Breath of Angel (29 page)

But none of it fit the high priestess who sat on a plain bench, gazing out the window toward the sea. Hanni’s fawn brown hair was laced with tiny diamonds. A larger one graced her neck. A goldsmith displayed jewelry on a black cloth before her.

“None of them,” said Hanni.

Melaia swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes blurred with tears.

“You’ve hardly looked,” whined the goldsmith.

“I don’t need to look to know,” said Hanni.

Melaia half smiled. The high priestess hadn’t changed.

“Something simple, then.” The goldsmith held up a large silver disk dangling on a gold chain. “Might this one be suitable?”

Cilla put her hands on her hips. “Give her some time to think about it. Lady Hanamel may know better once she tries on her gown.”

“Of course. I’ll return later.” The goldsmith bowed himself out of the room.

Hanni continued to stare out the window. “Must I try the gown now?”

Cilla handed the purple gown to Melaia, who carried it to Hanni. “If you try it now,” said Melaia, “we might have a few moments to talk.”

Hanni rose so fast that Melaia almost fell backward. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, glancing between Melaia and Cilla. Her face was pale and drawn.

Melaia wiped her eyes. “I expected a warmer greeting.”

“You’re not here against your will?” Hanni studied Melaia. “You look like—”

“It’s to get me in here so I can help you get out,” said Melaia.

“Knowing you’re free has been my one comfort,” said Hanni. “Please don’t put yourself in danger.”

“It’s a mite too late for that advice,” said Cilla. “I’m going to check on the girls, but I’ll be back. Try on that gown.” She headed downstairs.

As Hanni changed into her gown, Melaia told her about the plans to enter the palace and asked where the harps might be.

“I did see a harp once,” said Hanni, “but it was moved. I’ve no idea where it is now.” She scowled at the snug drape of the gown. “I know only that I’m to marry Lord Rejius two days from now. He thinks that by marrying me, he’s hurting Benasin.”

“Is he?” asked Melaia.

Hanni shot a severe look at Melaia as if they were still chantress and high priestess. Then she sighed. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Do you know where Benasin is?”

“Somewhere in the Dregmoors.”

“Then he’ll be no help to us tomorrow,” said Melaia. “I’ll try to come for you myself. Be ready.”

“I’ll not endanger Iona and Nuri,” said Hanni. “Already Peron—”

“I know. It’s a terror. But if you can make your escape—”

Hanni gripped Melaia’s arm. “Lord Rejius is immortal, Mellie. You know that, don’t you?”

“Did you know Benasin is his brother? The Second-born?”

Hanni sank to the bench. “He told me the last night he was in Navia. He told me all he knew—and all he suspected. I understand your need for the harps.” She took Melaia’s hands in hers. “I’m sorry I chose not to teach you about angels, Mellie. I was afraid. Perhaps all of this is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Melaia. “I know why you were afraid.”

Hanni drew Melaia down to the bench beside her. “Only Benasin knows that Rejius was the ‘dark angel’ who overpowered me in the Durenwoods.”

“The Firstborn!” Melaia’s flesh crawled. “No!” She searched Hanni’s eyes, expecting to see terror. But she saw only sad resignation. “At Navia,” said Melaia, “the hawkman said he had unfinished business with you.”

“Doubly so since Benasin befriended me. But you’ve more important matters to think about, for you have a far greater calling than high priestess. It’s my understanding that the Firstborn will be defeated only when the Tree and its stairway are restored.” She looked Melaia firmly in the eyes. “Hear me, Mellie: you must not put your duty at risk for me or the girls.”

“My duty,” Melaia echoed. Coming from Hanni, it sounded like a priestly mandate, as binding as a vow. She gazed out the window, squeezing Hanni’s hands. Seaspinner strode toward the shore on the gentle waves of the tide. Angelaeon surrounded the city. Livia and Jarrod and Trevin waited for her back at the Full Sail. And all their hopes were bound up in Dreia’s daughter. “But how can I bear to leave you and the girls with Lord Rejius?”

“You’ll do what your duty requires of you,” said Hanni. “We’ll do what’s required of us.”

Cilla bobbed into the room, and Hanni walked Melaia to the door. “Cilla will finish with my gown. Go back to the girls.”

“I’ll see you again. I promise.” Melaia kissed Hanni on the cheek, made her way back to Iona and Nuri, and told them the plans.

“A tower,” said Nuri. “The harps are held in a tower, I heard.”

Iona nodded. “And many here would gladly oppose Lord Rejius if they thought they could survive it. So if it comes to a fight …” She shrugged.

“We might have help if we appear to be winning,” said Melaia.

Cilla bustled in and gathered up the fitted gowns. “We’ve no more time.” She stepped to the door and glanced down the stairs.

“One more question,” Melaia murmured to the girls. “Do you know who spies through Peron’s eyes?”

Both girls shook their heads. Melaia wondered if it was Lord Rejius himself.

She hugged Iona and Nuri, then hurried downstairs with Cilla. After leaving the gowns with the seamstresses, they went back to the handmaids’ quarters. Cilla instructed Melaia to wait for her there. Not only had Hanni granted Cilla’s request to leave for the evening, but she had insisted on it, ordering her to get Melaia safely back to the Full Sail.

In late afternoon a flurry of drumbeats sounded from the rooftops. Melaia frowned. It was not yet time for the gates to close.

She stepped into the courtyard, where the servants, frozen in their steps, gazed upward. She looked up as well and watched as the white lion flag of the king was lowered. Three long blasts of a trumpet swelled the air. Then came a slow, rolling cadence of drums that grew louder and louder and stopped with a sudden pop. A flag of red emblazoned with a black hawk in flight slid up the flagpole and hung there, limp in the still air. The servants shuffled back to their tasks, and Melaia returned to Cilla’s quarters.

As the room fell into shadows, Cilla scurried in. She grabbed a pack, pinched Melaia’s cheeks, and fluffed her hair around her shoulders. “Follow me. And forget you’re a priestess.”

Melaia trailed Cilla across the courtyard. The nearer they came to the postern gate, the more Cilla swished her hips. Melaia tried it but felt she looked like a duck mincing through mud.

Once more the drums sounded, this time for the closing of the gates. Cilla stepped up to the postern guard as he swung the gate around. He smirked and left an opening barely wide enough for them to sidle through, then gave Cilla a parting pinch and a salty word of advice. Melaia was grateful the shadows hid her reddening face.

The narrow street skirted the palace walls, then descended past the boxy houses, now purple in the twilight. Two men entered the roadway ahead. Melaia halted as they approached, but Cilla darted into the arms of one of them. Melaia squinted at the other, who stepped closer. Trevin. He held out his hand.

Melaia let out her breath. “Forgive me for not recognizing you. I can’t see in the dark.”

“I know.” Trevin took her hand and drew her close. “Would you care to make this look real? To aid in the deception, of course.”

“Of course.”
Deception is his gift
, a thought warned, yet his embrace was gentle, the hand holding hers warm.
Would I care to make it look real?
She cared so much it frightened her. She dared not risk it. Yet she found herself stroking his hand where he was missing his small finger.

“An injury from long ago.” Trevin chuckled. “So long ago I don’t remember it.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.” Melaia leaned her head on his shoulder. To aid in the deception, she told herself. “Tell me about draks,” she said.

“At a time like this?” asked Trevin. “Besides, I thought the spy-birds disgusted you.”

“Who do they home to?”

She felt him tense. “Anyone they feel strongly tied to.” He shuddered. “I’m trying to forget it.”

“Don’t,” said Melaia. “I need you to teach me how to call one.”

M
elaia made herself eat the bread and saltfish Paullus had laid out for breakfast. She had not slept well for thinking of Peron. Trevin said draks sometimes homed between the people they loved and the one who did the scrying, if the scry-master held a possession valued by the one who was now a drak. A ring, a sandal, even a lock of hair.
Or a doll
, thought Melaia. Still, with all Trevin knew about draks, he hadn’t been able to answer her most pressing question. Could the birds be given back their human form?

As Melaia chewed on her breakfast, she eyed Trevin. The news of Peron had so shaken him last night that he had asked for dreamweed to help him sleep. Now he seemed sullen and distracted. She thought maybe he was thinking about Dwin, wondering whether his brother was now a drak.

Trevin wasn’t the only one tense. Everyone seemed ill at ease as they waited for Paullus to return from escorting Cilla to Alta-Qan and for Caepio to get back from staying the night where the true actors were quartered. When footsteps sounded on the cellar stairs, they all looked up expectantly.

“If I dared, I would back out even now.” Caepio trudged down the steps, puffy eyed and scowling.

Paullus came right on his heels. “You said you’d not be choosy.”

“That was before,” said Caepio.

“Is there a problem?” asked Livia.

“You’ve surely heard that the king met his end,” said Caepio.

“The whole of Qanreef knows,” said Livia.

“Yet the king’s body is not cold before celebrations start for the crowning of King Rejius,” said Caepio. “Such disrespect is outrageous!”

Pym ran his hand through his hair. “All the comains gone. Now the king. Is there to be no time of mourning?”

“Not when there’s so much to celebrate,” Caepio mocked, his face an angry red. “So says Lord Rejius. Tomorrow he is crowned. The next day he is wed. On the third day he journeys back to Redcliff. And it is
we
who are to begin the festivities!”

“Lord Rejius accepted only what you offered,” said Jarrod.

“I admit that,” said Caepio. “But wouldn’t you think he could postpone his own celebration until after the traditional time of mourning?”

Trevin looked at Melaia. “I’m sorry about your father.”

For a moment Melaia didn’t realize Trevin was speaking to her. She frowned at him.

“I truly hoped he would recover,” said Trevin. “Since I supported Lord Rejius against him, I feel I had a hand in his death.”

Melaia shot a questioning look at Livia, who exchanged glances with Jarrod. Jarrod rubbed his forehead.

“King Laetham was her father?” asked Caepio.

Melaia’s mind reeled from Hanni to Benasin to the aerie. The sylvans. Dreia’s grave. The scriptory. King Laetham in his stupor in the curtained cart.

She felt Livia’s hand on her arm. Melaia shook it off and glared at her. “You knew.”

Trevin stiffened. “And you didn’t?”

Livia knelt in front of Melaia. “For hundreds of years, angels have watched kings rise and fall, live and die. Restoring the Tree is of the utmost importance, no matter who is king.”

“So the king is expendable.” Melaia turned her glare to Jarrod.

He inclined his head. “Your task is already so great that we hoped not to burden you with worries about the king.”

“And Hanni? And the girls?” Melaia clenched her fists. “Are they expendable as well?”

Trevin leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve complicated matters.”

“Not greatly.” Paullus scratched his hairy chest. “The king has died. I mean no disrespect, but doesn’t that simplify your task? You’ll have no qualms about ignoring the king. Get the harps. Restore the Tree. Simple.”

“He’s right,” said Pym. “The best way to save your kingdom, Melaia, is to restore the Tree.”

“My kingdom?” said Melaia.

“You’re the rightful heir,” said Pym.

Jarrod sighed. “
That
complicates matters.”

Melaia glanced around the cellar. All eyes were on her. She bent her head into her hands, wishing she were alone with the feelings that whirled within her like a windstorm.

At last Caepio strode to the stairs. “I don’t know the thoughts of angels, but I do know that I have a performance to oversee. I’ll draw the wagon to the front of the inn. If anyone wants to bow out, do it now.” He headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“If you two angels go, I’ll go as well,” said Paullus. “My presence may serve to mask yours, as will Cilla’s. Now that I’ve involved her, I’d like to see that she gets out if the tide turns against us.”

The tide is already against us
, thought Melaia. She looked around. When no one made a move to leave, she realized they were waiting for her. No one would overrule her will.

She took a deep breath, then slipped on her mask.

Caepio drove straight through the marketplace. People clapped and laughed, and children squealed at the sight of the masked players. Melaia waved, as did Trevin and Pym, but Livia and Jarrod, the frozen smile and the stiff frown, merely posed near Paullus so his presence might cover theirs. The closer the
wagon came to Alta-Qan, the more still the angels grew. Melaia knew they were trying to sense malevolents as well as avoid being sensed themselves.