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Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 22 из 148” Hegrinned as he said it. “If you were human.”
“I guess she’s not human enough,” Abeloec said.
“You’re all acting as if that pale tattoo is important. I don’t understand why.”
“Didn’t Essus ever tell you about it?” asked Rhys.
I frowned. “My father didn’t mention anything about a tattoo on your arm.”
The queen made a derisive noise. “Essus didn’t think you were important enough to be told.”
“He didn’t tell her,” Doyle said, “for the same reason that Galen doesn’t know.”
Galen was still lying in the dead garden. All the other men who had fallen to the ground were still kneeling or sitting in the dead vegetation. A soft greenish white glow began to form above Galen’s head. Not a nimbus like that of Rhys, but more of a small ball of light above his head.
Galen found his voice, hoarse, and had to clear it sharply before he said, “I don’t know about any tattoos on Rhys, either.”
“None of us has told the younger ones, Queen Andais,” Doyle said. “Everyone knows that our followers painted themselves with symbols and went into battle with only those symbols to shield them.”
“They eventually learned to wear armor,” Andais said. Her arm had lowered enough for Mistral to be comfortable on his knees again.
“Yes, and only the last few fanatical tribes kept trying to seek our favor and blessing. They died for that devotion,” Doyle said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Once we, the sidhe, their gods, were painted with symbols that were our sign of blessing from the Goddess and the God. But as our power faded, so did the marks upon our bodies.” Doyle said it all in his thick-as-molasses voice.
Rhys picked up the story. “Once, if our followers painted their bodies to mimic us, they gained some of the protection, the magic, that we had. It was a sign of devotion, yes, but once long, long ago, it literally could call us to their aid.” He looked at the faint blue fish on his arm. “I have not held this mark for nearly four thousand years.”
“It is faint and incomplete,” the queen said from the far wall.
“Yes.” Rhys nodded and looked at her. “But it is a beginning.”
Nicca’s voice came soft, and I’d almost forgotten him, standing so still to one side. His wings began to gleam in the dark, as if their veins had begun to pulse with light instead of blood. He fanned those huge wings.
“I guess she’s not human enough,” Abeloec said.
“You’re all acting as if that pale tattoo is important. I don’t understand why.”
“Didn’t Essus ever tell you about it?” asked Rhys.
I frowned. “My father didn’t mention anything about a tattoo on your arm.”
The queen made a derisive noise. “Essus didn’t think you were important enough to be told.”
“He didn’t tell her,” Doyle said, “for the same reason that Galen doesn’t know.”
Galen was still lying in the dead garden. All the other men who had fallen to the ground were still kneeling or sitting in the dead vegetation. A soft greenish white glow began to form above Galen’s head. Not a nimbus like that of Rhys, but more of a small ball of light above his head.
Galen found his voice, hoarse, and had to clear it sharply before he said, “I don’t know about any tattoos on Rhys, either.”
“None of us has told the younger ones, Queen Andais,” Doyle said. “Everyone knows that our followers painted themselves with symbols and went into battle with only those symbols to shield them.”
“They eventually learned to wear armor,” Andais said. Her arm had lowered enough for Mistral to be comfortable on his knees again.
“Yes, and only the last few fanatical tribes kept trying to seek our favor and blessing. They died for that devotion,” Doyle said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Once we, the sidhe, their gods, were painted with symbols that were our sign of blessing from the Goddess and the God. But as our power faded, so did the marks upon our bodies.” Doyle said it all in his thick-as-molasses voice.
Rhys picked up the story. “Once, if our followers painted their bodies to mimic us, they gained some of the protection, the magic, that we had. It was a sign of devotion, yes, but once long, long ago, it literally could call us to their aid.” He looked at the faint blue fish on his arm. “I have not held this mark for nearly four thousand years.”
“It is faint and incomplete,” the queen said from the far wall.
“Yes.” Rhys nodded and looked at her. “But it is a beginning.”
Nicca’s voice came soft, and I’d almost forgotten him, standing so still to one side. His wings began to gleam in the dark, as if their veins had begun to pulse with light instead of blood. He fanned those huge wings.