"Martha Wells - Fall of Ile-Rien 03 - The Gate of Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

Tremaine regarded her father with as much suspicion as Colonel Averi did. Nicholas wore a black suit
and overcoat, managing to make the impeccably expensive cut look rakish, despite the gray in his hair
and the beard he had recently grown. He didnтАЩt look as if he had been robbing a bank; but then, he
wouldnтАЩt.

Then the door to the inner chamber opened and Tremaine followed Gerard inside.

No weapons were allowed in the meeting and had to be handed over before anyone entered. This
produced quite a collection. Everyone expected Colonel Averi and the other military men to be armed. A
few eyebrows were raised when Tremaine produced the pistol she had been carrying for the past two
weeks, and Gerard surprised everyone by emptying his pockets of a flick knife and a revolver. Nicholas
was the only one unarmed. Tremaine snorted to herself in derisive amusement, knowing weapons or lack
thereof was no measure of who was dangerous and who wasnтАЩt; if the Capidarans had any inkling, they
would never have allowed Nicholas inside the building.



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The meeting room was as drafty as the foyer and the hall, with a dark marble floor and dark paneling
lightened only by electric sconces, newly installed in the old building. Rows of long, finely carved tables
and uncomfortable benches faced a dais with a table and chairs for the principal figures.

Tremaine was making her way toward a seat, already feeling the roomтАЩs damp chill penetrate her bones,
wishing she was back at their refugee hostel with a cup of coffee, or in bed with Ilias, or better yet on the
Ravenna in bed with Ilias and coffee, when Gerard grabbed her arm. This was not something Gerard
normally did, not unless he strongly suspected they were about to be killed. Instinct freezing her into
immobility, Tremaine hastily surveyed the room.

She had noted in a general way the several well-dressed men and women taking seats at the head table,
shuffling papers, addressing casual comments to one another. Now she saw that the man seated quietly
at one end of the table was Ixion.

Oh, for the love of God, she thought, mostly disgusted with herself. I should have expected this. The
sorcerer was wearing a gray wool suit with high pointed lapels in the latest fashion; for some reason this
made TremaineтАЩs skin crawl. None of the other Syprians would wear Rienish clothing except for a coat
against the cold.

There was no hint now to show that the body Ixion was wearing had been grown in a homemade vat on
the Isle of Storms; his brows and eyelashes had grown in and his hair was dark, if too short for fashion.
His face was ordinary, that of a reasonably handsome older man.

Beside her, Gerard echoed her thought, quietly furious. тАЬI should have known this was coming.тАЭ

Tremaine turned to him, appalled, then read his expression. тАЬDonтАЩt walk out,тАЭ she said sharply. If ever a
man looked as if he was about to take his sphere and go home, or at least back to the Ravenna, it was
Gerard.

Count Delphane, highest-ranking Rienish noble in Capidara, and representative of the Queen and