Page 37 of Skysong

But to her dismay, Arthur shook his head. ‘This is our home,’ he said simply. ‘It belongs to you and me, and to your mother’s memory. We will not be forced out of it for anything or by anyone. You can hide if they come to find you, or flee elsewhere if it will be safer. They’ll get no word of your whereabouts from me. But for as long as you want to stay here in our home, you’ll stay.’ His eyes traced the walls, taking in the sanctuary he and her mother had built. ‘And for as long as I live, so will I.’

Oriane had thought long into the small hours, unable to sleep. The worry, the sense of urgency that had been kept at bay by her reunion with her father – it had all come back in a rush as she lay down in her old bed. The king’s people would find her soon. The cottage was well hidden, but with her vague directions, they knew where to look. And yes, she could hide, as her father had said, or leave – but she did not want to go anywhere without him again.

‘You can come with me in the morning, if you want to,’ she’d told him last night. ‘While I sing.’

Arthur had given a playful smile. ‘So I can make sure you don’t fly away?’131

Her cheeks had coloured with shame, even though she knew he was only teasing. ‘I love you, Papa,’ she’d said, voice choking a little with how much she meant it. ‘I just don’t want you to worry.’

Her father had studied her for a moment, his face half in shadow, half lit by the candle he held. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I love you too, my girl,’ he said. ‘And I won’t worry. Whatever happens, I am not worried.’

Now, as the feeling in her chest grew stronger, she crept down the hallway to his door. She knocked gently, but when silence persisted beyond, she entered anyway.

Arthur had slept with his window thrown open. A predawn breeze cast cool fingers into the room, playing about the curtains. Oriane raised her candle. Her father slept soundly still. His breathing was deep and even, the look on his face one of peace, serenity, rest. Oriane did not like to disturb him, but she wanted to keep her word from the previous night.

‘Papa,’ she whispered, crossing to his bedside. ‘It’s almost dawn.’

He slept on. Oriane hesitated. Leaning down, she kissed his forehead, as he had done for her last night.If it wakes him, that is all welland good. If not, I will let him sleep.

Arthur shifted a little, but did not wake. The look of calm contentment was still plain on his face. Perhaps he was dreaming.

Her decision made, Oriane whispered, ‘I’ll see you soon,’ and padded quietly from the room.

The summer night was tranquil. It enveloped her like a calm body of water as she stepped outside, its stillness broken only by the faintest whispers of a breeze. A surge of affection for her home and her life here rose in her chest. She was struck by a feeling of wanting everything all at once: to stay here with her father and their animals and their garden, to go back to the palace and the people,132to take to the skies and fly – somewhere, anywhere. Was this what it was like for everybody else? So muchwanting, spilling over like a too-full cup?

It didn’t matter now. Her heart beat warm in her chest. She had other things to do than stand here, getting lost in her own desires.

Oriane moved to the base of her usual tree. She would wait here as always until the time came. Or perhaps she no longer needed to wait – she had proven that, hadn’t she?

She closed her eyes.I’mready.

Nothing happened. Oriane concentrated harder. She thought of Hana’s questions about how it felt to be a bird. She thought of the nobles watching her, their faces turned towards her like sun-seeking flowers. She thought of Andala, and the first time she had watched her transform.

To her surprise, the heat behind her breastbone suddenly grew stronger. And then her human form disappeared like an illusion, and in an instant she was the skylark, a creature of her own making.

Oriane took to the air, performing a swift loop of the cottage before settling in her tree to sing. Watching the world wake beneath her calmed her earlier worry, solidified a sense of rightness in her bird’s heart, her hollow bones. There was another bird, flitting through the lower branches. There a butterfly, drifting white between the flowers. There—

There a man, hiding behind a tree.

Oriane thought she’d imagined him at first. Her song still bubbled from her beak in an unstoppable stream, and she stayed rooted to her branch, focusing on the woods below.

The rising light soon showed her he was real.

A soldier. And another. And another. All hiding in the woods around her home. All dressed in the king’s blue.133

They were here. They had found her so much sooner than she’d thought.

She spotted more of them: two more, five more, ten. How many soldiers had he sent to retrieve her? Why were they hiding? What did they plan to do?

Fear gripped her, setting her lark’s heart beating even faster. The day kept breaking. Its beauty felt wrong, discordant. The soldiers were looking up, searching for the source of her song. Oriane stayed perfectly still on her hidden branch. Finally, finally, the notes slowed to a stop, and the woods lapsed into a strange silence.

Now what?

They’d been waiting for this moment, she realised as more of them crept between the trees, signalling to one another, their searching gazes moving lower. Now that she had sung, they expected her to change back; they were seeking a woman now, not a bird. But as a bird she could stay hidden, just as her father had said.

‘Stay alert.’

Oriane froze, heart seizing. The speaker was directly below.

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