Page 14 of Skysong

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

Oriane jogged a few extra steps to fall in line beside her. ‘You’ve gone back to calling me “my lady”,’ she said, stealing a cautious glance at Andala’s face. It was perfectly expressionless, like that of a porcelain doll.

‘I shall call you what I feel is most fitting,’ Andala replied curtly. ‘At the moment I do not know you, and so I shall address you as “my lady”.’50

Oriane recoiled at the harshness of her tone – but she also felt a flicker of annoyance. Andala seemed bothered by her very presence, but as far as Oriane could tell, she had done nothing to deserve the woman’s ire. ‘I do not know you any better than you know me,’ she returned eventually, a cool edge to her own voice that she had never heard there before. ‘So what am I to call you?’

‘You need call me nothing.’ The ice in Andala’s voice made Oriane’s sound like a summer breeze. ‘It is a maid’s job to be invisible, and that is what I shall strive to be.’

Oriane opened her mouth, but found she did not know how to reply. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Back in her rooms, Oriane hovered awkwardly while Andala drew back the heavy curtain in front of the bathing chamber and slipped inside. The sound of splashing water drifted out, followed by a wonderful scent – lavender, Oriane thought. Even the bathwater here was rich and beautiful.

‘The water’s still warm,’ Andala said briskly as she re-emerged. ‘Shall I help you undress?’

‘What?’ Oriane’s cheeks heated. ‘I mean – no, thank you. I can manage myself. Thank you.’

Andala didn’t seem to notice her flustered babbling. ‘Is there anything else you need before you retire?’

No sooner had Oriane replied ‘No’ than Andala turned on her heel to leave.

‘Thank you,’ Oriane added once more, cringing at how foolish she must sound, repeating the same words over and over. But they seemed to ricochet back at her as the door swung shut behind Andala, leaving Oriane alone.

She took her time in the bath, calmed somewhat by the feel of the hot water and scented oils against her skin. After, she found a51silken nightgown laid out for her on the bed. She donned it, then considered the heap of clothes discarded on the floor. They were dirty from her fall in the woods, crumpled from travel and sleep and surely smelling ripe – she couldn’t possibly wear them in front of everybody in the morning …

But after a glance around the room, her worry subsided. There, laid out over an ottoman in a corner, was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. It was a pale-yellow confection, all skirts and silk. Oriane had never worn anything like it. She had no idea how she would even get it on, come to that. But that was a problem to deal with tomorrow.

Exhausted, she staggered over to the bed. The cloudlike covers welcomed her into their embrace. The moment her head hit the pillow, she slept, her dreams strangely peaceful, awash with colour and light.

52

Chapter 7

Oriane’s eyes shot open. The stirring embers at her heart had not woken her, as they had most other days of her life. But this day was not like the others.

Today, for the first time, her song would be shared.

Oriane thought of her father as she rose and splashed water on her face. He would be awake now, too – if he had even slept at all last night. He would be outside, facing the east. Even if Oriane’s message had reached him, she knew he would be watching the skies to make sure of her safety himself.

A soft knock sounded at the door. ‘I’m here to help you dress,’ came a quiet voice.

Andala. Oriane crossed the room and opened the door, grateful she would not have to tackle the unfamiliar garment alone. Andala glanced at her quickly as Oriane stepped aside to let her in. Oriane was suddenly aware that she wore only a nightgown. She blushed, feeling immodest and exposed, though she supposed lady’s maids regularly saw their charges in various states of undress. Indeed, Andala seemed unbothered, moving briskly about the room to light lanterns and prepare Oriane’s gown.53

‘Put this on first,’ she said, thrusting some sort of undergarment Oriane’s way.

Cheeks still flaming, Oriane retreated to the bathing chamber to change. When she emerged, Andala helped her step into the daffodil-coloured gown. She was surprised by howheavyit was – the skirts gathered around her waist and cascaded to the floor in a fall of layered silk. The back seemed to be fastened by countless buttons; she felt Andala’s hands moving deftly upwards, the gown’s bodice growing pleasantly snug around her torso.

‘They’re waiting for you,’ Andala said quietly, as the last button was done. Oriane suppressed a shiver as a feather of breath tickled the back of her neck. She had never stood this close to someone from the outside world before. Her heartbeat seemed to have sped up slightly – though it did tend to do that as her time to transform grew near. She took a breath and turned around.

‘Do I look the part?’ she asked. Andala appeared tired, she noticed, now that they stood face to face. She seemed even paler today, and the skin beneath her striking eyes was smudged with shadow.

Andala’s eyes dropped to the gown and back up. She looked at Oriane, properly this time. ‘You do,’ she replied.

For a second or two, they remained where they were. The moment seemed to hover around them, time strangely unwilling to move forward. Then Andala blinked, and in an instant she was over by the door, holding it open for Oriane.

‘It’s time to go.’

Ignoring the nervous fluttering in her chest, Oriane nodded and stepped through.

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