"Kerr, Katharine - Westlands 02 - A Time Of Omens" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

"You lie! All the omens say that at this moment the one true king of all Deverry dwells within this dun. Where is he?"
The horns shrieked once; the drums fell silent. Every man in the great hall turned to stare at Elyc as if accusing him of the worst treason. The regent could only stare back, bewildered and terrified both.
"Bel has spoken this very day. Bel has given us omens. Bel has blessed us with true speaking."
"Blessed be the name of the Holy One," murmured the priests behind him. "Blessed be the Light of the Sky."
"When the Lawgiver speaks, all men and in truth all women too must listen. The one true king is within these walls, Regent."
Elyc tried to speak but failed miserably, and sweat was beading his forehead. Bellyra found herself considering her detailed knowledge of the dun; surely if the king was being held prisoner in some hidden chamber, she'd be the one to puzzle it out. Then she realized that during this mind-gripping ceremony Nevyn had slipped away from the table, and for the second time that evening, her heart started thudding in her throat. As Nicedd climbed up the three steps to the dais, the gold sickle swinging at his belt like a weapon, Elyc sank to his knees.
"Where is the one true king of all Deverry?" The priest turned on his heel to face the crowd. "He sits among you! Do you know him not?"
At the back of the hall Maryn stood up, a simple gesture, just a very young man standing up and tossing aside a dirty, torn cloak, but at that moment every person in the hall, noble lord and serving wench alike, caught their breath with an audible gasp. It seemed that the sun had returned to shine on him, just for a moment before it hurried about its business in the Otherlands; it seemed that a summer wind sprang up to breathe upon him, ruffling his golden hair and filling the smoky hall with the scent of roses; it seemed that the very air around him came alive, as if his simple presence were enough to fill the great hall with as much snap and power as a summer thunderstorm.
"Who calls for the king?" His voice rang out firm and clear.
"I do." Slowly and carefully Nicedd knelt beside Elyc. "Your Highness."
The crackling of the fires in the hearth seemed louder than thunder as the one true king of all Deverry strode the long way from the back of the hall and up the steps to the dais. Bellyra could neither cheer nor move nor even think clearly. Like a priestly chant words ran through her mind of their own accord: this is my husband, why didn't I comb my hair? When Maryn reached the dais, he stopped in front of Elyc and smiled at him with a boyish innocence that was like a flash of light.
"Am I welcome here, Regent?"
"My liege." Elyc tried to say more, but he was crying too hard. "O my holy liege."
Maryn bent down, caught the tieryn's hands in his, and raised him to his feet. At that the warbands could stand it no longer. They cheered and called his name and howled war cries; they stood and climbed on benches and tables; they began to stamp their feet while they cheered and screamed the more. Maryn smiled that same bewitching smile at them all, then flung up one hand for silence. As if they'd been rehearsed, every person in the hall stopped shouting. All at once Bellyra was afraid of him, this beautiful boy who seemed half a sorcerer himself, that he should ride in so suddenly and conquer them all without even unsheathing his sword.
"Men," Maryn was saying. "For this day I was born. For this day we were all born. This is the beginning. Some fine day there'll be a true king on the throne in Dun Deverry, and all the kingdom will be at peace. For the kingdom's sake far more than mine, let's every one of us pray that day will come soon."
When the cheers broke out again, a near-demented howling, Bellyra's fear turned to blind panic. No one noticed as she left the table and made her way through the shadows on the dais and slipped out the little door that led to a corridor. She stood in the darkness for a moment and felt the walls around her trembling from the cheers as if the very dun were in ecstasy at the coming of the king. Then she bolted, running down the corridor and up the stairs at the far end, round and round, up and up, until at last she could plunge panting into the safety of the nursery and her silence.
Out of habit some servant had lit the candles in the wall sconces and laid her childlike supper out on her writing desk: a bowl of bread and milk, another of dried apples soaked in watered wine and honey. Bellyra took the bread and milk to Melynna, then sat on the floor nearby and watched her eat. The cat's sides bulged, and she stood all spraddle-legged to lap her meal.
"You know what, Melynna? The king's here. His name's Maryn."
She actually looked up, licking her whiskers briefly, before she went back to work on the milk.
"Soon I'll be married, I suppose. And then one day I'll look like you do now. I'll only have one kit at a time, though. I'll bet men would like it if women could have litters like you do. They'd know straightaway how many heirs they'd have."
All at once she realized that she was crying. Even as she sobbed, she wondered at herself, that she would weep. Maryn was handsome, young, awe-inspiring, far more wonderful than she had any right to expect-she had never allowed herself to hope for so much, even to dream of so much in her husband. He'll never love someone like me, she thought, that's why I'm crying.
"Your Highness!" It was Nevyn's voice, soft and sympathetic, from the doorway. "What's so wrong?"
"He'll never love me, but he'll have to marry me anyway."
Although the room was all swimmy from her tears she could see the honest pity on the old man's face as he walked over, hesitated, then sat down next to her on the floor. Melynna looked up and went tense; normally she ran from everyone but Bellyra, but when Nevyn held out his hand, she sniffed his fingers, considered for a moment, then went back to slurping up the milk. Nevyn pulled an old rag out of his brigga pocket and handed it to Bellyra as solemnly as a courtier would hand over a square of fine linen. She blew her nose, wiped her face, and still felt completely miserable.
"Your Highness, Maryn is never going to love any woman, but he'll grow fond of you. I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart, but that's the way it will be. His one true love will always be the land and people of Deverry. I raised him, you see, so I know."
"You raised him?"
"I was his tutor from the time he was a child."
"Are you a sorcerer? Don't you put me off this time!"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I am."
"That's somewhat to the good, at least. I did so hope you were."
"I'll ask you, though, to keep the secret to yourself."
Much to her relief, Nevyn restrained himself from lecturing further. Unlike every other adult she'd ever known, he didn't wag his finger and tell her she should be grateful that the Goddess had chosen her for such a splendid Wyrd, or point out that most women would be glad to have any husband at all, much less a handsome one. He merely got up and stood looking round the nursery with a slight frown.
"Why don't you live down in the women's hall? You're certainly old enough."
"My poor mother is very ill. Or, well, to tell you the truth, she drinks Bardek wine all day, and then she weeps and throws herself from side to side and keens for my father, and then she starts in mourning my elder brother, and everyone says it's worse for her to have me there, because it bothers her that I lived when he didn't."
"Maybe I can cure her, once things settle down a bit. But I've brought jewels from Pyrdon to use as your dower-gift, and I think we'd best turn some into cold coin and outfit you a set of chambers of your own, splendid ones befitting your rank. Lyrra-may I call you Lyrra?"
"I'd be honored, Nevyn." She got up and curtsied, pleased when he bowed in return.
"Lyrra, your life will offer compensations, as I say, and there's no reason in the world that you shouldn't have them. For the first one, we'll get you out of this dismal nursery. Now, do you have any fancy clothes?"
"Lots, actually, but they're all on the shabby side."
"No doubt. Well, I know naught about such matters myself, but doubtless you'll know what you want once you've got the coin for fine cloth and all. Oh, and don't forget, now that you're going to be queen, you'll get to pick serving women of your own."
"Can I ask anyone I want?"
"Just that, and I'll wager they're all going to jump at the chance to live at court."
"Then Elyssa could come! That's Elyc's daughter from his first wife, you see, and she's my best and only friend. When it looked for a while like I'd have to marry him, the only good thing was she'd get to be my stepdaughter, which would have been truly odd, because she's fifteen. But anyway, after she's here, she can help me with clothes and furniture."
"It gladdens my heart that at least you won't be marrying Elyc, good man though he is in his way. Now, put on your best dress, and comb your hair down like a lady's. You can't wear it in a braid anymore. I've come to fetch you back to the great hall. Since the priests are here, Nicedd wants to solemnize your betrothal this very night."
"Are we to marry soon? I'll wager they all want me to get started on producing the beastly heirs."
"Considering your age, they may have to wait a bit, which will serve them right. But Maryn's going to have to go on campaign this summer. We've got to get you two married and him solemnized as king before Beltane."
While Bellyra changed into her purple dress and arranged her kirtle to hide the gravy stains from its previous incarnation as a banqueting cloth, Nevyn wandered off and found a serving lass to press into service as a lady's maid to do her hair. Since she had no mirror, Bellyra had to accept their word for it that she looked both lovely and years older with her hair combed down and clasped at the nape of her neck.
"Why don't you have a proper mirror, anyway?" Nevyn said.
"I'm not supposed to look into them. Since I was born on Samaen everyone's afraid that if I look into a mirror, I won't have any reflection at all, or maybe even I'll see a fiend looking back at me or some such thing."
"O ye gods! What utter nonsense!" He turned to the servant. "Here, lass, you run down to the dowager's hall and get a mirror. Now don't you argue with me! No doubt the dowager's fallen into a drunken sleep, and she'll never even know."
Even though she crossed her fingers to ward off witchcraft first, the lass did follow his orders, returning in a few minutes with a hand mirror of polished bronze glazed in Bardek silver. It took Bellyra a few minutes more, though, to overcome her fear and look. Although she knew she wasn't a fiend, she truly was afraid that she'd see nothing at all. Instead she found a remarkably pretty lass with wavy blond hair and big green eyes staring back with her delicate lips half-parted in surprise.