The Architect of Song (Haunted Hearts Legacy Book 1) by A. G. Howard

thought—the first I had heard of such a habit. His presence opened a whole new world of sounds for me.
    My uncle pulled away and I picked up my scissors, cutting the excess thread from the bonnet.
    Uncle nudged me with his elbow to get my attention. “Lovely work.”
    Before I could thank him, Enya cleared the table of my hat-making materials and placed a steaming bowl of pudding and dried apple wedges under our noses. Warmth eased through me, along with scents of nourishment and comfort. I had a passing curiosity if Hawk could smell them, as well.
    “No.” His answer draped my thoughts. “But it’s all right. I no longer have an appetite or need for food or drink.”
    As for me, my stomach growled. Despite my emotional turmoil over the past twenty-four hours, nothing could quell my body’s instinctual will to go on. To rise above it all and survive … whether or not my spirit complied.
    For my spirit still remembered my secret dream of earlier, and the comfort of company, song, and sound that waited within the realm of death and darkness.

Chapter 5
    Love enters a man through his eyes, a woman through her ears.
Polish Proverb
     
    “Enya is hanging laundry by the greenhouse,” Hawk said, looking out my side window. “We should leave before she comes back in.”
    I tugged on my riding boots and laced them up to my knees beneath my skirt, tucking in the lacy hems of my drawers. After I shrugged into my pelisse overcoat, I grabbed my black veiled hat and a pair of open-fingered silk-knit mitts and followed Hawk down the winding staircase. Just as we entered the hall, he motioned me back toward the stairs.
    “She’s inside again,” he growled. “Industrious, isn’t she?”
    I crept back up to my room, softening my footsteps under Hawk’s insistence. Then I eased my door closed.
    Hawk’s fists clenched at his sides. “Just tell her you’re leaving. Pull rank. She’s a simple maid.”
    “You’re wrong. She is so much more than that.” Mama had not only given Enya a position to work for our family, but she also gave her an education right alongside me. Intellectually, and in every other way, I considered us equals.
    “Then ask your uncle to take you to visit your mother’s grave.”
    “He’ll never allow me to go off alone to explore some path inside an overgrown thicket. Besides, he can’t even bring himself to walk by her room. It is too soon for him to face her grave again.”
    Hawk’s lips pursed. He clasped the square face of his pocket watch and studied the cryptic engraving on the back.
    Rat King.
    The desperate need for answers settled in every shadow of his agonized face. I pressed my forehead to the east window’s chilled glass. The oak tree Papa had planted upon his and Mama’s nuptials reached up toward me in the fog, massive and sturdy. Withered vines clung to its branches like serpentine hair. I used to be an adept climber. Until the mines—the one time I fell.
    “Wait.” Hawk towered behind me, his voice gruff. “Is that the accident you had? A fall?”
    I ignored the concern in his voice. This tree was an old friend, with branches so deftly aligned they formed a ladder in places. I could do it, without a doubt. And being at the front of the house, no one would see us leave. Enya and Uncle were preoccupied: her in the kitchen, and Uncle in the greenhouse out back.
    “No,” Hawk commanded, though he sounded shaken. “With the bark so wet from the melted frost, you’re tempting fate.”
    I threw back the sash and a rush of chill wind lifted strands of my hair. The hat’s lace veil stuck to my lashes, clinging with each blink. Though my heart pounded, I felt a calm—an exhilarating peace. The world in my dream had been beautiful. I wasn’t afraid to face it.
    “Juliet … think this through.”
    I assured my locket remained tucked safely beneath my corset and chemise then drew up my skirts and swung a leg over the sill.
    “Please, you don’t wish to be where I am.” Hawk