"Kate Elliott - Jaran 4 - The Law of Becoming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elliott Kate)

If she hadn't come here, accidentally, in the first place, they would never have known or suspected
anyway; their technology was medieval and their mind-set, however flexible, however laudable in
many ways, was primitive.

If Ilya, the greatest leader his people had ever known, knew the truth and how inconsequential it
made the vision that had driven him, even before Tess had arrived, to unite the jaran and begin his
conquest of khaja—of settled—lands, it would destroy him; it would cut out his heart.

And anyway, now that she and Charles and the rest of the cabal were set on this plan, they had to
proceed in complete secrecy; they could not afford to arouse Chapalii interest in any fashion; and so,
since Rhui was interdicted, it must stay that way, and there must be no awkward questions asked or
betraying traffic to and from the planet other than that initiated years before when Charles had first
established a foothold here as a kind of sanctuary from his duties as the first human duke, the first and
only human to be granted a rank within the labyrinthine imperial Chapalii hierarchy.

But she still wondered. Should she tell them the truth? And if so, when? And if not, how long could
she stay with them, truly? Because in the end she would have to return to Earth.

"Mama! Mama!"

Tess smiled, turning to greet her son. Yuri's enthusiastic hug almost bowled her over. She laughed
and steadied herself with one hand on the grass. With an impish grin, Yuri untangled himself from her
and regarded Sonia gravely.

"I beg your pardon, Aunt Sonia," he said, but Sonia merely smiled in answer and kept weaving.
Yuri squatted down to watch her shuttle, and Tess just studied him, this wonderful boy whom she
loved with an unsettlingly fierce passion, he and his older sister. Yuri was a sturdy five-year-old, still
growing out of his baby fat. He had the world's most equable temperament, quite unlike either of his
parents, and a penchant for silliness. Sitting so still, though, his gentle child's profile showed him
serious and intent.

"Where is Natalia?" asked Tess.

"I don't know," he replied with a younger child's blithe irresponsibility. "What pattern are you
weaving, Aunt Sonia?"

"The Moon's Horns," she answered.

He grunted, content, and slipped onto his knees in order to watch her more closely. The rising sun
shone gold lights through his brown hair. He fit there, beside Sonia, with uncanny ease. At five, he had
greater patience for weaving than Tess had, but she was used to patterns taking shape more swiftly,
nets and structures that she could build and dismantle at whim. She was trying to learn patience, but
she hadn't mastered it yet.

Instead, Tess rose, touched Sonia on the shoulder and gave Yuri a kiss, and walked down the hill
toward camp. The wind fled in waves along the grass, great ripples darkening the ground for a
moment as they spread and, at last, faded into the distance. Far off, she saw the amorphous mass of
the horse herd and farther still, a glint of white marked the edge of the grazing line of sheep.

A hundred sounds drifted on the breeze, plaiting her footsteps into a greater whole. Tess hummed