Breath of Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

back. “Might it do just as well?”
    “May I see it?” asked the kingsman.
    Melaia handed him the harp. He plucked two strings with his right hand, which, she noticed, was missing its small finger. Then he ran his hand over the frame. “It’s certainly sturdy.” He gave it back to her. “I’m sure it suits your purposes. But I had hoped to see something fit for a king. Lord Silas says this other harp is quite regal.”
    “I said it appears so,” said Lord Silas. “Mind you, I myself have never heardit. But our chantress can remedy that.” He waved Melaia out. “Fetch the other harp.”
    With no choice but to obey, Melaia trudged to Benasin’s quarters one floor down, off a columned corridor. A warm cedarwood scent welcomed her into the dim room, its only light drifting in from the open door. As her eyes adjusted, she looked around with new curiosity, knowing an angel lived there.
    She stepped to a small writing desk, cleared of all but a jar of ink, a wooden goblet, and a mottled feather. Brown, black, and iridescent blue, the feather’s colors shifted as she held it to the soft light. Its quill had been sharpened and was stained with ink. “Benasin writes with a feather instead of a reed,” she mused. No doubt he, like Nuri, had found the feather in the field.
    Melaia replaced the feather, then ran her finger around the rim of the wooden goblet. A pulse of heat shot up her arm. As she jerked away, a spider crept around the foot of the goblet and paused. She blinked at it, then realized it wasn’t a spider but the tendril of a vine.
    She tingled with guilt. What had she done? She was intruding in a sacred chamber. Maybe Hanni was right. Angels were best left to themselves.
    Trembling like a reluctant thief, Melaia crept to the far wall where the harp hung. It was slightly larger than her own, but she easily lifted it from its peg. She could feel the intricate runes carved in the soundboard. That, she expected. She didn’t expect the heat of the wood, like that of the cup. She shoved the harp back onto its peg and rubbed her palms together.
    The room darkened, and Melaia glanced at the doorway. Yareth stood there in silhouette. “My father sent me to make sure you didn’t lose your way.”
    “I know the way.” Melaia took down the harp and hugged it to her chest. It hummed with energy, its pulse matching her own heartbeat, which she feared was loud enough for Yareth to hear as she made her way to the door.
    He didn’t step aside but crooned into her ear. “You could heal me.”
    “For your ailment you don’t need a priestess.”
    “Oh, but I do.”
    Melaia slipped the vial from her pouch and shoved it into his hands as she sidled past him. “Try saffroot.”
    Yareth snorted. She strode down the corridor, her skin prickling as he followed in his uneven gait.
    When they returned to Lord Silas’s chambers, he and the kingsman were intent on a small bag that rattled as the kingsman shook it. In one smooth motion the kingsman upended the bag and swept it across the tabletop. Two stones clattered out.
    “Mine out first!” crowed Lord Silas.
    The kingsman laughed. “You’ve bested me twice now. Shall we play again?”
    “No, mark the score. Our harper is here.”
    Yareth strutted unevenly across the room and filled his goblet.
    Melaia made her way to a stool, hoping the kingsman would not ask to hold this harp.
    “Ah,” he said. “You spoke true, Lord Silas. I’ve never seen such rich, ruddy wood. Highly polished too. A worthy harp indeed.”
    “I thought you’d find it interesting,” said Lord Silas. “Such workmanship is not often seen these days. Let us hear its tone, Chantress.”
    Melaia cradled the harp in her lap, then noticed a leaf, green as spring, on a small stem at the base of the frame. Her stomach knotted. This harp was truly an angel’s treasure. She hoped Lord Silas would be content to hear one song and let her return the harp to Benasin’s room.
    As she bent to the