"Patricia Kennealy - TK 02 - The Throne of Scone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kennealy Patricia)

Well, Bres was beyond all vengeance now, stain upon Tara by the Keltic queen
herself, in a combat that had put paid to a quarrel seventy years old, and had
nearly put paid to Queen
19
20
Patricia Kennealy
Aeron as well. But she had not died: She had been taken prisoner by Jaun
Akhera, and then she had escapedтАФfled off-planet, her friend and First
Minister Morwen Douglas with her and all the Imperial fleets after her.
And they had not found her! Elathan felt a surge of elation at the thought:
hopefulness that she would continue to elude capture, and no astonishment
whatever that he should feel so.
He would not mind an escape of sorts himself: to flee the Court and his
capital of Tory, to slip away to his favorite country seat in the southern
hillsтАФno attendants, no courtiers, no guards, just him and Camissa his lady.
They had been happy there beforeтАФbefore.Bres had seen fit to throw Fomor into
unholy alliance with the Imperium and vengeful war with the KeltsтАФand they
would be happy there again; though of course any such idyll would now have to
wait until after their wedding, and that itself would have to wait on the six
months' official mourning for Bres. But after that . . . The thought of
Camissa brought a peace to his spirit and an ease to his bearing, and he
smiled.
The chamberlain who had stood so patiently before him all this while took the
smile as recognition, and coughed discreetly.
"The ambassadors from Alphor wait outside, Majesty. Shall I show them in?"
Elathan came back into the present with a start, nodded reluctant assent and
rose from the ivory chair as the doors opened on the Coranian envoys. He had
been dreading this official encounter since the day of his crowning, had put
it off, in fact, as long as he had dared; but he could keep Strephon's minions
waiting no longer, not without risking insultтАФor retaliation.
He had broken with protocol so far, however, as to receive them here, in his
private office, at his desk with all its working clutter, instead of in the
Presence Chamber as was customary. It was a subtle reminderтАФnot too subtle, he
hopedтАФ that the ambassadors would be certain to pass on home to the Emperor
Strephon.
He watched them as they came gliding across the room. It was the dead of
winter here in Tory; yet the Coranians had defied the bitter cold and leaden
skies to appear in full regalia of their home planet: long, ankle-hobbling
skirts of intricately pleated white linen over narrow trousers of rich figured
cloth, chests half-bared under short jackets, gold-embroidered sleeveless
coats falling below their knees. Upon their heads were
THE THRONE OF SCONE
21
small shapeless caps like velvet bags, banded with jewelled cords, and their
gold-capped slippers too were velvet. Their garb looked extremely foreign by
contrast to the simply cut robes of the Fomori; their faces were gilded by the
variable sun that had made their homeworld of Alphor by turns into a freezing
desert and a burning waste. Beneath the velvet caps, their hair was thick,
straight, dark.
They stopped on the other side of the desk and bowed deeply to Elathan as the