Page 45 of Skysong

Beyond caring that it was rude or improper, beyond caring that he was the king, Oriane drained her goblet and let it clatter to the floor, then walked away from Tomas before he could say another word.

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Chapter 20

A haze enveloped Oriane, a strange floating feeling that spread through her limbs. It made it easier to navigate the crowd, to shrug off the hands that reached for her and the pretty words people cast her way. The music was still very loud. It twined with the rapid pulse in Oriane’s throat, the rush of blood in her ears. The room was far too warm. The press of bodies made her feel even fainter and more detached.

She kept walking, not knowing where she thought to go. A hand closed around her upper arm. Oriane did not stop, but the hand did not let go as the others had – someone was holding onto her, holding her back—

She whirled around, the action making her dizzy.

Kitt.

Thank the skies, it was Kitt, come to save her from the crowd. He looked wonderful in a cream-coloured doublet, crisp against his dark skin.

‘Let’s get you some air,’ he murmured, his words whisked away into the noise like smoke on a breeze.

Oriane nodded vaguely, or thought she did. It was hard to keep track of her movements anymore. She did not feel in control of her own body. Kitt’s hand was an anchor as he steered her towards the back of the ballroom. There, a set of enormous doors had been160thrown open to the night, leading out onto a white stone courtyard that glowed with lantern light.

Revellers had spilled out here, too. A few pairs were dotted here and there, staring up at the starry sky or tangling together behind fruit trees and statues. But Kitt led Oriane past them all, down a set of stairs and out into a stretch of garden that reached towards the woods beyond. It was much more peaceful outside. Insects hummed a gentle chorus and the sounds of music and revelry were muted by the thick hedges. Oriane began to come back to herself a little, felt some of that odd dissociation start to melt away. But in its place was something worse.

For the past week, she had been relying on certain things to take her away from her grief. Sleep. Anger. The tea Andala made her. The weary haze that had settled over her more and more frequently. It was easier to feel fury, and better to feel nothing at all, than it was to feel what she knew she would have to eventually: the full weight of what had happened. The full responsibility of what she had done.

‘Oriane?’

Kitt had waited in silence while she stood with one hand on a stone fountain. He took a step towards her now, and even without looking, she knew his dark eyes were a well of sympathy. She would drown there if she looked. She focused on the water in the fountain, drowning instead in the night sky reflected back at her, a million points of light in another brimming eye.

‘I’m dying, Kitt,’ she whispered, her grip hard on the stone. ‘It feels like I’m dying. I try to eat or talk or just move around like … like normal, but it’s as though I can’t get enough air, or keep hold of my—’

She inhaled sharply, then forced the air out in a rush, as if to remind her body it knew how to breathe.161

‘I never should have left. It was soselfish. It’s my fault. My father isdeadand it’s my—’

‘It isn’t your fault. Wait,’ Kitt entreated as Oriane spun to look at him, to protest. ‘Just hear me out, please, Oriane. I know how you must feel – as if your father died because you left your home. But sometimes things aren’t as simple as that. They really aren’t. We don’t live our lives in a direct chain of cause and effect. It’s easier to look at things that way, because it often gives us someone to blame when something goes wrong, even if that someone is ourselves. And having someone to blame can be easier than coming to terms with … with how quickly things can change. How unpredictable and cruel the world can be. How fragile we all really are.’

Kitt fell silent, staring into the fountain himself. Oriane watched him. Some distant part of her mind wondered what had brought him to this realisation – what had happened in his life that he should be so wise.

After a moment, he raised his gaze back to hers. This time Oriane let herself meet it.

‘He would never want you to blame yourself,’ Kitt said softly, and finally, inevitably, Oriane’s tears began to fall. ‘I did not know him, but I know that much.’

Oriane felt like a building collapsing. Her foundations cracked, and she swayed, but Kitt steadied her, gathering her into careful arms.

He held her patiently as she cried herself out. Oriane had no idea how long it took. Eventually the tears were gone, leaving a hollow in their wake. Numbness settled over her body, starting in her heart and spreading outward. She lifted her head and stared in dull dismay at the front of Kitt’s beautiful cream jacket. It was damp with tears and smeared with gold paint from around her eyes.

‘I’ve ruined your clothes,’ she muttered.162

Kitt waved a hand. ‘It was a boring outfit, anyway. A touch of gold will do it good.’

Someone cleared their throat, somewhere behind them in the garden. Oriane spun around, slipping free of Kitt’s arms. It was Andala. Her blue-black dress rippled slightly in the faint evening breeze.

‘They’re looking for you,’ she murmured. ‘The king – he requests that you join the assembly for the first formal dance.’

‘No,’ Oriane said immediately. He wanted her todance? Like some trained bear at the circus? Rage flared in her, hot and sudden, like fire doused in fuel. It comforted her to see an echo of that anger on Andala’s face.

‘I know. But I don’t think he plans to give you a choice.’

Oriane clenched her fists and said nothing. Beside her, Kitt was standing still, silent.

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