"Jennifer Fallon - Demon Child 01 - Medalon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fallon Jennifer)

soften her demeanor. Generations of Novices, Probates, and even fully qualified Blue Sisters lived in fear
of incurring her wrath. Even the other Quorum members avoided upsetting her.

R’shiel turned her attention to the small, plump woman who stood at Harith’s shoulder: Mahina
Cortanen. The Mistress of Enlightenment. Her gown was as elaborate as Harith’s—soft white silk edged
with delicate gold embroidery—but she still managed to look like a peasant in a borrowed dress. She
was R’shiel’s personal favorite of all the Quorum members, her own mother included. Mahina was only a
little taller than Francil and wore a stern but thoughtful expression.

Next to Mahina, Joyhinia Tenragan wore exactly the right expression of grief and quiet dignity for the
occasion. Her mother was the newest member of the Quorum and, R’shiel fervently hoped, the least
likely to be elected as the new First Sister. Although each member of the Quorum held equal rank, the
Mistress of the Interior controlled the day-to-day running of the nation, because she was responsible for
the Administrators in every major town in Medalon. It was a position of great responsibility and
traditionally seen as a stepping-stone to gaining the First Sister’s mantle.

R’shiel watched her thoughtfully then glanced at the man who was supposed to be her father. Joyhinia
and Lord Jenga were coldly polite toward each other—and had been for as long as R’shiel could
remember. He was a tall, solid man with iron-gray hair, but he was always unfailingly polite to her and
had never, to her knowledge, denied he was her father. Considering the frost that seemed to gather in the
air between her mother and the Lord Defender whenever they were close, R’shiel could not imagine how
they had ever been warm enough toward each other to conceive a child.

The fire reached upward, licking at Trayla’s white robe. R’shiel wondered for a moment if the fragrant
oils had been enough. Would the smell of the First Sister’s crisping flesh sicken the gathered Sisters?
Probably not, she noted darkly.

Behind the members of the Quorum and the blue-gowned ranks of the Sisters, the Probates and
Novices were ranked around the floor of the amphitheater, their eyes wide as they witnessed their first
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public Burning. Some of them looked a little pale, even in the ruby light of the funeral pyre, but tomorrow
they would cheer themselves hoarse with glee when the young assassin was publicly hanged.Hypocrites,
she thought, stifling a disrespectful yawn.

The vigil over the First Sister continued through the night. The silence was unsettling. Another yawn
threatened to undo her, so R’shiel turned her attention to the first ten ranks of the seating surrounding the
Arena. They were filled by red-coated Defenders who stood to attention throughout the long watch.
Lord Jenga had not spared them a glance all night. He did not have to. They were Defenders. There was
no shuffling of feet numbed by standing all night. No bored expressions or hidden yawns. She envied their
discipline.

As the night progressed, the crowd in the upper levels of the tiered seating gradually thinned. The
civilians who lived at the Citadel had jobs to do and other places to be. They could not afford the luxury
of an all-night vigil. In the morning, the Sisters, Probates, and Novices would still expect to be waited on.
Life went on in the Citadel, regardless of who lived or died.