Page 8 of Skysong

Oriane shook her head. It was the truth; she felt a little better than when she’d first woken. In any case, she found herself wanting to hide her true state. Something told her she should not let her panic and overwhelm bubble to the surface.

The man raised a hand towards her face. ‘May I?’

She forced herself to nod again. His hand cradled her jaw for a moment. Oriane felt her face grow warm as he tilted it gently this way and that and looked into each of her eyes. He seemed satisfied with what he found there. The smile – still small, still apologetic – appeared on his face again, and he stood.

‘You seem well, my lady. But please do not hesitate to send for me if you feel at all unsteady or ill.’

The physician dipped his head towards her. He received a brief nod from King Tomas as he returned to the doorway. Then, with a neat bow, he left the room.

Save for the silent man in the corner, Oriane and the king were alone.

‘That was Kitt,’ King Tomas said, gesturing towards the closed door. ‘He’s my physician, scientist, inventor – jack of all trades, really. Brilliant man. His real name’s Eustace Kittrick, but don’t ever let him know I told you that. He’d die of embarrassment if anyone were to call himEustace.’ His manner was almost casual, his tone warmer and more familiar than Oriane had expected of a king.

He did not introduce the other man, the one whose watchful eyes were keen as blades. Instead he swept over to her, his boots29alternating clicks and thuds as he moved from stone floor to rich rug. Oriane fought the urge to back away, but King Tomas didn’t come too close. He sat in one of the chairs before the unlit fireplace, and indicated that she should do the same.

‘Please, sit. You still need your rest. You took quite a turn out in the woods, I heard. Tell me, how are you feeling now?’

Oriane looked at him. A sense of unreality had descended upon her. Was she really here, about to take tea with theking? She lowered herself shakily into a chair. ‘I’m fine,’ she said truthfully, though her voice sounded rough and hoarse, as scratchy as though she hadn’t used it in days. ‘Thank you for … your care, my king. I owe you a debt of gratitude.’

Tomas blinked, then smiled again. ‘Not in the slightest. It is my privilege to host you, and my pleasure. What is your name, my lady?’

Oriane briefly entertained the idea of giving a false name, but what use would that be?

‘Oriane,’ she said.

‘Oriane,’ he repeated. ‘A beautiful name.’

He picked up the teapot and set about pouring her a cup. The tea was piping hot, steam curling invitingly from its clear amber surface. Oriane stole a glance at his face as he poured. The portrait in her history book had shown the Meridea family as they had been some twenty years ago: Queen Heloise; her husband, King Edgar; and their two then-young children, Tomas and Hana. The essence of the prince in the portrait was still there, but this version – the grown man, the king – was different, now that she saw him closely. He looked older than Oriane by a few years. His hair, rust-gold like his mother’s, was pushed back off his face in thick waves. He had inherited Queen Heloise’s pale, perfect skin, but from this distance she could see there were shadows smudged beneath his eyes. Perhaps30the queen had had them too, and the portrait artist had painted them out. Perhaps they were simply a mark of the weight of rule.

‘My name is Tomas,’ the king continued, as if she didn’t already know. Oriane jumped, realising she had been staring. Tomas served himself next, pouring tea and selecting a few little cakes from the tiered stand. ‘Please, help yourself, Oriane.’

She picked up her teacup and took a tentative sip. The tea was delicious: hot and restorative, a welcome familiarity that cut through the strangeness of the situation. The king watched her thoughtfully over the rim of his cup.

‘Can you tell me how you came to be here today?’ he asked.

Oriane froze again. Her heart, already beating fast against her ribs, sped up to a painful pace. ‘M-my king, I—’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘There’s no need to call me that. I don’t care much for formal titles.’ Oriane looked up at him, surprised. She must have appeared fearful, a deer caught in a hunter’s line of sight, because the king smiled kindly at her again. ‘Please rest assured, Oriane, you are most welcome here. You live somewhere in the city, I would guess?’

‘No, my k— No, not in the city. I live … with my father, in a cottage in the woods.’

‘Close by, then, to have found yourself in the palace grounds this morning?’

Warmth rose in Oriane’s cheeks. ‘N-not exactly close by,’ she stammered. ‘We live … further north.’

‘I see. And you had been travelling? Towards the city?’

‘I … Yes.’ Oriane wondered why he was so interested. She was struck by an urge to hide. As she set her teacup down, words began tumbling from her mouth of their own volition. ‘Yes, I had planned to visit … my aunt. She lives in the city. My father is there already.31He went on ahead a few days ago. He’ll be wondering where I am—’

‘My lady.’

She glanced up. The king was giving her a look – knowing, reassuring.

‘You don’t have to lie to me.’

Lie. Her heart skipped unpleasantly at the word.

Tomas continued, his expression earnest. ‘I want you to believe me when I tell you that you are in no danger. You are safe within my walls, and so is your secret. It is an honour to have you here, a privilege to be visited by the Messenger of Day herself.’

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