The Harp of Imach Thyssel: A Lyra Novel by Patricia Collins Wrede

Flindaran said.
    “It’s not hurt.”
    “Good. Then we can go see Father now, and get it over with.” Flindaran rose and started for the door.
    “I’m still not sure I like this idea.”
    “I thought we’d settled this on the ride here. You can’t bring a thing like that”—Flindaran waved at the harp—“into someone’s house without telling them about it. Particularly someone like Father.”
    “Well—”
    “Besides, he’d find out anyway, eventually.”
    “Not unless you told him.”
    “That’s what you think. He has ways of learning what he wants to know. I don’t know what they are, but they’re effective. Believe me, we’re better off telling him right from the start.”
    “All right, but I still don’t like it. And I’m not going anywhere until the harp’s out of sight.”
    “Why? No one even knows it’s here yet!”
    “Flindaran!”
    Flindaran shrugged and glanced around the room. “Stick it in that chest in the corner; I think it’ll fit. You can even lock it up if you want to. There ought to be a key around somewhere.”
    A little irritated by Flindaran’s casual attitude, Emereck moved the Harp of Imach Thyssel into the chest. He covered it with some of the linen he found there, then rose and followed Flindaran out of the room. He told himself that no one but the two of them knew the harp was there, but his attempts at self-reassurance only made him feel more uneasy than ever. Finally he forced the harp from his mind and went back to memorizing corridors. He thought the twisting passages were beginning to make some kind of sense, when Flindaran stopped short at the juncture between two hallways.
    “Lee!” Flindaran shouted, and took three strides down one of the passageways. Emereck reached the crossway and saw Flindaran a few steps away, hugging a tall blond girl.
    She was dressed in a blue gown too fine for a servant’s but too plain for one of the nobility. She leaned back to look at Flindaran, and Emereck saw her face clearly for the first time. Serious brown eyes, straight nose, a mouth too wide for prettiness—and then she smiled, and she was beautiful. “It’s good to have you home, Flindaran,” she said, and her voice was warm and welcoming. Even though she was not speaking to him, Emereck felt at home.
    Flindaran grinned. “You’ve gotten even prettier than you were when I left.”
    The girl smiled again, and an irrational stab of anger drove all thought of the harp from Emereck’s mind. Flindaran should know better than to pay empty compliments to a girl like this! She deserved better than a casual flirtation; couldn’t he see that?
    “Emereck, I want you to meet Liana,” Flindaran said, turning. “Of all my sisters, she’s my favorite.”
    Sister ? Emereck bowed to hide his confusion and relief. “I am delighted.”
    “You mean that, don’t you?” Liana said. Her voice was light and soft; it made Emereck think of distant flutes. Silver flutes, perfectly tuned. “I’m glad. And it will be nice to have music again. It’s been a long time since a minstrel came to Minathlan.”
    “He’ll probably only be here a few days,” Flindaran cautioned her. “Don’t start planning a feast or anything.”
    “But while I am here, I will be honored to entertain you as best I may,” Emereck said. “I only hope my playing will not disappoint you, my lady.”
    Liana dimpled, and Emereck felt suddenly light-headed. “You are very polite, and I thank you very much,” she said, “but you really shouldn’t call me ‘my lady.’ I’m not entitled to it.”
    Flindaran frowned suddenly. “Who says so? You’re my sister, aren’t you?”
    “Not entirely. Don’t fuss about it, Flindaran, it’s not that important.”
    “Well, you’re my father’s daughter. Isn’t that enough?”
    Liana sighed. “It’s enough for me; I don’t need more. And it makes some people unhappy when you insist on giving me courtesies I’ve no real right to.”
    Flindaran’s frown