Chapter 25

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.

Stop. Breathe. 188

It would not do to lose herself now. She had to be strong, made of steel, not sorrow. There were things more important than herself at stake.

Andala focused on the blonde guard, trying to plaster a matching smile onto her unwilling face.

‘I'm here to see the Lady Lark,' she said, pleasant, innocent.

The guard opened her mouth to respond, but one of the others cut across her: a muscular woman with striking blue eyes that bored into Andala's own. ‘Nobody is to see the lark but those to whom the king has given his express permission.'

‘Of course,' Andala said quickly, keeping her tone deferential. She hoped her meek servant's guise was convincing. ‘I am the Lady Lark's maid, or I was when she was both lady and lark. Now that she is – well, in her present state, the king has asked that I resume my attendance to her. He is concerned for her health, you see. I am to try to get her to take some food, or a little water … The king fears that if she does not eat or drink soon she may die, and if she dies …'

There was no need to spell out her meaning. The guards glanced nervously between themselves, apart from the well-built woman, who stared at Andala without speaking.

‘Very well,' she said curtly, after what seemed like an age. ‘Rene, go inside with her. Let her try to feed the lark and then bring her back out.'

Andala worked to keep the relief from showing on her face. Rene, the blonde guard, looked thrilled to be in charge of escorting her. With a smile, she heaved open the ballroom doors, and Andala followed her in.

After the blaze of the hallways, it was like walking into a cave. There were no torches lit, no braziers full of bright-burning candles. The whole vast, empty space was deep in shadow. The only source of 189 light was a pair of tapers upon a small table, their dim, lonely flames reflecting faintly off the golden bars of Oriane's cage. Why were they keeping her in the dark like this?

Andala began to make her way cautiously towards the platform. Rene was saying something, her whispers echoing through the empty ballroom like shouts, but Andala paid her no mind. The closer she got, the clearer the shape of Oriane became: a tiny thing, facing away from them, huddled against the darkness.

‘Rene,' Andala said quietly, stopping abruptly before they reached the platform. She had cut the guard off mid-sentence, but could not bring herself to care. ‘I wonder if you might give us some space. I would not want the skylark to feel overwhelmed.'

Even in the darkness, Andala could tell Rene was uncomfortable. ‘I'm supposed to stay near, I think,' she whispered uncertainly.

‘And you are near,' Andala said, trying to sound as if she were glad of it. ‘I do not want to startle her, is all.'

After a moment, Rene nodded and retreated slightly, feeling her way over to the side of the room.

Andala's heartbeat fluttered erratically as she ascended the stairs. Part of her wanted to turn, to flee. But the cage drew her nearer, as if she were a moth and Oriane the light, weak though her flame may now be.

Andala was relieved to find that there was food and water on the table near the cage, and that the guards hadn't thought to question her having brought none herself. For Rene's sake she made a show of picking it up, then knelt by the cage and put her face close to the bars.

Oriane had not moved. Her back was still to the room, her head bowed. She looked impossibly small, like she might fit in the palm of Andala's hand. Her wings were folded tightly back, as if she were 190 trying to make herself even smaller. It was strange to see her so still. In this form she was usually soaring around the room and regaling them with her song.

Andala clenched her teeth. She remained there for a while in silence, not knowing what to say, not knowing how she would say it if she did. ‘I'm sorry I didn't come sooner,' she whispered finally, as quietly as she could. ‘I'm sorry I … I'm sorry.'

For what felt like an age, Oriane was motionless. She might have been a toy, or a decoration, fixed fast to her perch with glue.

But slowly, finally, the skylark's head turned.

Even in the low light, Andala could see Oriane in those little black eyes. She was hidden far back, more bird than woman right now, but she was there. She was listening.

‘We're going to help you,' Andala said immediately. ‘Kitt and I. We have a plan. The start of one, anyway. You don't have to worry.' She paused. ‘You have every right to be doing what you're doing. What happened to you – what they've done …'

The barest twitch of a feather, then stillness.

Andala stared for a moment, then composed herself. ‘Don't let them get to you. We'll get you out of here. Kitt's working on something to deal with the darkness. In the meantime, we'll protect you—'

There was a crash as the ballroom doors burst open and a chorus of raised voices shattered the ringing silence. Andala jumped, turned. A small group of people was approaching, holding lanterns and candles aloft. They looked like little boats of fire bobbing along in a dark river.

One voice stood out among the others. ‘… is enough , Terault. We cannot abide this any longer. The people are panicking. Hana is distraught …' 191

King Tomas had come to see the skylark.

Andala scrambled to her feet. She threw a panicked glance at Oriane, but apart from having turned to face away from the oncoming crowd, she showed no acknowledgement of what might be happening.

‘What business have you here, girl?'

Andala's head snapped back to the visitors. They were ascending the stairs now, the king in the lead, Terault at his side. It was the seneschal who had addressed her, called her girl . She did not like him at the best of times. She loathed him now.

‘I'm trying to get her to eat,' she said, with as much defiance as she could muster. If Rene had heard, she would know now that the king had not sent her to do so. But that was the least of her worries. The king drew face-to-face with her, raising his lantern to see her better. With effort, Andala held his gaze.

‘And has she eaten?' King Tomas asked at last.

Andala shook her head.

He let out a frustrated sound. ‘You see, Terault? This is why I'm worried. This is why what I propose must be done. We simply have no other option. If she dies, if she escapes—'

The ballroom doors flew open again. A flood of light from the hallway cast a golden square into the gloom, bearing another figure forward. Andala recognised this one. It was Kitt, and he was running towards them.

He hurried to the platform, his lantern swinging precariously. ‘Your Majesty, wait—'

‘Not now, Kitt,' the king said impatiently. ‘Reynold, come forward – I want you to take another look.'

Andala slipped to the side as the group of men swarmed around the cage, blocking Oriane from view. Alarmed at the look on Kitt's 192 face, she drew him aside as the men began to examine Oriane, nattering back and forth in too-loud voices.

‘What's going on, Kitt?'

‘She's in danger,' he panted, pushing hair back from his brow. He had clearly run here from the other side of the palace. ‘He wants to start using force.'

‘Using … What does that mean?'

‘Exactly what it sounds like.' Kitt was watching Tomas with a strange, disbelieving look on his face, as if he had never seen this man who claimed to be king. ‘Force her. Hurt her.'

Andala's stomach dropped. ‘What do we do?'

Kitt turned to her. Even in the dim light she could see the helplessness on his face. ‘I don't know. I don't have any alternative to offer him.'

She stared at the crowd around Oriane, their candles and lanterns blurring into a blaze of gold. Think, Andala. Think. Her mind was churning laboriously. She could almost hear it whir and clank, like the cogs of one of Kitt's machines—

Andala stretched out a hand and caught Kitt's shirtsleeve. Her eyes flew to Oriane, who was as stiff and immobile as a child's wooden toy.

‘What is it?' he asked.

‘We do have an alternative.'

‘What? No we d—'

‘A mechanical bird.'

Kitt looked at her blankly. ‘A what?'

‘You're going to build a skylark. A replica. One that looks like her, sings with her song. I've seen your inventions, Kitt – I know you can do it.'

His expression had turned pitying. Clearly, he thought her delusional, desperate. Perhaps she was. ‘I could build a model, yes. 193 But Andala – we just talked about this. The song is the key, and I can't replicate that. Nobody can.'

Andala took a steadying breath. She did not want to do what she was about to offer to do. But things had turned dire, and she had no choice. ‘I might know somebody who can. Somebody who knows enough about it to try, anyway.'

Kitt's brows shot up, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Andala cut him off.

‘You just have to trust me, Kitt. Please. At the very least I can buy you some time. Tell him you're working on the mechanical lark, that you've figured out a way to make it sing just like her. I'll be gone for a few days, a week at the most. Just keep him away from her for that long. Please.'

Kitt was already nodding. Relief washed through Andala. She gripped his arm briefly, hoping to infuse the touch with reassurance and gratitude. Then he was off, striding towards the king, shoulders set and fists clenched at his sides.

She hung back, hoping to fade into the shadows, as Kitt spoke to Tomas. The other men watched on curiously. Through a gap in their midst, Andala's eyes fell on Oriane. She still had not moved. It was as if nothing could rouse her, not even a group of strangers arguing over her fate right above her head, as if she were nothing more than a bird: simple and dull, unfeeling, unconcerned. The precise opposite of everything Andala knew the real Oriane to be.

‘If this doesn't work, Kitt, the consequences—'

She refocused her attention as the king's words filtered through.

‘I know,' Kitt was saying hastily. ‘I know, T— my lord. But please – you have to trust me. This will work. I will make it work.' 194

An echoing silence filled the room for the first time since King Tomas and his men had entered. Andala held her breath. The king had to accept Kitt's offer. He had to.

‘If this doesn't work,' Tomas repeated finally, his voice quiet, but ringing with dangerous promise, ‘we will proceed with our original plan.'

Without another word, he swept away from Kitt and the cage, his followers hastening in his wake.

Andala did not have time to move from her position by the stairs. King Tomas had to pass close by her as he made his way over. At first, he glanced her way and then kept walking, his eyes skipping across her like a stone over water.

But then he stopped, looked back. She had to force herself not to shrink under his scrutiny. His expression unnerved her. The king looked tired and frustrated, but most of all, he looked angry.

Andala stood frozen as he spoke to her, loud enough for everyone to hear. And even after he had swept on, down the stairs, out of the hall, his words lingered, finding their way into the darkest corners of the pitch-black room, the deepest reaches of her sorry heart.

‘Sometimes I wish you'd never brought me the skylark, girl. If I'd kept searching for the nightingale instead, we might have never got into this mess.'