"Patricia A. McKillip - Alphabet of Thorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

his ears sang like water; his breath weltered like spume. He heard
her voice again: Nepenthe. The orphan N, reared by librarians. Her
voice, low and slightly husky, dredging words out of the strange
silence that had encircled them both like a spell. A little world. The
air that they both breathed. He heard his breath again at the
memory of her eyes, that moment when they changed. Chestnut,
then leaf. Opaque, and then luminous as she turned toward the sea.
Come to the library.
He had been to the palace with his uncle, Ermin of Seale, Lord in
the realm of Raine and ruler of the Second Crown. Lord over three
sons of his own, as well as three of his dead brotherтАЩs, all of whom
were either safely and appropriately married, or wealthily
betrothed. He had different plans for Bourne, whom he sent to the
Floating School. Not, Bourne knew, for any great gifts he
possessed; his uncle had no illusions about that. What he had were
ambitions, which the young and inexperienced queen, ascending to
her perilous place in the world, had sharpened immeasurably. A
mageтАЩs powers, he made Bourne see clearly, would be a great asset
to the family. The more power Bourne acquired from the Floating
School, the better. His uncle would hardly approve of an orphaned
transcriptor distracting him from his studies. The librariansтАЩ
foundlings came from everywhere, like blown leaves, and no telling
from what tree she might have fallen. Let alone what far-flung
language she had been born to speak.
Where had she come from? he wondered, shifting a little to
rearrange a pebble under his shoulder blade. She with those long
bones, those eyes?
What does the sea say?
He breathed an answer; the word washed over him, through him,
fanning out, separating into pale, delicate fingers of spume. He
stared back at the changeless dark, trying to see through illusion
into light.

тАЬNepenthe,тАЭ the mage Felan repeated curiously when Bourne
explained what the sea had said to him. There was a muffled
snicker amid the unwashed, hungry students clustered together at
the end of the silent day. Some had heard poetry; one or two had
heard spells, which they attempted then and there, but which came
to nothing in the light of day. They lacked an element, Felan
suggested. Perhaps the true sea, cold, dangerous, and indifferent,
might have fed the magic, rather than their imaginary seas. Others
had heard nothing, not even their own breathing.
тАЬYou told us to listen for the sea,тАЭ one said bewilderedly. тАЬWhy
should I listen to myself?тАЭ
тАЬEverything connects,тАЭ Felan said mildly. He smiled at the
fretting student. тАЬDonтАЩt worry. There will be other days.тАЭ He was a
huge, gentle man, bald as a stone, with astonishing power. He could
hold the Floating School in the air by himself, if the students lost
faith in their powers and threatened to drop it. тАЬYou hold it with
your heart,тАЭ he would tell them, тАЬnot with your hands. It has