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

21 dтАЩAprile 1684


Stefano, Duca di Drago, stared at IdalaтАЩs words, too numb to react. His first
thought, his only thought, was for Luciana and how she would receive the news of
AlessandraтАЩs death. He was sick at heart, knowing the depth of her feelings for the
sister who had been almost a daughter to her. News such as this could kill Luciana
... or worse, knowing her temperament, get her killed. He let the letter fall to the desk
and rose to pace.
Water dripped from the canvas seams of his tent as the rain continued to fall.
While it gave cold comfort and made for damp housekeeping, at least the storm
washed away the stink of gunpowder and blood. Stefano had had his fill of it for the
past four years with his constant goings to and from the front.
At his kingтАЩs command, Stefano lent his skills as a diplomat and occasional
strategist to the allied armies of Poland, Austria, Venice, and Tyrrhia. His service had
been honorableтАФand lengthyтАФbeginning before these kingdoms with a common
enemy considered an alliance. It had been a torment to leave his bride with their
marriage still so new.
His call to replace a suddenly deceased ambassador to Austria had strained their
courtship and delayed their marriage. His father had drilled into him a strict sense of
obligation and duty that served him well as one of the youngest members of the
PalantiniтАФthe KingтАЩs High Council.
That he was elder brother to the queen and had spent two years at the Palermo
university with the king, earned him particular notice and high prestige, which in turn
served the king well when there was need for a special envoy.
Stefano stalked irritably from one end of the tent to the other. In six years of
marriage, he had never lived with Luciana for more than six months at a time, and
they spent far greater stretches apart. Were their marriage intended to merely unite
two noble families or some other arrangement, it would have been much easier on
them both. But no, truth to tell, at least at one time, they had been very much in love.
 The small chest sitting next to the scroll casings on his desk caught his eye. He
reached out and fingered the clasp. This box seemed such a small thing to hold his
love for Luciana. He dabbed at the splatters of rain on the maps scattered across his
desk, then rolled each up and put it into its casing.
He sat, taking paper and quill. With deliberation, he did as he had done for the
past year. He wrote the words of his heart, expressing his deep sorrow for LucianaтАЩs
pain, how he longed to hold her, comfort her, and take care of all the troubling
matters at hand.
Once done, Stefano reviewed the letter before him. In this correspondence, no
poetry graced the pages, but the love was there, the tenderness was there. Its fate,
however, was consignment to the chest with the other love letters written over the
months since he had betrayed her. He was not worthy to send these epistles. It was
not nobility of spirit that stopped him, though. He was afraid to send this letter and
its companions. He feared she would reject them. She had reason enough.
The White King, Alban, had summoned the Palantini and other noble families to
the capital for the birth of his heir, Dario Gian. A happy occasion, Stefano
remembered, made all the more sweet by his reunion with Luciana. Alessandra, just
sixteen, made her debut at court under her sisterтАЩs watchful eye. They had played the