"Elizabeth Gilligan - Silken Magic 01 - Magic's Silken Snare" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilligan Elizabeth)

enough to fret about with her estranged husband, the Duca di Drago, fighting the war
against the Turks at the Morean front. She took no comfort in the luxuries of his
estate, or the wealth from his properties and businesses during his absence. More
still to worry over since her younger sister was spending the season at the White
KingтАЩs court looking for a husband.
The owl called again. With a growing sense of dread, Luciana ran to the doors of
her balcony and pushed them open wide. She gulped against the sudden frigid
breeze and stared out over the orchards. The gibbous moon made everything stark
and colorless.
Seemingly from nowhere, an owl settled on the marble ledge and stared,
unblinking, at her. It, like the moon, was a ghostly white.
The owl hooted.
Three cries. The warning of death.
The press of fear in her chest made it painful even to breathe. Luciana held out
her right hand to the bird and watched it hop from the parapet to her wrist. Its talons
cut deeply into her skin, but its pale yellow eyes held her.
тАЬWho has died?тАЭ she asked.
The owl turned its head, blinking, as LucianaтАЩs dark hair blew into its face. It
started to rise, beating its wings against the wind, but its talons never loosened on
her wrist. It turned back, clicking its sharp beak, then grew still on her arm again.
She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her voice steady. тАЬMy husband? My
sister? Or my grandmother?тАЭ
The bird blinked twice and rose to the wind, leaving tracks of blood on her arm
as legacy of its visit.
Please! she prayed. She had lost so many dear to her already. She ran inside to
her altar and knelt before it. Rubbing tears out of her eyes, Luciana lit the candle
stubs from the flame of an oil lamp. Her hands shook. She took a box of gilt-inlaid
cherrywood from the cupboard beneath the altar, unwound the protective silk, and
spread her cards carefully.
Mingled with the all-consuming fear which made her heart thump painfully in her
chest, she felt the draw of the familiar, the thrill of magic, the gentle sapping of her
strength as she ran her fingers along the soft edges of the cards. Thinking of her
messenger, Luciana selected one card. Only one. She held her breath as she turned
the card. The Pen of DitaleтАФSister of Thimbles. Alessandra!
A moan escaped her lips. How could Alessa be dead? It couldnтАЩt be true! But
how could she ignore the signs? The owl never lied. Perhaps she misread the signs.
She gathered her cards.
Another card fell from the mix, and, as it landed, glanced off a seam in the
floorboards and fell faceup. Pandlomengro. The Tollgate. The Tower. Disaster. As
though a sisterтАЩs death were not enough! But disaster for whom? Was her sister not
the only victim of some desperate intrigue?
Luciana hugged her arms to her stomach, overwhelmed with grief, fear, and the
frustration of not knowing.



II

тАЬIf I had more time, I would write a shorter letter.тАЭ
тАФBlaise Pascal