Free Breath of Angel by Karyn Henley Page B

right and left. Straight aheadthrough a wide doorway lay a lamp-lit altar room much like the sanctuary in Navia, except that it was larger and the lamps were made of brass cut in patterns like latticework. The light that escaped them mottled the haze of nose-tingling incense.
    Melaia tapped a small gong with the mallet that hung from a cord beside it. From behind one of the columns encircling the sanctuary, a sallow-faced priest emerged. His long hair was tied back at the neck, as was the custom of male priests, and his hands were hidden deep in the folds of his blue and gold robe. His close-set eyes flitted across Melaia as if to evaluate her worthiness. In an oily voice, he asked, “What is your business here?”
    “I’m a chantress sent from the overlord in Navia. You must be Jarrod.”
    His eyebrows arched. “I’m Ordius.”
    “Is Jarrod here? Do you know Hanamel, high priestess of Navia?”
    “Jarrod is no longer here,” said Ordius. “And I know no one from Navia.”
    Melaia’s shoulders sagged. “Could you provide me a room?”
    “How long do you expect to stay?”
    “I don’t know. I was sent to play for the king. I may be asked to stay elsewhere after tonight.”
    Ordius gave one nod. With a hand decked with jeweled rings, he slipped a torch from its bracket and beckoned her to follow. They passed down the curved corridor and climbed a flight of stairs. Halfway down the hall, he ushered Melaia into a small stone-walled chamber, bare except for a stool and a table that held an unlit clay lamp. A latticed window was opposite the door, but only the dark of night showed through.
    “Is there no mat?” she asked. “Where do I find water? And the privy?” From the way the priest scowled at her, she decided to leave asking for food until the morrow.
    “Water and privy are in the courtyard out back. I’ll bring a mat.” The priest thrust the torch into a bracket in the corridor and was gone.
    Melaia carried the palm-sized clay lamp to the torch flame and lit it. In the small circle of lamplight, she padded back into the room, feeling completelyalone. It was too quiet here. A scratching noise on the outside wall would be welcome tonight. How comforting it would be to see the shutter opening and Trevin climbing in.
    She set the lamp on the table and peered through the lattice. To the right a portion of the palace was visible, some of its windows flickering with light. To the left loomed a black shadow, which she assumed to be the city wall, for above it stretched the star-strewn heavens and a half moon.
    Lifting her face toward the sky, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the savory smells that hung in the air. She wished she had let Trevin select a room for her, somewhere with a brazier and a hot supper, which he was probably enjoying right now, no doubt with a bevy of young ladies vying to keep him warm tonight.
    When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at the moon. Across it glided the silhouette of a hawk.

CHAPTER 8
    A fter a cold, fitful night on a thin mat, Melaia was relieved to see the slant of morning sun streaming through the lattice, creating shadows in lacy patterns on the opposite wall. She opened the shutter and gazed at the palace but could summon no more than a sense of foreboding.
    She chided herself. Any priestess would count it an honor to be assigned a post at Redcliff. Besides, she had longed to see the world outside Navia. But that was when she sat safely at home, dreaming of travel and adventure. Now that she was actually in Redcliff, staring at the unknown, she felt like a child again nervously preparing to sing for the overlord for the first time.
    She leaned out the window and studied the square towers. Above the tallest hung the king’s flag—a white lion on a dove gray field—snapping in the wind. A drak flapped out of the highest window of the east front tower, followed closely by a second.
    “The aerie,” murmured Melaia.
    She stared at it for a moment,