"Patricia A. McKillip - In the Forests of Serre" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

he had never seen that expression before. She whispered, тАЬBrume.тАЭ
тАЬI ran down her hen. Does she really see the future?тАЭ
тАЬHer white hen?тАЭ
He blinked. тАЬYes. Why? Does it matter?тАЭ
The door opened again; the captain of the guards stood on the threshold. He
said, bowing low to the queen, тАЬYour pardon, my lady. The king commands
your presence in his chambers.тАЭ
Her mouth tightened; the bleak sky descended once again. тАЬI will ask him,тАЭ
she murmured to Ronan, тАЬif we can talk privately later.тАЭ She kissed his cheek
quickly, took her leave. The guard stood aside for her, then returned to the
threshold where he caught RonanтАЩs attention with his silent, stubborn waiting.
Ronan sighed. тАЬA moment.тАЭ
A moment for what? the manтАЩs eyes asked. The door stayed open. RonanтАЩs
attendants scattered quietly through the room, began to carry his belongings
away.
He wandered to the casement, causing a stir within the chamber. But it was
only to stare out the window, blind again with grief and memory. Across the
grey-white water, within the trees blurred together beyond his tears, an odd
banner of fire rippled and soared, spiraled sinuously into itself, then bloomed
again, casting ribbons of crimson everywhere within the green. He blinked, felt
tears fall. He saw it clearly then: a bird made of fire, its eyes and claws of
golden fire, drifting plumes of fire down from the branch where it perched, so
long they nearly touched the water.
He swallowed, stunned. It was, he thought, the second most beautiful thing he
had ever seen in his life.
Then it changed, became the most beautiful thing. The birdтАЩs long feathers
swirled about it, hiding its long, graceful neck, its proud flowing crest, its eyes.
Then the flames parted again, revealing amber eyes, fiery hair tumbling down
toward the water, a face carved of ivory, with cheekbones like crescent moons,
a smile like a birdтАЩs wings angling upward, taking on the wind. The woman
who was a bird who was fire seemed to see him. Her enchanting smile
vanished. Feathers of gold and fire hid her face. Wings unfurled; their reflection
flowed across the glassy water like outstretched hands.
Ronan moved. He left by the door, not out the window, which caused the
guard leaning against the walls, waiting for him, to follow his quick steps at a
more leisurely pace. He spiralled down the tower stairs, glancing out at every
narrow window for a glimpse of the magic within the trees. He saw the bird; he
saw the road beyond the gate; he saw the inner courtyard; he saw the woman,
beginning to reappear now that she felt no longer seen. The door at the foot of
the tower opened directly into the outer yard. Walls and towers rose around him
there; he could not see the trees beyond it, nor the water, gathering such power
into its calm, smooth flow that it echoed across the valley as it fell.
But it was the sun Ronan saw first, not the forest, as he walked impatiently
across the drawbridge to the road. It hung just above the distant mountains, red
as a henтАЩs crest, and round as the lens over a watching eye.
He stopped dead, heard the pebbles settle under his boot.
Behind him, the yard was eerily silent. No steps followed across the bridge;
he heard no voices. Wind blew a light spray from the falling water across his
face. He stood, uncertain and unprepared, not daring to look behind him, and
finally, not needing to look, knowing that the road began where he stood and