Breath of Angel (19 page)

The next page said,

The next page:

Slowly Melaia leafed through the pages, scanning each one but finding only proverbs, riddles, prophecies. Enigmas, just as Benasin had said. If he couldn’t understand Dreia’s sayings, how could she? None told where the third harp was. At least not in a way she could understand.

The last three pages of the book were blank. She stared at them, disappointed, thinking perhaps she was supposed to write on them.

Then she glimpsed a shadowy movement on one page. She blinked to clear her eyes, then squinted at it. A line formed, indistinct and wavering. Another mark joined it. And another. Shapes swam, settled, and sharpened into two figures: the gold-eyed Lord Rejius and Dwin with his dark curls.

They were moving. Talking. Gesturing.

“Impossible,” she muttered. Yet there they were as if she were looking through a window at them.

Then Trevin paced into the picture. Melaia’s heart wove from anger to disappointment to longing. How could one young man stir up such a riot of feelings?

As she watched, Trevin and Lord Rejius exchanged what were obviously harsh words, though she could hear nothing. Lord Rejius grabbed Dwin by the collar and hauled him out. Trevin rubbed his left hand over his right. Picked up a sword. Turned the blade.

And stared toward her.

Melaia recoiled. Surely Trevin couldn’t see her. But how could she see him?

She gasped. “The harp!” she whispered. “The harp is the window.” The harp was made from the wood of the Tree. So was the book. They were linked. The book showed what the harp saw, and it saw Trevin. No doubt he was guarding the harp.

She turned to the next blank page, which darkened completely. She concluded that if she was seeing through the harp stolen from Dreia, it was covered.

And the third? The lines on the page swayed back and forth, crossing and parting. It made her dizzy to stare at it. She had no idea what it was.

A commotion sounded downstairs, and Melaia heard Pym’s voice. She tucked the book into her waist sash and ran down to the common room.

Next to Noll at the brazier stood Pym, clutching his hair at his temples. His cloak was splotched with dirt and gaped open at a rip in the side.

“Curse them!” Jarrod slammed his fist on a table. “And I sent her.”

“I summoned her,” moaned Pym.

A chill rippled through Melaia. “Where is Livia?”

“Our friends, the talonmasters,” said Jarrod. “They’ve taken Livia.”

“And Hanamel,” said Pym.

“Hanni?” Melaia sank to the bottom step.

Pym hung his head. “And the priestesses.”

Melaia put her head in her hands. “Why? How? Where did they go?”

“They headed for Redcliff,” said Pym. “I found Hanamel in Navia and gave her your message. She thought it best to move to a place of safety. Wodehall, I suggested, and she agreed.”

“She agreed to come here?”

“I think Benasin’s death shook her,” said Pym. “And learning about the Firstborn. Of course, I told her you were here.”

Pym studied a cut on his hand. “I thought she might need more protection on the journey than I alone could give her, so I sent for Livia. Soon as she came, we headed for Wodehall. But halfway here, those hellsteeds swooped down on us. They were so fast that we had no hope of escape. Livia told us to run, so we did. Hanamel and the girls were rounded up in no time. I should have turned back and fought. Instead, I kept running. I’ve proved to be a coward, I have.”

“You were in the service of Livia and followed her orders,” said Noll. “I’d not call that cowardly. You’re lucky to still have your roots connected to your crown.”

“But Main Undrian always said if it comes down to obeying orders or doing the right thing, do the right thing. I failed.”

“I should have gone in Livia’s stead,” said Jarrod. “I could have given them a fight to remember.”

“You’d have overcome two malevolent talonmasters and their draks without endangering a priestess and three girls?” said Noll. “Livia was wise not to battle when the odds were so greatly against her.”

Esper wrung her plump hands. “Noll, why would these talonmasters do such a thing? What can priestesses do for them? Why do they want Livia?”

“Lord Rejius wanted Hanni,” said Melaia. “He said so in the aerie. Maybe they took the others because they were traveling together.” She rose. “I’ll go to Redcliff tomorrow and try to gain their release.”

“Lady Wisdom!” Jarrod held up his hands in exasperation. “Do you think you can simply saunter into Redcliff and ask the great Lord Rejius to please release your friends?”

Melaia clenched her fists. “At the least I might get the girls out. Lord Rejius doesn’t need novice priestesses. I’m certain the priest doesn’t want them underfoot, but he’s probably playing host to them at the temple. I’ll ask there first. He’ll no doubt be grateful to let me take charge of them.”

“May I remind you that you were hunted in Redcliff?” said Jarrod. “You can’t simply walk in and present yourself.”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” said Melaia.

“Then what?” Jarrod folded his arms over his chest.

Melaia bit her lip.

Jarrod nodded. “You have no plan. You cannot go to Redcliff—”

“Then who?” Melaia shouted. “You cannot go. Noll cannot go. Esper cannot go. You are all Angelaeon. The malevolents would sense your presence before you could enter the gates. Who else but I?”

“I.” Pym rose. “I’ll go.”

“With me,” said Melaia.

“Without you.” Pym fingered the hilt of his dagger.

“I have a knife,” said Melaia.

Jarrod snorted. “Have you ever used it outside the kitchen?”

She glared at him. “Trevin told me how to use it.”

Jarrod’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, there’s a comfort.”

Melaia huffed and turned to Esper. “Can you disguise me?”

“I can make it so you don’t know your own self, pipit.” Esper chuckled.

“There,” Melaia told Jarrod. “I have a plan.”

“You’re wanted at Redcliff,” said Jarrod. “By the Firstborn.”

“We can enter by the Door of the Dead,” said Melaia. “No one will even suspect we’re there.”

Jarrod rubbed his forehead. “Work your plan, then. We Angelaeon are not
in the habit of thwarting human will.” He scowled at her. “I must say yours is one of the most frustrating I’ve encountered.”

Melaia watched from her bower as Pym left for Redcliff early the next morning. He had reminded her that his horse and Benasin’s were still at the palace stables, and he was sure the stableboy would be grateful to be paid for their keep. He planned to offer the boy extra coins for information about two women and three girls brought into Redcliff by the talonmasters the previous day.

Melaia prayed Pym would be successful. She had arranged for him to unbolt the Door of the Dead late in the day and wait for her in the catacombs. If he knew where Hanni, Livia, and the girls were, the next step would be trying to reach them. She hoped her disguise would allow her to move around Redcliff unnoticed.

That afternoon, with Esper’s help, Melaia donned the tunic, leggings, and sandals of an errand boy, with a turbanlike cap to hold her hair. Noll accompanied her to the edge of the woods. Then, with her journey pack over her shoulder and her knife tucked into her belt, Melaia headed toward the caravan road.

She hid Dreia’s book under her tunic in the fold of a wide flaxen sash. She knew Jarrod would have counseled her to leave the book in the Durenwoods, but she wanted it with her in case she needed something of value to exchange for Hanni and the girls. She would barter the book if she had to. But that, she had told no one.

As she approached the caravan road, she concentrated on walking without swaying, which she had practiced under Pym’s instruction while Jarrod covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.

She knew Jarrod watched from the woods even now, but a passing wagoner didn’t give her so much as a glance. Nor did a man leading a pack donkey. And in the stubbled fields beyond the road, a drover yelled at her to get out of the way of his goats.

Melaia grinned. Did she truly look like a boy? Would Trevin recognize her now? She would love to walk straight past him, steal the harp back, and leave an apricot in its place.

As she crested the hill to the west of Redcliff and crept toward the towering wall, she felt the size of a mouse. And like a mouse, she had to search for the way in. The burial grounds lay ahead, so she knew the Door of the Dead was near, but it was hidden behind a hedge, and it took some time to locate it.

When she did find the door, it was ajar, so she knew Pym had done his part. Her heart pulsed in her ears as she eased the door open and ducked into the pitch-black catacombs.

Gently she closed the door behind her, calling softly, “Pym? Did you bring a lamp?”

A scuffling sound came from across the room, then Pym’s half-muffled cry.

Melaia whirled and lunged for the door, but a heavy blow pushed her aside. Her cap tumbled off as she fell onto the edge of Queen Tahn’s coffin, crushing the blanket of withered flowers and releasing a pungent scent of dead roses. The mass of dried blooms took the edge off her fall, but she was left fighting for breath.

A torch flared. Shadows danced off the tombstones. A muscular hand grabbed her collar and shoved, pinning her down on the crumbled garlands while her bag was ripped away.

She slipped the knife out of her sash, and as soon as she felt the hand let up, she twisted, intending to bury the blade in her attacker’s throat.

She almost did, but he clamped one hand on hers, grabbed her hair with his other hand, and jerked her upright, almost off her feet. She found her own knife at her throat as she stared at Pym, who lay facedown, his hands bound, at the foot of the stairs.

A leather-faced, bulky man stood over him. Melaia recognized him as Vort, the talonmaster who had leered at her when he spoke to Trevin in the courtyard. He did the same now.

“Good of ye to keep yer tryst,” he said.

M
elaia was prodded forward by her knife as she stumbled up the stairs behind Pym and Vort. Her breath came in short gasps. She silently repeated the words from her mother’s book:
Fear and courage dwell together … Fear and courage dwell together
. At the top of the stairs, Vort threw Ordius, the priest, a purse that jangled with coins.

They marched out of the temple and into the courtyard, where Lord Rejius stood barking orders to porters, who bustled around, loading carts and wagons. Vort pushed Pym to his knees before a red-cloaked guard and headed toward the stableboy, who held Vort’s black horse.

Melaia, too, was shoved from behind, and she sprawled onto the flagstones at the feet of Lord Rejius. She picked herself up, folded her arms over the book, and glowered at him, hoping to look courageous. She certainly didn’t feel bold as the Firstborn looked her up and down, eying her in boy’s clothing.

He leaned imperiously on his staff. “You. A spy, aren’t you? You and that renegade priest. I’m pleased to have you.”

Melaia swallowed dryly. At least he didn’t know she was Dreia’s daughter.

The younger talonmaster, whose arms were etched in snaking lines, handed her pack to Lord Rejius. The hawkman dumped its contents onto the stones. A hunk of Esper’s loaf bread thumped to the ground, wilderberries scattered everywhere, and a clean shift cascaded out.

“Where is the book?” Lord Rejius glared at Melaia.

She tried to look innocent. “What is a book?”

Lord Rejius narrowed his eyes. “Damnation.”

He turned and strode to Vort, who was now mounted on his horse at the head of the procession of carts and wagons. A drak flapped down to the talonmaster’s gloved hand as they talked.

A covered cart stood just behind Vort. Through its open curtains, Melaia could see a motionless, gray-faced man. King Laetham, she supposed. Beyond him, in the shadows, sat a woman. As the woman shifted, light fell across her face.

“Hanni,” whispered Melaia. She took a step toward the cart, but Hanni, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.

Lord Rejius jerked the curtains closed, cutting off Melaia’s view of Hanni and the king, and shouted to the driver. The cart lurched out of the courtyard, accompanied by Vort on his sleek horse.

Another covered cart pulled forward, this one carrying the girls. Nuri’s freckled face was half-hidden, pressed against Iona, who held Peron in her lap. They silently stared at Melaia, who wanted to cry out to them but dared not put them in more danger. Peron, clutching her doll, began to whimper, and Iona stroked her curls. Their cart, too, clattered out of the yard.

A third cart rolled up with Trevin and Dwin inside. Dwin eyed Melaia through his rakish bangs, but Trevin simply looked away as a porter opened the door for Lord Rejius.

Lord Rejius strode back to Melaia, thrust the tip of his staff under her chin, and raised her head until she stared straight into his piercing gold eyes. “You delay my journey to Qanreef, and I am not a patient man. Where is the book?”