Page 102 of Skysong

She scanned the clearing. Nothing, but the woods beyond were lost in shadow. Where were Kitt and Tomas? How close had they said Terault’s people were?

A chill of fear descended like water tumbling over her head, extinguishing the wild elation she’d felt. She’d almost forgotten the danger she was in. She needed to move—

Sheer instinct had her ducking just in time as someone lunged at her from behind.

Andala hit the ground and rolled. Whirling, she caught sight of a figure righting themselves from the stumble they’d taken. A figure in blue robes.

Her mind went blank with panic. They were here. They’d found her.

She readied herself to run – where, she did not know – but another person, two, three, emerged from the gloom before her like ghouls.

‘Andala! Anda—’

A shout from beyond the clearing, cut off by a thud and a cry of pain. That had sounded like Kitt’s voice. There was a muffled cry of rage – was that Tomas? Had they both been caught, too?

More bootsteps sounded, stomping through the undergrowth.

Change,Andala told herself desperately, as the blue-robed figures stalked towards her.Fly.

But she could not. The power in her breast was dormant, dying, dead.

She spun around. The first person who’d entered the clearing, a woman, was at her back. They had her trapped on all sides.

The woman stormed towards her. Andala braced herself to lash out, to fight—

A strong set of hands seized her from behind. She thrashed, but there were more hands on her now, restraining her arms, forcing a cloth over her mouth and nose, stifling her scream.359

A sharp sweet scent was the last thing she knew before darkness crashed down like a wave.

Andala sat up with a start – or tried to. Her body was wrenched painfully down, as if by invisible hands. She could not move, but there was nobody forcing her back that she could see.

No. She was not being forced down. She wastieddown.

As her head stopped spinning enough for her to make out her surroundings, fear rose in her throat like bile.

She was out in the open somewhere, flat on her back on a hard stone slab. There was nothing around her but darkness; no light above, no sound but her own laboured breathing and the wind as it whispered over her body. Andala was alone.

At least, she thought she was. And after a moment, shewishedshe were. For there were people around her. She could sense them but not see them, standing silently, watching her struggle.

She became aware of them with a shock that sent her heart into her throat. As her eyes adjusted to the canvas of night around her, she could make out shapes. Silhouettes. And then the gleam of disembodied eyes, reflecting the light as they stared at her.

The light—

Andala twisted herself as far as she could to the side. The light source was behind her: a single, small torch, held aloft in a spectral hand. As it rose higher, the flame whipped about in the breeze, but stayed strong, finally illuminating the face of the person who held it.

Terault, clear-eyed, expressionless, gave a signal to his followers, who closed in like wolves around the raised slab where Andala was tied. More torches lit up the night. With a jolt, she realised she’d360been brought to the clearing Kitt had seen, atop the promontory that faced towards the island. A fresh wave of dizziness cascaded through her as she made out the shadowed shapes of temple ruins looming large over the gathering.

The followers began to murmur among themselves. Anticipation hung heavy in the air, coating Andala’s skin like cold sweat. It was difficult to breathe. She thrashed against her bindings, her body twisting in a frenzy of dread.

‘Lie still,’ Terault said. There was no invitation in his low voice, no intent to placate or soothe. Just victory. Just power. ‘Do not make a spectacle of yourself, nightingale. Lie still or I will make you.’

Andala did as he commanded. Damn her fearful, traitorous heart, she did it. Who had she become, that she would lie back and let this man do what he would to her? But this was what she’d always been. Scared. Weak. As Terault came to stand beside her and laid a hand on her shaking shoulder, Andala bit back a scream.

‘Loyal believers,’ the seneschal called, his voice carrying easily across the clifftop. ‘The moment has come.’

A ripple of excitement from the crowd.

Terault stood to the side, so he could look directly down at Andala. As he did, the clouds that had cloaked the stars moved aside, and his face was suffused with cold silver light. A smile curved his lips now, and it was this – not the crowd pressing in on every side, not even the dagger she had spotted shining in his hand, but the hunger, theconvictionon his face – that convinced Andala this was really the end. She knew what he was about to do, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

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