"Elizabeth Vaughan - Chronicles Of The Warlands 01 - Warprize" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan Elizabeth)

basket and bundle down and reached into the bushes, feeling my way. The scent of the remaining roses
surrounded me and filled my lungs. And my memories. The scent of roses by XyronтАЩs bedside, as he lay
dying.

Father had sickened slowly, gradually. Like the shades of gold that dust the trees at summerтАЩs end. The
signs had been there, but IтАЩd missed them along with everyone else. Once it was obvious, the illness had
continued, regardless of the remedies that weтАЩd tried. HeтАЩd wasted away slowly, growing weaker with
every passing day. Nothing had helped.

Xymund had slowly taken up the reins of power, trying to ease the burden on our father, but that had not
gone well. At first, Xyron had encouraged Xymund to take up his ceremonial duties, so that he could
conserve his energies for the business of ruling. But as his energy waned Xymund had to try to fill the
holes. IтАЩd credit him that, for my half-brother never once moved forward unless he saw that Father was
no longer able to perform a duty, or concentrate on a problem set before him. But Xymund had fumbled
a few decisions while learning his role, and members of the Council and the Guilds had gone to Xyron
directly, setting ailing father against fledgling king.

Serving my apprenticeship and performing my journeymen duties had pulled me out of active Court life. I
тАЩd been isolated even further when Father grew ill, for my attentions were all spent on him. Xyron was a
warrior betrayed by a body that had served him long and well, and his temper grew worse as his body
failed. He was quick to anger, and even quicker to blame, finding fault with everything. This made his
relationship with Xymund harder. It made keeping servants to attend him almost impossible. So my role
was healer, daughter, and peacemaker. I rarely left my fatherтАЩs side, and at the end, rarely left his
chambers. WeтАЩd used flowers and rose oil to sweeten the air as he lay dying. I suspected the scent
would always bring back those long hours.

I continued to pick, dropping the fruit into the basket, covering the bottle and jars. I had to move slowly
to avoid the thorns. Best to get some before Anna the Cook descended on the briar to pluck and snip for
her own uses. Her rose-hip jell was wonderful in the winter months, spread on toasted bread with honey.
My arm stretched in further, getting several good scratches for my pains. Perhaps this had not been such
a good idea after all.

I froze of a sudden. The hairs on my neck had risen and drew my attention to the unnatural stillness.

There was something out there.

I held my breath. All the normal sounds of the garden were gone. The tiny birds settling in for the night,
the small sounds of rabbits and the like, all were missing, as if a large predator was in the area. I
wondered for a moment if one of the hunt-ing dogs had gotten loose. Though my brother rarely hunted,
he still kept a few dogs for the use of the huntsmen. But those dogs were all tail and wiggles, eager for a
touch on the head and a scratch behind the ear. TheyтАЩd not stay still for a minute.

I pulled my arm back slowly, and took a step away from the briar. I drew in a deep breath and held it,
straining to hear over the noise of my own body. Nothing moved, and I could hear no sounds. I remained
quiet and unmoving for a minute or two, glancing about as if my eyes could pierce the night.

Then my stomach growled and reminded me that the morning meal had been some time ago, and that
KalisaтАЩs cheese only went so far. I laughed nervously. Overtired for certain. I dropped the last of the
rose hips into my basket, then indulged in a good stretch. Which, in turn, caused my hair to fall out of its
bun. Again. I cursed and fumbled with it, managing to get it pulled back. There was a tie in my pocket