Page 46 of Skysong

Andala glanced at him. ‘Perhaps you—’

‘Oh, I’m a terrible dancer,’ he said quickly. ‘You know that. You would be much better suited to the task, Andala.’

‘What?’ Andala frowned at him. ‘Don’t be stupid, I’m only—’

‘Will you dance with me, Andala, please?’ Oriane interrupted quietly.

A beat. She knew she must seem pathetic, pleading, but she was beyond the point of caring. If she had to dance, she wanted it to be on her own terms, and not with a stranger.

Another quiet moment, and then Andala nodded.

They made their way out of the garden. The burn of anger had died away, leaving only cold grey ash, sitting heavy on Oriane’s lungs.

‘Wait,’ Andala said as they reached the top of the courtyard steps. ‘Before we go in …’ She reached out and ran a thumb lightly along one of Oriane’s cheekbones, then the other. ‘The paint,’ she explained quietly. ‘It’s smudged under your eyes.’163

Oriane tried to thank her, but her throat had begun to close. It was so much louder up here. There were so many people around.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ Andala said. One slender hand was still curved around Oriane’s face, hovering a breath away from her skin. ‘You just need to get through a few more hours. You can do this.’

She clenched her teeth, nodded. Andala dropped her hand before they made their way inside. Oriane’s face felt warm where it had been.

People soon began to spot her. The crowd in the ballroom parted for them, a sea of faces on either side. At some point, Andala pressed a flute of liquid into her hand. Oriane drained it in one. Fizzing golden wine burned its way down her throat, and the bubbles seemed to flow the opposite way, directly to her head. She welcomed the dizziness as she would a fire on a bitter winter’s eve.

‘Our Lady Lark is here!’

Tomas’s voice resounded from where he was standing on a raised platform with the musicians at the front of the room. He looked at ease, delighted once more, a marked change from his demeanour during their last conversation. He beamed down at Oriane and his people cheered and applauded. The wine turned sour in her stomach.

‘It is time for the midsummer waltz,’ the king said. ‘In just a few hours we will celebrate the dawning of the solstice day, but before then we must dance. Lady Lark will dance with us, of course – but first we must find her a partner …’

There was a slight commotion as people fell over each other to put themselves forward.

‘I have a partner,’ Oriane called. The strength of her voice surprised her. She stepped closer to Andala and the crowd fell to silence around her.164

Tomas only hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to Andala and back to the room. Then he clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent! Then if everyone will take their places, we shall begin.’

Another flurry of noise and movement. Oriane stood immobile while people flowed around her and Andala like a stream around a rock, pairing off and arranging themselves around the room. She saw Kitt taking the hand of someone she thought was Princess Hana – hadn’t he said he would not be dancing? – and Tomas on the arm of a handsome nobleman in green.

Panic rose within her again, replacing the heady rush of the bubbling wine. Her emotions were so volatile, one crashing in to replace another like waves upon a shore.

‘I don’t know how to dance,’ she told Andala. ‘I should have said so before—’

But Andala did not seem worried. She pried Oriane’s empty glass from her clawlike grasp and set it aside, then took one of Oriane’s hands in hers, settling the other lightly on her own shoulder. Andala’s other hand rested at Oriane’s waist. ‘It isn’t hard,’ she said. ‘Just follow me.’

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as everybody stood in position, waiting. Then the band struck up their tune, a slow, graceful waltz, and after a few counts, the dance began.

Andala had been right; it was easy. Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the wine, but Oriane’s panic started to subside as Andala led her in a series of steady steps. There were so many eyes on them, though. They felt like pinpricks on Oriane’s skin. She kept glancing jerkily about, meeting a stranger’s gaze only to tear hers away, the cycle repeating.

‘Just look at me,’ Andala murmured, and Oriane obeyed.

The musicians played on. The dance continued. The people around them began to fade away. Oriane’s mind was swimming with165drink and exhaustion. She felt tired but also, strangely, more alive than she’d felt in days. Andala had said to look at her, and Oriane found now that she could not do otherwise if she tried. Andala’s eyes were so dark, so striking.

‘I would have liked you to meet him. You and Kitt,’ she said abruptly. The words seemed arbitrary, erratic. Her mouth had formed them before she’d realised she wanted to say them. But Andala didn’t need to ask who she meant.

‘I would have liked to meet him, too,’ she replied quietly.

They kept moving, Oriane’s feet following Andala’s. Had they moved closer together? Was it the way of the dance?

Alone.Alone.The word sprang unbidden into her head, repeating in time with the music that floated around them. Her father was gone. She was trapped here, in a shining, gilded prison. She was alone, and she wanted – she wanted …

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