Page 34 of Skysong

She burst through the back door. The house was dark, silent, a stark contrast to the morning light and life outside. ‘Papa?’ Oriane called again. Was he out collecting water? Had he gone to stock up on supplies?

She moved further into the cottage. There was a musty smell in the air, as if the place had been closed up and undusted for a while. Her father was not in the library, or in the kitchen making porridge. Oriane’s fears, the ones that had seemed dark but distant at the palace, now loomed large as monsters in her mind. What if something had happened? What if he was—

‘Papa,’ she called again, louder, as she charged towards the staircase. Perhaps he was still in bed. Yes, that was it, she thought, ignoring the persistent voice that reminded her he had got up with the sun, like Oriane, for as long as she could remember. Today he was tired, and still asleep.

Her heart hammered as she reached the top of the stairs. Her feet119thumped on the rug as she stormed towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed, but he would be in there, she knew it—

‘Oriane?’

She gasped, her whole body wrenching in the direction of the voice. Her father’s voice.

Relief rushed through her so quickly it made her dizzy. The sound had come from the right – not from his bedroom, but from hers. Oriane backtracked and put a hand to the door. It creaked open, and there he was.

He sat in a chair beside her empty bed. It looked as if he had slept there. He seemed stiff and hunched over, his face shadowed beside the curtained window. Even in the semi-darkness he looked old, older than Oriane had ever known him to look. But it was him. Her father was here.

‘Papa,’ she whispered, her voice breaking.

Weakly, he half rose from his chair, not seeming to believe it was really her. Oriane rushed to him. She threw her arms around him, choking back a sob. He felt like a stranger – too thin; cold, despite the warm summer morning. But after a moment, he seemed to gather his strength and return her embrace, and he was back: her father, her protector, her sole companion. With a shock, Oriane realised he was weeping. She could not remember ever having seen him cry.

‘My girl,’ he kept saying. ‘I thought I’d lost you. I thought you’d gone.’

Oriane drew back, face wet with tears. ‘Papa,’ she began, ‘I don’t … I’m so—’

‘It’s all right,’ Arthur interrupted. His voice sounded rough and hoarse, as if he had not used it in a long time, but he was making a visible effort to pull himself together. He held Oriane at arm’s length and studied her. ‘Areyouall right?’120

Oriane’s throat felt tight. Guilt barrelled through her, hot and shameful. She was perfectly fine, of course. She had been fed and cared for and fawned over. Arthur, on the other hand … Her father looked lost, like a sailor run ashore on an unfamiliar island. She had done this to him. She did not know how to explain, how to apologise, not yet.

‘Yes,’ she said instead. ‘I’m all right.’

121

Chapter 16

As she’d watched Oriane take wing for the last time, regret had speared through Andala. It echoed the pain of her own transformation: complex, multifaceted, the dawn light glinting off its many sides, glancing sharply off its keen edges.

She had not had time to dwell on it. The moment Oriane’s silhouette had disappeared in the distance, all hell had broken loose, and it had not let up since.

‘Tomas still does not suspect anything?’ she asked Kitt quietly that afternoon, as they met in the corridor near his chambers.

His eyes darted around, checking no one was in earshot before he responded. ‘Of our involvement? No. He trusts me, and …’ His tone turned apologetic. ‘Well, I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not sure he remembers you exist. Which is a good thing now, of—’

He broke off as a pair of chambermaids scurried past. They were so deep in their own muttered gossip that they barely spared a glance for Andala and Kitt. Still, he didn’t continue until their voices had faded away.

‘But he knows someone was behind it. Windows do not smash of their own accord, especially when a treasure is stored behind them.’

They fell silent again as a group of guards marched past, heading with purpose in the direction of the great hall. Something reminiscent122of a command centre had been set up there by Terault, soldiers and servants summoned throughout the day to speak to him, receiving orders passed down from the king.

‘I’ve done my best to encourage the idea among the kitchen staff that it had something to do with those fanatics in the city,’ she murmured to Kitt when the corridor was clear again. ‘There are so many rumours flying around among the servants that it’s hard to keep up, but that one seems predominant at the moment.’

Kitt gave a curt nod. ‘Good. That’s good. When Tomas orders them all rounded up and questioned, it will distract a good number of the guards for a while, and hopefully delay any more search parties.’

Andala lurched to an abrupt halt in the middle of the corridor. ‘Search parties?’

Kitt paused too, turned to face her. He seemed exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all the previous night. ‘Terault has been arranging them. To go after her. They aren’t sure precisely where in the woods her cottage is, but they have a direction, and Tomas is putting every pair of boots at his disposal on the ground to comb through them.’

He started off towards his rooms again, but Andala stayed where she was, feet bolted to the ground.

‘She’ll keep running, though,’ she said. ‘And she has a head start. They won’t find her. Surely they won’t.’

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