The Queens of Innis Lear. Tessa Gratton
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Название: The Queens of Innis Lear
Автор: Tessa Gratton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Героическая фантастика
isbn: 9780008281892
isbn:
“Aefa Thornhill,” said the Duke of Connley, “allow my escort to your place.”
He was six or seven years her elder, and as handsome as his wife Regan was beautiful, but in a fully Learish way: sharp white cheeks and coppery-blond hair slicked back from his face, pink lips that might’ve just been kissed, and eyes as blue-green as the ocean around Port Comlack, steady under a serious brow. Someday his face would be cragged and rough, but now it was perfect. His blood red tunic fit the sort of shoulders a girl longed to climb. Too bad he always gave Aefa a shudder; she couldn’t help but imagine him stripping her down, past clothes and even skin, to her very bones, if she ever said the wrong thing.
“Thank you,” she said, with no hint of a flirt.
“Elia hasn’t arrived with you,” he said, solicitous but quick, for it was a brief walk to the throne.
Aefa smiled like it meant nothing. “She attended the king all this morning, so presumably will come with him.”
“Presumably.” Connley smiled back at her, a charming wolf in the woods.
Yes, there it was, the shudder. Aefa disguised it with a curtsey, relieved to be already at the dais. “Lord,” she said steadily.
“We hope your lady proves as considerate of your father’s needs after this morning, and into the future,” Connley said, gently squeezing her elbow. He stepped back and nodded in a way that was not quite a bow, but managed to suggested such. “And her own.”
“I’m sure she will be,” Aefa said, mildly irritated through the general chill of his presence.
“Someone will make sure of it,” he said quietly, and she had no chance to react, for there was her father, leaning off the throne.
“My girl!” the Fool crowed. “Tell me: what is this crown in my lap made of?”
“Love,” she called back. “Love and rubies.”
“The bronze is for the love, then?”
“The bronze is the island metal, the rubies its blood. What else is love but mettle and blood?” Aefa grinned.
The Fool lifted the crown, as if to offer it to his daughter.
“The crown of Innis Lear is not made of love,” said Gaela Lear, soft and challenging. “It is made of dying stars, and lying mouths.”
Just then a great triple knock sounded throughout the hall, echoing through the wooden north wall. A signal that the king approached.
“Not for long,” Regan answered her sister. “Get up, Fool, and make way for the king.”
THIS IS WHAT they say of the last King of Innis Lear’s Zenith Court:
The day held itself bright and bold, a brisk wind rising off the sea in fragile anticipation. All had assembled by the noon hour, but the king arrived late. He shoved in through the slender private entrance with his youngest, favored daughter at his side. They swept directly to the throne, and few noticed Kayo, the Oak Earl, brother of the fallen queen, follow behind and settle himself at the rear of the dais.
Lear wore ceremonial robes crusted with deep blue and star-white embroidery, brushed and glistening. His gray-and-brown hair shocked away from his face, hanging down his back, and his scraggly beard had been shaved. Kingly gold and silver rings weighed down his gnarled fingers, and a sword with a great round pommel carved into a rampant swan hung from a jeweled belt at his hip. The youngest princess was a delicate slip of daylight as she took her place beside the throne, across from her two vibrant sisters.
The king smiled. “Welcome.”
Courtiers returned the greeting loudly, with calls and cheering. They expected great things from the next hour: a future queen, and a resettling of alliances. And hope. For far too long Innis Lear had faltered and run dry; for far too long there was no named successor; for far too long privilege and fate had danced unfettered as the king drifted further and further into the sky.
Lear called out, “Today is an auspicious day, friends. As my father obeyed the stars, and his father before him, so I bow to them now by offering this announcement: The stars have aligned to provide your king the understanding that his reign comes to a swift end. It is time for me to divest myself of cares and responsibilities, to pass them on, as time passes, to younger and stronger persons.”
Murmurs of general accord and interest skittered about the hall, but no one interrupted as Lear continued, “Therefore we must see our daughters settled before the end, which comes at Midwinter.”
Yes, here was the moment of destiny:
“Astore, our beloved son.” Lear turned to his eldest daughter’s husband, who nodded firmly.
The king then looked to the middle husband. “And you, our son Connley.” The Duke Connley murmured, “My king,” and nothing else, for all knew the lie of any love between them.
The king continued grandly, “You have long held discord between you, and we know that when we die very likely war and strife would erupt between you as you each would try to claim more of the other’s.”
“Father,” said Gaela, “there is a single sure way to stop such an outcome.”
He held up his hand. “To stop this, we will divide our lands now between your wives, according to the stars, and our youngest daughter, Elia, whose suitors have waited patiently to hear her choice.”
“And would wait longer still, good Lear, for the chance,” called the king of Burgun with a smile in his voice.
Lear returned it. “Indeed.”
The king of Aremoria said nothing.
Kay Oak stepped forward, a hand hovering protectively near the youngest daughter’s shoulder. “Lord,” he said, going briefly to his knee. “Your kingdom wants for a single crown. Why—”
Lear cut him off. “Worry not! We will name our heir now, as the stars have prophesied. And our heir will be crowned at dawn after the Longest Night, as has been since the first king of our line.” Lear looked at Gaela, his ferocious and tall eldest, then cool Regan, the middle child, then Elia, his precious star, finally in her turn. That youngest stared rigidly at her father. She did not even seem to breathe.
Did she suspect what was to come?
The king spread his hands again, chest puffed and proud. “The stars of heaven proclaim the next queen of Innis Lear shall be the daughter who loves us best.”
In the silence, nearly everyone looked at Elia, for all knew she was the king’s favorite. But Lear had not said, the daughter I love best.
Though all three women were practiced at projecting to the world the face they chose, each gave something away in that moment: Gaela her hunger, Regan her pleasure, and Elia her utter disgust.
“Eldest,” СКАЧАТЬ