"Modesitt,.L.E.-.Spellsong.05.-.Shadow.Singer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"She may have gained little," points out Belmar, "but it has cost your Maitre dearly."

"Not so dearly as one might think, and if it positions her to fail . . . why then, it is well worth the cost"

"You presume to judge such for your Maitre, my friend."

"Were the Maitre here, I daresay he would find little to object to in my words."

"He is more trusting than I would be."

The Sturinnese smiles. "He is far less trusting. He cannot afford trust. He ensures obedience. That is safer and wiser. Far wiser."

Belmar pauses, not quite imperceptibly, before lifting the goblet "I will study the glass and the maps tomorrow. Then, we will see. Perhaps we can persuade the lady Aerlya that her daughter--- young Annayal should, indeed consider a consort most quickly in these troubled times."

"If she remains in Neserea."

"In a winter like this, with the snow waist deep except on the roads we have cleared with sorcery . . . where could she go?" Belmar smiles once more.

"Where indeed?" replies the Sturinnese, lifting his own goblet. Although the rim touches his lips, he does not actually drink the wine, excellent as it may be.

6

Outside the guest quarters, a cold misting rain drifted from the low gray clouds, collecting on the windowpanes and running down the glass in irregular rivulets. Inside, before the low fire in the hearth, two figures embraced as though they had not seen each other for seasons, rather than just since the evening before.

After a long time, Secca gently disengaged herself from Alcaren's hug, good as it felt, and stepped back.
"Is something the matter?" asked her consort-to-be.

"You have to tell me more about your parents," Secca said. "We're going to meet them in less than a glass, and I know almost nothing."

"You know about my mother-or have you forgotten?" Alcaren offered a mischievous grin, his broad hand reaching out, his fingers caressing her cheek momentarily.

"I remember everything you told me, but it was all about you and your mother, and how you'd never make a trader like she is-or like your sister. You didn't tell me anything really about her. I don't know what she looks like or what . . ." She shook her head. "Please . . . just tell me."

"Well . . ." Alcaren drew out the word. "She's tall, taller than I am, and her hair was sandy blonde, but it's mostly gray these days. She laughs a great deal, sometimes when she doesn't mean it. I suppose that comes from being a trader. She's never liked matters that deal with householding, and we always had a cook, because she doesn't care what she eats, and the rest of us would have starved."

"Your sister--- I'm sorry I'm interrupting, but this is all so unexpected-will she be there?" Secca paused, then added, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. Nedya will like you."

"She's your sister? You've never mentioned her name."

"I haven't?"

"Not once." Then, in all fairness, Secca had to remind herself, she hadn't known Alcaren that long--- less than two seasons.

Alcaren shook his head. "She's small and dark, wiry, like Father, but she's strong. She can hoist cargo with the strong est of the crews. Her voice is like Mother's, though. Even when we were small, everyone in the neighborhood could hear her."


"Does anyone else have a talent with the mandolin or with voice?"