"Martha Wells - Thorns" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

He was a striking figure. (The guest, I mean. Dearing is a stout bewhiskered muskrat of a man, a fit mate
for Electra.) Blond curls, broad shoulders, a chiseled profile. I felt a feather of unease travel down my
spine; old instincts rousing, perhaps. His garments, though somewhat the worse for travel at this rainy
time of year, were of fashionable cut and fine cloth.

Frowning, Electra caught the attention of one of the footmen stationed at the bottom of the stairs, and
called him up to her to ask, "Why, William, whoever is that?"

"Madame, they say it's a foreign Duke, the son of the King of Armantia."

"I see," Electra dismissed the man and looked to me, her mild dove eyes vaguely troubled. "Oh, dear. A
prince."

"It has been a long time," I said. But I've dealt with such before.

"Oh, dear."

***

Dinner was delayed, as the Duke's retinue were settled and he himself changed for dinner. He had
brought with him only two rather rascally-appearing servants and a valet who would have looked more at
home in a cavalry troop. But in this day and age royalty, especially foreign royalty, is permitted to travel
at will, and without ostentation.

Through gentle prying among the servants I ascertained that Duke Carl Kohler had been in
correspondence with Electra's husband, over some matter of local history to which Dearing pretended an
expert knowledge. His arrival had still been unexpected, however. I liked it not. A battle at my age is not
the stirring prospect that it was when I was twenty, and in the fullness of my power. I had hoped to wane
here in peace, watching the remains of the family bicker and occasionally amusing myself with the
requests of the local peasantry, many of whom followed the old ways and remembered my existence.

At table I made sure to be seated so I could observe our illustrious guest without the monstrous bulk of
the etagere blocking my view, and listened to such talk as passed for conversation among the others
present. Several of Dearing's brothers and nephews were with us tonight, and were all flattered by the
Duke's condescension and intent on making perfect asses of themselves. Kohler's smile was ready and
his accent was barely discernible; he had, I believe, been educated in this country. I felt our guest's eyes
on me, with more frequency than quite right -- I was no longer the kind of woman young men stared at.

It wasn't until the last remove of turbot that the reason for this visit was aired. As Dearing, who fancied
himself something of an amateur historian, came to the end of a tiresome monologue on the age of the
parish church, Kohler leaned forward and said, "That is fascinating, but the subject that I truly wanted to
consult you on was the legends concerning the Great Thorn Forest. I'm thinking of making a study of it,
myself."

Electra had been consuming wine, and at this point gave vent to a most unladylike snort. As her dinner
companions were compelled to come to her aid, and the attention of the table was momentarily
distracted, I said, "Are you really? I would never have guessed."

He turned the dazzling smile on me, and I saw I had not imagined the wary suspicion in the depths of his