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

the Sidhe as a doomed bird watches a snake, caught a fleeting glance from his dark eyes. She saw, or
thought she saw, a kind of satisfaction in that glance. However, in the next instant there was nothing to be
seen in Oberon's eyes but an avid sensual hunger, perhaps heightened by Titania's defiance.

The Queen's eyes glowed a bright, pure emerald, brilliant pools deep enough to fall into and drown. Her
lips were pale rose, and through the ethereal light violet and white silk robes she wore, she looked . . .
translucent, as if she were lit from within. The tip of Oberon's tongue flicked over his lower lip. Titania
smiled.

"I desire greatly to see the red-haired child grow up to rule Logres," she said defiantly. "Do you forbid
me, my lord?" The smile had not faded from her lips and her eyes, if anything, were brighter, almost
casting visible sparks.

"No . . ." Oberon drew out the word and at last looked away from his queen toward the FarSeers. "I do
not forbid, only caution. Do not act in your own person, my lady, and keep your favor for the red-haired
queen secret." He shook his head before Titania could protest. "I say that more for her sake than for
yours. She already attracts our Dark kin's regard; the attention of our Queen might well tempt them
beyond caution."

Titania rose from her seat and Oberon rose too, more slowly. She gestured at the FarSeers. "I will see
you ladies anon."




Chapter 1
The imp skittered sideways. Although it stood upright on its hind legs, it was no bigger than a mouse and
looked much like one, with a round little body, and four thin legs and a long naked tail—except that it
was bright red and quite naked. It had little beady black eyes, large round ears, and a pointed muzzle
from which sharp little teeth peeked. Those sharp teeth and equally sharp, overlarge, claws on stick-thin
front and rear limbs, from which a sick yellow-green slime oozed, curbed any desire to laugh in the one
to whom the imp was squeaking. It might be small—but size was no measure of how deadly a thing was,
especially Underhill. Most especially when the thing was Unseleighe.

Pasgen Peblig Rodrig Silverhair frowned and moved a finger just as the imp leapt toward him, and the
creature squalled and made a convulsive movement to retreat. It was held suspended midair, its struggles
quickly subdued as if a heavy, invisible blanket had been wrapped around it.

If anything, the creature looked more comical than before, hanging helpless as it was, squirming and
writhing. However there was another, more pressing reason not to laugh than the imp's poisoned claws,
which in any case had been neutralized for now. It carried a summons from Prince Vidal Dhu.

Pasgen did not frown, but he was—perturbed. Prince Vidal Dhu. Vidal summoning him. For the past
four years Vidal had been hanging between life and death, saved from perishing of iron poisoning only by
his healers, who, themselves constrained by blood oaths, died draining the poison out of his blood. Now
it seemed that Vidal had at last recovered enough to emerge from hiding. And he should not have been
able to find Pasgen.

"So Prince Vidal wants me," Pasgen murmured. "How interesting." His frown grew blacker, and he
raised his eyes to stare at the little monster. "How did you find me?"