"Glenda Larke - Heart of the Mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Larke Glenda)

playing idly with the gold rings on the other. His nails were manicured and
polished, and he smelled of moonflowers and musk. Suspended over his head, a
long reed fan swayed to and fro to stir the warm air. There was no sign of the
slaves who operated it; doubtless some mechanism enabled them to perform the
task from an adjacent room.
When he looked away for a moment to glance at Rathrox, I risked a quick look
myself. The Magister leant against the cushions of another divan but his thin,
stiff body made no indent on the upholstery, his hands were rigidly still. I
was unused to seeing him in the role of a subordinate, unused to seeing him
tense. He seemed out of place, like an ugly, foul-smelling insect that had
flown into the perfumed boudoir of some highborn lady and didn't know how to
escape. Behind him, a marble fireplace dominated the other end of the room,
flanked by a clutter of gilded furniture, painted amphorae and too many exotic
ornaments. Lion skins, the glass eyes of their heads powerless to express
outrage at the ignominy of their fate, were scattered here and there on the
carpet. A full-sized statue had its own wall recess, two figures
entwined in grotesque embrace: a reminder of the sibling founders of Tyr whose
relationship had so repulsed the gods they'd punished the city with the
plague.
I wanted to let my gaze wander around the room, to mock the luxury of it, but
the one brief glance was all etiquette allowed me. I had to give my full
attention to the Exaltarch.
His shrewd eyes lingered on me, speculating. I continued to kneel, awaiting
permission to rise, or to speak, but the only sound was the murmur of running
water all around us. Tiled fountains set into the walls, or so I guessed. I
had them in my own villa. They helped to regulate temperature, cooling the hot
air of the desert-season or, once heated, warming the cold air of the
snow-season тАФ but I'd heard that in the palace they were thought to perform
another function as well. They made it hard for slaves to eavesdrop.
A minute crawled by in silence while we stared at one another.
What the Vortex was so damned interesting about me?
I didn't dare let my eyes drop.
'You are not what I expected,' he said finally, in the smooth-accented speech
of the highborn. 'You may stand if you wish.'
I scrambled to my feet. T was only the General's adopted daughter,' I said.
'If you look for signs of General Gayed in me, you won't find them, Exalted.'
'No,' he agreed. 'And Gayed was ever a man of action. I'm told you have more
of a talent for deviousness, and are well suited to the machinations of the
Brotherhood. Rathrox tells me you have an uncanny instinct for the truth тАФ or
a lie тАФ on the tongue of a prisoner. He says torture is almost obsolete
in the Cages since you took on the important interrogations.'
'Lies come easily to the tongues of the tortured, Exalted. They will say
anything to ease their pain. My way is better.'
'What is your way?'
'To assess each reply and use, what? A woman's intuition? I do not know,
Exalted. It is just a knack I have. And if a man does not tell the truth тАФ
well, a lie can sometimes be equally revealing.'
He looked at me curiously, his attention finely focused. 'How long have you
had this ability?'
'Since 1 was a child.' It had always been there, but I'd learned young to hide