"Michelle West - Winter Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (West Michelle)

"He did. And I guess he didn't tell you that I'm not used to being talked about as if
I'm not here."
The man raised a brow. "I see that you have more in common with Magda
Merton than it seems." His frown, edged with weariness, deepened. "Darius—you
did not choose someone with a child that young?"
"No," she said flatly. "He waited until all mine were dead."
 The Herald had the grace to look shocked, and she regretted the words almost
instantly. Such a grief, such a loss, was never meant to be used as a weapon; it was
wrong. It was just wrong. She slid off the back of her Companion, gently
extricating herself from Daniel's arms. "My pardon, Herald," she said, to the chest
of the man in Whites. "I woke the child from a...from a deep sleep. It was safest to
bring him here."
"There is no safety here, if the child was affected by the—" He grimaced. "The
Kings' Own has been waiting for you, if you are Kayla; please, follow me."
She hesitated a moment, and then Daniel said, "It's all right, Kayla." His words
were thin and shaky; she could see the fear in his eyes. But he drew himself up to
his full height, as if he were adult; as if he could bear the weight of her absence.
"Darius says that he'll take care of me."
"Darius says—" Her eyes widened. "You can hear him?"
"Sometimes. When he's talking to me."
She pondered that as she followed the Herald. He led her down the hall into a
very finely appointed room—a room that was the size of the gathering hall in the
Hold of Riverend. There, a woman was standing by the great window that ran from
floor to ceiling, an ostentatious display of glass.
Kayla had the ridiculous urge to kneel; she fought it carefully, although she did
bow deeply.
"I am Gisel," the woman said.
"I'm Kayla."
"Kayla Grayson, Margaret Merton's daughter."
"Her youngest, yes."
"Arlen says that you've been through Evandale."
"Arlen?"
"Ah. My Companion. She has been speaking with Darius. It appears that
you...met with...the victims of the shadow plague. And that you saved two."
Kayla nodded hesitantly.
"I guess that means that Magda took it upon herself to teach you."
"T—teach me?"
Gisel frowned. "Yes, teach you. Your Gift." When silence prevailed, the
unpleasant frown deepened. "You must understand your Gift?"
"W—what Gift would that be?"
Gisel raised a hand to her gray hair and yanked it out of her face. "I wish I had
time, child. I don't. Your mother was one of the most gifted Empaths the kingdom
of Valdemar has ever known."
"E-empath?"
"I really do not have the patience for this."
 It was true. Kayla could feel the older woman's anger, but it was mixed with a
terrible sorrow and a deep guilt. Guilt, in her experience, had always been a
double-edged sword; it could drive men mad. In the hold, it had.
"Empathy is a Gift that is deeper than words, and more subtle. You have that
Gift. And if your mother didn't teach you how to use it, and you've survived the