"Dave Duncan - Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

sardonically.
Sald moved into place behind Vindax: his place now. The place from which
nothing must remove him, save only death.
There were more appointments, honors and decorations and awards. The
peacocks and the butterflies strutted and fluttered in the sunlight, but Sald
saw almost none of it. Only once did he take notice, when his fat neighbor
from
the antechamber waddled forward to be inducted into the Order of the Golden
Feather: His Grace, the duke of Aginna. It was a travesty! That great slob
could
not have ridden a bird in his life.
He thought of the news arriving at Hiando Keep. His father would swell
with
pride. His mother would be horror-struck, his sisters full of tears.
The court whirled in iridescent grandeur.
The end came. The royal party withdrew--and the fifth person in that
party
was Sald Harl.
No, it was Shadow. Prince Shadow, if he need be distinguished from King
Shadow, but normally just Shadow.
He must adjust to life without a name.
The procession proceeded along corridors. Without warning, Vindax turned
to
a door, but Sald had been expecting that and did not miss a step. As he
pushed
the door shut behind them, he noted crystal and silver on carved sideboards,
and
one small window; this must be some sort of pantry. A cowering little man was
waiting.
Vindax walked to the nearest wall and then swung around, black eyes
glinting
with amusement. "Welcome, Shadow!" he said.
"Highness..."
The prince's eyes said that he had made an error.
"I don't know this stuff!" Sald said angrily.
"Then you've forgotten it! Shadow is never presented, so you know nobody.
Rank only, rarely title. Never formal address--not even names unless you
must."
"Thank you, Prince."
Vindax raised a cynical eyebrow. "It isn't quite that bad."
Sald knew that his resentment was obvious, that he was therefore showing
ingratitude, and that he was being mocked because of it. He liked to remember
Vindax as a childhood friend, back when they had both been too small to
appreciate the chasm between a baronet's heir and a king's. He tried not to
remember the adolescent Vindax of flying classes, when a commoner struggling
to
get by on ability alone must never upstage the heir apparent.
"Why me?" he demanded.
 The prince shook his head and leaned back against the wall. Except in the
security of the royal apartments he must always have a wall behind him--or