"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Black Throne 02 - The Black King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

news of the conditions near the Guardians. Then he would put his Sailors and Navigators
into action.
His stomach was jumping. He was coming home after almost a decade away. He had
traveled across the Fey Empire, and then he had gone to the Eccrasian Mountains to train
as a Shaman. There he had touched the Black Throne and his life had changed.
He shuddered, remembering how the Throne had clung to him, how it had tried to
absorb him, and the strength he had used, both mental and physical, to pull away. The
Throne was a living thing, and it wanted to make him Black King. But his sister Arianna
ruled the Fey.
Arianna was a good Black Queen, and an excellent Queen to Blue Isle. Except there
was something wrong now. He had Seen it in Visions. Something was wrong with her. And
no one would tell him what it was.
He took a few steps forward, as if that would bring him closer to the Stone Guardians.
Once he had vowed not to return to Blue Isle until he became a Shaman. But he would
never be a Shaman. A Shaman couldn’t practice with blood on his hands, and Gift hadn’t
realized that, in his youth, he had accidentally killed a Wisp.
Now he didn’t know what he’d do if something was wrong with Arianna. He was the
oldest, the one who should have taken the Throne, but he had renounced it. Arianna was
the ruthless one, the one who had the willingness to make the hard decisions and the
enemies that leadership required. He had always been the gentler of the two, the one less
willing to take risks.
“Standing and squinting at the Isle won’t bring it any closer.”
Gift turned. Skya stood behind him, her black hair in its customary knot on the top of
her head. The wind had pulled strands from it, whipping them about her narrow face. He
had always thought that she looked like the perfect Fey: her features symmetrical and
upswept, her chin so narrow that it looked almost pointed, her black eyes filled with life
and intelligence. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and although
he’d spent the last six months with her, he was still surprised at the depth of that beauty.
“Part of me wants to get there now, and part of me doesn’t want to return,” he said.
She didn’t answer him. She tried not to discuss what she called matters of state. But he
sometimes saw that as her way of avoiding anything personal. “The Gull Riders are back.”
“I told them to report to me,” he said.
“They’re waiting in the hold.” She put a hand on his arm. Her touch was gentle. He put
an arm around her and pulled her close. Her gaze met his and in it was a warning he
ignored. He kissed her, slid his hands into her soft hair, pulling it free as he had done
almost every night on this trip when she slipped into his stateroom after everyone else
had gone to sleep. The kiss was long and deep and he didn’t care who saw it.
She did. She believed they did not belong together.
She had never told him that, not in so many words, but he knew. It was one of the few
times he knew what she was thinking, and he had no way to reassure her.
Finally she pulled away. “Gift,” she whispered. “We can’t—”
“I thought you didn’t follow rules,” he said, placing his wet forehead against hers. The
mist ran down their faces like tears.
“Only the rules I make myself.”
“You’ve made up rules about me?”
She smiled and slipped out of his grasp. “The Gull Riders are waiting.”
He sighed. “All right. Are you coming with me?”
She shook her head. “This is your ship, remember?”
There was a bit of rancor in that. He’d hired Skya to be his guide, to get him out of
Ghitlas and to Nye. He had told her time was of the essence, and that he needed to be at