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

naZak.

She lifted a graceful hand from the tapestry frame and he
took it, going to one knee in the Enchian court style. "Amam, the
sight of your beauty and good health is cherished." He pressed
his cheek to her hand and she touched his hair.

"My son. Come, stand up and tell me how your life goes." She
spoke the formal court tongue and in her quiet way insisted that
he speak a civilized tongue in these rooms.

He brushed the knees of his pants and she rose to precede
him to the fire, raising a forefinger to the slave to bring chai.
"Wine for me, Mar," he said, and settled back in the rose and
cream brocade of the heavy chair.

She clicked her tongue at him but said nothing. The firelight
was kinder to her than the candles, smoothing away the wrinkles
and burnishing the remaining mahogany in her silvering hair.
The lace corners of her mantilla brushed her cheeks as she
turned her head; for all her age she was still beautiful, the fine
bones of her face carrying her years with grace.
 "I am ready, my son." She accepted the cup and sipped,
watching him as he thought of what he should say.

"The court is quiet, though the DragonLord is growing bored
with his refurbished arena. Teik Avritha asked after your health
and wished you well. She is holding a gathering in an iron cycle
and sends both a formal and thisтАФinformalтАФ invitation to
attend."

One of her hands fluttered up to cover her mouth. "How
kind," she whispered. "I must write and thank her for it."

He frowned inside. She would not go. Not after all the times
before, when merchant ClawPrinces had invited her and made
their every glance a sneer at her naZak status. Now that he had
wealth and power enough to be dangerous to offend, he could
not convince her that Avritha, the DragonLord's consort,
honestly wished her well. She'd been hurt too many times by the
petty ClawPrinces and their kin. Oh, they had been subtle, more
subtle than their children had been to himтАж "And your poor
motherтАж How is she? Still alive in those four, or is it five,
rooms?"

They knew that he hated them. Once he had been too
insignificant for them to notice, even to despise, but now they
hated him. He smiled and played their games better than they
could and threw his wealth, and Avritha's favor, in their faces.