"Melanie Rawn - Dragon Star 1 - Stronghold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

the wine cellar she'd personally assembled for their son.
Yet there had been reminders of age, too, most obviously in the form of twin
seven-year-old granddaughters. Rohan didn't look like a grandsire. But Jihan
had not only half his name but his blue eyes as well, and the cleft in
Rislyn's dainty chin could have come from no one else. He gleefully indulged
them with endless games of dragon slaying, and earned the supreme accolade
that Grandsir was much better at it than Papa. Jihan usually won; she was the
dominant twin, running riot around the palace, trailing mischief in her wake.
Rislyn was quieter, gentler, more like her shy mother. Everyone adored Jihan,
but everyone's favorite was Rislyn.
They even said that Rislyn looked very like Sioned.
Gentle fingers clasped her shoulders, and she gave a start. "I didn't mean
that, you know," Rohan said. "About being old."
"I know you didn't, but it's true." She met his gaze in the
irror. "Though it's hard to believe, looking at you. You've
mirror
gone all silvery instead of goldenтАФthat's the only difference." "Liar. My
bones creak and my right shoulder aches in the cold and my arms aren't long
enough to hold parchments where I can read them."
"And last night all you could do in bed was sleep."
He grinned. "Well, I do seem to have a soft spot for elderly ladies."
"My dear decrepit azhrei, right now I haven't the slightest interest in your
soft spots."
Quite some time later, he stretched and dug his toes into the cool silk of
bunched sheets at the end of the bed. Using a strand of Sioned's long hair to
tickle her shoulder, he whispered, "I think I saw it that time."
"Hmm?" she asked drowsily. "Saw what?"
"The colors."
She quivered with silent laughter. "Now we have the truth at last. He only
makes love to the Sunrunner witch for the sake of intellectual curiosity."
"Certainly," he agreed. "You should never have told me what you see. I've been
trying to catch a glimpse ever since."
"And did you?"
"Why don't we try it again and I'll let you know?"
The Gribains were growing impatient by the time Rohan and Sioned finally came
downstairs for dinner in the Great Hall. Casual pleasantries were the order of
conversation; the Gribains were firmly steered away from any formal discussion
during the meal. Rohan knew why they were here. According to his habit, he had
made no decision and would not until one presented itself. Though open
discussion was prevented by Sioned's tact and Rohan's sporadic deafness
whenever the subject was hinted at, he had not counted on the artless
innocence of the squire who was serving at dinner.
Isriam was the only child of Sabriam of Einar and Isaura of Meadowlord, Prince
Halian's niece. With his family connections and the wealth of his father's
city, one day Isriam would be an important man. At sixteen he was a dark-ey^d,
dark-haired, gawky adolescent possessed of not the slightest hint of subtlety.
Rohan kept telling himself the boy would grow out of his awkwardness, but
despaired of ever teaching him how to keep his every thought from his face and
his every idea from spilling over into speech. As he served taze and cakes to
the high table, Isriam asked, "Will your grace