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

She thrust her discomfort from her mind, and peered more closely at the ornate
embroidery. Could she do that braided stitch?
УIf you want me to nick it...Ф Sandry jumped, and the boyish voice went on, УIТll have
to wait till dark.Ф
She glared into Briar MossТs amused green eyes. УAs if you stole anything any
more!Ф she retorted.
УNow thatТs where youТre wrong.Ф Reaching into the loosely belted brown jacket he
wore instead of a shirt, he produced two small bunches of grapes. УThe best around,
with the crops falling off.Ф He passed a bunch into her hands. УIТve had better.Ф
Sandry returned the grapes. УThanks, but no. Watch for those riders coming back.Ф
He glanced at the brook. УDonТt worry. TheyТve taken off their boots and theyТre
cooling their toesies. Maybe I could nick the jacket right now, if you want it.Ф
Sandry shook her head and returned to examining the embroidery. Briar leaned
against the tree and ate his grapes. Unlike her, he was dressed for comfort: he wore
cotton breeches and normally went barefoot, unless one of their teachers forced him
into sandals or boots. At five feet, he was taller than Sandry by a handТs length. He
had the glossy black hair - worn short and rough-cut - almond-shaped eyes and gold-
brown skin of an easterner, but a thin-bladed nose and eyes that changed from grey-
green to lime green pointed to western blood in one of his parents. He wasnТt sure
which of them it might be: he had never known his father, and his mother had died
when he was four.
УI thought all the grassfires would be hurting you and Rosethorn,У Sandry remarked
as she traced a metallic thread in the pattern of stitches.
Briar shook his head. УThe grass is mostly dead.Ф HeТd left Rosethorn, his teacher of
plant-magic, calmly discussing next yearТs crops with the Duke and Lady Inoulia.
УThe drought killed most of it weeks ago. And the top burns so fast that the fire
moves on, and the roots and seeds are fine, still.Ф
УOh,Ф Sandry murmured, not really listening. УWhat flower is this? On these jackets?Ф
УIt looks like a crocus. Why?Ф He wasnТt vexed with her for not listening: he knew
what she was like when she saw anything unusual done with cloth.
УJust curious. Here, look at this thread. Is it real gold, orЧФ
Sandry, Briar. DajaТs magical voice made them jump with surprise. Heat jumped
from SandryТs finger to race down the metal thread, melting it as the silk around it
charred. She gaped at the mess. She had no fire or lightning magic - that was Daja and
Tris! So how did she melt that thread? And what could she say to the jacketТs owner?
IТll find the smith, Briar told Daja. The sense of contact with her faded. УCТmon,Ф he
urged Sandry.
УI burned it!Ф she hissed, grabbing his sleeve and pointing out the scorch marks. УI
was touching it when Daja reached us and - and heat came out of me!Ф
He scratched an elbow. УAll the more reason to leave before the owner sees it.Ф
Sandry shook her head. УItТs my fault the jacket is ruined. I have to make amends.Ф
УWhy?Ф he demanded reasonably. УNobody saw you...Ф
У/ saw me,Ф she said flatly.
The boy stared at her. УNobles,Ф he finally remarked.

УYou donТt see me having a conscience.Ф He looked at his jailhouse tattoos, black XТs
stained deep into the webs between his thumbs and forefingers. УIt just confuses
things.Ф
УTheyТre coming back,Ф she said with a nod towards the creek. The men had finished
their gossip, and the jacketТs owner was approaching. УYouТd better go and find the