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.AndRogue? Halfway to the door, he paused. Thank you for Stefan.And forRobin Armes.We thought they were lost. They were, Rogan said, hoarse with fatigue. And Stefan might stillbe. He leaned heavily on Tristan s shoulder and made the stiff, formalbow before her. Ricon. Oh, get away with you, she chided. Now isn t the time. He was pleased to go.He saw little of the way back to the apartment,and found himself standing at the bedside while Tristan loosened his laces,pulled the tunic over his head, and unbuckled him.Once, he would neverhave believed he could stand half naked with Tristan so close that he couldsmell the clean male scents of skin and hair, cedar and spruce, and feelnothing, no twitch or throb of response.No sensual nerve seemed to be left in his body.He heeled off his boots, crawled into the bed, and Tristan pulled the counterpane up to his neck.Hereached out a hand, caught Tristan by the wrist and pulled until Tris settledbeside him, though he knew Tristan would not sleep.It was enough tohave him there, to feel the lean, male strength, and plunge into sleep withhis face in the soft, warm mass of his hair.He was too tired even to dream.The next he knew with any certainty was the smell of pickled pork andmushrooms, the chill caress of a breeze from the open window, the gurgleof water in the pipes and the rattle of the tea kettle on the hob.He openedhis eyes to sunlight out of the east, long after dawn, and was not surprisedto see Tristan sitting by the hearth, shaking the food in the wide black ironskillet.Sounds from the bed caught Tristan s ear, and he set the pan downwith a smile. I wondered if you d died! He sat on the bedside and tookhis weight on his palms in the pillows, either side of Rogan s head. Areyou hungry? Thirsty, Rogan said thickly.From the angle of the sun, he must haveslept fourteen hours.The sky was blue now, and the most urgent prioritieswere his dry throat and his bladder. Water or tea? Tristan dropped a kiss in the middle of his foreheadand stood up. Both. Rogan rolled out on the other side of the bed and uncoveredthe close-stool, which stood behind the curtain in the corner, under its ownnarrow window.From there, he had a view out over Althea, almost as faras the bridge.While his bladder took its ease, he tried to count the pavilionswhich had sprung up like a carnival along the road.The protests of old wounds and mended bones had settled, and whenhe stretched out his spine, his joints and muscles felt renewed.He pickedup the black silk robe, shrugged it onto his shoulders, and both armswound around Tristan, at the hearthside. Careful, Tristan remonstrated.He was juggling a beaker of waterand a mug of scalding sage and borage tea. I ve no intentions of being careful, Rogan told him, though he tookthe water and drank it to the bottom.The smell of cooking food made himaware of the void in his middle, and when Tristan gave him a push into thechair by the fire, he settled into the stuffed leather without complaint. A laden platter landed in his lap.Tristan had already eaten, andperched on the arm of the chair with a mug of his own, watching theswallows which were busy in the eaves right over the window.The chatterof fledglings on the nest was a sure sign spring had taken root. Owen went out before first light, he said musingly. What do you mean, went out? Rogan sopped up the mushroomswith a hunk of bread. He rode east, across the bridge, before false dawn started to show.Damiel s business.Sheld in business. Rogan twisted around to look up at him. Stupid.There s two entirebloody regiments east of the bridge! He s looking for them, Tristan said mildly. Those regiments are fullof Sheld in cousins, friends the very people Damiel wants to see inGalshorros by late summer.What good will it do any of us, if the peoplewho d be delighted to shove Bardolf headfirst off the bridge are killed inthe fighting? When the dust s settled here, we d be turning the Ventanderson Galshorros, to make sure they don t come at us again. Damn. Rogan worked his neck to and fro to ease the stiffness ofmany hours asleep. I suppose Owen knows what he s doing. Trust him, Tristan advised. I always have, and there s nothing hecan tell Bardolf about Althea and its business that Sybella didn t tellCaptain Martyn. He looked away. You saw her die? It was quick, Rogan said darkly. Martyn was so fast, Sybella didn tsee it coming, and it was over in seconds. A shudder rushed through Tristan. Forgive me.It could have beenyou.The old witch, Imogen of Raman, saw death on the road, the night youwere away.She gave a black mirror reading in the hall, I was there.So wereDamiel and Morgan, and we thought. You thought it might be me, Rogan had finished the food, and setthe platter on the floor.He took the cup from Tristan s hand, put it aside,and pulled Tris down into his lap [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.AndRogue? Halfway to the door, he paused. Thank you for Stefan.And forRobin Armes.We thought they were lost. They were, Rogan said, hoarse with fatigue. And Stefan might stillbe. He leaned heavily on Tristan s shoulder and made the stiff, formalbow before her. Ricon. Oh, get away with you, she chided. Now isn t the time. He was pleased to go.He saw little of the way back to the apartment,and found himself standing at the bedside while Tristan loosened his laces,pulled the tunic over his head, and unbuckled him.Once, he would neverhave believed he could stand half naked with Tristan so close that he couldsmell the clean male scents of skin and hair, cedar and spruce, and feelnothing, no twitch or throb of response.No sensual nerve seemed to be left in his body.He heeled off his boots, crawled into the bed, and Tristan pulled the counterpane up to his neck.Hereached out a hand, caught Tristan by the wrist and pulled until Tris settledbeside him, though he knew Tristan would not sleep.It was enough tohave him there, to feel the lean, male strength, and plunge into sleep withhis face in the soft, warm mass of his hair.He was too tired even to dream.The next he knew with any certainty was the smell of pickled pork andmushrooms, the chill caress of a breeze from the open window, the gurgleof water in the pipes and the rattle of the tea kettle on the hob.He openedhis eyes to sunlight out of the east, long after dawn, and was not surprisedto see Tristan sitting by the hearth, shaking the food in the wide black ironskillet.Sounds from the bed caught Tristan s ear, and he set the pan downwith a smile. I wondered if you d died! He sat on the bedside and tookhis weight on his palms in the pillows, either side of Rogan s head. Areyou hungry? Thirsty, Rogan said thickly.From the angle of the sun, he must haveslept fourteen hours.The sky was blue now, and the most urgent prioritieswere his dry throat and his bladder. Water or tea? Tristan dropped a kiss in the middle of his foreheadand stood up. Both. Rogan rolled out on the other side of the bed and uncoveredthe close-stool, which stood behind the curtain in the corner, under its ownnarrow window.From there, he had a view out over Althea, almost as faras the bridge.While his bladder took its ease, he tried to count the pavilionswhich had sprung up like a carnival along the road.The protests of old wounds and mended bones had settled, and whenhe stretched out his spine, his joints and muscles felt renewed.He pickedup the black silk robe, shrugged it onto his shoulders, and both armswound around Tristan, at the hearthside. Careful, Tristan remonstrated.He was juggling a beaker of waterand a mug of scalding sage and borage tea. I ve no intentions of being careful, Rogan told him, though he tookthe water and drank it to the bottom.The smell of cooking food made himaware of the void in his middle, and when Tristan gave him a push into thechair by the fire, he settled into the stuffed leather without complaint. A laden platter landed in his lap.Tristan had already eaten, andperched on the arm of the chair with a mug of his own, watching theswallows which were busy in the eaves right over the window.The chatterof fledglings on the nest was a sure sign spring had taken root. Owen went out before first light, he said musingly. What do you mean, went out? Rogan sopped up the mushroomswith a hunk of bread. He rode east, across the bridge, before false dawn started to show.Damiel s business.Sheld in business. Rogan twisted around to look up at him. Stupid.There s two entirebloody regiments east of the bridge! He s looking for them, Tristan said mildly. Those regiments are fullof Sheld in cousins, friends the very people Damiel wants to see inGalshorros by late summer.What good will it do any of us, if the peoplewho d be delighted to shove Bardolf headfirst off the bridge are killed inthe fighting? When the dust s settled here, we d be turning the Ventanderson Galshorros, to make sure they don t come at us again. Damn. Rogan worked his neck to and fro to ease the stiffness ofmany hours asleep. I suppose Owen knows what he s doing. Trust him, Tristan advised. I always have, and there s nothing hecan tell Bardolf about Althea and its business that Sybella didn t tellCaptain Martyn. He looked away. You saw her die? It was quick, Rogan said darkly. Martyn was so fast, Sybella didn tsee it coming, and it was over in seconds. A shudder rushed through Tristan. Forgive me.It could have beenyou.The old witch, Imogen of Raman, saw death on the road, the night youwere away.She gave a black mirror reading in the hall, I was there.So wereDamiel and Morgan, and we thought. You thought it might be me, Rogan had finished the food, and setthe platter on the floor.He took the cup from Tristan s hand, put it aside,and pulled Tris down into his lap [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]