Page 16 of Skysong

Yourpeopleareinneedofit,myking?ThehopethatyousayIcangivethem?

Yes.Theyneeditmorethananything.

If she had wanted to refuse, Oriane would have found it very difficult. But she didn’t want to refuse. She wanted to stay. She liked58the idea of sharing her song again. Her heart felt full and glowing; being here feltright.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I would love to stay, if you’ll have me.’

Tomas clapped his hands together and beamed. ‘Wonderful! I’ll have you moved to bigger chambers immediately—’

‘Oh – that won’t be necessary,’ Oriane said hastily. She could only imagine what her father would say if—

Her thoughts ground to a halt.

‘My king, would it be all right if … Might I write my father again and ask him to join me here? We would be happy to share adjoining quarters, to minimise the trouble—’

‘Nonsense!’ Tomas cried. ‘There’s no trouble, none at all. Invite him at once. I’ll send my lad – the message will be with him in no time. Now, there’s much to do. If you’ll excuse me, my lady …’

Before Oriane could thank him, he swept off, his hand at Hana’s elbow, Terault at his heels. With a smile and a little shrug that seemed to apologise for their abrupt departure, Kitt followed.

Oriane stood alone. No – not alone: Andala was still here. In all the excitement, she had lingered in the shadows at the back of the hall where the morning light hadn’t yet reached. Oriane descended the stairs and started towards her, trying to gather her thoughts. Everything swirled in her head so wildly, her father’s face appearing in her mind’s eye, smiling down at her. He would be here soon. They would be staying here together.

Andala’s masklike countenance was mostly back in place when Oriane reached her, but she could see hints of where the smile had been. There was a light in Andala’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, and her mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners. She opened the door for Oriane and, with an elegant dip of her head, waved her through.

‘Welcome to the king’s court, Oriane.’

59

Chapter 8

She’s real.

The words echoed through Andala’s mind, her body, pulsing in time with her heart.

She’sreal.She’sreal.She’sreal.

Witnessing the skylark’s song was like nothing Andala had ever experienced. She had not so much heard it asfeltit – its glow, its gold-bright magic, as if its notes were sunrays themselves, warming her skin, her bones. She was always cold, even in summer, but when the woman –Oriane– had called and the dawn had answered, Andala might have been sinking into a warm bath, or being kissed by a hearth fire’s radiant heat.

And she had found herself thinking: perhaps it wasn’t so bad, what she had done. If this was what the skylark could do – if this was how her song made people feel … Perhaps it had been right to reveal her after all.

But then her thoughts turned darker, as they always did.

What right had Andala to justify her actions? Who was she to try to fool herself into thinking they served anyone but herself? She knew what the king sought, though not why. Oriane might become what he needed, but at what cost? Her freedom? Something more?60

And there was something else pervading Andala’s thoughts, too; something petty, something ugly. Envy. It seeped into her mind like poison, tainting the golden memory of what she’d seen the skylark do. Oriane had seemed so at ease up there on that dais. So in control. So comfortable in herself and her song.

Andala clenched her teeth as a spike of pain lanced through her, as if to punish her for her thoughts, or remind her what had caused them. She breathed deeply, once, twice. When the pain had dulled, she turned to the cupboard that took up most of her little room in the servants’ quarters. She sifted through its contents until she found the little bottle of tonic she was seeking. Kitt had made it for her several months ago now, but there was still some left. She’d used it less and less often recently – not because she hadn’t needed it, but because it did little to actually help.

‘You’re in pain sometimes, aren’t you?’ Kitt had said to her one day, about a year after she’d begun working at the palace. They were taking tea in his rooms, Andala sitting beside him at his desk while he worked on some contraption or another. She couldn’t remember exactly when or how she and Kitt had become friends – she had tried to avoid any such familiarity with others. But at some point this had become a ritual for them, one Andala had come to look forward to; it broke up the drudgery of her day-to-day toil as part of the kitchen staff.

She looked up sharply at his question. ‘What do you mean?’

Her tone was harsher than she’d intended, but Kitt didn’t shy away. ‘You hide it well, but a physician is trained to see these things,’ he continued. ‘It seems to bother you more as the day gets later.’

Andala had opened her mouth, closed it again. He was right, of course, but she couldn’t have told him that.61

To her relief, Kitt hadn’t pried for further details. He simply went to his room of medical supplies and returned with a little bottle, plain and unlabelled.

‘A tablespoon a day, two at the most,’ he had instructed, handing it to her. ‘I don’t know if it will help, but I promise it can’t hurt.’

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