The Farseer Series Books 2 and 3: Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest. Robin Hobb

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СКАЧАТЬ then I wrote to her of my summer. Of pulling an oar on the Rurisk, day after day. Of my clumsiness with a sword that made the axe my weapon. I wrote of our first battle, in ruthless detail, and of how sickened I had been afterwards. I told her of sitting frozen with terror at my oar while a Red Ship attacked us. I neglected to mention the white ship I had seen. I finished by confiding that I was still troubled by tremors occasionally as the aftermath of my long illness in the mountains. I read it over carefully. Satisfied that I had presented myself as a common oarsman, an oaf, a coward and an invalid, I rolled the letter into a scroll and tied it with the same yellow ribbon she had used. I did not seal it. I did not care who read it. Secretly, I hoped that Duke Brawndy might peruse this letter to his daughter, and then forbid her to ever mention my name again.

      When I knocked again at King Shrewd’s door, Wallace answered it with his usual grim displeasure. He took the scroll from me as if it were dirtied with something, and shut the door firmly in my face. As I went back up to my room, I thought of what three poisons I would use on him, were I given the opportunity. It was less complicated than thinking of my king.

      Back in my room, I flung myself down on my bed. I wished it were night and safe to go to Molly. Then I thought of my secrets, and even that pleasant anticipation vanished. I bounced up from my bed, to fling open the window shutters wide to the storm. But even the weather cheated me.

      Blue had cracked the overcast wide, to admit a watery sunlight. A bank of black clouds boiling and mountaining over the sea promised that this respite would not last long. But for now the wind and the rain had ceased. There was even a hint of warmth in the air.

      Nighteyes came to my mind immediately.

      It’s too wet to hunt. Water clings to every blade of grass. Besides, it’s full daylight. Only men are stupid enough to hunt in full daylight.

      Lazy hound, I rebuked him. I knew he was curled, nose to tail, in his den. I sensed the warm satiation of his full belly.

      Perhaps tonight, he suggested, and drifted back to sleep.

      I pulled back from him, then snatched up my cloak. My feelings were not conducive to a day within walls. I left the keep and headed down toward Buckkeep Town. Anger at Shrewd’s decision for me warred with dismay at how he had weakened. I walked briskly, trying to escape the King’s trembling hands, his drugged sleep. Damn Wallace! He had stolen my king from me. My king had stolen my life from me. I refused to think any more.

      Dripping water and yellow-edged leaves fell from the trees as I passed. Birds sang clearly and joyously at the unexpected respite from the downpour. The sun grew stronger, making everything sparkle with the wet, and steaming rich scents up from the earth. Despite my turmoil, the beauty of the day touched me.

      The recent downpours had washed Buckkeep Town clean. I found myself in the market, in the midst of an eager crowd. Everywhere folk hurried to make purchases and rush them home before the storm could drench us again. The amiable busyness and friendly clatter was at odds with my sour mood, and I glared about the market until a bright scarlet cloak and hood caught my eye. My heart turned over inside me. Molly might wear servant-blue about the keep, but when she came to market, she still wore her old cloak of red. No doubt Patience had sent her out on errands during this respite from the rain. I watched her, unnoticed, as she haggled stubbornly over packets of spiced tea from Chalced. I loved the jut of her chin as she shook her head at the merchant. A sudden inspiration lifted my heart.

      I had coin in my pockets, my oarsman’s pay. With it I bought four sweet apples, two current buns, a bottle of wine and some pepper-meat. I bought too, a string bag to carry it in, and a thick wool blanket. Red. It took every bit of every skill Chade had ever taught me to make my purchases and still keep sight of Molly without being seen. Even more taxing was to follow her unobtrusively as she went to the milliners to buy silk ribbon, and then to trail behind her as she started up toward Buckkeep.

      At a certain bend in the path, overshadowed by trees, I caught up to her. She gasped as I light-footed up behind her, to lift and swing her suddenly in my arms. I landed her on her feet and kissed her soundly. Why it felt so different to kiss her out of doors and under the bright sun, I cannot say. I only know all my troubles suddenly fell from me.

      I made a sweeping bow to her. ‘Will my lady join me for a brief repast?’

      ‘Oh, we cannot,’ she replied, but her eyes sparkled. ‘We’ll be seen.’

      I made a great show of glancing about us, then seized her arm and pulled her from the road. Beneath the trees there was not much underbrush. I hurried her through the dripping trees, over a fallen log and past a patch of buckbrush that clutched wetly at our legs. When we came to the cliff’s edge above the boom and susurrus of the ocean, we scrambled like children down the rock chimneys to get to a small sandy beach.

      Driftwood was piled haphazardly in this nook in the bay. An overhang of the cliffs had kept a small patch of sand and shale almost dry, but did not block the reaching sunbeams. The sun shone now with surprising warmth. Molly took the food and blanket from me, and commanded that I assemble firewood. She was the one who finally got the damp wood to burn, however. The salt made it burn with greens and blues, and it gave enough heat that we both set aside our cloaks and hoods. It was so good to sit with her and look at her out under the open sky, with the bright sun bringing out glints in her hair and the wind rosying her cheeks. It was so good to laugh aloud, to mingle our voices with the cries of the gulls without fear of awakening anyone. We drank the wine from the bottle, and ate with our fingers, and then walked down to the waves’ edge to wash the stickiness from our hands.

      For a brief time we scrambled about on the rocks and driftwood, looking for treasures tossed up by the storm. I felt more like myself than I had since I had returned from the mountains, and Molly looked very much the wild hoyden of my childhood. Her hair came unbraided and blew about her face. She slipped when I chased her, and stumbled into a tide pool. We went back to the blanket, where she took off her shoes and hose to let them dry by the fire. She leaned back on the blanket and stretched.

      Taking things off suddenly seemed a very good idea.

      Molly was not as sure of that as I. ‘There’s fully as much stone as sand under this blanket. I’ve no wish to go back with bruises up my back!’

      I leaned over her to kiss her. ‘Am not I worth it?’ I asked persuasively.

      ‘You? Of course not!’ She gave me a sudden push that sent me sprawling on my back. Then she flung herself boldly upon me. ‘But I am.’

      The wild sparkle in her eyes as she looked down on me took my breath away. After she had claimed me ruthlessly, I discovered she had been right, both about the rocks, and her being well worth the bruises. I had never seen anything so spectacular as the blue sky glimpsed through the cascade of her hair over my face.

      Afterward she lay more than half on top of me and we dozed in the chill sweet air. Eventually she sat up, shivering, to pull her clothing back around herself. Reluctantly I watched her lace up her blouse again. Darkness and candle-light had always hidden too much from me. She looked down at my bemused look, stuck her tongue out at me, then paused. My hair had come loose from its tail. She pulled it forward to frame my face, then set a fold of her red cloak across my forehead. She shook her head. ‘You would have been a singularly homely girl.’

      I snorted. ‘I am not so much better as a man, either.’

      She looked offended. ‘You are not ill-favoured.’ She traced a finger down the musculature of my chest speculatively. ‘The other day, in the washer-courts, some were saying you were the best thing to come out of the stables since Burrich. I think it is your hair. СКАЧАТЬ