"Mercedes Lackey and Roberta Gellis - Ill Met by Moonlight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

The room looked cool and somehow as if it held apart from what happened within it. The walls were
pale silver, slightly sparkling. There were no windows, which was somehow faintly oppressive, but light,
the soft, silvery twilight of Underhill, suffused the chamber, coming from everywhere and nowhere. The
ceiling was lapis-lazuli; the floor of blue-veined marble. At one end was a dais, and upon that were two
thrones. They were not huge, nor encrusted with gems and ivory and precious almost-living shells as
were the thrones in the Great Hall; these were made of a dark, shining wood twisted into strange
seemings as if it had grown that way. The High King sat in one of these thrones, his Queen, Titania, in the
other. Neither throne was larger than the other, mute testimony of their joint rulership, though Oberon
had been High King longer than Titania had been Queen.

Having listened to the Visions of the FarSeers, High King Oberon leaned slightly forward toward them.
Dark eyes—a black that somehow glowed—fixed on the four women who stood before the throne.
They knew him of old, of course, but even so each stared in wonder at him. Power pulsed in him as if
barely held in check, and he was beautiful . . . All Sidhe were beautiful, but Oberon was . . . different.

His hair grew from a deep peak on his forehead and swept back in gleaming black waves, the points of
his ears showing through, enough to mark him as of elvenkind, if his beauty were not enough. His brows
were equally black and high-arched over the fathomless eyes. In contrast his skin was white, not pallid
and sickly, but with the hard, high gloss of polished marble.

He towered over all other Sidhe, and not by enchantment. Physical strength almost immeasurable was
his, and formidable muscles in shoulders and thighs strained the black velvet tunic and black silk hose he
wore. He was all in black, only lightened by silver piping on every seam and the silver bosses on his belt
and on the baldric that usually supported the long sword which now leaned against his throne.

"You know I cannot do what you ask," he said. "I am High King of all the Sidhe—Seleighe and
Unseleighe alike. If I favor the Seleighe over the Unseleighe, the Unseleighe could rightfully deny my right
to rule. I do not say their rebellion would be successful—it would not. But I would know that I had been
unfaithful to my trust, and my power would be lessened. And they, feeling restrained and persecuted
Underhill, would meddle more and more in the mortal world so that in the end we might be exposed for
what we are."

"But if the Inquisition comes to England, it will rip and tear until Underhill is exposed anyway. Remember
El Dorado and Alhambra." Eirianell met the black eyes with calm. She had known those who wielded
power enough to sink a continent and dared reason with King Oberon.

But he showed no anger, only smiled and then said, "If. There are three futures. When we know more, I
will examine my constraints more closely."

"But I have no such constraints," Titania said, her green cat-pupilled eyes glowing with challenge.

Her voice was sweet and rich as warm honey and her presence was the bright contrast to her husband's
dark power. Titania was a wonder even to those she ruled. The Queen's lineage was pure High Court,
Seleighe elven, except that she was even taller than most male Sidhe. Her body was, of course, perfectly
perfect. Her hair was a rich gold, elaborately dressed in a high confection of tiny braids and curls, which
showed off her ears; they were delicately shell pink, almost transparent—but the pointed tip of one ear
was bent, which tiny imperfection made her somehow more perfect.

Oberon turned his head toward her, but he did not speak. Aleneil, who always watched the High King of