Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Oriane must have drifted off in the small hours. She jolted upright in the darkness, the spark of her song awakening in her chest.

In the hallway, she hesitated outside her father's door. She wanted to talk to him, to apologise, to tell him how grateful she was and how well he'd fulfilled his promise to her mother.

‘I'll be back soon,' she whispered instead, and then she was gone.

The transformation happened as it always did: quick as a flash, easy as breathing. Oriane was airborne in an instant, rising high above the quiet cottage and into the perfect clarity of an early summer morning, the darkness poised and ready to lift like a curtain from a stage.

She flew. Her tiny lark's heart seemed to swell in her feathered chest. Not pausing to land, she let the first notes of her song burst forth as she winged her way above the treetops. Her call shot out and over the horizon, where it found the sleeping sun and pulled it upward, inch by inch. Gold fire spilled over the edge of the world. The forest began to wake below her, adding its music to her song.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

The further she flew, the more Oriane forgot about what lay behind her. Her mind wasn't usually altered when she was in her lark form, but today it was as if she were more bird than human, her thoughts focused on a sole idea, a singular goal. South . 21

She soared onward, the warmth of the waking sun at her side. The capital lay ahead, and the palace. South was the direction of people.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Oriane was further from home than she'd ever been. The ribbon of a road wound along below, close enough that she could already see the tiny specks of people upon it. She banked eagerly in its direction. At its end, she knew, was everything she longed to see.

How long she flew, she could not have said. The sense of unreality, of hyperfocus, had taken over her body entirely. It swept her forth on swift wings. Faster. Further. The miles dropped away behind her. She did not tire or stall. The palace was so much closer now. The sunlight reflected off its windows, so that they burned like beacons.

Oriane sharpened her focus. Was one of those windows open, its shutters thrown wide to let in the early morning air? Could she soar right through it into its heart?

Was that a person she could see within?

The sight of the silhouette – real or imagined, she didn't know – brought her out of her trance. She was finally aware of herself again, aware of where she was and what she was doing. The city. The palace. The people . They were all right there before her.

The thought, so exhilarating just a moment ago, sank in properly now, and almost sent her crashing to the ground.

Oriane dropped, swerved, her lark's heart beating wildly. Her wings beat with it, struggling to keep her aloft. There, below – a vast green stretch of garden, dotted with floral bursts of colour. And beyond it, back the way she'd come, the secrecy and safety of the woods.

Thank the skies. She could still find sanctuary there in the dense mass of trees that stretched away from the palace. Oriane dove, mind whirling. It had all become too much, suddenly. 22

She dipped below the canopy and into the welcome cover of the trees. There was a little clearing, quiet and blessedly empty. Oriane didn't know what she'd do if she came across a person in the flesh. She cursed herself for not having thought that far ahead.

She came to rest on a low-hanging branch, desperately needing to be closer to the ground. She was beginning to feel uneasy in her lark's body. Her father's face flashed in her mind. She should get back to him now. She should—

Snap . The crack of a twig echoed through the clearing, loud as a shout.

Oriane nearly fell from the branch. That sound had been close by. Too close. Was someone coming? Or was her mind playing tricks?

Another snap . More movement in the trees.

She wasn't alone.

Whoever was coming closer seemed to be doing it fast. It was a person, not an animal. She could tell now from the tread of their boots. They had almost reached the clearing. It was time to go. She prepared herself to take flight—

But nothing happened. Her every feather felt like a block of lead strapped to her body. Her wings wouldn't work. The shock of it sent Oriane reeling. Her delicate talons lost their grip on the branch and instead of flying, she was falling.

She arced towards the forest floor. Her heartbeat slowed, and as it did, the world around her followed suit: she moved through the air as if it were treacle, the fall taking a minute, an hour, an age. Oriane could do nothing but watch in horror as the ground grew closer, and her surroundings grew … smaller? The leaves and trees seemed to be shrinking around her. It had to be some strange illusion – another trick of the mind, like the neverending fall— 23

But it was no trick, of course. It was not the world that was changing. It was her.

By the time she landed, she was human once more.

She struck her head on a tree root as she hit the ground. The impact sent pain reverberating through her body, stars shooting across her vision. Oriane thought she saw a figure, making its way towards her. The image faltered then faded as the world went spinning away.

Oriane awoke in darkness.

She was in bed. The room around her was blurry, indistinct. She opened her eyes wider, recoiling as shadow seemed to press against her pupils. It took her a moment to realise that this was not her cosy bedroom at home; these were a stranger's covers in which she lay cocooned. Her father was not downstairs, or asleep in the room next door.

Where am I?

Oriane sat up with a start, breathing hard. She struggled to kick her legs free of the sheets. She needed to get out of this room. But her vision had not adjusted, and she could barely find her way out of the tangle of bedding. She groped blindly, her pulse rising—

A flame sputtered to life beside her.

Oriane let out a cry. There was someone in here with her.

A pale, disembodied hand held a match aloft. The hand guided the flame to the wick of an oil lamp, then shook the match out and turned the lamp's dial. A circle of golden light grew outward, illuminating a figure seated by Oriane's bedside.

It was a woman. She was still partly in shadow, but Oriane could see that she was pale, her skin almost pearlescent in the 24 gentle light. She had a striking face, with sharp cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. A fall of straight black hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her eyes, wide-set and impossibly dark, were on Oriane.

A person. A real-life person – a woman – so close that Oriane might reach out and touch her.

It might have been the shock, or the soft glow, or her still-spinning head, but the only thought Oriane formed was: Is every woman in the world so beautiful?

‘Are you well, my lady?' The woman reached for the lantern and raised it towards Oriane. Her slender brows were drawn together in concern. Oriane drew back further, feeling foolish. She wasn't sure how long she had been staring. And, beautiful as she was, the woman was a stranger.

‘I … Who are you?' she asked, rising to her knees amid the mess of sheets.

‘I'm sorry to have startled you. I'm here to keep an eye on you, make sure you're all right.' The woman replaced the lantern by the bedside, but didn't take her eyes from Oriane. ‘ Are you all right?'

Oriane swallowed, nodded. Did this stranger know who – what – she was? ‘Where am I?' she asked.

For the first time, the woman looked away. ‘You're in the palace. You were brought here to rest.'

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, and luxurious , 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, truly see her, 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 was going to 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.