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

might run away. "Your dreams," she started.
He did turn then. "They are my dreams," he almost shouted at her. "They are none of your affair."
And then for a moment it almost seemed his face changed, the fierceness of his gaze turning to
something else. He said something, so soft she barely caught it. What had he said? "You cannot help
me," or "No one can help me." Aeriel put down her hands. She could barely see him for the dark.
"You cannot sleep two hours together but you wake, shaking from your dreams," she began. "Let me
call for the Lady's priest-physicianтАФ"
"No."
"Then let me tell the Lady..."
"No!" His voice was hoarse. "Tell her nothing."
Aeriel went toward him, to see him better. His face wore a hunted look in the dim starlight. He drew

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away from her. She began again, softly, daring:
"Tell me what you dream."
He turned hard and would not look at her. The cords of his arm were drawn so tight the flesh looked
like stone. "Go. Can you not leave me?" he whispered. "I did not ask you to come."
Aeriel stopped herself, for she had failed, again. It seemed he stood leagues, half a world away from
her. She could not touch him, could not make him speak. He brushed by her. The feathers of the white
robe rustled and sighed.
And he was gone, into the inner room. She could not see him anymore. The doorway there was very
dim. The lamps within were burning out. Aeriel put her hands back to her eyes. Her limbs trembled.
She wanted to weep, but could not manage it. Dry as dust, her eyes, her mouth. No sound save the
sputter of lampwicks dying. Aeriel turned from the inner room, and fled.
***
The criers in the temple spires had ceased, foot traffic in the streets below grown much less. Aeriel
opened her eyes. From where she sat on the smooth stone bench, she fingered the neck of her bandolyn,
the four tune-strings and heavy drone. Three daymonths she had been in Esternesse.
Hearing movement, she turned toward the door. The Lady Syllva entered. Aeriel smiled, a little wanly.
She had wanted to be alone. The Lady wore no turban now, her pale hair set with combs and thickly
plaited. Aeriel moved to give her room upon the bench.
"All's still," the Lady said, gazing past her across the square. "All gone to the great kirk to hear the
tales."
Aeriel set down her bandolyn. "Will they not be needing you in the kirk?" she asked.
Syllva shook her head. "Not till Solstar sets. There is time. Play me your bandolyn."
Aeriel lifted the instrument again. She had learned to play a long time past, in Terrain. Her mistress,
Eoduin, had taught her. Aeriel's lip trembled. They had been more companions than mistress and
serving maid, like sisters almostтАФ until the darkangel had stolen Eoduin away.
Darkangel. Irrylath. The fair-skinned girl bit her lip till she stopped thinking. She fretted the strings of
the little instrument.


"The world wends weary on its way;
The haze hangs heavy on the Sea. If only there would come a day

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