“Please don’t go.”

His speaking voice rumbled deeper than his singing one, but it was just as mesmerizing. I froze, partially because I didn’t actually want to have to leave him yet, partially because I was insanely curious about why he’d want me to stay.

“I’ll get caught,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nobody is out there. I can hear if anyone approaches. I can alert you so you have time to hide if someone does. But please ... you don’t have to leave.”

I’m not sure his definition of “have to” was the same as mine, but when he looked at me with that kind of desperation, I couldn’t just say, “Sorry, I’m a social-climbing jerk who doesn’t want to chance getting ostracized by the Circle and never getting a formal invitation again.” That was Dourack’s spiel. Hadn’t I thought myself better than that?

“I guess the Regent wouldn’t have all these tall plants in here if he didn’t use them for the occasional refuge.” I smiled, hoping it would relax both of us again. It did for me, at least a little, but Dek remained wary a few seconds longer before I caught the barest easing of his shoulders. “He said you’ll be singing again at supper. Aren’t you tired?”

“I sing at most of the Regent’s gatherings.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m tired.” He glanced at the golden bars of his cage. “My life is not my own.”

I scowled at his confinement. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

When Johaf had bragged about the Regent’s new songbird on the way to presenting us, I’d expected an actual bird, even if the music it played as we got closer didn’t sound like it could possibly be created by a single creature. But seeing him for the first time ... yes, he was alien, and there was something slightly unsettling about the way his hands twisted and turned through the air as he sang, but Dek was no dumb animal to be locked away in a cage.

Dressed in appropriate attire, in dim lighting, he might be mistaken as human if he remained completely still. Though his cage was a foot off the ground, I could still tell he was taller than me, taller than most people I knew, six and a half feet at least if not closer to seven. In clothes, he’d be slender, but dressed in the loose red pants he wore, the only word to describe his long arms and legs was willowy, as graceful as an exotic dancer. His skin was pale but not unblemished. Light gray freckles speckled his chest, with matching arrays along the back of his arms, across his shoulders, and up the sides of his neck. They were the same color as his hair, pulled off his face and bound in thick bunches that fell almost to his waist.

But look at his eyes and hands, and anyone could see he was alien. His irises were nearly black, the pupils almost indiscernible. He didn’t seem to need to blink as often, either, which probably didn’t help the unfortunate bird label.

And his hands ... I’d never seen such things before. Fine strands ran between his long fingers, angled from tip to base. They were nearly invisible when his hands weren’t moving, but while he played, they floated and vibrated in the air, caught on the breeze his movements created. Sometimes, he would pluck them to create more notes, like a miniature harp. But I’d watched him closely as he played, and I would’ve sworn that he could pluck the very same spot and get a completely different sound from it. I hadn’t studied the right kind of science to figure out how it worked, though.

“What if you told the Regent you were tired?” I tried. “He’s not a tyrant. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“That would require me speaking to him.”

“Aren’t you allowed?”

“He doesn’t know I can.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You sing.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really.”

“Birds sing, and yet, they’re not capable of speech.”

“You’re not a bird.”

“I am to them.”

Which brought us back to his imprisonment, the indisputable reality of his existence. “But if you just spoke to the Regent, he’d see how wrong this is. You could still play if you were a member of court.”

One delicate brow arched. “I have lived in cages for almost two decades, and you are the first being to ever try conversing with me. Do you really think the Regent is different than all those others?”

I didn’t have an answer to that. Especially since he implied that I was somehow different because of the choice I’d made. “If nobody ever talked to you before, then --”

“You are also the first I’ve spoken to, yes.”

I’d come in to bask in his wild beauty, but he’d stunned me with far more than simple appearances. “Why?”

“Because you do not treat me like the rest do. You treated me like ...” His voice trailed off, his head cocking slightly as he searched for a word.

I gave it to him. “A man.”