Page 51 of Skysong

‘No,’ Kitt said triumphantly. When Andala raised an impatient brow, he continued. ‘It’s a mimic.’183

‘A mimic.’ Andala stared at the words on the parchment again. ‘So you think it can imitate her song?’

‘Possibly.’

Andala sighed. Kitt was brilliant, he really was. She had never met someone so smart. But sometimes even a genius had to have bad ideas. She would have to break it to him gently.

‘That would be wonderful, Kitt,’ she said, ‘if we found one of these birds that already knows her song. But that’s a very slim possibility, and if it doesn’t …’

Kitt groaned. ‘Then it would have to hear the song to replicate it anyway. Skies above, I’m dim.’

Andala nudged him with her shoulder. ‘You are. But you’re allowed to be, every once in a while. Gives the rest of us a chance to catch up to you.’

They sat in silence for a time, both staring into space. The dying fire cracked and flickered. Andala was glad of the warmth it still threw out; the chill in the air was becoming more palpable by the hour.

Kitt eventually began to talk again, more to himself than Andala, musing over their options for recreating Oriane’s song. He seemed convinced now that it was the key, that if only they could come close enough, the sun would be fooled into rising. Andala was not half so sure. Dark possibilities stretched out before her, all terrible, all too imaginable. The sun never rising again. A vast, unending night, wrapped around the kingdom like a shadowed hand. Oriane forever in a cage – and she, Andala, free of the nightingale’s burden, but at what cost?

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, cutting Kitt off mid-sentence when she could stand her own thoughts no longer. She stood and made purposefully for the door—184

‘Are you going to tell her?’

Andala spun. ‘Tell her what?’ she snapped, too quickly, too sharply. All this talk of the skylark’s magic song had her on edge; what else might Kitt have figured out as he studied the subject? Did he know about her, too?

Kitt merely blinked. ‘That we’re working on it. A plan to fix this – to help her.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘She must be scared. It might be comforting for her to know.’

Andala’s throat tightened, and she could not respond. Kitt was so kind, so good, that it had not even crossed his mind for them to say anything else to Oriane, for them to try to persuade her to sing, like everybody else was doing. It filled her with relief, that he cared for Oriane so much, and so easily.

‘Yes,’ she said eventually, her grip on the doorknob turning her knuckles white. ‘Yes, I’ll tell her we’re going to help.’

185

Chapter 24

On her first night in the cage, Oriane had felt strangely satisfied.

It had given her an invigorating sense of vengeance, to see them all rushing around like headless hens. The king’s reaction had been particularly gratifying: a steady decline from uneasy concern to furious action to ranting, raging apoplexy, as his men prodded and poked at her and still she remained silent.

Good,Oriane had thought.LethimfeelsometinymeasureofwhatIfeel. Lethimknowwhat it is to lose the light in hislife.

But as the endless night stretched on, her satisfaction began to wear thin, like a garment worn and washed until the light showed through it. Finally it disintegrated, leaving nothing but a hollow in its wake.

People still came and went. They offered her food, tried to force it on her. They studied her, holding torches so close to her cage that the heat nearly singed her feathers. Oriane barely noticed any of it. She had begun to sink inside herself. A numbness and a vague, creeping sense of unreality settled upon her. Sometimes she could not be sure whether she was really there. Whether she was even real. Who was she supposed to be? Who had she been before?186

Soon, even those questions disappeared. None of it mattered. None of it even registered. The hours drifted by, melded together, becoming one great river of darkness that flowed inexorably from some wretched source.

Oriane let herself be carried with the tide.

187

Chapter 25

The palace was even more deserted now as Andala made her way towards the ballroom. She supposed the hour would have been late, had time meant the same as it had done before. The torches were still lit, their persistent, blazing brightness making the empty hallways all the more eerie.

She slowed her pace as the ballroom doors came into view. There were no fewer than six guards stationed outside. After it had become apparent that the skylark would not sing, King Tomas had locked down the room immediately, and it had remained that way ever since. The only people permitted inside were the king himself and those he had summoned to examine Oriane – physicians, animal-keepers, spiritualists. None had made any findings so far.

The guards eyed her stonily as she approached, all except the blonde-haired one – Andala couldn’t recall her name – who had asked her into the city for a drink once. She had declined, of course, but today she would not be afraid to use the guard’s interest if she needed it.

Her boldness began to fail her as she made her way towards the doors. Not because of the guards, but because of Oriane.

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