"Andre Norton & Lackey, Mercedes - Elvenbane 1 -The Elvenbane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

to their women as Jared. Serina had seen some of them the morning after;
bruised and sometimes bloodied, weeping--and on one, never-discussed
occasion, dead. Often the girls were bred once a year to the best, to produce
more fighters for the Lord's stables. Once their bearing days were past--
provided that repeated child-bearing had not killed them first--they became
the drudges of the Lord's household; the laundry-women, pot-scrubbers,
cleaners and sweepers, often in service to that very harem where they had
enjoyed a brief place in the sun.

This worked in odd ways; many of the little swans, certain from the
beginning that they would never catch the Lord's eye, made their demands as
infrequent upon the drudges as possible. They chose garments only of white,
or some other color easy to clean, garments with little or no ornamentation.
They asked for nothing out of the ordinary; they cleaned their own cubicles.
Serina knew that the laundresses cursed her for her vivid scarlet, purple, and
emerald gowns, and the sweepers for the disarray in which she left her
quarters. She didn't care. At the very worst, Lord Dyran had noticed her,
she'd seen to that, running to do his bidding before the servants themselves
could react to his orders, offering to dance anytime he looked the least bored
or distracted, or dancing even when he had not called for it, anytime the
musicians played. She had seen his eyes upon her, and the eyes of some of
the other elven lords he had entertained as guests. At the very least he would
give her away to a visiting lord, should one admire her. At the best--
At the best, she would supplant Rowenie.

She would never, ever even permit herself to contemplate a future as a
breeder and drudge. That was tantamount to anticipating failure. She would
not fail.

And success would bring luxury not only to herself, but to her mother and
father. With luck, they would be allowed to become overseers at one of
Dyran's distant breeding farms, far away from the Lord's capricious whims.

She crossed the carpeted floor of the courtyard, carpet that mimicked the
grass she never saw anymore. Her bare feet made no sound in the deep pile
of the carpet. All slaves went barefoot, except those who had to work outside
the manor. When, as a child, she had asked why, her father had laughed.
"How far can you run on bare feet?" he'd asked. She'd never figured out the
point of the joke.

The courtyard of the little swans gave out on a similarly carpeted, white-
walled corridor lined with the doors--real, wooden doors, not curtains--
leading to the quarters of the full-fledged concubines. Most of the doors were
still closed, as well. The concubines had their own bathing rooms, and did
hot have to use the common room shared by the little swans. Serina had
made it a point to be up, bathed, dressed, and in place well before the rest,
again on the off chance Lord Dyran might be watching. For one thing, she
enjoyed having the bathing room all to herself. She got to pick and choose
among the soaps and oils laid out, and never found herself with a shortage of
towels. For another reason--why not? She had little else to do. A single