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‘Fine,’ she said quickly. ‘Go on, lovestruck. Go see Hana before we leave.’
He rolled his eyes at the word, but the corner of his mouth quirked just the same. Kitt squeezed her shoulder briefly, then disappeared to say his goodbyes.
It was time for Andala’s goodbyes too. Leilyn, Girard and Amie were still upstairs. She hovered at the edge of the bar, torn. The340merchants would be leaving soon, and she and the others needed to be on that wagon when they did …
Perhaps it would be better just to go.
She’d done it before. Twice now, to all of them. What difference would it make this time? Amie didn’t know her. She was only making Girard’s life more difficult by being in it. And Leilyn … Well, this was what Leilyn wanted, wasn’t it? For Andala to be the nightingale, embrace the destiny Leilyn herself had bestowed upon her? Surely the thought of Andala far across the sea, living in a stone castle built by their ancestors’ hands, would help her bear whatever loss she might feel.
Yes. It was better this way. She’d go before Leilyn and Girard came down, before Amie had even awoken. She would be halfway to the city soon, and they’d all be the better for it.
‘Ready to go?’
Oriane had come downstairs without Andala noticing, a bag of clothing and provisions in her hands.
‘Ready. Kitt is already out there, saying goodbye to Hana. We can wait for the king outside—’
‘Wait,’ Oriane called, as Andala made for the door.
She froze, turned.
‘Haveyousaid goodbye?’ Oriane said.
‘To Hana? Yes, just bef—’
‘That’s not who I meant.’
Andala felt suddenly as if she were in the air again, with only the ocean beneath her. If she didn’t keep running, flying, pressing on as she always did, she would drop, she would sink—
A hand on her elbow; gentle pressure, quiet warmth.
‘Come on,’ came Oriane’s voice, from beside her or a thousand miles away. ‘We’ll go together.’341
Andala let herself be guided up the staircase, Oriane keeping a hand on her arm. They reached a door at the end. Girard and Amie were sharing an adjoining room with Leilyn; this must be it. She could hear them in there, all three. Her mother’s quiet laugh, Amie giggling at something Girard was saying.
‘If you don’t go in,’ Oriane said quietly, carefully, ‘I think you will regret it.’
Andala shut her eyes. Took a breath. She was not in the ocean; she was not drowning. ‘Thank you,’ she said, eyes still closed. The hand at her elbow squeezed gently, then disappeared.
Andala knocked on the door.
The day was bright and sparkling around them as the wagon wended its way to Azura. The gentle rocking motion was soothing, as were the sounds of the merchants’ murmured conversation and the horses’ heavy hooves on the road.
Andala lay back with her head on a bag of grain. The four of them were ensconced quite comfortably among the wagon’s cargo. They’d been travelling for several hours now; the city was not far away. Andala hoped she might drift off and sleep the rest of the journey.
At least then she would stop reliving the goodbyes in her head.
She was grateful to Oriane for taking her up those stairs. For stopping her from running again, as she always had. She hadn’t cried as she’d embraced her mother, or collapsed under the weight of guilt as Girard wrapped his arms around her and wished her well. She hadn’t experienced the strange trance that had threatened to take her the first time she’d seen her daughter again.342
But she had said something to Amie. Something she couldn’t take back.
‘Where are you going?’ the girl had asked. Andala had forced herself to look at Amie, to bear her child’s scrutiny.
‘I’m going away for a while,’ she had replied. ‘Somewhere quite far away.’
She’d expected Amie to ask where, or why. But instead, Amie had asked another question, looking up at Andala with eyes a mirror to her own.
‘Will you come back?’
