Page 92 of Skysong

Oriane was suddenly aware of the scant space between them, and of Andala’s hand on hers. Andala seemed to notice it at the same time. They broke apart, returning to the map, and the little islet that might be their salvation.

Theisleisbelievedbysometohavebeenhometoancientgods,whodwelledingreatstonecastlesbuiltuponitsrockysurface.

‘And will we live there ever after, then?’ Oriane asked, the casual note in her voice sounding forced even to her. ‘Queens of our own castle?’

‘Not queens.’ From the corner of her eye, Oriane saw Andala’s mouth quirk upwards as she pointed to a word in the book. ‘Gods.’

‘I thought that was the last thing you wanted to be,’ Oriane said, turning back to face her fully.

Andala shrugged. ‘I could learn to live with being a god now, I think.’ She turned in her seat too, and when she met Oriane’s gaze this time, her dark eyes were lit with something that set Oriane’s chest aflame. ‘So long as you will be a god alongside me.’

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Chapter 42

That night, Andala dreamed of the sea.

It was a mark of her exhaustion that she was able to sleep at all, with the day’s torrent of emotions still coursing through her. But when she did, it was the sea into which she sank. She had seen it once, with Girard, when they’d first left Fenbrook. They’d gone out to the coast to look at it together: the vast blanket of blue spread out like a gift before them, a picture of possibility, stretching as far as the distant horizon; further.

The ocean in her dreams was nothing like it.

This was a black sea. An angry sea. A vicious void of churning water that threatened to suck her down, hold her under. She flew high above it, her nightingale’s wings beating furiously against the wind. It was night – or was it day? The light had a strange quality to it, an otherworldly mix of bright and dark. Andala struggled to stay aloft. She looked ahead, hoping to see Oriane flying before her, or at least the faint speck of a distant island on the horizon, calling them home.

Instead, she saw nothing but dark water as her wings failed her and she fell.

No, they didn’tfailher. They deserted her entirely. She was the nightingale no longer. She was herself again, human again, and her328human body was heavy and falling, falling, falling, the ocean rushing up to meet her—

‘Andala?’

She wrenched upright in bed, sucking in a great gasp of air.

It took her a moment to realise where she was, to orient herself in her little inn room. A faint hint of light bled through the gap in the curtains at her window.

That meant Oriane was awake, that she’d sung.

Relief swept through Andala as she pulled a robe over her borrowed nightgown. Oriane was well enough to change, to sing. She’d looked ghostly by the time they’d finished in the library last night. Her warm brown skin had been ashen, her freckles standing out sharply on her face, even in the low light. She’d been happy when they’d finally found Ile Deiale, but she was still deep in the throes of grief. Even if they made it to the island, Andala knew that sorrow would follow her there.

‘Andala, are you in there?’

It was Kitt’s voice out in the hall. She’d slipped a note under his door last night, letting him know what they’d found. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she pulled it open to find him dressed and ready.

‘I’m going with you,’ he said immediately. ‘Don’t bother protesting, it isn’t up for debate. We’ll leave within the hour. But Tomas wants to see you first.’

They met the king in the library – just Andala and Oriane. Kitt had excused himself to make preparations for the trip. Andala found it impossibly strange to see King Tomas here, standing among the books in the tiny town she used to call home. But the king was329almost unrecognisable himself. He was dishevelled, and looked as if he had not slept in days. The skin under his eyes was smudged with shadows, which bled into a nasty bruise on one side of his face.

‘I mean to offer an apology,’ he said without preamble, the moment Andala had closed the door behind them. ‘To both of you.’

Andala hadn’t expected this. She stole a glance at Oriane. Her usually soft features were hard as flint. Tomas’s words were a whetstone, making her eyes spark and sharpen. She was still angry. Andala did not blame her. She’d told Oriane the truth about why Tomas had sought out the skylark, and Oriane’s sympathy for the king and Hana had seemed to temper her wrath a little. But she had not yet forgiven him for his role in her father’s death.

‘I know I’ve said it before,’ Tomas went on. ‘To you, at least, Oriane. And I realise that I could say it again, a dozen, a hundred times over, and it would not be enough. But I have not apologised to you, Andala.’

She blinked, taken aback. ‘Why would you apologise to me?’

Tomas sighed. He looked worn, defeated, older than he was. ‘Because you are a skysinger, just like Oriane, and I have not done right by you either, as a king of the Meridean line.’ He walked over to the dormant fireplace, ran a finger down its mantle. ‘Before she died, my mother meant to charge me with an important duty. Well, more accurately, her successor. Back then, that was Hana.’

He looked across the room, and Andala started at the sight of the princess, curled up in an armchair. She had not even noticed Hana was there. The princess focused on her brother, but did not speak.

‘Death came for her before she could pass on her message directly,’ Tomas continued. ‘But she wrote it down in a letter, which she hid away … Hana found it, only a few days ago, secreted away in the library. In the message, our mother spoke of our sacred responsibility330as rulers of Cielore – all the usual guidance you’d expect about protecting our people and bettering our nation, but an additional duty, too: one particular to our family line, handed down since the days of the first Meridean queen.’

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