We ended up downstairs in the summer parlor, whose great glassed doors would in...

We ended up downstairs in the summer parlor, whose great glassed doors would in a few months look out on a fine garden but now gave onto a slushy pathway lined by barren trees and rosebushes. Still sitting where it had for nearly three decades was my mother's harp.
As soon as Nimiar saw the instrument, she gave a gasp and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. "'Tis a Mandarel," she murmured reverently, her face flushed with excitement. "Do you play it?"
I shook my head. "Was my mother's. I used to dance to the music she made. Do you play?"
"Not as well as this instrument deserves. And I haven't practiced for ages. That's a drawback of a life at Court. One gets bound up in the endless social rounds and forgets other things. May I try it sometime?"
"It's yours," I said. "This is going to be your home, too, and for my part, I think musical instruments ought to be played and not sit silent."
She caught my hand and kissed it, and I flushed with embarrassment.
And just then the two men came in, both wearing their cloaks again, and Bran carrying Nimiar's over his arm. "There you are. Found Mama's harp?"
"Yes, and Meliara says I may play it whenever I like."
Bran grinned at me. "A good notion, that. Only let's have it moved upstairs where it's warm, shall we?"
Nimiar turned at once to see how I liked this idea, and I spread my hands. "If you wish," I said.
Bran nodded. "Now, Mel, go get something warm on, and we'll take a turn in the garden and see what's toward outside."
"You don't need me for that," I said. "I think I'll go make sure things are working smoothly." And before anyone could say anything, I batted aside the door tapestry and fled."