Page 7 of Skysong

The palace.

The memory of what had happened began to filter into Oriane’s disoriented mind, like light through high branches.

The woman had drawn back and was now turning away, taking the light with her—

‘Wait!’ Oriane scrambled forward, holding out a hand. ‘Please wait. I think I might be in danger.’25

The woman paused, her back still to Oriane. She seemed to be listening. Her head was half turned, and the lantern glow limned her profile in gold. ‘Why would you be in danger?’ she asked slowly.

‘I …’ Oriane knew she had to choose her words wisely. ‘I’m not from here. My father will be worried. I need to get home …’ She trailed off, realising how childish she must sound.

The stranger glanced back at her, then swept over to the other side of the room. ‘Well, you can rest assured, my lady, you are not in any danger.’ Her tone had changed; it was formal now, abrupt. She put down the lantern and wrenched aside the heavy curtains on several large windows. Afternoon light flooded the room. Oriane’s head ached at the intrusion, but as her eyes adjusted, her mouth dropped open. The room was enormous, larger almost than her entire cottage, andluxurious, draped with tapestries and full of rich furnishings.

The woman turned back to Oriane, gave her a strange, searching look. Oriane’s cheeks began to burn. She had a new pair of eyes upon her for the first time in twenty years, and she had never been so conscious of herself. She thanked the skies above that she always returned to human form in the clothing she’d been wearing as she transformed. But clothed or not, those eyes – their sharp gaze, their fathomless darkness – seemed to pierce her, trulyseeher, in all her vulnerability.

Oriane drew the covers back up around herself.

The woman seemed to take this as a signal, dipping her head briskly and starting towards the doorway. ‘If you’ve no further need of me, my lady, I will leave you to—’

‘Wait!’ Oriane said again.

The stranger paused, back still turned, one hand extended towards the door.

‘What is your name?’26

Slowly, the woman faced her once more. Oriane could not read her expression.

‘Andala,’ she said at last.

Oriane opened her mouth to reply, to give her own name, perhaps, but before she could, Andala withdrew from the room.

Oriane slumped against the pillows. Her head pulsed unpleasantly. Someone must have found her in the woods, brought her into the palace.

You are not in any danger,the woman – Andala – had said. Should Oriane believe her? What reason had she not to?

She wrenched herself out of bed and took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as she crossed to the window. She needed to get her bearings and gather her thoughts.

But Oriane barely had time to consider where she was, what she’d done, what she wasgoingto do, before voices and footsteps drew near outside the door. There was a smart knock, then five people entered: two young women dressed in uniforms like Andala’s, their arms laden with tea things; and three men. One was tall and lean, elegantly dressed, his hands folded behind him and a pair of gold spectacles glinting on his dark, handsome face. The next was about her father’s age, his hair cropped closely to his head, his stocky frame made larger still by his black velvet doublet and the half-cape draped over one shoulder.

The third man was Tomas Meridea, King of Cielore.

27

Chapter 4

Oriane’s stomach dropped to the soles of her feet.Theking. She knew it was him at first glance. He looked strikingly like his late mother, Queen Heloise, whose portrait Oriane had studied in a book about the Meridean royal line. She knew Heloise had died of an illness only a handful of years ago, leaving the throne to her son. Tomas wore no crown; from his clothing, he could have been any other noble or member of the royal court. But even had he not resembled his mother so strongly, Oriane would have recognised him. He carried himself like a ruler. There was royalty in his bearing, in the set of his strong jaw.

‘Good afternoon, my lady,’ King Tomas said pleasantly, smiling her way.

The uniformed women bustled around at a small table, swiftly setting up a teapot and arranging tiny cakes on a tiered stand. Their work done, they curtsied in unison and hurried out. Oriane was frozen in place. She supposed she should make some deferent gesture too, but she could not make herself move.

The king glanced to the man with the golden spectacles and nodded. With a small, almost apologetic smile, the courtier approached Oriane, as carefully as one might approach a spooked animal.28

‘Might I examine you briefly, my lady?’ he asked. His voice was rich and quiet. ‘I’m a physician. I was told you suffered a fall earlier today.’

Wordlessly, Oriane nodded. She saw little else she could do. The man came closer, still moving slowly, cautiously.

‘Do you feel ill? Dizzy, nauseated?’

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