"Mercedes Lackey - Firebird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

among those that stood in rows on a shelf along one wall. Filling it with water from
the trough running the length of the room, she dropped the bouquet in and set it up
on the shelf again, out of harm's way. She had to stand on tiptoe to do so, but Ilya
did not offer to help, having learned the futility of any such offer long ago.
"There. Now we can all enjoy them," she said with satisfaction, and, if possible,
the heady aroma of roses grew even more intense. She turned once again to face
Ilya, her plump hands resting on either hip. "NowтАФwhat really brings you here?
Which of my girls are you bent on chasing this time?"
"I had no intention of chasing any of them when I walked in here," he protested
with absolute honesty. Of course not; it was only after I came in that I saw one I
intend to pursue! "I just came to bring you a gift, that's all! Must everything I do
have some ulterior motive?"
"Not everything," she replied. "Just most things."
He winced, for Galina had an uncanny ability to see right through even the most
clever falsehoods. He had stopped trying to lie to her when he was five, and now
very strictly tailored only the truth when she asked him an uncomfortable question.
Even so, he often had the feeling that she could see into his very heart.
"You sound like my father," he growled, "seeing plots in casual conversations
and an assassin behind every bush. He sent Pietor out into the pasture to spy on me
this afternoon! Pietor accused me of sorcery! Only The Most High God knows what
my father thinks I'm up to now!"
But Galina only chuckled and patted him on the arm. "Pietor sent himself into the
pasture this time," she assured him. "And as for the sorceryтАФthere was a band of
gypsies here selling trinkets earlier this afternoon, and he probably got the idea to
look for witchcraft in ridiculous places from one of them. I doubt that he would be
able to come up with anything so creative himself."
He relaxed a little, only now becoming aware how tense he had been in the first
place. "And maybe by the time he gets home, he'll have forgotten the idea," he said
hopefully. "Don't you think?"
"At least by the time supper is over," she told him. "Your brothers have fewer
wits than one of my cheeses. So, that brings us to supper; would you rather that you
found a basket of bread and cheese by the back door tonight, or will you be a man,
face them down, and have your supper with the rest of your family?"
That was no question and they both knew it, although there had been plenty of
times when he had managed to construct an excuse justifying that basket by the
door, and there probably would be again. His absence would be noted if he didn't
go to dinner; he might as well face them all, or someone would create a rumor. He
would hope that Pietor had forgotten his suspicions of sorcery, and be done with it.
Too bad Father believes in sorcerers. You'd think he'd be as scornful of magic
as he is of spirits and demons, but that he believes in.
Or maybe he just believed in the will of his sons to use any means in their power
to get rid of him.
"With luck, they'll all get too drunk to find their beds," he said by way of reply.
"Na, I'm a man grown, Little Mother, I can face my own family over bread and
soup. So long as I don't have to do so more than once a day."
Neither of them paid any attention to the girls and the three young boys
eavesdropping shamelessly on their conversation.
The dairy-workers were only serfs, they weren't even freeborn servants; Ilya was
alone in the family in treating them better than the dogs, but it didn't matter to him if
they listened to what he said or not. Gossip in the huts didn't concern him, not even