"David Farland - Runelords 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farland David)

Myrrima had the good taste to say no more. She pulled her hand free of his.
"She will marry me," Gaborn said. He felt confident he could sway the princess.
Myrrima raised a brow. "How could you imagine so? Because it would be pragmatic to ally herself with the wealthiest
kingdom in Rofehavan?" She laughed musically, amused. Under normal circumstances, if a peasant had laughed him to scorn,
Gaborn would have bristled. He found himself laughing with her.
Myrrima flashed a fetching smile. "Perhaps, milord, when you leave Heredon, you will not leave empty-handed."
One last invitation. Princess Sylvarresta will not have you, but I would.
"It would be foolhardy to give up the chase before the hunt has begun, don't you think?" Gaborn said. "In Understanding's
House, in the Room of the Heart, Hearthmaster Ibirmarle used to say 'Fools define themselves by what they are. Wise men
define themselves by what they shall be.' "
Myrrima rejoined, "Then I fear, my pragmatic prince, that you shall die old and lonely, deluded into believing you will
someday marry Iome Sylvarresta. Good day."
She turned to leave, but Gaborn could not quite let her go. In the Room of the Heart, he'd also learned that sometimes it is
best to act on impulse, that the part of the mind which dreams will often speak to us, commanding us to act in ways that we do
not understand. When Gaborn had told her that he thought she would do well in court, he had meant it. He wanted her in his
court--not as his wife, not even as a mistress. But intuitively he felt her to be an ally. Had she not called him "milord"? She
could as easily have called him "Your Lordship." No, she felt a bond to him, too.
"Wait, milady," Gaborn said. Once again Myrrima turned. She had caught his tone. With the word "milady," he sought to
make his claim on her. She knew what he expected: total devotion. Her life. As a Runelord, Gaborn had been raised to demand
as much from his own vassals, yet he felt hesitant to ask as much from this foreign woman.
"Yes, milord?"
"At home," Prince Orden said, "you have two ugly sisters to care for? And a witless brother?"
"You are perceptive, milord," Myrrima said. "But the witless one is my mother, not a brother." Lines of pain showed in her
face. It was a terrible burden she held. A terrible price for magic. It was hard enough to take an endowment of brawn or wit or
glamour from another, to assume the financial responsibilities for that person. But it became more painful still when that
person was a beloved friend or relative. Myrrima's family must have lived in horrible poverty, hopeless poverty, in order for
them to have felt compelled to try such a thing--to gift one woman with the beauty of three, the cleverness of two, and then
seek to marry her to some rich man who could save them all from despair.
"However did you get the money for the forcibles?" Gaborn asked. The magical irons that could drain the attributes of one
person and endow them on another were tremendously expensive.
"My mother had a small inheritance--and we labored, the four of us," Myrrima said. He heard tightness in her voice. Perhaps
once, a week or two ago, when she'd newly become beautiful, she'd have sobbed when speaking of this.
"You sold flowers as a child?" Gaborn asked.
Myrrima smiled. "The meadow behind our house provided little else to sustain us."
Gaborn reached to his money pouch, pulled out a gold coin. One side showed the head of King Sylvarresta; the other showed
the Seven Standing Stones of the Dunnwood, which legend said held up the earth. He was unfamiliar with the local currency,
but knew the coin was large enough to take care of her small family for a few months. He took her hand, slipping it into her
palm.
"I...have done nothing for this," she said, searching his eyes. Perhaps she feared an indecent proposal. Some lords took
mistresses. Gaborn would never do so.
"Certainly you have," Gaborn said. "You smiled, and thus lightened my heart. Accept this gift, please. You will find your
merchant prince someday," Gaborn said, "and of all the prizes he may ever discover here in the markets of Bannisferre, I
suspect that you will be the most treasured."
She held the coin in awe. People never expected one as young as Gaborn to speak with such grace, yet it came easily after
years of training in Voice. She looked into his eyes with new respect, as if really seeing him for the first time. "Thank you,
Prince Orden. Perhaps...I tell you now that if Iome does accept you, I will praise her decision."
She turned and sauntered off through the thickening crowd, circled the fountain. Gaborn watched the graceful lines of her
neck, the clouds of her dress, the burning flames of her scarf.
Borenson came up and clapped Gaborn on the shoulder, chuckling. "Ah, milord, there is a tempting sweet."
"Yes, she's altogether lovely," Gaborn whispered.