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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 180 из 293Why would the Unseelie Court take in a woman who had betrayed her husband and her marital vows, and only failed to be a murderer because her husbandwas able to kill her lover? Because marriage by force is not recognized among us. She was created, then given as a sort of gift, like you’d buy a dog or a horse. Even in a day and time when women didn’t always have the right to choose their partners, it was a little high-handed.
The one thing you always needed to remember with Blodewedd is if you’re fair with her, she’ll be fair with you, but don’t betray her. Don’t ever do anything she could take badly. She learned from her earlier mistakes. She does her own killing now.
Blodewedd stood as Mistral came for her table, and one of her people. Her hair was the startling yellow of the flowers that had formed her. Her skin was a soft, pale color that was somewhere between white and gold. She was almost doll-like in her beauty. The kind of woman men would create if they could, with high proud breasts a little bigger than was usual for the sidhe. Her eyes were huge and liquid dark, drowning and lustrous, owl eyes in that delicate face. Supposedly, she’d been cursed with them, cursed to be in the shape of an owl. If that were true, than she’d managed to cure herself of everything but the eyes.
“Madenn is mine to protect, Queen Andais. I would speak with her before you take her.”
“Is your house traitor to me as Nerys’s was, Blodewedd?”
“I would never betray a fellow sister of the dark.” Blodewedd would go for years without uttering a word in court, then she’d come out with lines like that. “Nor would I tolerate such betrayal among my household.”
“You may speak with her,” Andais said, “but it must be publicly done. There will be no more secrets this night.”
Blodewedd gave a small bow, then turned to the woman in question. Madenn was a small woman by sidhe standards, barely five-eight. But sitting there in her black dress with her dark hair and eyes, she seemed smaller, as if she had shrunk in upon herself. Her normally pale skin was pasty. Her hands were very still on the arms of her chair. She sat there immobile, her face frozen.
“Madenn,” Blodewedd said, in a voice that carried through the hall, “your husband has been named traitor. What say you to that?”
Madenn licked her pale lips. “I do not know what to say.” Her voice was breathy but more in control than her face and body.
“You must say something, for the Queen’s Ravens come for you. You must give me some reason to protect you. If you swear to me that you are innocent of wrongdoing I will fight for you even against the queen herself. But I must know now, Madenn.
The one thing you always needed to remember with Blodewedd is if you’re fair with her, she’ll be fair with you, but don’t betray her. Don’t ever do anything she could take badly. She learned from her earlier mistakes. She does her own killing now.
Blodewedd stood as Mistral came for her table, and one of her people. Her hair was the startling yellow of the flowers that had formed her. Her skin was a soft, pale color that was somewhere between white and gold. She was almost doll-like in her beauty. The kind of woman men would create if they could, with high proud breasts a little bigger than was usual for the sidhe. Her eyes were huge and liquid dark, drowning and lustrous, owl eyes in that delicate face. Supposedly, she’d been cursed with them, cursed to be in the shape of an owl. If that were true, than she’d managed to cure herself of everything but the eyes.
“Madenn is mine to protect, Queen Andais. I would speak with her before you take her.”
“Is your house traitor to me as Nerys’s was, Blodewedd?”
“I would never betray a fellow sister of the dark.” Blodewedd would go for years without uttering a word in court, then she’d come out with lines like that. “Nor would I tolerate such betrayal among my household.”
“You may speak with her,” Andais said, “but it must be publicly done. There will be no more secrets this night.”
Blodewedd gave a small bow, then turned to the woman in question. Madenn was a small woman by sidhe standards, barely five-eight. But sitting there in her black dress with her dark hair and eyes, she seemed smaller, as if she had shrunk in upon herself. Her normally pale skin was pasty. Her hands were very still on the arms of her chair. She sat there immobile, her face frozen.
“Madenn,” Blodewedd said, in a voice that carried through the hall, “your husband has been named traitor. What say you to that?”
Madenn licked her pale lips. “I do not know what to say.” Her voice was breathy but more in control than her face and body.
“You must say something, for the Queen’s Ravens come for you. You must give me some reason to protect you. If you swear to me that you are innocent of wrongdoing I will fight for you even against the queen herself. But I must know now, Madenn.