"Nancy Springer - Chains Of Gold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

hands touched carved wood it was aliveтАФalready it skimmed of its own accord away from shore. Not
even a steersman sailed with me. I shivered, and the others watched silently, all the lords and nobles of
the Secular Lands with their bright pennons and pavilions and their warm campfires, their ladies lining the
shore and staring at me. The swan boat swam quickly, and soon snow veiled them from me, or me from
them.

Alone. It was a chance. Of course I had long since made up my mind to escape, but there had been no
escaping from Stanehold, where my father had housed me; even in daytime I was not permitted outside
the walls. And there had been no lack of guard on the journey either. I had only lowered my eyes when
my father had given me news of my impending nuptials, but Rahv was no fool. Ever since, all the long
way hither, I had never been left alone, not even in the horse litter, not even to sleep. Only in the swan
boat, rushing across the black water, aloneтАФbut my stock of courage was small, after all the years of
bullying. I contemplated the Naga a moment too long, and it was too late. Already turrets were appearing
before me, looming through the twilight, and a gray haze of winter willow, all looping boughs and long
branches writhing into the water.

The island grew thick with magic, I sensed that at once, a magic as wild and chill and thick as the great
thickets of ivy and bramble that tore at the keep, a knotted and twining magic. Perhaps the whole Sacred
Isle was entirely magic and essence of magic. Fearsome. The thought made me clutch at the wood of my
seat. So still, so silent did the watchers stand, those who awaited me at the island, that I did not at first
see themтАФthe Gwyneda, the white-clad blessed ones. Soon I would be one of them.

White robes that hid their bodies, hard faces under white hoods that hid their hair. Without a word they
seized me and hurried me into the keep. Entering, I saw only a vast dusk, like a dark maw. I stumbled,
trying to look about me, and they tightened their grip on my arms, hurrying me forward. Up a spiral
stairway, along walls of cold gray stone, finally through a doorwayтАФ

A bedchamber. The door closed behind me, and unceremoniously they rid me of the sable mantle, the
ermine robeтАФblack for mourning, white for a bride. Then the long bodice of blood-red velvet edged in
miniver, so that I stood blinking in a silken gown, feeling denuded even in that finery, wondering if these
white-robed strangers were, indeed, women. I had thought they were, but their faces stared so flat and
still that I could not tell. They tugged the jeweled clips and gilt combs from my hair, tearing out long
strands of it, and as I drew breath to protest the door opened and a youth stood there.

тАЬLady Cerilla,тАЭ he said quietly, тАЬwelcome.тАЭ

His voice was warm, his dark eyes candid and warm and searching as he faced me. I trusted him at
once, he, the only warm thing within the cold stone walls, and I thought him very fair, with his gentle
rugged features and those frank eyes, and I wished I could somehow confide in him and beg him to help
me escape. Not with all the watchers. The Gwyneda looked furiousтАФyes, they were women, for their
faces had sharpened into the look of womenтАЩs fury, their noses turning as frosty white as their robes. But
still they did not speak.

тАЬAre you hungry?тАЭ the youth asked. тАЬShall I get you something to eat?тАЭ

I stirred from my trance of hope and misery to violently shake my head. I had never felt less hungry.

тАЬA cup of mulled wine?тАЭ

тАЬNo,тАЭ I whispered. тАЬThank you.тАЭHelp , my eyes signaled, and he nodded gravely.