"Pierce, Tamora - Circle Of Magic 03 - Daja's Book E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Tamora)

eat her. Please,Ф she begged, knowing her friend was about to refuse.
The other girl sighed. The tiny bits of lightning began to shrink. УIТm a mage, all
right?Ф she said to Polyam. УIТm a mage; sheТs a mage. ItТs just strange magic we
have, thatТs not like most peopleТs. ItТs not evil; I wonТt hurt you. IТm trying not to
hurt you right now, and IТm succeeding, arenТt I?У
PolyamТs full mouth tightened. УYou didnТt have to tell me your magic is strange,Ф
she replied. УIТve been on the roads all my life, and IТve never seen anything like what
you just did.Ф
Daja came up to stand at TrisТs back. УIТll see if Sandry or Briar can get the smith,Ф
she whispered into her friendТs ear. УBe polite. ItТs not her fault IТm trangshi. Offer
her water from the well.Ф
Tris glanced back and up into DajaТs eyes. УItТs not your fault, either.Ф
УIt doesnТt matter, not if youТre a Trader. Offer her a drink.Ф Daja stepped into the
shadows behind the forge. Perhaps if Tris couldnТt see Daja, she wouldnТt be so quick
to defend her against what she saw as insults.
SheТs only a kaq, thought Daja tiredly. It was the first time in weeks that sheТd
thought of the redhead that way. Tris wasnТt so bad, once you got to know her, but
kaqs - those who werenТt Traders - didnТt understand important things like trangshi
custom.
Sandry, Briar, Daja called, sending her magic through the air. Can you find the smith,
Kahlib? HeТs got an important customer who will only talk to him.
Nearly two miles away Lady Sandrilene fa Toren inspected a heavily embroidered
jacket. It belonged to one of their warrior escorts, who had draped it over a tree-limb
while he and his friends watered their horses at a mountain stream. Sandry had
wanted a better look at one of those jackets all morning, ever since Lady Inoulia of
Gold Ridge and her people had joined the Duke on their inspection of the largest
grassfire. No doubt the man would have let her see it if she had asked, but that would
have involved bowing, and respectful conversation with Sandry as Duke VedrisТs
great-niece. She would have felt guilty about keeping a nervous man standing as she
went over the beautiful needlework on his back. It was simpler this way, with the tree
to hide her slender form from the warriors at the brook.
She brought her small nose close to the stitches, marvelling at the complex
embroidery. All the ridersТ jackets started with the same image: a lavender-coloured
flower, well opened, with slender yellow rods at the centre. Each design, though, was
individual in the waves of light that radiated from it, done in all colours, patterns and
threads. Sandry had stopped doing fine embroidery more than two months ago, but
these jackets made her fingers itch to pick up needle and silk again.
She was a slim, fine-boned girl, with bright blue eyes and a stubborn chin. Sun-
streaks gilded her brown hair, tidily braided and pinned up under a sheer grey veil.
Her overgown was dove-grey linen, sleeveless and plain but for a long row of jet
buttons down the front. Jet buttons also twinkled atop her small, black shoes. Her
puff-sleeved undergown was white cotton, woven so fine as to be almost comfortable
in the stuffy heat of the day. She would have loved to trade this elegant mourning for
just one of her light cotton dresses, but that would have shocked the nobles who
housed her great-uncle and his companions on this long ride through Duke VedrisТs
realm. Sandry did not feel like explaining that her parents, dead a year, would have
laughed at the thought of her wearing deep mourning, as was expected of the nobility.
Instead, as long as they rode with the Duke, she wore the clothes proper to her station,
and envied her three friends their freedom to wear colours and fewer layers as she
herself did at home.