Page 103 of Skysong

‘The skylark has eluded us,’ Terault called, and there was barely restrained fury in his voice. ‘But it is no matter. You will still bear witness to the forging of a new god tonight. We have here with us the361nightingale – a lesser goddess, yes, and one that we have never revered as we have the lark. But once I possess one skysinger’s form … Well, then it shall be easy to go after the other, and to do the same to her.’

Horror flooded Andala, a whitewash, a fever-pitch, settling like a hand around her neck as she watched Terault’s grip tighten on his dagger. She began to thrash again. It was no use. She could not escape.

‘I feared you all believed our cause was lost, when both the lark and the nightingale escaped us,’ Terault went on. He was enjoying this, relishing the rapturous attention of the crowd, the total control he held over them and over her. ‘But you see now that your continued faith has rewarded you. Not two days have passed, and the plans I set in motion so long ago are already back on their way to fruition. You do not know how long I have sought to serve you, my friends, the things I have done to ensure we would arrive at this moment.’

Terault’s face had shuttered a little now, a stillness dropping like a mask over his features. Andala watched as his focus shifted, eyes fixing on something she couldn’t quite make out. At a slight jerk of Terault’s head, a set of figures began to move from beneath the shadow of a broken pillar. Torchlight fell upon them, and Andala’s stomach dropped. It was Kitt and Tomas, each bound and gagged and restrained by two men.

‘It has taken unwavering dedication to bring us here. It has taken sacrifice,’ Terault went on. ‘As seneschal to the Merideans, I spent years trying to show Queen Heloise the error of her family’s ways; years trying to tell her how to right their wrongs, how to steer her country away from its path of faithless darkness and back towards the light. But the queen … Well, you knew your queen. Heloise was a strong-minded woman – as strong in her conviction as I am in mine.362

‘I came to realise that if we were ever to see change, it would have to start with us. With the people. With me.’ He paused, the echo of his words ringing in the void. ‘If we were to see our faith rise once more, Queen Heloise could be queen no longer. Someone else must take her place; someone more – open. More malleable. But with Queen Heloise hale and strong, action had to be taken to set such things in motion. Sacrifice made, for the greater good.’

Andala watched with dawning comprehension as Terault’s eyes flicked towards King Tomas, unreadable.

‘Only I was willing to do what needed to be done.’

There was a cry, muffled and strangled, yet so fraught with pain and fury that it resonated in Andala’s chest like a struck bell. She could see Tomas from the corner of her eye. The king thrashed against his captors, looking like a wild animal restrained. Shock rolled through her in a dull wave. Queen Heloise hadn’t died of an illness. Tomas hadn’t inherited the throne by chance. Terault had orchestrated it all, from the very beginning.

Somehow the king had managed to dislodge his gag. ‘Youkilledher!’ he roared, fighting tooth and nail against the men who held him back.

Terault looked away, as if he couldn’t stand the sight. ‘It pained me, to lose such a queen as Heloise. She could have been a revolutionary; she could have led us towards a new beginning. I had hoped King Tomas would do so instead. But he has proven to be as dogmatic and closed-minded as his mother. He is not fit to rule. Not now, and not in the new age that awaits us.’

Someone had repositioned the gag in Tomas’s mouth. His voice was muffled once more, blending in with the fresh ripples of anticipation that flowed through the crowd of devotees. As one they moved closer around her. Andala’s heart sped to the point of bursting as Terault turned to her once more.363

‘Let us not delay any further,’ he said, raising his voice to ring out over Tomas’s stifled shouts, passing his torch off to a follower beside him. ‘Let us usher in that long-awaited age. Let us farewell the nightingale and welcome the new god of night.’

Andala could hear Kitt shouting now, too. From the corner of her eye, she saw the two men struggling, their eyes white-wide and bright as they fought desperately to free themselves. Terault seized her chin, turned her face towards his, and there was nothing in his eyes but focused, unshakeable faith.

He raised the dagger.

And Andala’s mind cleared. Her body relaxed. Her fear ebbed away, washing out as with a tide. It was the moment of calm before a storm breaking, the split second of clarity before a sudden fall. Here, at the end of it all, all she could think was one thing: at least it was her.

Not Oriane. Not Amie. At least Andala was the only one paying the price for her inheritance. At least it was not her daughter’s blood that would be spilled because Andala had cursed her, or Oriane’s heart, pure and golden as it was, that would be cut from her still-breathing body.

Andala closed her eyes.

Was she imagining the familiar coldness in her chest? Was it the feeling of her power responding, rising to the surface to greet its new possessor – or was it the blade itself, sharp as an ice shard as it sank into her heart? Either way, she welcomed it. Wanted it. Better all this be over with, if there was to be no other way.

But before that deathly chill could take its final hold, something else appeared beside it.

Warmth.

Just a flicker at first, like the first tongue of flame that quests forth to caress a kindling fire. Then more – enough to discourage the cold, to beat it back.364

Distantly, inevitably, Andala thought of Oriane again. This was how Oriane made her feel. Warm, when she thought she might freeze. Safe, when her soul was in danger. Andala felt a smile ghost across her trembling lips.

Suddenly, she decided she wanted to open her eyes, to look her death in the face as it loomed before her. And when she did, she saw light.

Not the flicker of a torch, or the distant shimmer of cold stars. Not the bright light of oblivion, the blinding, blazing flash that she imagined might precede eternal dark. This light was faint as a whisper, soft as a breeze – not so much a burning beacon as a hint of hope; a sign, a promise, a certainty.

It was the first light of the rising sun.

Dawn.Dawn was breaking. Oriane was singing. And that meant she had reached the island.

Relief crashed over her, bracing in its strength. Oriane had found Ile Deiale. Oriane was waiting there.

But as she looked back at the seneschal, the warmth that bloomed in Andala’s chest faded, frigid fright seeping back in its place. He had noticed the day’s first light, too. He lifted his face to the east, and that same knowledge gleamed in his eyes: Oriane had found Ile Deiale. Oriane was waiting there. Andala knew what that meant for him.

He turned his keen, cold gaze slowly back to her.

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