The Stillness of the Sky by Starla Huchton Page B

but I’d never get that in my cage. It was strange enough dressing with nothing but a screen shielding me from their eyes, but playing from my heart felt far more intimate. What if my ability carried some unknown consequence when I used it? Stories of sirens on the seas drifted back to me. Their songs drove sailors to madness, causing them to wreck their ships on rocks or throw themselves into the waves. I didn’t wish to cause madness or death. Neither would see me free, and might possibly result in my own demise if there was no one to bring me food and water.
    Still, there might not be another way. If my words couldn’t convince them, perhaps my music could.
    I closed my eyes.
    I set my fingers against the strings.
    And then, I began to play.

Chapter 7

    I called to my memories, to every small moment of peace or freedom I’d ever had. The rock where I’d sit and watch the stars, the crunch of pebbles beneath my boots, the crackle of a fire amidst the buzz of summer insects, the absolute stillness after a fresh fall of snow, showing kindness even knowing I’d get nothing for my trouble… All of those things and so many more. I let them weave around my heart and pour out through my fingers as they touched the strings of the lute.
    The good memories came first. I let them surge and rise, building to a hopeful solution, towards a goal of happiness and peace.
    And then, I took it away.
    I pictured the bars of my cage, connecting fully with how devastating such an existence was to me. I took away the comfort of freedom, of the best memories I had, and replaced it with absolute isolation and loss. The yearning for the simple pleasure of a walk in a warm spring rain and mourning that sunrise and sunset were no more than simple shifts of ambient illumination drifting in and out of the windows high above— those were all that were left to me now. Every choice I ever had in the world was lost to me, and it was a punishment greater than death. What began as a melody reminiscent of the best things in life turned into a suffocating prison, holding my very soul hostage in an existence that would never bring me a moment of peace.
    I plucked the final note, listening as its tone rang through the room, all else completely silent. Perhaps my song would have no effect on them, but I felt a little lighter for having tried to express my feelings. If nothing else, it eased my own suffering some.
    When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t fully prepared to see my audience’s reaction. Lady Oria’s face was hidden behind her knees, and she shook silently in her chair. Prince Aaron was kneeling by his door, one hand gripping the bars. His back trembled with each breath, but he didn’t speak a word.
    Movement caught my eye, and I turned. Two beady, black eyes stared back at me.
    The bird from the beanstalk.
    It stood between my cage and the empty one, its head cocked, listening and studying me intently. After a minute of the two of us staring at one another, it let out a quiet caw, the barest hint of comforting empathy underlying the sound. Tentatively, I stood and approached, not really knowing what I might say to the creature or if it would understand me. Smiling sadly, I nodded.
    “Hello again,” I said. “Are you well?”
    It blinked at me, turning its head to the other side with a slight squawk. There, a small red gash bloomed amongst the blue-black feathers, and I frowned. “It seems we’ve both met with misfortune. I’m sorry for yours, friend.”
    I turned and took the napkin from my dinner tray, wetting the cloth with water from my porcelain basin. While my audience remained as they were when my song ended, I reached out to the giant bird, beckoning it closer through the bars.
    It hopped nearer and I reached out, pausing before attempting to touch. “May I clean it? I’ve no wish to hurt you.”
    A single caw was his reply. As it didn’t leave, I assumed that was permission granted.
    The tiny feathers of its face were softer than