"Jennifer Roberson - CotC 4 - The House of Homana" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

a Cheysuli warrior.



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But a man, looking at me. will see only a fellow
Homanan. Or Carillon, until he looks again.

For all we share a Cheysuli father, lan and I share not
a whit of anything more. Certainly not in appearance.
lan is all Cheysuli: black-haired, dark-skinned, yellow-
eyed. And I am all Homanan: tawny-haired, fair-skinned,

blue-eyed.

It may be that in a certain gesture, a specific move-
ment, lan and I resemble one another. Perhaps in a turn
of phrase. But even that seems unlikely. lan was Keep-
raised, brought up by the clan, I was bom in the royal
palace of Homana-Mujhar, reared by the aristocracy.
Even our accents differ a little: he speaks Homanan with
the underlying tilt of the Cbeysuli Old Tongue, frequently
slipping into the language altogether when forgetful of
his surroundings; my speech is always Homanan, laced
with the nuances of Mujhara, and almost never do I fall
into the Old Tongue of my ancestors.

Not that I have no wish to. I am Cheysuli as much as
lanтАФwell, nearly; he is half, I claim a QuarterтАФand yet
no man would name me so. No man would ever look into
my face and name me, in anger or awe, a shapechanger,
because I lack the yellow eyes. I lack the color entirely;

the gold, and even the language.

No. No shapechanger, the Cheysuli Prince of Homana.

Because in addition to lacking Cheysuli looks, I also
lack a lir.

One

I think no one can fully understand what pain and futility
and emptiness are. Not as / understand them: a man
without a lir. And what of them I do understand comes
not of the body but of the spirit. Of the soul. Because to
know oneself a lirless Cheysuli is an exquisite sort of