"Jordan, Robert - Wheel of Time 09 - Winter's Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

Twisting a little to look back at Birgitte, Dyelin moistened
her lips. Her fingers plucked unconsciously at her skirts.
Very little frightened her, but the tales of the Seanchan had.
What she murmured, though, as if to herself, was УI had hoped
to avoid outright civil war.Ф And that might mean nothing, or
a great deal! Perhaps a little probing might show which.
УGawyn,Ф Birgitte said suddenly. Her expression had
lightened, and so had the emotions flowing through the bond.
Relief stood out strong. УWhen he comes, heТll take command.
HeТll be your first prince of the sword.Ф
УMotherТs milk in a cup!Ф Elayne snapped, and lightning
flared in the windows for emphasis. Why did the woman have to
change the subject now? Dyelin gave a start, and heat flooded
back into ElayneТs face. By the older womanТs gaping mouth,
she knew exactly how coarse that curse was. Strangely
embarrassing, that; it should not have counted for anything
that Dyelin had been her motherТs friend. Unthinking, she
took a deep swallow of wineЧand nearly gagged at the
bitterness. Quickly she suppressed images of Lini threatening
to wash out her mouth and reminded herself that she was a
grown woman with a throne to win. She doubted her mother had
ever found herself feeling foolish so often.
УYes, he will, Birgitte,Ф she went on, more calmly. УWhen
he comes.Ф Three couriers were on their way to Tar Valon.
Even if none managed to get past Elaida, Gawyn would learn
eventually that she had made her claim, and he would come.
She needed him desperately. She had no illusions of herself
as a general, and Birgitte was so fearful she could not live
up to the legends about her that sometimes she seemed afraid
to try. Face an army, yes; lead an army, never under the sun!
Birgitte was well aware of the tangle in her own mind.
Right that moment her face was frozen, but her emotions were
full of self-anger and embarrassment, with the first growing
stronger by the moment. With a stab of irritation, Elayne
opened her mouth to pursue DyelinТs mention of civil war
before she began reflecting BirgitteТs anger.
Before she could utter a word, though, the tall red doors
opened. Her hopes for Nynaeve or Vandene were dashed by the
entrance of two Sea Folk women, barefoot despite the weather.
A cloud of musky perfume wafted ahead of them, and by
themselves they made up a procession in brightly brocaded silk
trousers and blouses, jeweled daggers and necklaces of gold
and ivory. And other jewelry. Straight black hair with white
at the temples nearly hid the ten small, fat golden rings in
Renaile din CalonТs ears, but the arrogance in her dark eyes
was as plain as the medallion-laden golden chain that
connected one earring to her nose ring. Her face was set, and
despite a graceful sway to her walk, she appeared ready to
stride through a wall. Nearly a hand shorter than her
companion and darker than charcoal, Zaida din Parede wore half