"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 05 - A Time Of Exile" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

catch him staring at the various symbols of the gwerbretal rank, the dragon banner, the ceremonial sword
of justice, with a wondering sort of greed. Finally Rhodry could stand the silence no longer.

“Things are quiet in the tierynrhyn, then?”

“They are, Father. That’s why I thought I’d ride your way for a visit.”

Rhodry smiled and wondered if he’d come in hopes of finding him ill. He was an ambitious man, Cullyn
was, because Rhodry had raised him to be so, had trained him from the time he could talk to rule the vast
gwerbretrhyn of Aberwyn and to use well the riches that the growing trade with Bardek brought it. He
himself had inherited the rhan half by accident, and he could remember all too well his panicked feeling of
drowning in details during the first year of his rule to allow his son to go uneducated.

“That’s an odd thing, Da, that dagger coming home.”

“It was, truly.” Rhodry picked it up off the table and handed it to him. “See the falcon on the blade?
That’s the device of the man you were named for.”

“That’s right—he told me the story. Of how he was a silver dagger once, I mean. Ye gods, I still miss
Cullyn of Cerrmor, and here he’s been dead many a long year now.”

“I miss him too, truly. You know, I think I’ll carry this dagger again, in his memory, like.”
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“Oh here, Da, you can’t do that! It’s a shameful thing!”

“Indeed? And who’s going to dare mock me for it?”

Cullyn looked away in an unpleasant silence, as if any possible mention of social position or standing
could spoil the most innocent pleasure. With a sigh he handed the dagger back and picked up his tankard
again.

“We could have a game of Carnoic?” Rhodry said.

“We could, at that.” When Cullyn smiled at him, all his old affection shone in his dark blue eyes. “It’s too
muggy to go out hunting this afternoon.”

They were well into their third game when Rhodry’s wife, the Lady Aedda, came down to join them at
the honor table. She sat down quietly, even timidly, with a slight smile for her son. At forty-seven she had
grown quite stout, and there were streaks of gray in her chestnut hair and deep lines round her mouth.
Although theirs was a politically arranged marriage, and in its first years a miserable one, over time she
and Rhodry had worked out a certain accommodation to each other. He felt a certain fondness for her, a
gratitude that she had given him four strong heirs for Aberwyn.

“If my lady wishes,” Rhodry said, “we can end this game.”

“No need, my lord. I can watch.”