"Meredith Ann Pierce - Darkangel 2 - A Gathering of Gargoyles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Meredith Ann)

the years he was the witch's "son," he stole the souls of thirteen maids, and drank their blood, and
murdered them.
How could she say it? The Lady watched her. Aeriel cast down her eyes.
"Ten years the witch's prisoner in the lake," she said, "then fourteen more under enchantment in

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Avaric." Not a lieтАФbut not the whole truth either. Coward, she reproached herself. She found the
Lady's eyes again. "But I have undone that enchantment." Truth now. "Your son is free."
The Lady studied Aeriel for a long moment. She drew a deep breath then, turned her eyes to IrrylathтАФ
and started. She had not really looked at him before. Aeriel felt her young husband move past her now.
He knelt. The Lady stared.
"You have the gold skin of the plainsdwellers," she breathed, "and their straight black hair. Your eyes
are the eyes my Irrylath had." She stopped herself. "But my son died when he was six, a double dozen
years ago. Had he lived, he would be thirty years by now, and you are a youth no older than sixteen."
Aeriel could see the young man's face only a little, from the side. Syllva had dropped her eyes. Irrylath
reached suddenly, catching her hand as she made to turn away. The guards started, lifting their bows,
but though the Lady drew back a bit, surprised, she did not pull away.
"Lady," the prince began, "when I lived with the White Witch under the lake, I changed from boy to
youth and grew older. But whenтАж" He drew breath then, and Aeriel saw he could not say it, any more
than she, not the truthтАФnot all of it. "But when I was in Avaric, I was under a sorcery, and did not
change."
The Lady eyed him, hesitating. Aeriel bit her breath. If they could get no harbor from the White Witch
here, then there was none for them in all the world.
"Mother," the young man kneeling before her said, "much in you has changed since last I saw you, but
still I know you. Look at me."
She saw the Lady sigh once, silently, as one taken by a great longing. Aeriel shivered. Still the other did
not speak.
"Say it then," Irrylath cried suddenly, casting off the Lady's hand. He tossed his head toward the guards.
"And bid them shoot. Say that I am not your son, not Irrylath."
She stood off yet. Aeriel felt light-headed; she feared she might fall. The young man was kneeling
perfectly still. Then the Lady drew breath again, and moved nearer. She touched the sark hanging
clawed to ribbons at his shoulder, then his cheek, tracing the five long scars.
"I cannot say it," she answered, soft. "For you are he. My son. My Irrylath."
***
Aeriel leaned back against the window seat. Even in the light of Solstar she felt cold. The criers from
the temple continued to wail. She balanced the instrument of silverwood across her lap and tried to stop
remembering. But she was alone in the high palace room, and the memories came.

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She remembered the outer chambers of her and Irrylath's apartments: dark, hangings drawn against the
light of stars. Only the inner room was shadowy light, for the Lady's son could not sleep, even fitfully,
in darkness. Twelve-and-one lamp-stands surrounded his bed.
Aeriel stood in the doorway, watching him. It was a daymonth since the two of them had come to
Istemes. His long hair, neither plaited nor fastened now, lay loose about the pillowcase. The lamps were