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

reached for my arm, a passing sweep of air.
    Shoving my other leg out next to my first, I gripped the closest branch and inched forward until one foot wedged in place upon a lower branch. The bark scraped my palms through my gloves. I tightened bare fingers around the narrowest end.
    Ignoring Hawk’s shouts, I pushed myself free of the sill and centered my weight on my fixed boot. My other foot found purchase on a separate branch and I started my descent.
    I couldn’t stop my smile as Hawk perched next to me, afloat in midair.
    “Are you always this stubborn? Watch that branch!”
    The juncture cracked apart and I lost my grip. My dress caught on a snag, pinching my midsection. The hem wound around my legs, tangling my feet.
    I hung there, heart tapping an uneasy rhythm. Fog swirled in a dizzying whorl around me. My dress ripped and lowered me an inch. The fabric cinched around my lungs and I gasped for breath. I reached for the vines Hawk instructed me to grab with a roaring yell.
    They were too far. My dress ripped again. Terror clenched my throat.
    I lost sight of my courage, forgot the beauty of my dream.
    Just like when I was a child, hanging by a thread.
    A scream swelled in my chest but before its release, Hawk—with a look of intense concentration—batted at a vine and made contact with his hand. It swung in my direction and I caught it, wrapping it around my wrist the instant the fabric in my dress gave.
    I clung tightly to vines the rest of the way down. Once my feet touched, I wanted to kiss the ground. Though I wanted to kiss my rescuer even more. My cheeks warmed, knowing Hawk had heard the unspoken observation.
    He scowled at me. “Why would you attempt something so foolhardy? Climbing an ice-slicked tree from those heights. Do you want to be dead?”
    A stunned realization throttled through me, taking precedent over his insightful question. “You touched that vine and made it move. Purposely .” With shaky fingers, I buttoned my coat to cover the gaping tear in my dress.
    We both looked over our shoulders at the tree, though our meditation was short lived. Feeling the press of time, we rushed to the stable. In spite of the sorrel’s gentle nature, Chester startled at Hawk’s presence. I offered a chunk of browned apple that I had tucked away from breakfast, settling him.
    I patted his glistening chestnut coat, raw fingertips sliding over the satin of his mane as I walked him toward the gig.
    After leading me through the steps of harnessing and securing the rigging, Hawk studied my face. “So, you know how to handle one of these?”
    I climbed into the cab and perched on the cold, stiff squab. “Uncle taught me when I was twelve. I caught on as quickly as any boy. Until there was a fat toad.” I shook my head. “He came out of nowhere and plopped into the road. I turned the horses sharply … drove the gig into a ditch. The ruined axles were nothing to the damage on Uncle’s lower back.”
    Hawk barked a laugh. “Well, at least you saved the toad.”
    “Actually, the left rear wheel flattened him.”
    Hawk burst into robust chuckles.
    I grinned sheepishly. “Stop that. It’s tragic.” I’d never recovered from the guilt of wounding Uncle. I wore it around my neck like an albatross, along with the weight of Papa’s death.
    Hawk settled next to me. “You are not a god. Things happen, Juliet. That does not mean you’re the cause of them. You’re merely a thread in the fabric of life.”
    His kindness touched me. “All right, if I’m not all powerful, then why would you be concerned about my driving abilities? Nothing can harm you.”
    “You are my one connection to the living world. Should you get hurt, I would bleed more than if I severed my own arm.”
    The press of his observation made me stop and think. He needed me, as Mama once did. I would not let him down by being careless.
    I snapped the lines and Chester trotted along the pebbled road. The misted scenery passed—a hazy