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

His nose was running, and he wiped at it, at his cheeks, with his sleeve and hid his face with his arm
until the worst of it was gone. Then, on unsteady legs, he rose.

Only to face a worse apparition: that of Bakhtiian standing, looking angry and perplexed, holding
out to him a cup filled with steaming tea. Vasha hesitated.

"Take it," snapped Bakhtiian.

Long used to obedience, Vasha obeyed. His hands trembled as he took the proffered cup from the
hands of his— from him. He shook so badly that a little bit of liquid slopped over the side, stinging his
hand. "Thank you," he murmured.

For some reason the comment made Bakhtiian give an exasperated sigh. "I need to go—" he
began.

"No, you don't," said the princess mildly. "You need to stay here."

He grunted, annoyed, and turned his back on them to go stand at the table. He lit another lantern
and rolled out a thick slab of parchment that bore many little marks on it, and stared grimly at it,
ignoring them.

Vasha drank down the tea. Gods, he was thirsty! The lantern light shadowed the man, but the thing
studied lay illuminated. He gathered up his courage. "Is that a map?" he asked softly of the princess.

Bakhtiian glanced back at him. Vasha flinched, afraid he had said something he oughtn't. Despair
swamped him. Now that he was here, he could see how foolish dreams were: He had what he
wanted, what his mother had told him was his rightful place, only Bakhtiian didn't want the unwanted
child any more than the Kireyevskys had.

"Yes," said Bakhtiian curtly. "It is a map."

There was a long pause.

Grudgingly, Bakhtiian spoke again. "Come look at it."

Vasha took one step and halted. The princess took his arm, and thus encouraged by her closeness,
he went to stand next to his ... to his father. Together they examined the map.

2
Earth: One Year Later
Anatoly Sakhalin sat on a pillow and stared out the window. His hands lay open on his knees, but
it was only by main force of will that he kept his body relaxed. On the street below, bordered by
flowers and divided into two paths by a line of scrubby trees running down the middle of the paved
surface, women and men passed at odd intervals, intent on their own business but greeting each other
as they passed. Close to the trees other people flew by, legs pumping the strange two-wheeled
creatures called bicycles. Here in the vast city called London, they all wore such strange clothing that
Anatoly could not always be sure which were women and which were men. The sun shone down, and
squares of light patched the rug on which he sat.

The flat lay quiet behind him. That had been their first fight. Twenty days ago he had walked off