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

The imp squeaked "Let me go. Let me go. Prince Vidal will punish you if you harm me."

The invisible blanket tightened around it. It tried to struggle, could not. The power that held it tightened
more. A despairing squeal contained the word "Token."

"Give it to me," Pasgen said, the edge of command in his voice.

The creature's mouth opened and it disgorged a small, coiled object, wet with slime. An immaterial hand
slid through the field that englobed the imp, seized what it had vomited and carried it toward Pasgen. As
it approached, he could sense the drumming beat issuing from it, a drumming that perfectly matched the
beating of his own heart.

Another gesture with one finger and the imp was dead, crushed to a formless lump of red, mottled and
streaked with green-yellow gore. The force that held it then carried the mess outside to be consumed by
the things that scavenged Pasgen's gardens. Its death had been quick, too quick for the creature even to
squall. Pasgen could not allow anything that knew the location of his private domain to live, but all the
years of Vidal's training had not been able to teach him to enjoy pain. He could be vicious when
necessary, but he was never cruel just for amusement.

Cleaned and dried by other invisible forces, the brown scrap was clearly preserved skin attached to a
thin layer of flesh. His own skin and flesh, Pasgen knew, from the vibration of congruence. He stared at
it, appalled. He had always been careful about hair clippings and nail parings, making sure to burn them.
And all the while Vidal Dhu had his skin and flesh. When and how had Vidal obtained so powerful a
token? More important, was this the only one the Black Prince had? And now what was he supposed to
do with it?

Pasgen held out his hand and the scrap of brown leather was laid upon it. Pasgen closed his hand. He
was immediately aware of a feeling of constriction. He opened his hand again; it was trembling. If he
could not close his hand on the thing without feeling choked, what would happen to him if he tried to
destroy it? Had Vidal known he would kill the imp? Had Vidal hoped he would kill himself too, unaware
of the token?

Nonsense, he told himself. He had not been aware of any sense of confinement when the token was
inside the imp. Most likely it was only because he knew he was closing his hand over it that he felt closed
in. Nonetheless panic still rose in him at the thought the token might fall into anyone else's hands. Yet if he
could not test its properties himself, who could he trust to touch it?

That question was answered before it was quite complete in Pasgen's mind, and the answer calmed and
simultaneously raised a new wave of panic in him. His twin sister Rhoslyn could be trusted to know about
the token and to test its effect on him, but if Vidal had a token from him, it was all too likely that the
prince had one or more from Rhoslyn also. He had to warn her—not that he knew what good a warning
would do . . . or would it be worse if she knew?

Pasgen rose from the stark white chair on which he had been sitting, his hand held carefully in front of him
. . . and stood irresolute—a condition that had not afflicted him for many, many years. Should he go to
Rhoslyn at once or should he first go to Caer Mordwyn and discover what Vidal wanted?

What Vidal wanted. Pasgen brought his skittering thoughts to bear on that. The fact that Vidal was able
to want anything was another shock. Pasgen cursed softly, his eyes on the token lest it fall to the floor.