"Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Star 2 - Dragon Token" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

He sat beside her where she lay wrapped in someone's cloak, ready to warn off anyone who approached. But no one did. Her sleep was respected even as her grief had been. They all knew—or thought they knew—what she had lost.

Suffering aged most people. Not Sioned. There was an aching purity to her, like a young girl, as if Fire had burned away all evidence of her years. She murmured in her sleep, her hands twisting around the cloak. He put

his fingers over hers and she quieted. Perhaps she thought he was Rohan.

The huge emerald was cool beneath his palm. Meath had watched Rohan give her that ring.

". . . kept safe the two young lords who are our heirs— until we can get one of our own. It is our desire that you wear this as a reminder of the debt we owe you." And the emerald ring sparkled from her hand while he grinned into her furious green eyes, daring her to refuse the gift.

Meath coughed discreetly behind his hand. Oh, the young prince was a match for her right enough, despite his bland blond looks. They'd lead each other a merry dance. . . .

The emerald had left her finger only once, stolen from her along with her Sunrunner rings. That she had taken back the one but not the others never surprised him, as it had everyone else.

The woman paced the battlements, stroking her belly and gazing out at the Desert with glowing greedy eyes. She braced both hands on the stone wall and glanced down, her attention caught by the glint of green on her finger. Raising her fist to the moons, she laughed softly, admiring the shine.

Meath fled down the moonlight, back from Feruche to Graypearl, and stumbled into the ancient faradhi oratory he had helped unearth and rebuild. When his heartbeats settled again, he cursed his weakness and vowed no one would ever know what he now knew—even as he wondered what kind of child would come of Rohan's mating with lanthe.

He had kept watch that long summer and autumn, claiming the right from all other Sunrunners. No one had thought anything of it. Not even Andrade. He knew who had worn the emerald during that time, and what had happened the night Sioned had recovered it, and how she had come home.

She trudged through sand piled high by a recent storm, yielding as water beneath weary feet. The three were a long way from Feruche—from the smoldering ashes of Feruche—and longer still from Stronghold, but it seemed

she would risk a stop at Skybowl. What would she say to explain her presence there? Meath winced away from the hard glitter of her eyes that warned Tobin and Ostvel back without words as she gathered the infant closer. What in the Goddess' Name would she tell them at Skybowl?

Doubtless she would think of something. And be believed. Or at least no one would question—and even if they did, who among Rohan's people, her people, would not keep the secret? Like Stronghold, Skybowl was nearly empty, all the able-bodied men and women gone north with Walvis or south to their prince. Sioned was their sovereign lady; her words would be accepted without comment.

He would return to Skybowl tomorrow and receive news of the child's birth, and her explanation of it, and disseminate it on sunlight as if it were the truth before anyone had the chance to wonder. It was all he could do for her, but perhaps it would be enough.

He smoothed back stray wisps of her shorn, ragged hair. Deprived of its length and weight, the strands curled softly around her face. He had always wanted to touch her hair, feel its warm silk in his fingers. He rolled a lock around one finger, fire-red and sun-gold, and by the glow of distant stars saw starlight woven through it. The years showed silver in her hair.

Meath opened the door silently when there was no answer to his second knock. The scene within made him smile. They were already dressed in the finery each had ordered made for the other, commissioned through Meath himself in secrecy. She sat at her mirror, and he stood behind her brushing out her long hair. She wore it loose tonight, bound only by the circlet of her rank across her brow.

He cleared his throat tactfully. "I've been sent by your sister to say, and I quote directly, 'If you aren't down here in two swipes of a dragon's claw, I'll skin you for saddle leather.' "

"Late to our own celebration—terribly tasteless," Rohan drawled. "Doesn't anyone respect the privileges of age?"

"Find a better excuse." Meath chuckled. "You've never not made an entrance in your life!"

"Don't encourage him," Sioned pleaded. "Honestly, Rohan, none of us is getting any younger, waiting for you to pick your moment!"

"None of us except you." And he smoothed the thick hair cascading down her shoulders.

The wealth of it was gone now, an offering of living fire. He stroked the unruly curls and his hand brushed her cheek, an unintentional caress. He allowed himself the gesture because it brought a tiny smile to her face. He had watched sometimes from Graypearl, just to make sure she was happy. He need not have worried. Rohan had known what a treasure he'd won.

She stood on the steps, firegold hair piled in braids like a crown. In her arms was the child. Rohan caught sight of her and froze. In his slow movements were reluctance, self-hatred, resentment that she should force the issue here in public, with the whole of Stronghold and the Desert armies watching.

Meath held his breath as he watched Rohan climb the steps to where wife and son awaited him. Sioned's eyes burning with challenge. She held out the baby, and Rohan's fingers trembled slightly as they pushed aside a corner of the blue velvet blanket. He gave the boy a cursory glance—and Sioned a bleak one.

But when he faced his people, he drew her with him, one arm around her waist so that she and the infant shared the roars of the crowd with him. Meath felt his heart begin to beat again.