"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

A quick visual survey of the BrotherhoodтАЩs library, with its hundreds and hundreds of volumes of law, discourse, and royal decreesтАжand he thought, yes, indeed, it had taken months and months to go through them all. And now, with the digging complete, the notations made, and the legal path for what the king wanted to accomplish carved out, there should have been a sense of accomplishment.

Instead, he felt dread.

In his training and practice as a lawyer, he had tackled sticky problems beforeтАФespecially after he had come here to this vast house and begun to function as the Blind KingтАЩs personal solicitor: The Old Laws were very convoluted, archaic not just in their wording, but in their very contentтАФand the ruler of the vampire race was not at all like that. WrathтАЩs thinking was both straightforward and revolutionary, and when it came to his rule, the past and the future did not often coexist without a good deal of reframingтАФof the Old Laws, that was.

This was on a whole different level, however.

Wrath, as sovereign, could do fairly much what he wantedтАФprovided the appropriate precedents were identified, recast, and recorded. After all, the king was the living, breathing law, a physical manifestation of the order necessary for a civilized society. The problem was, tradition didnтАЩt happen by accident; it was the result of generations upon generations living and making choices based on a certain set of rules that was accepted by the public. Progressive thinkers trying to lead entrenched, conservative societies in new directions tended to run into problems.

And thisтАжfurther alteration of the way things were done? In the current political environment, where WrathтАЩs leadership was already being challengedтАФ

тАЬYouтАЩre deep in thought.тАЭ

At the sound of BlayтАЩs voice, Saxton jumped and nearly lost his Montblanc over his shoulder.

Immediately, Blay reached forward as if to calm what had been ruffled. тАЬOh, IтАЩm sorryтАФтАЭ

тАЬNo, itтАЩs all right, IтАФтАЭ Saxton frowned as he regarded the soldierтАЩs wet and bloodied clothing. тАЬDearest Virgin ScribeтАжwhat happened tonight?тАЭ

Evidently in lieu of answering, Blay headed over for the bar on the antique bomb├й chest in the corner. As he took his time choosing between the sherry and a Dubonnet, it was rather clear he was preparing a sequence of words in his head.

Which meant it had to do with Qhuinn.

In fact, Blay cared for neither sherry nor Dubonnet. And sure enough, he helped himself to a port.

Saxton eased back in his chair and looked upward at the chandelier that hung so far above the floor. The fixture was a stunning specimen from Baccarat, made in the middle nineteenth century, with all of the leaded-glass crystals and careful workmanship one would expect.

He recalled it swinging from side to side subtly, the rainbow refractions of light twinkling all around the room.

How many nights ago had that been? How long since Qhuinn had serviced that Chosen directly above this room?

Nothing had been the same since.

тАЬA broken-down car.тАЭ Blay took a long swallow. тАЬJust mechanical issues.тАЭ

Is that why your leathers are wet, and there is blood down the front of your shirt? Saxton wondered.

And yet he kept the demand to himself.

He had become used to keeping things to himself.

Silence.

Blay finished his port and poured another with the kind of alacrity typically reserved for drunkards. Which he was not. тАЬAndтАжyou?тАЭ the male said. тАЬHowтАЩs your work?тАЭ

тАЬIтАЩm finished. Well, nearly so.тАЭ

BlayтАЩs blue eyes shot over. тАЬReally? I thought you were going to be at this forever.тАЭ