The king collapsed in the doorway.
Kjell dragged Tiras from sight, and no one even raised their eyes from the feast in front of them. I was all but invisible, and suddenly I was grateful for the scant attention I was generally paid. I stood and stepped away from the table, moving sedately away from the banquet, my eyes fixed on the arched doorway where I’d last seen the king, but suddenly my father was there, halting my progress. He wrapped his hand around my elbow and tugged me in the opposite direction.
“Lark. Come with me, daughter.”
I panicked briefly, resisting and digging in my heels. My father had grown gaunt over the years, but he towered above me, and there was desperation in his grasp and fear in his face. I could only stumble along beside him.
Let me go, Father.
I pushed words into his head, forming them carefully, trusting that his sense of self-preservation would force him to guard my abilities, but he didn’t react at all. He didn’t look around in confusion, trying to ascertain who was speaking. He simply walked, and he pulled me along with him.
Let go of me, Father. The words wailed in my thoughts, but I was the only one who winced. He didn’t hear me. Like Pia, he was completely impervious.
He headed toward the archway at the far end of the hall, pulling me along with him as I pushed furious words against the concrete wall of his mind. I’d been rendered mute once more.
Two footmen from Corvyn stood at the base of the broad staircase that led to the guest quarters on the farthest wing of the castle. They straightened and greeted my father as he approached.
“Lock my daughter in my quarters. Prepare to depart, just as we planned. We leave within the hour. There are rumors of Volgar movement, and we are needed at home. I’ve been away too long,” my father instructed smoothly.
I yanked my arm from his grasp, but as always, I was utterly ignored, completely dismissed, and I could do nothing to free myself from those who could easily subdue me.
Yet.
The thought gave me comfort, and I walked agreeably with the two footmen, my hands folded demurely, my eyes straight ahead, making a plan.
When the door to my father’s quarters was shut behind me, I waited, listening for the scrape of the key and the retreat of the two footmen. But they stayed, talking quietly among themselves, guarding the door. I paced uneasily, and worry clawed in my chest. I told myself Tiras meant little to me, that his suffering was not my concern. He’d become an odd savior of sorts, opening my mind even as he kept me locked away. He’d become a friend, though I would never admit that to him. To anyone. But I was afraid, and my mother’s prophecy rang in my head. Kjell held me accountable. I held myself accountable. My mother had been slaughtered by Tiras’s father. But my mother had died because of me. I did not want to be the cause of Tiras’s death. Impatient, I ran to the window and commanded it to open, flinging the words out desperately.
The window shattered, spraying glass in every direction.
I covered my face and fell to the ground as the door burst open behind me, the footmen crying out that we must be under some sort of attack. They ran to the jagged opening to peer up into the sky, cautiously navigating the broken glass. When they could see nothing that would cause further alarm, they helped me to my feet. I was covered with glass but mostly uninjured, and I shook myself gingerly, sprinkling shards from my dress and my hair, and surveyed my clumsy attempt at escape. I started fires and broke glass. I needed a great deal more practice or I was going to hurt myself.
They left once more and carefully locked the door behind them again, murmuring about what could have caused the window to shatter in such a way. This time they didn’t remain, but hurried off down the corridor, leaving a trail of mumbled words in their wake. I sighed in relief and calmly, purposefully asked the lock to disengage.
It did so with an audible click, and I sent up a grateful prayer to the God of Words.
I eased the door open and peeked down the hall. It had grown dark, and sconces had been lit on every floor. I would have to be certain to avoid the staff who were all aware that I should not be roaming the palace unattended. I’d never been in this wing, never negotiated these halls, and I didn’t know how I would reach the king without being seen. My father would be returning as well, and I didn’t want to attempt another command that could completely backfire.
Twenty minutes later, breathless and frazzled, I eased myself into the king’s quarters and leaned heavily against the door. The room was dark, the king’s clothes in a messy pile, boots toppled, sword and sheath abandoned, even his crown—something he rarely wore—sat atop his tunic, like he’d melted into the oak floor and left his clothes behind. There was an emptiness to the room, a melancholic abandonment in the crumpled clothing that had me calling out, as if I could make contact with his thoughts.
Tiras, where are you?
I called again, sending my words outward, flinging them into the darkness, shouting the only way I could. But there was no response. I paused in indecision, afraid to leave the room, uncertain of where to hide myself or what I should do. I walked to the balcony and stepped out into the darkness, my eyes searching the guards below for Kjell, for Boojohni, for something.
Kjell? I pushed the word out into the night air, and it vibrated like a gong in my head. The guard below me didn’t raise his head. I slumped down onto the balcony, pressing my face against the iron rails, weary and uncertain. I could see my chambers across the way. My room was ablaze with light, which was odd, as it had not been night when I’d been escorted through the halls to the banquet and I doubted that the maids awaited me now. I could see the open balcony door and beyond that, a tall shadow loomed. There was someone in my room. Tiras had instructed me to go there, I remembered now. Why hadn’t I gone there first?
I wished again for flight, that I could wing across the distance between the two balconies. I couldn’t change into a bird, a little lark, and flutter up into the sky, but maybe I could still fly.
I retreated back into the king’s chambers and pulled the silk sheet from his bed. Clutching it in my arms, I pressed it to my chest, eyes closed, concentrating on the words that would give it flight. When I was a child, I had pressed the words into inanimate objects with my lips, with sound. This was decidedly more difficult.
Up, away, into the sky
Lift me high and let me fly.
Nothing happened, and I realized I had to be specific. I had to imbue the sheet with a name, and direct it by that name. When the candle had moved, I had called to it specifically. When the fire died, I had done the same. When the glass broke, I had been precise about what I’d wanted. So precise that it had opened the only way it could, by breaking.
Coverlet. It was a coverlet. With the tip of my finger, I traced the word into the silk, focusing on the letters. Then, with not a little dread, I fisted it in my hands and demanded it rise.
Rise, coverlet, from the floor, through the window, to my door.
It rose, billowing, pulling me toward the balcony like it was being sucked into a wind storm. But though it would have flown, I was too heavy to fly with it, and it simply flapped like a sheet in the breeze, helpless against my grip. I clung to it, not sure what to do next, and I didn’t hear the door open behind me.
“What are you doing?”
I started and jumped, almost losing my grip on the coverlet that whipped and tossed in my hands.
Tiras stood in the doorway of his room, clothed like he’d spent the last hour in the stables instead of writhing in pain like I’d envisioned. Kjell stood beside him, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. I gasped and immediately focused on the task at hand.
Coverlet, be still
Obey my will.