor and spinning her in a circle. His silent laughter shakes them both. This isn’t just relief. This is sheer, giddy joy.

He can write.

He…can write. His elation drains away, realizing what this means. He sets Arrow back down, and she squeezes his arm and smiles at him.

“Yes, fine, you’re happy. Let’s move on. Wait.” She frowns. “Why did you think it would work through writing?”

Forest sits, pencil in hand. He writes as fast as he can, letters rushed but still precise and elegant. He loves drawing, has always preferred to express himself through art, but he’s missed words so much.

I wrote a letter to my father when I realized what my ability was. I told him I should be locked in the empty third floor, that no one should ever come speak to me or visit me, only deliver food and leave. And my father obeyed it exactly. He never once visited or tried to communicate with me.

“Oh,” Arrow says. “I see.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, resting it lightly there. Because he doesn’t need to say the rest.

Forest was equal parts afraid that it was compulsion that forced his father to do that…and that it wasn’t compulsion. Because if he ever tried writing again and it wasn’t part of his ability, he’d have to admit that his father willingly locked him away and avoided him entirely.

He already knows who his father is. What his father is. But having it confirmed hurts. Maybe Forest didn’t need to make his father forget him. He was already doing it without any help.

But now that Forest can communicate, he keeps going. Arrow has to understand.

Before I knew what I could do, I had been sick. A doctor came and broke the fever, but when I woke, everything felt strange and wrong. My mother was fussing over me. In my pain and delirium, I told her to go away. She walked out of the house and into the countryside. No one has seen her since.

I still didn’t know what I was doing, or the ability I had.

“How could you have?” Arrow’s voice is soft.

My head ached like it was splitting in two. A maid asked me if I needed anything, and I told her to please shut her mouth. I found out later she starved to death. They couldn’t even pry open her jaw to save her life. I killed her because I was impatient and careless.

Arrow squeezes his shoulder. There’s nothing she can say. Forest has to live with this.

I started to suspect what was wrong. I tried to be cautious.

I thought about every word that left my mouth, but still damage was done in the most unexpected ways.

A poorly constructed sentence, the wrong word choice, a startled exclamation.

Anything that I said was a weapon. My voice was violence.

I locked myself up and never let anyone visit or talk to me.

“What made your father decide to send you here, then?”

He didn’t. That’s why I’m not on the list. Birdie was —

Forest stops, closing his eyes. He grips the pencil like it’s a lifeline, then writes the rest. Birdie in his house, the first person to make him feel real in years.

Following her here. Protecting her from his father by making him forget them both.

Making Cook and the House Wife incapable of noticing him.

Arrow snickers. “That’s a neat trick.” But after a few moments, she adds, “And a sad and lonely one.”

Forest writes more forcefully, the words nearly carving themselves into the paper. I could just as easily have blinded them by accident, or made them go mad because my instructions weren’t precise enough. There’s no predicting all the outcomes. I won’t risk Birdie’s safety. No matter what.

He leans back and looks at her, an eyebrow raised defiantly. Arrow is a force to be reckoned with, but now she knows how far Forest is willing to go to protect Birdie.