"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 05 - The Towers of the Sunset" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"The White has never been legitimate under the Legend."
"Am I any different now, because my talent is classified as White?"
"That was never the question." The blonde shakes her head. "In any case, the negotiations with
Westwind may offer you a way out."
"A way out? By enslaving me to a mere man? How could a real sister do that?"
"You think my choice is unfair?"
"When have you ever been fair, Ryessa?"
"I do what is best for Sarronnyn." The blonde shrugs. "In any case, this is fairer. I don't
trust Korweil, and I especially don't trust Dylyss."
"You don't trust the Marshall, deadliest fighter in Candar? How skeptical of you."
"Not skeptical. Just practical. Dylyss fights hard, and I'll bet she loves as hard as she
fights. He is her son."
"You think she will turn you down?" Megaera laughs harshly.
"After the way you set up Dreric? And Creslin's reaction?"
"Creslin is good, almost as good as a guard."
"From what I saw, he's better than some." The Tyrant smiles.
"He doesn't think so."
"You think Dylyss would let him know? It doesn't make any difference. From what I hear from
Suthya, Cerlyn, and Bleyans, they're not likely to welcome such a wolf in lamb's clothing. They'll
use the Legend as an excuse."
"You believe it's only an excuse? You're a bigger hypocrite than Dylyss, or Korweil."
"None of us were alive in the time of Ryba."
"How convenient for you."
The Tyrant smiles. "It's convenient for you as well. If I really believed in the Legend and the
demons of light-"
"Please don't remind me again."
"Can you sense what he feels?"
"I sense nothing. I told you that. Just go back to your scheming."
"It's for your benefit too, sister. Who else could stand to your fury, to the power within you,
bracelets or not?"
"And how long will either of us last once I'm with child?"
"You with child? Without your consent? Spare me."
"Against a blade better than your best, sister dear? You act as if I really had a choice."
There is no answer, for the blond woman has left.
The redhead looks at the decorative but solid iron chair molding that encircles her quarters.
Then her eyes flicker to the iron-bound door.
Should she call for Dreric? That, at least, is within her purview. At the thought, her blood
seems to storm, and she shakes her head. Two tears fall like rain from the storm within.


IX

IN THE SPACE before the largest window, Creslin strums the small guitar, cradling the crafted


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rosewood and spruce firmly in fingers that feel too square for a master musician, though he knows
that the shape of his fingers has little enough to do with skill.