Page 84 of Skysong

‘I understand why you did it, though. I don’t blame you.’ Andala came to a halt, turning to face her. ‘I don’t know if you remember me saying it before, when I came to see you, but … I’m so sorry, Oriane. For your father. For all of it.’

The air seemed to disappear from Oriane’s lungs. The chasm of loss inside her yawned wide, expanded, and the weight of what had happened pressed in on her again – violent, crushing. It threatened to leave her gasping on the ground, unable to go on. But she could not give in to it now; not yet. Not here.

‘I remember,’ she said finally. ‘And I’m grateful.’300

She and Andala smiled at one another then: two sad, weary shadow-smiles, faint as waning crescents against black skies, but smiles nonetheless. They resumed their walk, and Oriane’s eyes burned with tears, her heart a wound inside her. Yet for a moment longer, her smile remained.

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Chapter 40

It had been seven years since Andala last set foot in Fenbrook.

Girard had been at her side then, too. They had met here, a year before that. Fallen in love here. Run from here to start their own little life together. Just the sight of the village at the foot of the hill brought an echoing memory of those feelings swirling back.

They’d been walking for hours now; the afternoon was growing old. She wished they’d been able to ride here, but Girard’s horse had been exhausted after racing to the palace. There hadn’t been time to steal mounts from the stables, and even if they had, Andala wasn’t sure Oriane would have been able to ride. She still looked bone-weary, like a shell of herself.

‘We’ll be safe at the inn with Nell for a while,’ Girard said beside her.

‘Nell’s still there?’ Andala was glad to hear it; she’d always liked the old, weathered innkeep. Nell had let her pour ales at the inn to earn some coin, despite the fact that Andala had been barely old enough to drink ale herself.

‘Says she’d sooner burn down the Book and Bottle than leave the running of it to some other fool,’ Girard said.

Andala smiled. Then she glanced cautiously at him. ‘Do you …302Are you living there again, now? You and …?’ She trailed off, unwilling to say the name aloud.

‘We live in the next village over, other side of the river,’ Girard said, as they reached the bottom of the hill and the path flattened out before them. ‘It’s called Enderford. Lots of children there, for such a tiny little place. Amie has more friends than she can count on both hands.’

Andala kept her focus on the path ahead. ‘Good,’ she managed to say, finally. ‘That’s good.’

They reached the little brook that marked the beginning of the village proper. Beyond it lay the buildings Andala knew so well – the mill and the cottages, Nell’s inn and Brantis’s forge and Gael’s healing hall. There were people everywhere, some she recognised and some she didn’t. It seemed most of the village was outdoors, celebrating the return of the sunlight. The sight of them constricted Andala’s airway. What was wrong with her today? She couldn’t control her emotions as she usually did, couldn’t tamp them down and close them off the way she always strived to do.

‘Andala,’ Girard said, waving to people here and there as they made their way towards the Book and Bottle.

‘Yes?’ Her tone was brisker than she intended, in her effort to keep her voice even.

Girard slowed as they approached the inn’s entrance. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you, before.’

Andala said nothing, only eyed him warily as she slowed to match his pace. Whatever he was about to say, she had a feeling she didn’t want to hear it.

After a moment he said, ‘Amie and your mother … They’re here. In Fenbrook.’

Andala whipped around to face him so fast that her head spun. Or perhaps it was his words that had that effect.Amie and Leilyn. Here.303

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘After you left … Well, Leilyn and I talked it over, and we decided that she’d look after Amie and I’d come after you, right away.’

Andala blinked once, twice. ‘Why?’ she said again.

Girard gave her a look that was almost pitying. ‘It didn’t sit well with us – either of us – that you would have to do what you were doing alone. Your mother wanted to be the one to come after you,’ he added, to her astonishment. ‘She was a wreck after you left – kept saying that she’d let you go once, and shouldn’t have done it again. But in the end it made more sense for it to be me – I’m the faster rider, and I … I thought I might arrive in time to stop you.’

Andala’s throat closed up, her eyes burning. Girard had put himself in such danger, left his daughter and risked so much to come afterher, when all she’d ever done was break his heart and leave him behind. And her mother …

‘But why aren’t they at my mother’s house?’ She forced the words out through her teeth, dimly aware that Oriane had paused a few paces behind them, and was watching.

‘We thought it would be better for them to come to a bigger town, where they might be safer while they waited for me – for us – to come back. I thought …’ Girard gave a helpless sort of shrug. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I thought you might not come here, if you knew. That you might go off on your own again.’

He was right, of course. She hated that he knew that – knewherwell enough to know it. She looked towards the inn, her heart speeding up at the thought of who waited within.

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