Free Breath of Angel by Karyn Henley Page A

notion. Dregmoorians have plenty of gold and gems, but they can’t eat gold.”
    “In that case why don’t they buy food from Camrithia? Why do they raid?”
    “They did buy food for a while. But the blight creeps across our land too. We’ve little to spare, and we’re storing our excess for the time when our fields look like theirs.”
    “But surely the king—”
    “Chantress, remember what we talked about? This isn’t a time for questions, and these are not your concerns.”
    Watch-drums sounded the closing of the gates, which creaked and scraped as portal-keepers began easing the huge ironclad doors closed. Trevin nudged his horse around a slow cart and pressed ahead of stragglers surging through the grand archway. Once they were within the city walls, he pointed out an inn with a savory smell of stew drifting out, the street of metalsmiths where the odor of smoke and hot metal lingered, the alley of carpenters scented with pungent wood shavings, and the lane of perfumers where sweet and spicy fragrances mingled. Melaia marveled at the maze of streets and wondered how long it would take to learn her way around.
    At a second wall, a rough-hewn guard grinned at Trevin. “You’ve not got enough ladies? You’re bringing ’em back with you now?”
    Melaia narrowed her eyes at the man.
    “She’s a priestess,” said Trevin as the guard opened the gate for him.
    “So you’re holy now, are you?” the guard laughed.
    “Don’t mind him,” said Trevin. “He’s not mean, just slack mouthed.” He loosed the reins, and his eager horse carried them into the inner ward. Ahead stood the towering red-clay palace. Royal stables lined the east wall. The round-domed, earth red temple backed up to the wall on the west.
    “I’m to stay at the temple,” said Melaia, easing her grip on the horse’s mane.
    “Are you expected?” asked Trevin.
    “No, but temples are open to wayfarers, and Hanni, high priestess of Navia, knows the priest here.”
    Trevin dismounted and helped Melaia off the horse. She opened and closed her stiff fingers.
    “You’ll be sore tomorrow, no doubt,” he said as he untied her pack.
    “I’m sore tonight.” Melaia patted her rump, then took her pack from Trevin and shouldered it. “And the harp?” she asked.
    “Perhaps I should keep it.” Trevin rubbed his left hand over his right. “As proof I didn’t return empty-handed.”
    “But I was sent with the harp.” Melaia shifted, uneasy. As far as she was concerned, the harp still belonged to Benasin, and she was its protector. “I really should play it a bit before I face the king. I’d like to feel somewhat at home on its strings.” She frowned. “You know the harp is safe with me.”
    Trevin hesitated. Then he untied the harp. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” he asked. “I can find you a room elsewhere.”
    “The temple is fine. I’m a priestess, remember?”
    Trevin handed her the harp, then dug into his waist pouch and pulled out his wagering stone. He pressed it into her free hand and closed her fingers around it. “I’ll be back on the morrow with instructions about the harp. But if you need me, bring this to the palace and ask for me.” He pointed out a tower on the east front of the building, which now looked blood red against the darkening sky. “I spend much of my time in that tower, in the aerie.”
    Melaia nodded. “Tomorrow then.”
    She fingered the
T
carved into the wagering stone as Trevin crossed the courtyard and handed off his horse to the stableboy. Then she tucked the stone into her waist sash and turned to the temple, which towered over her. It was at least twice the size of the Navian temple. She felt the impulse to call Trevin back, to accept his offer of finding her a room elsewhere. Then she thought of Hanni’s friend within and climbed the stone steps to the columned porch.
    Taking a deep breath, Melaia ducked through the temple’s arched entrance. A low-ceilinged corridor curved both