Chapter 4

27

Chapter 4

Oriane's stomach dropped to the soles of her feet. The king . 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?'

Oriane shook her head. It was the truth; she felt a little better than when she'd first woken. In any case, she found herself wanting to hide her true state. Something told her she should not let her panic and overwhelm bubble to the surface.

The man raised a hand towards her face. ‘May I?'

She forced herself to nod again. His hand cradled her jaw for a moment. Oriane felt her face grow warm as he tilted it gently this way and that and looked into each of her eyes. He seemed satisfied with what he found there. The smile – still small, still apologetic – appeared on his face again, and he stood.

‘You seem well, my lady. But please do not hesitate to send for me if you feel at all unsteady or ill.'

The physician dipped his head towards her. He received a brief nod from King Tomas as he returned to the doorway. Then, with a neat bow, he left the room.

Save for the silent man in the corner, Oriane and the king were alone.

‘That was Kitt,' King Tomas said, gesturing towards the closed door. ‘He's my physician, scientist, inventor – jack of all trades, really. Brilliant man. His real name's Eustace Kittrick, but don't ever let him know I told you that. He'd die of embarrassment if anyone were to call him Eustace .' His manner was almost casual, his tone warmer and more familiar than Oriane had expected of a king.

He did not introduce the other man, the one whose watchful eyes were keen as blades. Instead he swept over to her, his boots 29 alternating clicks and thuds as he moved from stone floor to rich rug. Oriane fought the urge to back away, but King Tomas didn't come too close. He sat in one of the chairs before the unlit fireplace, and indicated that she should do the same.

‘Please, sit. You still need your rest. You took quite a turn out in the woods, I heard. Tell me, how are you feeling now?'

Oriane looked at him. A sense of unreality had descended upon her. Was she really here, about to take tea with the king ? She lowered herself shakily into a chair. ‘I'm fine,' she said truthfully, though her voice sounded rough and hoarse, as scratchy as though she hadn't used it in days. ‘Thank you for … your care, my king. I owe you a debt of gratitude.'

Tomas blinked, then smiled again. ‘Not in the slightest. It is my privilege to host you, and my pleasure. What is your name, my lady?'

Oriane briefly entertained the idea of giving a false name, but what use would that be?

‘Oriane,' she said.

‘Oriane,' he repeated. ‘A beautiful name.'

He picked up the teapot and set about pouring her a cup. The tea was piping hot, steam curling invitingly from its clear amber surface. Oriane stole a glance at his face as he poured. The portrait in her history book had shown the Meridea family as they had been some twenty years ago: Queen Heloise; her husband, King Edgar; and their two then-young children, Tomas and Hana. The essence of the prince in the portrait was still there, but this version – the grown man, the king – was different, now that she saw him closely. He looked older than Oriane by a few years. His hair, rust-gold like his mother's, was pushed back off his face in thick waves. He had inherited Queen Heloise's pale, perfect skin, but from this distance she could see there were shadows smudged beneath his eyes. Perhaps 30 the queen had had them too, and the portrait artist had painted them out. Perhaps they were simply a mark of the weight of rule.

‘My name is Tomas,' the king continued, as if she didn't already know. Oriane jumped, realising she had been staring. Tomas served himself next, pouring tea and selecting a few little cakes from the tiered stand. ‘Please, help yourself, Oriane.'

She picked up her teacup and took a tentative sip. The tea was delicious: hot and restorative, a welcome familiarity that cut through the strangeness of the situation. The king watched her thoughtfully over the rim of his cup.

‘Can you tell me how you came to be here today?' he asked.

Oriane froze again. Her heart, already beating fast against her ribs, sped up to a painful pace. ‘M-my king, I—'

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘There's no need to call me that. I don't care much for formal titles.' Oriane looked up at him, surprised. She must have appeared fearful, a deer caught in a hunter's line of sight, because the king smiled kindly at her again. ‘Please rest assured, Oriane, you are most welcome here. You live somewhere in the city, I would guess?'

‘No, my k— No, not in the city. I live … with my father, in a cottage in the woods.'

‘Close by, then, to have found yourself in the palace grounds this morning?'

Warmth rose in Oriane's cheeks. ‘N-not exactly close by,' she stammered. ‘We live … further north.'

‘I see. And you had been travelling? Towards the city?'

‘I … Yes.' Oriane wondered why he was so interested. She was struck by an urge to hide. As she set her teacup down, words began tumbling from her mouth of their own volition. ‘Yes, I had planned to visit … my aunt. She lives in the city. My father is there already. 31 He went on ahead a few days ago. He'll be wondering where I am—'

‘My lady.'

She glanced up. The king was giving her a look – knowing, reassuring.

‘You don't have to lie to me.'

Lie . Her heart skipped unpleasantly at the word.

Tomas continued, his expression earnest. ‘I want you to believe me when I tell you that you are in no danger. You are safe within my walls, and so is your secret. It is an honour to have you here, a privilege to be visited by the Messenger of Day herself.'

The Messenger of Day. A wave of cold panic washed through her, head to toe.

He knows .

Oriane stood abruptly, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her even as they itched to carry her to the door. But of course he knew. She would have been stupid to think otherwise. Why else would she be here?

The king had risen with her, hands held out in a placating gesture.

‘Please, Oriane,' he said. ‘On my word as king, I will not hurt you.'

And though her instincts still cried out for her to run, Oriane believed him. There was no lie in his gaze, no malice that she could see, no dangerous agenda – just sincerity and warmth, and a bright-burning spark of fascination.

King Tomas resumed his seat. ‘My mother believed in the skylark, you know,' he went on.

Believed in me? Oriane sank into her chair. What did he mean by that?

But a shadow seemed to pass across the king's face as he focused on something beyond her. ‘I never got the chance to speak to her about it, before she …' 32

The room lapsed into silence. King Tomas's eyes had misted over, as if he were staring into some other realm.

‘Might you allow me to expand, my lord?'

Oriane jumped. It was the other man. She had entirely forgotten he was there. He crossed the room smoothly, his movements and the cool calmness of his expression putting Oriane in mind of a cat.

‘Of course,' King Tomas said, snapping out of his reverie. His regal demeanour had returned, an air of easy, comfortable power. ‘Oriane, this is Terault, my seneschal. He's my right-hand man, if you will. Manages all manner of things that keep the palace and the country running smoothly.'

Terault bent in a graceful bow towards Oriane. She dipped her head awkwardly in response, unsure what else to do.

‘Go on, Terault,' Tomas prompted.

Hands clasped behind his back, the seneschal regarded Oriane. Just as she was starting to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, he began to speak.

‘There was a time when faith was at the centre of life here in Cielore. Faith, and belief, and hope – those were the tenets of our citizens' existence, the cornerstones of our kingdom. Did you know, my lady, that the skylark was once worshipped by our people?'

Oriane started. ‘Worshipped?' The word was unfamiliar on her tongue.

Terault gave a nod. ‘And rightly so. It was right that the Messengers of Day be exalted. It was right that they be afforded the deference and devotion of the people for whom they lit the world. But there came a time when that reverence began to fade. Our king's ancestors …' He cast an apologetic look the king's way. ‘Well, they made a mistake. They believed – for what reason, we can only guess – that it was time to move towards a new way of living, one in which god-worship 33 was … no longer encouraged. Records from that time are somewhat patchy, but the last word we have of a skylark who lived among her people was—'

‘Elidia,' Oriane breathed, unable to help herself.

Terault's brow creased briefly, then smoothed. ‘You have heard her tale before, my lady?' he asked politely.

Oriane nodded. She knew who he meant. The last skylark to have lived out in the open – the one her father had told her about. The one who had—

‘Died,' she said aloud. ‘She died, didn't she? Trying to escape the people?' Her worshippers , she realised. Her father hadn't called them that, but that must have been what they were. ‘And her child, the new skylark – she was taken by her father, and they fled. They – we – have been in hiding ever since. To keep ourselves safe.'

Terault was giving her a strange look now – almost pitying. ‘My lady,' he said carefully, ‘may I ask you who passed on that tale to you?'

‘My father.'

He nodded, his expression understanding. ‘I'm afraid that what he told you – through no fault of his own, I am sure – is not entirely accurate. The skylark in question – she lived. And though she and her family indeed went into hiding, it was not the people who caused them to do so, but the Meridean ruler of the time – the first Meridean ruler, a queen named Helateia.'

Oriane blinked. Her mind was working furiously, trying to understand what he was telling her. ‘Elidia didn't die? She was … forced into hiding?'

Terault winced visibly at her last words. His eyes flicked briefly sideways to the king, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘As I said, our records are incomplete. We do not know exactly what transpired. Forced may be a strong word …' 34

But even as he said it, Oriane could tell he didn't believe it. Perhaps he pretended to, for the king's sake, to avoid speaking ill of his family. But speak ill he should, if what he implied were true. The skylarks had once been beloved by the people – and the first Meridean queen had taken them away, banished them, perhaps, to make room for the new way of life she had in mind for Cielore.

Had her father known the truth about Elidia? About why she and all the larks after her had stayed hidden away from the world, from their people?

What reason would he have to lie to her?

‘In any case,' Terault continued, pulling Oriane's attention back to him, ‘there were people – more with every year – who forgot about your existence, or came to deny it altogether. Finally, the day came where our country was made up half of those who did not know and half of those who did not believe that the sun only rises because the skylark wills it. But fortunately, there were a select few in whom the flames of faith lay not dead, but dormant and ripe for stoking. Most fortunately of all, one of those few was our very own queen – King Tomas's mother.'

Oriane glanced at the king. His eyes were distant once more – staring, it seemed, into that space between the cracks of the world.

‘Before she died, skies rest her soul,' Terault went on, ‘Queen Heloise had been making plans. She had a vision for the future of her kingdom. And that vision was of you, my lady.'

‘Me,' Oriane said blankly.

‘You. Our skylark. Our light. Brought back to us again. She wanted to find you. To atone for the misguided actions of her predecessors and steer us back onto the path from which they strayed. To bring you back into the light so that your power might once more be shared with the world.' 35

‘It is something special,' King Tomas put in suddenly. He was on his feet again, standing next to his seneschal. ‘Your power. Something to be celebrated, not hidden away.'

‘I don't need to be celebrated,' murmured Oriane, fidgeting in her seat.

The king gave her a benevolent smile. ‘I understand, Oriane. All of this must feel strange to you, after so long living your life out of sight. But this is a chance to show the people that there is magic among them. It is part of a ruler's job, is it not, to give their people hope? Seeing you – knowing that no matter what happens, the lark will be there to give them light tomorrow, and every day after that …' He let out a little laugh, and shook his head as if he couldn't believe it himself. ‘Can you imagine any brighter symbol of hope in the world?'

Oriane had never thought of her power that way. It had always been just another part of her, as quietly essential as the blood flowing through her veins. To think that it might be thought of as magic – that it might inspire hope …

‘Have you never felt that you deserved to be recognised?' asked the king. ‘For what you do for the world every day?'

‘No,' Oriane said truthfully. ‘It's just … It's who I am, my lord.'

‘Well, I think who you are deserves to be seen, and to be honoured.' He flashed her his brightest smile yet. ‘We can start small, of course. I wonder … I wonder whether you might care to stay the evening here in the palace, so that we may bear witness to your power in the morning?'

Oriane opened her mouth and closed it again. Who did he mean by we ?

‘Just a select few people,' he said reassuringly, as if he'd heard her thoughts. ‘Myself. Kitt, who you met just before. Terault here, of course. Oh, and my sister. I think Hana would enjoy seeing you most of all.' 36

Oriane looked away. Everything was happening so quickly . She needed a moment to breathe, to gather her thoughts …

Through the large windows beside them, the view beyond was spectacular: the palace gardens spreading out in a riot of colour, the green blanket of the woods. And above it all, the sun, arcing gracefully towards the horizon as the afternoon drew to a close. Soon it would sink entirely, and the night would come. And then, in a few short hours, it would be time to call the light back.

She had never done so with an audience before. Her father had seen her transform countless times, of course. But as she'd settled into her power and grown ever more at ease with her form, she had preferred to do it alone. There was a moment of calm that she always experienced right before she changed. Warmth gathering at her breast; her heart a gently burning star, tucked behind her ribcage. It was a transition, an in-between moment where she felt half-woman, half-bird, and where she felt true balance in the world, as if everything was and had been and always would be well.

Would she still feel that way if she shared that moment with a group of strangers?

Perhaps , said a voice in her head, perhaps you could make them feel that way too.

Perhaps her song was meant to be shared.

‘Your people are in need of it, my king?' she asked, turning back towards him. ‘The hope that you say I can give them?'

‘Yes,' King Tomas said immediately. ‘They need it more than anything.' The shine of emotion in his eyes as he spoke made him look more like a father than a king.

Her own father's face flashed before her.

I've just been trying to keep you safe, Oriane.

Had he lied to her in order to do so? 37

Oriane rose from her chair, dipped her head in a bow and raised it again. Both men's gazes were focused on her: the king's keen and hopeful, the seneschal's piercing. They awaited her answer. She was ready to give it.

‘I am grateful for your invitation,' she said, as the sun descended further and a beam of refracted light set the room aflame. ‘I would be honoured to stay.'