"Saga of Recluce 02 - Towers of the Shield" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

learn about Sarronnyn firsthand. And like it or not, you ate a consort."
аа "Ha. She has more in mind than that. Llyse will be the one who must
deal with Sarronnyn."
аа Galen shrugs again, almost helplessly, and his shoulder-length white
curls bob. "Your grace, I can but follow the Marshall's orders."
аа The oak door connecting the spacious single room with the suite
provided to the Marshall by the Tyrant swings open. A tall woman, slender
and deadly as a rapier despite the flowing green silks that cover her
figure, steps into the room. A single guard, her short-cut brown hair
shot with gray, followers the Marshall, a pace behind.
аа The youth looks from the silksheen clothes to the Marshall and back to
the clothes upon the brocaded spread.
аа The woman smiles faintly, but her eyes do not mirror her lips.
"Creslin, if I am wearing silksheen, then you certainly can. The garments
are a gift from the Tyrant, and spurning them will only make the
negotiations that much more difficult. Unlike you, I prefer to save my
resistance for those times when the issue matters."
аа Her blue eyes are as hard as the dark stones of Westwind. The contrast
between their adamancy and the green silks that flow around the lithe
muscles-muscles she has developed and maintained over nearly four decades
of training and warfare-reminds Creslin of the snow leopards that skulk
the edges of the Roof of the World.
аа He inclines his head as he removes his green-leather sleeveless vest
and lays it on the bed. "I will be ready in a moment."
аа "Thank you." She steps back through the entry to her suite but does
not close the heavy oak door behind her.
аа Creslin tosses his flannel shirt next to the vest, then strips off the
leather trousers.
аа "Where did you get that?" asks Galen, pointing to a thin line of red
down the consort's left arm.
аа "Blade exercises. Where else?"
аа "Your grace, does the Marshall-"
аа "She knows, but she can't object to my wanting to be able to take care
of myself." Creslin frowns as he holds up the dark green silk trousers,
then begins to ease his well-muscled legs into them. "I keep telling her
that if I'm too emotional I must need the training even more. She just
shakes her head, but so far she hasn't actually forbidden it. Once in a
while I have to smile, but most of the time I can appeal to reason. I
mean, how would it look if the son of the most feared warrior in the
Westhorns doesn't even know which edge of the blade is which?"
аа Galen shivers, although the room is not cold.
аа Creslin pulls on the shirt and arranges it as he looks in the mirror.
аа "Your grace . . ." ventures Galen.
аа "Yes, Galen? Which fold did I do wrong?"
аа Galen's hands deftly readjust the collar, then add the silver-framed
emerald collar pin provided by the Marshall.
аа "Do I have to wear that, too? I feel like property." Galen says
nothing.
аа "All right, I am property, courtesy of the damned Legend."
аа "Your grace ..." mumbles Galen, his hands not quite going to his mouth.