"Mercedes Lackey - Brightly Burning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

potential master to тАШprentice to. Samael, LanтАЩs older brother, was already apprenticed to one of their
fatherтАЩs colleagues; the other children were of an age to be sent to masters themselves, or so Nelda and
Archer kept telling them. No child would be apprenticed to his own parents, of course; a parent couldnтАЩt
be expected to be objective about teaching him (or her). While an oldest son and heir might eventually
join his parents in the parentsтАЩ business, it wouldnтАЩt be until he had achieved Mastery or even
Journeyman status on his own.
The bare idea of working with his father, even as an equal partner, depressed Lan beyond telling.
And this party was just as depressing. He could hardly wait to get out of there. Every passing moment
made him feel as if he was smothering.
Sam, Macy, and Feoden could and would more than make up for LavanтАЩs absence. They
wanted to be here, hovering around the edges of conversations, respectfully adding their own
observations when one or another of the adults spoke to them. He only needed to look as if he was
circulating long enough for the party to get well underway and the ale to loosen tongues and fog
memories-then he could escape.
So to speak. He couldnтАЩt get out of the house, but at least he could go somewhere he wouldnтАЩt
be interrogated by people he didnтАЩt know and didnтАЩt want to know.
He pretended to busy himself arranging and rearranging the platters of food on the tall buffet near
the windows, watching the reflections in the window. His hair clung unpleasantly to his forehead-it really
was horribly warm in the room, but it didnтАЩt seem to bother anyone else. The many, tiny diamond-shaped
panes broke up the reflection into an odd little portrait gallery of the notables of the merchant community
of Haven. Lavan didnтАЩt know most of their names, and couldnтАЩt care less who they were; his attention
was on their reactions, their expressions. He was waiting for the time when things were relaxed, and
people werenтАЩt paying any real attention to anything but having a good time.
As the party continued and mulled wine and ale flowed freely, faces grew flushed and less
guarded, voices became a trifle louder, and conversations more animated. At that point, Lavan figured it
was safe for him to leave.
Just to be certain no one would stop him, he picked up an almost-empty platter of
pastry-wrapped sausages and took it with him, heading in the direction of the kitchen. If anyone who
knew him saw him, theyтАЩd assume he was being helpful.
The kitchen was overly full with all the extra servers that his parents had hired for the occasion.
They barely had room to move about, edging past each other with loaded platters held high overhead,
and he simply slipped a long arm just inside the door, left the platter on a bit of empty counter space, and
made a quick exit up the servantsтАЩ stair just off the hall that led to the kitchen. This was quite a тАЬmodernтАЭ
house, unlike their home in the country, one that wasted space on hallways rather than having rooms that
led into one another. There was one between the kitchen, the pantries, the closets, and the rest of the
first-floor rooms. The hallway delineated the boundaries of тАЬmastersтАЩ territoryтАЭ and тАЬservantsтАЩ territoryтАЭ
and for some reason that fact brought a tiny smile of satisfaction to his motherтАЩs face every time she
looked at the hall.
Lavan was grateful for the hall; it allowed him to get into the upper stories without anyone at the
party spotting him. He didnтАЩt go to his room on the second floor, though-heтАЩd be far too easy to find
there. Instead, he headed for the attics up above the servantsтАЩ third-floor rooms.
It wasnтАЩt likely that anyone would look for him here. The previous occupant of this town manor
had taken all of his rubbish with him (or sold it off to rag pickers), and the current occupants didnтАЩt have
much to encumber the space. LanтАЩs mother had seen to it that the attics had been scrubbed out as
thoroughly as the rest of the house before the family moved in, so dust was at a minimum. All that was up
here was the stuff that had been too good to leave behind, but wasnтАЩt immediately useful. Here were the
few articles of valuable furniture-as opposed to the country-built stuff theyтАЩd left behind-that didnтАЩt (yet)
fit anywhere in the house or which needed repairs that hadnтАЩt been done. The rest was bales and boxes;
the heavy woolen blankets, featherbeds, furs, coats, and clothing packed in lavender and cedar chips
awaiting the cold of winter, and the oddments that had been given to the family by important friends or