"Fancher, Jane - Rings 2 - Ring Of Intrigue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fancher Jane S)

of House Rhomandi, both dunMheric. Is that correct?"
"That's correct," Deymorin answered shortly.
"You are the Rhomandi?" the man repeated, and Dey-
morin paused.
The Rhomandi. As if he were still the family patriarch.
Mikhyel had not made that claim. Wouldn't, meticulous bas-
tard that he wasthat much hadn't changed. The gatekeeper,
or this man himself, had inferred it, meaning Nikki's as-
cendance to the title was not yet public knowledge.
They'd all agreed, at Armayel, that in all practical senses,
Deymorin was still the Rhomandi, but they'd never imag-
ined the issue coming up under quite these circumstances,
and considering Nikki's belligerent do you know who I
am . . . Deymorin was no longer certain how to answer.
Yet even as he hesitated, that sense they shared carried
Mikhyel's support, as well as Nikki's to acknowledge his
title, and so Deymorin nodded once, briefly and without
losing eye contact with the leader.
The man's eyes narrowed, and he seemed momentarily
taken aback. But only for a moment.
"In that case," he stated firmly, "I must insist that you
follow me."
8 8 8
They didn't give her time to collect her cloakby the
time Kiyrstin thought of that dereliction, it was far too late
to remedy the situation.
The guards led them to an iron-barred passageway, the
only such gateway she'd seen in this stony maze. While the
leader unlocked the gate, the guards collected torches from
the floor, old-fashioned light sources that flared at the touch
of the punk left simmering in a pot beside the doorway.
The grim-faced leader ordered them to sort themselves,
two and two, and then led the way into the wide tunnel.
They followed, Nikki and Deymorin to the front, herself
and Mikhyel behind. It was a conscious sort, at least on
her part, and, from the look he cast her, an arrangement
Mikhyel welcomed.
Mikhyel claimed he found her presence restful. Of
course, considering her competition for the honor, she
didn't set overmuch store on Mikhyel's choice of adjectives.
There were times, Mikhyel had revealed to her at Armayel,
when his brothers' thoughts could nearly overwhelm his
own thinking.
She could well imagine that this was one of those times.
Mikhyel stumbled; she caught his elbow and steadied
him.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"My pleasure," she murmured back; and when the
guards failed to object, she ventured, "Is it Deymorin?"
He nodded.