Page 42 of Skysong

Tomas did not move. He was still staring at her in dim light, an odd look on his face – something like regret, or was it fear?

‘Getout!’ Oriane screeched when he continued to stand frozen. And to her surprise, the king did as she said, the light disappearing with him.

For a while, Oriane stood there, silent, alone. Gradually her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to its normal pace. Her eyes closed as she sagged a little, the anger that had infused her moments ago leaving her like blood flowing from a wound.

‘Oriane?’

A different voice now. A woman’s, soft and hesitant. Oriane had not heard the door open or anyone come in. She opened her eyes and saw a blurry orb of candlelight hovering in the gloom.147A small figure was behind it, glowing white behind the flickering flame. Hana.

‘Your Highness?’ Oriane asked, as politely as she could manage. Hana was not her brother, but it was still difficult to talk to her. To talk to anyone.

‘I won’t bother you long,’ Hana said softly. She took a step closer, so that Oriane could just make out her features. Her gaze was searching, sorrowful, earnest. ‘I … I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss,’ she went on. ‘I don’t presume to know exactly what you are going through, but I do have some understanding of … the place you’ve gone.’

Inwardly, Oriane recoiled. She did not want anyone trying to relate to her, to understand her right now. But Hana pressed on, seeming to sense Oriane pulling back, and taking a different tack.

‘I am sorry that Tomas is still holding you here, after … after everything that’s happened. But please, Oriane – please believe that he did not ever mean for this to happen. He was only trying to help—’

‘To help who?’ Oriane snapped. The rage was rising again, like a spirit taking hold of her body; there was little she could do to stop it. ‘Who warrants the kind of help that kills a man in his home and holds a woman prisoner?’

Hana closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were hollow, the effect unsettling even in the half-light.

‘Nobody,’ she muttered. ‘Nobody is worth that.’ Hana made her way to the door, her white-blonde hair falling over her face as she turned, hiding it from view. ‘I really am sorry, Oriane. For everything. More than you know.’

148When Andala returned to Oriane’s rooms, late enough for the sky to have painted itself black, Oriane was pacing feverishly before the window, her hands clenched in tight fists by her sides.

Andala said nothing, merely sat on the window seat and waited.

‘What does hewantfrom me?’ Oriane burst out eventually. ‘What does he think is going to come of having me here, having me sing in front of everybody? Does he think his people will love him better for it? If they do not love him already, then I fear that I can do nothing to change their minds. And why should Iwantto?’ she spat as an afterthought. ‘Perhaps they do not love him because they see what he really is – weak and heartless and willing to let others die for his whims.’

Still, Andala did not speak, just watched Oriane as she slammed a hand against the stone wall. Oriane closed her eyes, her burst of energy fading. What did it matter what the king wanted with her? He would get it, whatever it was. She had little choice in the matter.

‘I’ve never hated what I am before, Andala,’ Oriane whispered, still supporting herself against the wall with one hand, her other arm wrapped around her middle, as if to hold herself together. ‘I have always thought of it as … as a gift, or a legacy. One that I was proud to carry on from my mother. But now … I just wish I could be something different. I wish I was anything other than what I am. I wish none of this had ever happened.’

Her eyes were closed, but she sensed it when Andala moved near her. She stood close beside Oriane now, her proximity sending a barely detectable hint of warmth through Oriane’s icy veins.

‘I know how you feel,’ she murmured.

149

Chapter 19

The day of the solstice ball dawned bright.

After she called it forth, Oriane stared dully at the sunlight pouring through her window. A vague resentment stirred in her breast at the sight of it, a distant sense of injustice at the fact that it shone so cheerfully when it had no cause to do so.

She spent the day alone, staring into space, drifting in and out of sleep. After the sun had set and the first tendrils of darkness had snaked their way inside the room, Andala appeared, holding what looked like an armful of molten gold.

‘Your gown for this evening,’ she explained, laying the pile of shimmering fabric on Oriane’s bed. Then she straightened and appraised Oriane. ‘Have you eaten anything today?’

Oriane shook her head. The thought of food made her feel ill, as did the sight of the gown – a reminder of the long evening ahead, and the performance that lay at its close. She knew, even before she tried it on, that she would look the part wearing this gown: the magical Messenger of Day, the radiant goddess of the sky. The dress was truly incredible, a masterful creation of luminous pale-gold silk that looked to have been spun from the dawn itself.

Oriane hated every thread.

‘Eat this.’150

Andala thrust a thick slice of bread under her nose. Oriane ignored it. Andala held it there, stubborn, until Oriane begrudgingly took it.

‘Eat,’ she repeated. ‘It will make you feel better. Then drink this. Only after you’ve eaten, and not too fast. It will help, but not if you have too much.’ She set a crystal glass on the table by Oriane’s bed. It was half filled with an amber-coloured liquid. Oriane tore off a tiny chunk of the bread and began to chew mechanically as Andala set about getting her ready for the ball.

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