Chapter 6

41

Chapter 6

Oriane sat at the little dining table in her chambers, trying to wrap her mind around all that had happened. King Tomas had been effusive in his gratitude as she accepted his invitation, almost relieved, as if his life had depended on her agreeing to stay. Terault had been more reserved, but he too had looked pleased, a smile crinkling the corners of his sharp grey eyes.

Shortly after darkness fell, Andala reappeared. She would be Oriane's lady's maid during her stay in the palace, the king had explained. She would help Oriane wash and dress and find her way around, would bring her food, drink, anything she might need. Oriane had protested – she could look after herself perfectly well – but King Tomas insisted.

Bearing a covered tray, Andala looked flustered and out of breath, as if she'd had to race to Oriane's rooms from the other side of the palace. Or from the kitchens , Oriane thought guiltily, still uneasy about having a lady's maid at her service. To make matters worse, Andala seemed irritated about the situation, too. Her manner was stiff as she asked Oriane where she would prefer to take her meal.

‘Is there anything else I can fetch you, my lady?' she asked, once she had set the food down. She had turned in Oriane's direction, but didn't meet her eyes, her gaze landing somewhere just over Oriane's shoulder. 42

‘N-no, thank you,' Oriane murmured. Andala gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but something made Oriane say, ‘Wait …'

Andala turned back, her striking dark eyes meeting Oriane's now. ‘Yes, my lady?'

Oriane tried her best to smile. ‘Could I ask you to call me Oriane, instead of "my lady"? It feels odd to be addressed as if I'm some sort of noblewoman, when really I'm … Well, I'm nobody.'

Andala's cool expression seemed to thaw, though she didn't smile back. ‘Of course,' she said. ‘Oriane.'

They stared at each other for a moment. Oriane wondered whether she should invite Andala to dine with her; she would have liked someone to talk to. That was why she had come here, after all.

‘Is there anything else I can fetch for you?' Andala asked again. She seemed impatient to leave.

A little disappointed, Oriane shook her head. In an instant, Andala was gone, the door closing loudly behind her, the faint scent of moonblossom lingering in her wake.

Oriane tried not to feel hurt by her brusque manner. She was a stranger to the woman, and Andala must have had other duties in the palace. It was no wonder she was disgruntled at having to tend to some girl who'd blown in from the woods as if on an errant wind. Still, Oriane's appetite lessened as she looked over at her lonely meal.

Instead of eating, she searched the room until she found writing supplies in a drawer of a desk in the corner. She had asked the king before he left whether she might relay a message to her father. He had promised her use of one of his personal messengers, who would ride through the night to ensure Arthur didn't worry longer than he needed to.

Shortly after she'd penned the note, there was a knock on her door. ‘I'm here for your letter, miss,' came a boy's voice. 43

Surprised, Oriane crossed the room and opened the door. The young footservant bowed at the sight of her, and she tried and failed to suppress a laugh.

‘You don't have to bow,' she told him. ‘I'm no royal.'

The boy smiled shyly. ‘The king says you're to be treated with respect, my lady. That you're an honoured guest who's come a long way to visit us.'

Oriane felt a twinge of relief that her identity remained mostly secret, for now. She needed to take things one step at a time, and it was enough that a handful of people already knew what she was.

As the evening drew on, Oriane found herself at a loss for what to do. For a while, she entertained herself by looking out into the darkened palace grounds. Dozens of tiny lanterns were placed at intervals around the stone paths below, twinkling beacons for anyone out on a night-time stroll. Oriane found it inexpressibly charming. Perhaps she might wander those paths herself, before her time here came to an end.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, staring down into the shadowed gardens and their specks of flickering gold. The silence around her suddenly seemed all-encompassing, oppressive. Oriane padded over to her door and put an ear to the wood. Silence beyond. It was as if she were alone in the palace.

Abruptly, her mind began to swirl with doubt. Strange thoughts flowed in, first a trickle, then a flood. Wasn't it odd that she'd been accepted as an honoured guest into the home of the king himself? Had she really met him, and his seneschal and physician, and the beautiful woman with the distant demeanour? Or was she still out 44 cold, curled on the forest floor with an injured head? Perhaps none of this was really happening at all. The scene did have a strange dreamlike quality – the magical golden gardens, the perfect silence of the palace …

‘Stop it,' Oriane said aloud. She was being foolish, and she probably just needed some sleep. But no matter how welcoming the huge bed looked, she would find no rest there yet. The vast chamber seemed stifling, the walls pressing in around her, making her feel trapped.

She needed to get out of these rooms.

Oriane felt like some kind of thief as she slipped through the door. She had picked up the lantern Andala had first lit that afternoon, and she held it before her now as she stepped into the corridor. She needn't have bothered; the hall was well lit, with cheerfully burning torches mounted in brackets along the length of both walls. A wide blue carpet ran down the centre of the stone floor. Choosing a direction at random, Oriane began to walk, nervous energy fizzing in her chest.

The hallway opened out onto a magnificent walkway overlooking a marble-floored hall below. Oriane wandered aimlessly for a while, following corridors and descending staircases, pausing to look at portraits on the walls. The sheer size and scope of the palace was dizzying.

It wasn't until she found herself at an enormous set of oak doors that she realised she hadn't yet seen another soul. One of the grand doors was ajar, as if someone had just passed through it. But for all Oriane could tell, this entire wing of the palace was deserted. She was alone. 45

Feeling bold, she pushed the door open further, and stepped through. Her mouth fell open when she saw what was inside.

A library.

But if her collection of books at home was called a library, then this, surely, had another name – something grander, more befitting of its enormity. There were more books here than Oriane had ever imagined existed. They sat in their hundreds on shelves that stretched gracefully to the ceiling: one level, two, three, with little balconies that ran between them, and tall ladders that crossed them like giant arms reaching for their favourite volumes. Eyes wide, Oriane ventured further inside. Like the rest of the palace, the library was well lit, this time with covered lanterns instead of open torches. The towering bookshelves stretched around three of the walls, covering every inch and giving the effect that the room had been built not from stone, but from books.

As Oriane spun slowly on the spot, she saw that the fourth wall was something different. It was made entirely of windows – enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows, hung with colossal curtains of heavy velvet that were drawn back to reveal a magnificent view of the night-painted gardens outside.

‘This is the only time you can look out,' came a soft voice.

Oriane's lantern almost clattered to the floor as she jumped, letting loose a startled cry. She whipped around, searching for the source of the voice.

Someone was curled up in an enormous chair by the window: a woman with a cloud of white-blonde hair, her slight figure almost swallowed up by the seat.

‘Hello,' Oriane ventured tentatively. ‘I … I'm sorry to disturb you.'

‘Not at all.' The woman waved a carefree hand; it looked like a tiny white bird fluttering through the night. ‘Please feel free to join me.' 46

Nervously, Oriane smiled and took a seat. ‘I apologise – what is it you were saying, before?'

The woman turned back to the window. ‘Night is the only time these curtains are opened. The constant light during the day would damage the books – make their spines and pages fragile. I understand that, of course, but I've always thought it was a shame to obscure this view.'

Oriane followed her line of sight. The gardens and grounds unspooled beyond the glass. It was a perfect, cloudless night, the stars strewn across the boundless heavens like a scattering of seeds waiting to bloom. ‘It is beautiful,' she agreed.

The woman turned back to her, offering a small smile that tried valiantly to reach her tired eyes. ‘I'm Hana. You must be Oriane.'

Hana .

Oriane couldn't stop her own eyes widening in shock. This was the king's sister. Now she knew it, Oriane could see the resemblance to Tomas and Heloise; Hana shared their sharp features. But there was something of her father in her, too – more so than in Tomas. From various portraits she'd seen, Oriane recognised King Edgar's light eyes and paler gold hair. In life, though, Hana looked delicate, fragile, as if with too much light she would burn and turn brittle, like the spines of the library's books.

‘My brother told me about you,' Hana was saying. ‘I understand we're to hear you sing in the morning.'

‘Yes, my lady,' Oriane said, wrenching her attention back to the moment. ‘He said that it would be something you in particular might enjoy.'

‘Did he,' Hana murmured. It wasn't a question. For a moment, it seemed as if she were staring at something invisible in front of Oriane instead of her face. But then the veil was gone. ‘So you're a skylark,' 47 she continued, leaning forward a little in her seat. ‘ The skylark. Our mother told us bedtime stories about you when we were little.'

Oriane blushed. Tales of her , told to royal children? The notion was absurd.

‘What is it like?' Hana went on. ‘To be … what you are?'

Oriane didn't know quite how to respond. She had never been asked that before. It was like being asked what it was like to sleep or breathe. ‘It is an honour,' she replied eventually, ‘to carry on my mother's legacy, and ensure the day keeps dawning …'

‘Oh, no, I meant – to be a bird.'

‘Oh.' Pushing aside her embarrassment, Oriane pictured it: transforming, taking wing. ‘Well, I don't stay that way for very long. I usually just change and sing and change back, really. But being a bird – flying … It's wonderful, I suppose. It makes you feel … light. And surprisingly strong. And free.'

The look on Hana's face turned strange again, then, and her eyes returned to the window. The moon seemed to have grown brighter since Oriane last looked. She could almost see its tiny outline reflected in Hana's eyes.

The princess stared, unmoving, at the portrait of night, until Oriane wondered whether Hana had forgotten she was there. She began to feel she was intruding, bearing witness to some private moment of reflection. As unobtrusively as she could, she began to rise from her seat.

‘Hana?'

A man emerged from behind the nearest bookshelf. Oriane recognised him: Kitt, the king's physician, his elegant frame and dark skin rendered even more handsome by the moonglow and gentle lantern light. He didn't seem to have spotted Oriane yet. His eyes were fixed on the princess and filled with concern. 48

‘Hana, are you—'

Oriane rose fully, the movement catching Kitt's attention. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. ‘Lady Oriane.' He gave her a small, graceful bow. ‘I did not realise you were here. Are you well?'

Oriane nodded. ‘I was just leaving, my lord. I do not wish to intrude—'

‘The intrusion is mine. Forgive me. Do you want for anything? I trust that you have found your chambers comfortable?'

Oriane almost laughed. ‘If by "comfortable" you mean the most luxurious accommodations I could have possibly imagined, then yes, they are comfortable.'

Kitt smiled back at her, and the warmth of it lit his whole face. ‘I am pleased to hear it.'

Hana finally turned around, as if she had only just remembered there were other people in the room. She had the half-dazed look of one who had just woken from a dream. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by yet another voice.

‘My lady? My lady!'

It was Andala. She had come rushing through the library doors, her dark hair swinging over her shoulder in a silken sheet. She ground to a halt beside them, out of breath again, as if she had run there through the halls. ‘You were not in your rooms – I thought—'

‘Is everything all right?' Kitt asked, glancing between Andala and Oriane.

‘Yes,' Andala said, before Oriane could speak. Strangely, her tone made the word sound more like no . Andala visibly composed herself and gave a curt nod to Kitt. ‘I had taken water to the lady's chambers – I thought she would want to bathe after such a long day. But she was not there.' 49

‘I was wandering,' Oriane put in apologetically. ‘I hope I have not done the wrong thing.'

Kitt smiled her way. ‘Not at all. You are quite free to go where you wish. Though the hour does grow rather late – might I escort you back to your rooms?'

‘I can do it,' Andala said, almost impatiently. Oriane looked to her in surprise, but Kitt merely dipped his head graciously.

‘Of course. Goodnight then, Andala, Lady Oriane. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.'

‘Thank you, my lord. It is lovely to make your acquaintance.' Oriane meant it. ‘And you, my …'

Her words trailed off. She had turned to bid Hana goodnight, but the chair where the princess had sat was empty. The only remnant of her presence was a single white-gold hair, bright against the blue velvet like a strand of starlight.

‘Did you change your mind about calling me by my name?'

Oriane trailed after Andala as they made their way back to her rooms. She had to hurry to keep up with the pace the other woman set. Andala marched through the halls as if she had some urgent appointment.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?'

Oriane jogged a few extra steps to fall in line beside her. ‘You've gone back to calling me "my lady",' she said, stealing a cautious glance at Andala's face. It was perfectly expressionless, like that of a porcelain doll.

‘I shall call you what I feel is most fitting,' Andala replied curtly. ‘At the moment I do not know you, and so I shall address you as "my lady".' 50

Oriane recoiled at the harshness of her tone – but she also felt a flicker of annoyance. Andala seemed bothered by her very presence, but as far as Oriane could tell, she had done nothing to deserve the woman's ire. ‘I do not know you any better than you know me,' she returned eventually, a cool edge to her own voice that she had never heard there before. ‘So what am I to call you?'

‘You need call me nothing.' The ice in Andala's voice made Oriane's sound like a summer breeze. ‘It is a maid's job to be invisible, and that is what I shall strive to be.'

Oriane opened her mouth, but found she did not know how to reply. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Back in her rooms, Oriane hovered awkwardly while Andala drew back the heavy curtain in front of the bathing chamber and slipped inside. The sound of splashing water drifted out, followed by a wonderful scent – lavender, Oriane thought. Even the bathwater here was rich and beautiful.

‘The water's still warm,' Andala said briskly as she re-emerged. ‘Shall I help you undress?'

‘What?' Oriane's cheeks heated. ‘I mean – no, thank you. I can manage myself. Thank you.'

Andala didn't seem to notice her flustered babbling. ‘Is there anything else you need before you retire?'

No sooner had Oriane replied ‘No' than Andala turned on her heel to leave.

‘Thank you,' Oriane added once more, cringing at how foolish she must sound, repeating the same words over and over. But they seemed to ricochet back at her as the door swung shut behind Andala, leaving Oriane alone.

She took her time in the bath, calmed somewhat by the feel of the hot water and scented oils against her skin. After, she found a 51 silken nightgown laid out for her on the bed. She donned it, then considered the heap of clothes discarded on the floor. They were dirty from her fall in the woods, crumpled from travel and sleep and surely smelling ripe – she couldn't possibly wear them in front of everybody in the morning …

But after a glance around the room, her worry subsided. There, laid out over an ottoman in a corner, was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. It was a pale-yellow confection, all skirts and silk. Oriane had never worn anything like it. She had no idea how she would even get it on, come to that. But that was a problem to deal with tomorrow.

Exhausted, she staggered over to the bed. The cloudlike covers welcomed her into their embrace. The moment her head hit the pillow, she slept, her dreams strangely peaceful, awash with colour and light.