"Briggs, Patricia - Sianim 1 - Masques" - читать интересную книгу автора (Briggs Patricia)

There was a hypnotic quality to the kaleidoscopic, brilliant colors of the dancers: twisting around and
around only to stop, rearrange themselves and swirl into motion once again. They surely felt it. Their
laughing faces were strangely blank, without a hint of any other emotion than simple enjoyment. She saw
the Duchess of Ti and the Envoy of the Anthran Alliance dancing cordially with each other. Four years
ago the Envoy had the Duchess’s youngest son assassinated, sparking a bloody feud that left bodies
littering the Alliance like a plague.
The Envoy said something and patted the Duchess’s shoulder. She laughed gaily in return, as if she
hadn’t had the Envoy’s third wife killed in a particularly nasty manner only a month ago.
When the musicians paused for a break, people crowded around the Archmage, Geoffrey ae’Magi,
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drawn to his twinkling eyes and mischievous grin the way butterflies surround the flowering coralis
tree. Like the coralis, he was extraordinarily beautiful, with blue-black hair, high cheekbones and the
smile of a child with his hands caught in the cookie jar. But the true attraction lay in his gentle warmth
and the uncanny ability to poke fun at himself and others without causing hurt to any. Before she’d come
here, Aralorn herself had been more than half enamored of him.
When an insect lands on the sweet-smelling, scarlet flower of the coralis, the petals close and the
flower digests its hapless prey over a period of weeks.
She turned away from the ae’Magi and back to the room. Leaning lazily against one of the pillars, a
short, square-built young man wearing the colors of the royal house of Reth also observed the throng:
Myr, Prince—no, King now, of Reth. His face was unremarkable except for the stubborn tilt to his chin
that he’d inherited from his paternal grandfather, a formidable warrior and king. What caught Aralorn’s
attention was the expression of distaste that briefly crossed his face as he looked at the crowd, remarkably
different from the vacuous smiles that everyone else wore.
He shifted unexpectedly and met her gaze. He looked away quickly, but then began to make his way
through the crowd toward her cage. When he reached the platform, he tilted his head down so that no one
could read his lips and asked in a low tone, “Do you need help, Lady?”
Surprised, she glanced quickly at the mirror that covered the back of the cage. The snowfalcon stared
back at her indifferently. An old spy had once told her that the ruling family of Reth occasionally
produced offspring who were immune to magic. Looking at Myr, she decided that it was more probable
that he was unaware of the illusion that cloaked her than that he commonly asked caged birds if they
needed help. Rethians deplored the practice of slave keeping, but it was a bold move to offer to help one
of the ae’Magi’s slaves to escape.
Intrigued, she responded as herself, rather than the slave she was supposed to be. “No, Your
Highness, I am here to observe the ae’Magi.”
“A spy.” It wasn’t a question. “You must be from either Sianim or Jetaine. They are the only ones
who would employ female spies in as delicate a position as this.” He seemed to be thinking out loud,
because when he finished speaking a flush rose to his face as he realized how insulting his last remark
sounded.
Aralorn, though, was amused rather than offended. With a half smile she clarified. “I get paid for my
work.”
“A mercenary of Sianim, then.” He eyed her speculatively. “I am surprised that they thought there
was a need for a spy here.”
“‘Struth, so am I,” Aralorn allowed, giving him no more information. Having satisfied his curiosity as
far as she was ever going to, she asked him a question of her own. “How did you see past the illusion of