"Anne Bishop - Black Jewels 00 - The Invisible Ring" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bishop Anne)

had his tongue cut out before he was gutted.
"Well, spicy enough to distract an elderly Queen who's convalescing," Jared
said, pushing aside the darker memories. Brock was about his age, old enough
to understand walking the knife edge. Brock understood very well, if his
muttering was anything to go by.
"Look," Jared said testily, "Thera is as subtle as an avalanche and doesn't
use a grain of caution about what she says or who she says it to. It hasn't
been an hour yet and she's already calling the Gray Lady 'Lady Grumpy.' If
we don't do something, those two are either going to end up in a spitting
fight, which could end up with Thera being very dead, or she's going to try
to brain the rest of us out of frustration."
Brock ran a hand over his short, light-brown hair. "For a broken witch, that
one's scary. Hell's fire, there's not much to choose from, is there?" He
gave Jared a quick, assessing, hopeful look. "You're trained for personal
service. Couldn't you handle it?"
Jared clenched his teeth. He might not be able to stop himself from feeling
ashamed because he was a pleasure slave, but he didn't have to let anyone
see it. Brock didn't miss much, though. "I meant no insult, Lord Jared," he
said quietly. "Any man with working brains knows a consort-and a pleasure
slave is nothing less than an unwilling consort-is trained to do more than
warm a bed. He dances on temper's edge, and a good consort makes it easier
for the rest of us. I just thought-well-" Brock sighed, resigned. "What kind
of stories?"
A consort danced on temper's edge, but seldom felt the cut. Not like a
pleasure slave did. And that tiny question that kept flickering on the edges
of Jared's mind flashed to the front. How would the Gray Lady treat a
consort . . . or a pleasure slave? That thought stirred a memory.
"When I was fourteen," Jared said, "the Province Queen came to our village.
Can't remember why now, or why she wasn't accompanied by the District
Queen." He frowned, trying to remember. "Maybe that was the year the former
Queen stepped down and the new one wanted to see everything in her
territory. Anyway, all the boys old enough to have begun formal training but
still too young to be allowed to stand with the men had decided to wait on
the main street, just in case we could be of service."
Brock grinned at him in perfect understanding.
"My father is the Warlord of Ranon's Wood, so he was the Lady's escort while
she was there. He had gone to the official landing place outside of Ranon's
Wood to meet her Coach and wasn't home when I came downstairs, dressed in my
best clothes. I casually told my mother I was going to meet a couple of
friends-which was true since we were all going to be on the main street. She
never said a word about my clothes, never asked where I was going. She just
smoothed my collar and said, equally casual, that my younger brothers would
be staying home with her that day.
"Ranon's Wood is a fair-sized village, but there weren't that many boys
within that age group, so we all had a little piece of the walkway on either
side of the street staked out as our territory. At the time, I thought we'd
just been clever enough not to draw the notice of the older youths. I
learned much later that they'd been asked to stay in the background unless
specifically summoned."
"If your father wasn't there, who'd have that much influence?"