Chapter 7

52

Chapter 7

Oriane's eyes shot open. The stirring embers at her heart had not woken her, as they had most other days of her life. But this day was not like the others.

Today, for the first time, her song would be shared.

Oriane thought of her father as she rose and splashed water on her face. He would be awake now, too – if he had even slept at all last night. He would be outside, facing the east. Even if Oriane's message had reached him, she knew he would be watching the skies to make sure of her safety himself.

A soft knock sounded at the door. ‘I'm here to help you dress,' came a quiet voice.

Andala. Oriane crossed the room and opened the door, grateful she would not have to tackle the unfamiliar garment alone. Andala glanced at her quickly as Oriane stepped aside to let her in. Oriane was suddenly aware that she wore only a nightgown. She blushed, feeling immodest and exposed, though she supposed lady's maids regularly saw their charges in various states of undress. Indeed, Andala seemed unbothered, moving briskly about the room to light lanterns and prepare Oriane's gown. 53

‘Put this on first,' she said, thrusting some sort of undergarment Oriane's way.

Cheeks still flaming, Oriane retreated to the bathing chamber to change. When she emerged, Andala helped her step into the daffodil-coloured gown. She was surprised by how heavy it was – the skirts gathered around her waist and cascaded to the floor in a fall of layered silk. The back seemed to be fastened by countless buttons; she felt Andala's hands moving deftly upwards, the gown's bodice growing pleasantly snug around her torso.

‘They're waiting for you,' Andala said quietly, as the last button was done. Oriane suppressed a shiver as a feather of breath tickled the back of her neck. She had never stood this close to someone from the outside world before. Her heartbeat seemed to have sped up slightly – though it did tend to do that as her time to transform grew near. She took a breath and turned around.

‘Do I look the part?' she asked. Andala appeared tired, she noticed, now that they stood face to face. She seemed even paler today, and the skin beneath her striking eyes was smudged with shadow.

Andala's eyes dropped to the gown and back up. She looked at Oriane, properly this time. ‘You do,' she replied.

For a second or two, they remained where they were. The moment seemed to hover around them, time strangely unwilling to move forward. Then Andala blinked, and in an instant she was over by the door, holding it open for Oriane.

‘It's time to go.'

Ignoring the nervous fluttering in her chest, Oriane nodded and stepped through.

54 Andala led her down two flights of stairs to a cavernous room. From the small, raised platform at its end, Oriane surmised it was some sort of audience hall.

‘Welcome!' King Tomas was already there. He strode towards them, looking effortlessly regal, wearing a rich blue doublet and a wide, welcoming smile. His eyes glittered in the light of dozens of torches along the walls. ‘I trust you slept well, Lady Skylark?'

‘Very well,' Oriane managed. Her throat had closed up with nerves, making it difficult to talk.

‘Good, good,' Tomas said, pausing to appraise her warmly. ‘If you're ready, then, I wager it must be nearly time … If you'll stand just up there on that platform, Oriane – yes, that's it – I'll fetch the others.'

Oriane waited atop the low platform, unsure how to stand or what to do with her hands. She looked out at the hall before her, enormous in its emptiness. This would be Tomas's view as he held court and greeted his people. Did his throne usually sit here? Had they moved it for her?

Her gaze snagged on Andala, tucked away inconspicuously at the back of the hall. She was watching Oriane, her expression unreadable.

A flurry of footsteps echoed as the king led her observers through a side door. Behind him was Kitt, who raised a hand in greeting and gave Oriane a reassuring smile; Hana, looking small and delicate as she had the night before, squinting sleepily Oriane's way; and finally, Terault. His pale eyes were fixed on Oriane, too. All this scrutiny was making her sick with nerves.

The warmth in her chest flared to life as the group positioned themselves before her, Tomas and Hana a step in front of the others. Unseen, a servant must have entered and extinguished all the torches but one, casting the hall into near darkness. It was almost time. 55

Oriane swallowed, wondering if her tight throat would carry over into her bird form, strangling her song … Her breath caught. What sort of song would they be expecting? She hadn't even thought of that. Her call wasn't nearly as beautiful or melodic as others she had heard in the forest. It wasn't calm and lilting like that of the shrikethrush, or quirky and curious like the blackbird's. Hers was all trills and chirps, high-pitched and insistent, flowing from her in a bubbling stream. What if they didn't like it?

It isn't the song they're here for , she reminded herself. It's what the song can do. What you can do with it.

‘Are you all right, Oriane?' Tomas was looking up at her eagerly.

You can do this. She nodded.

The familiar glow began to suffuse her torso, her limbs, her fingertips and toes. At the last moment, she glanced at Andala, who watched her from twenty feet behind the others. Their eyes locked, and then Oriane transformed.

She felt better the moment her human body fell away – less self-conscious, surer of herself and her voice and her power. It was as if the smaller she got, the stronger she grew. As her arms became wings, she took flight, first up into the high reaches of the hall's lofty ceiling, then lower as she swooped around the room. Perhaps they had expected her to stay still as she sang, perched neatly on the platform. But as the first notes of dawnsong spilled forth, Oriane soared. She couldn't help it. She made joyous, wide circles around the room, only missing the freedom of the skies a little as they began to lighten outside the eastern windows. The watchers followed her flight around the hall. Their faces were upturned, tracking every movement, but Oriane didn't pause to make out any of their expressions. She didn't need to. She could almost feel how they were looking at her, feel the wonder and awe emanating from them like heat from the sun that rose with her call. 56

Soon her song was done. The day had properly begun, and the light through the bank of windows grew ever stronger. Oriane fluttered down to land on the platform. The king and his companions looked enormous as they peered down at her. She grew self-conscious again. It was even stranger being stared at in her bird form than it was as a human.

There was the usual sense of stretching and shifting, and then she stood before them again, her breath coming fast and the skirts of her gown pooling about her feet.

A moment of silence. Then a cheer, applause, sounding as if it came from a much larger crowd than the one assembled. They were smiling at her, all of them: King Tomas looking rapturous, Kitt and Hana awestruck, Terault calmly impressed. Andala still stood a ways behind them, but she, too, was smiling, for the first time since Oriane had met her. It turned her face from a cool mask to a living portrait, the kind every painter must dream of capturing: full of life and lit from within.

Oriane grinned back at them. It was inexpressibly wonderful, to have had such an effect on people. A new warmth was spreading through her, greater than any she felt when she transformed.

She had been foolish to worry. She had been right to come here after all.

‘Oriane,' said King Tomas, climbing the steps of the platform and taking one of her hands in his. The grin stretching across his face made him look younger, more like the boy prince he had been than the king he was now. ‘Lady Lark. Magnificent. Magnificent .'

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the hall. With a final squeeze of her hand, he leapt back down the steps.

‘Have you ever seen anything like it, Kitt? Terault?' He clapped the older man on the shoulder, not waiting for a response. ‘Of course you haven't, old boy. Nobody has.' 57

The seneschal smiled patiently, like a parent indulging their child. ‘Indeed.'

Tomas didn't appear to be listening. He had moved on to Hana, throwing an arm about his sister's shoulders and pulling her close. ‘What would Father and Mother say, eh? The skylark herself, in our very halls!' He took her hands and spun her in a circle. Hana laughed, too, a delicate, musical sound. Tomas stopped spinning and put both hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. ‘I haven't heard you laugh like that in years,' he said in a quieter voice.

Oriane was touched by the affection in his expression. He clearly cared deeply for Hana. And indeed, she wore a shining smile to match his – though Oriane could have sworn that, as she watched, an almost undetectable hint of sadness crept into it, like a drop of ink permeating a pool of water.

‘Oriane,' Tomas called now, letting Hana go and striding back towards the platform. ‘On behalf of all of us – thank you , for so generously sharing your gift with us. I do not exaggerate when I say it is the highest of honours.'

Oriane's face grew hot. She looked down, unsure how to respond to such praise.

‘Would you consider staying with us a while?' Tomas went on. ‘It would be our great privilege to host you.'

‘And, with your permission, to begin discussions on the best way to share your gift with the people,' Terault added.

All their eyes were on her. She hesitated.

Your people are in need of it, my king? The hope that you say I can give them?

Yes. They need it more than anything.

If she had wanted to refuse, Oriane would have found it very difficult. But she didn't want to refuse. She wanted to stay. She liked 58 the idea of sharing her song again. Her heart felt full and glowing; being here felt right .

‘Of course,' she said. ‘I would love to stay, if you'll have me.'

Tomas clapped his hands together and beamed. ‘Wonderful! I'll have you moved to bigger chambers immediately—'

‘Oh – that won't be necessary,' Oriane said hastily. She could only imagine what her father would say if—

Her thoughts ground to a halt.

‘My king, would it be all right if … Might I write my father again and ask him to join me here? We would be happy to share adjoining quarters, to minimise the trouble—'

‘Nonsense!' Tomas cried. ‘There's no trouble, none at all. Invite him at once. I'll send my lad – the message will be with him in no time. Now, there's much to do. If you'll excuse me, my lady …'

Before Oriane could thank him, he swept off, his hand at Hana's elbow, Terault at his heels. With a smile and a little shrug that seemed to apologise for their abrupt departure, Kitt followed.

Oriane stood alone. No – not alone: Andala was still here. In all the excitement, she had lingered in the shadows at the back of the hall where the morning light hadn't yet reached. Oriane descended the stairs and started towards her, trying to gather her thoughts. Everything swirled in her head so wildly, her father's face appearing in her mind's eye, smiling down at her. He would be here soon. They would be staying here together.

Andala's masklike countenance was mostly back in place when Oriane reached her, but she could see hints of where the smile had been. There was a light in Andala's eyes that hadn't been there before, and her mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners. She opened the door for Oriane and, with an elegant dip of her head, waved her through.

‘Welcome to the king's court, Oriane.'