JК
Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 77 из 148We will all be castout of the last country that would take us in. If Taranis caused that, the rest of faerie would rise up against him, and he would be destroyed.”
We knew that Taranis had done something almost as bad earlier in the year. He had released the Nameless, a formless being. It had been made of the discarded power that all the fey had been forced to shed in order to be allowed to remain in America — one of the restrictions placed on us when President Jefferson allowed us to immigrate. The faerie had done two weirding spells in Europe, trying to control ourselves enough to live peaceably with the humans, but we had done one more here. I don’t think any of the sidhe understood what we were giving up. I was born long after the spell, so that I knew our glorious past as stories, legends, rumors.
Taranis had released that trapped magic, tried to use it to kill Maeve Reed. Reed was the golden goddess of Hollywood — and once upon a time, the goddess of cinema. She had known his secret, that he was infertile, that the problem of his childlessness wasn’t in the long string of wives that he kept replacing. It was him, and he had suspected it for a hundred years, when he cast Maeve Reed out of faerie for refusing his bed. She had done so on the grounds that the last wife he’d put aside had gotten pregnant by someone else. She’d told the king to his face that she thought he was infertile, and these many years later, he’d tried to take his revenge.
One of the things that prompted Queen Andais to call me back from exile had been her discovery from human doctors that she was infertile. The ruler of a faerie land is the land, and if they are not fertile — not healthy — the land and people die. It is a very old magic, and a true one. If Taranis had known about his infertility for a hundred years without revealing it, then he had condemned his people to death, knowingly. They killed rulers for such crimes in faerie.
“You are all entirely too quiet,” Sholto said to us. “You know something. Something that I need to know.”
“We are not free to discuss it, not openly,” Doyle said.
“You will not be allowed to be alone with him,” Agnes said. “We are not such fools as that.”
“I cannot argue with Agnes on this,” Sholto said. Again he made that gesture as if he would stroke the missing bits. “I have put myself at the mercy of the sidhe once too often of late.”
“We cannot tell this tale without our queen’s permission,” Doyle said. “It would earn us, at the very least, a trip to the Hallway of Mortality.
We knew that Taranis had done something almost as bad earlier in the year. He had released the Nameless, a formless being. It had been made of the discarded power that all the fey had been forced to shed in order to be allowed to remain in America — one of the restrictions placed on us when President Jefferson allowed us to immigrate. The faerie had done two weirding spells in Europe, trying to control ourselves enough to live peaceably with the humans, but we had done one more here. I don’t think any of the sidhe understood what we were giving up. I was born long after the spell, so that I knew our glorious past as stories, legends, rumors.
Taranis had released that trapped magic, tried to use it to kill Maeve Reed. Reed was the golden goddess of Hollywood — and once upon a time, the goddess of cinema. She had known his secret, that he was infertile, that the problem of his childlessness wasn’t in the long string of wives that he kept replacing. It was him, and he had suspected it for a hundred years, when he cast Maeve Reed out of faerie for refusing his bed. She had done so on the grounds that the last wife he’d put aside had gotten pregnant by someone else. She’d told the king to his face that she thought he was infertile, and these many years later, he’d tried to take his revenge.
One of the things that prompted Queen Andais to call me back from exile had been her discovery from human doctors that she was infertile. The ruler of a faerie land is the land, and if they are not fertile — not healthy — the land and people die. It is a very old magic, and a true one. If Taranis had known about his infertility for a hundred years without revealing it, then he had condemned his people to death, knowingly. They killed rulers for such crimes in faerie.
“You are all entirely too quiet,” Sholto said to us. “You know something. Something that I need to know.”
“We are not free to discuss it, not openly,” Doyle said.
“You will not be allowed to be alone with him,” Agnes said. “We are not such fools as that.”
“I cannot argue with Agnes on this,” Sholto said. Again he made that gesture as if he would stroke the missing bits. “I have put myself at the mercy of the sidhe once too often of late.”
“We cannot tell this tale without our queen’s permission,” Doyle said. “It would earn us, at the very least, a trip to the Hallway of Mortality.