"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 03 - The Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

Idly, he wondered how the Karibal river pirates had come by it.
Luckily they had no eye for fine things; brightness and gaud
caught their eye, like magpies, and they charged accordingly.
Although they've acquired a shrewd sense of what gold means
to us, he mused; it was odd, considering that they were scarcely
even human, now. Schotter had picked it out for him, down in
Brahvniki; the Thane merchant had a talent for finding jewels
among trash. He raised an immaculate eyebrow at Lixa.

"Well?"

"There is word from Teik Schotter Valders'sen. Things are
going well in Brahvniki, but there was a fight at the counting
house. He sent a letter with details. It's on the desk."

"Hmm. Well, I'll read it later. I'm sure they handled it." His
eyes focused on her and he smiled, a baring of teeth that had
nothing to do with affection. She was one of the reasons he was
glad his mother's rooms were far away. Lixa was a tiny woman,
just over four feet tall, with clear white skin and ebony black
hair, classically Zak. She was staring at her bare feet so that her
eyes were hidden but he knew the color matched her hair.
"You're a lovely piece, Lixa." He was disappointed that she didn't
react. She used to. She stood, silent and tense, until he beckoned
with his ringless hand. "Come, come, my dear. We wouldn't want
your parents to hear of your dumb-beast insolence, now, would
we?"

She stepped into his reach, passive. He ran a proprietary
hand down her hip, feeling her quiver, feeling her want to move
away. He left his hand on her, waiting to see if she'd fight him.

"No, master," she said, eyes downcast, hiding the hate he
knew was there. He smiled silkenly.

"Remember, darling. I own you and all of your kin. Your
parents are too old to take your beatings. You want to please me,
don't you?"

"Vilist, Teik."

"Well, that's good. I will be dining with my mother. You will
come to my room this evening."

"Yes, Teik."

He watched her as she walked to the inlaid wooden door of
his sanctum, bare feet soundless on the plush green rug, then
scraping faintly on the grey stone, irritated by the subdued tilt of
her shoulders under her wool shift. The light oak of the