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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 181 из 293I must know how much I amto risk for you, and if you are worth that risk.”
I could not see Kieran’s face, but even with his hands bound behind his back, he stood easier and more naturally than his wife sat in her carved chair. I watched what little blood was left in Madenn’s face drain away.
“Fainting will not aid you,” Blodewedd said, and her voice held an edge of that purring darkness that Andais’s could hold. “Can you give me a reason for defying our queen about this? Give me a word of defense for you, Madenn, and I will use it.”
Madenn looked up at her liege lord, and tears glittered in her eyes, but no words came. As admissions of guilt went, it was good enough.
Blodewedd bowed her head, and turned back to Mistral. “I cannot save her from her own actions.”
“Take her, Mistral,” the queen said.
Madenn did not move or speak until Mistral grabbed her arm. Then she held on to the arms of the chair like a child. She may have been delicate by sidhe standards, but she was still strong enough that making her leave her chair without hurting her wasn’t really possible. She was saying one word, over and over again—“No, no, no, no”—in a high, thin voice.
“Hawthorne,” I said.
“Yes, Princess.”
“Help Mistral bring her out.”
Hawthorne bowed to me, then moved toward them in his crimson armor, putting his helmet back on so he had his hands free. He went to stand on the other side of the woman’s chair. Mistral shook his unbound hair back behind his shoulders, then nodded to Hawthorne, as if they’d discussed it. They both bent their knees, and raised the chair up with Madenn still plastered to it. They carried her and the heavy wooden chair, threading their way through Blodewedd’s people, and out to the main floor. They carried it all easily, gracefully. If Madenn hadn’t looked terrified, it would have appeared as if they were honoring her, carrying her like the May queen, to be worshipped by her subjects. The look on her face said that she was expecting to be the sacrifice, not the belle of the ball.
They put her chair down beside her husband. Her shoulders rounded, and I thought she was probably crying. “Meredith,” the queen said, “come join me.”
She didn’t have to ask me twice.
She had taken her throne, leaving what had once been Prince Cel’s throne empty for me. It had been my chair for only twenty-four hours. She motioned Eamon, her consort, from behind her throne to take his smaller throne that was a little lower on the dais. There was another throne lower down on my side, too.
I could not see Kieran’s face, but even with his hands bound behind his back, he stood easier and more naturally than his wife sat in her carved chair. I watched what little blood was left in Madenn’s face drain away.
“Fainting will not aid you,” Blodewedd said, and her voice held an edge of that purring darkness that Andais’s could hold. “Can you give me a reason for defying our queen about this? Give me a word of defense for you, Madenn, and I will use it.”
Madenn looked up at her liege lord, and tears glittered in her eyes, but no words came. As admissions of guilt went, it was good enough.
Blodewedd bowed her head, and turned back to Mistral. “I cannot save her from her own actions.”
“Take her, Mistral,” the queen said.
Madenn did not move or speak until Mistral grabbed her arm. Then she held on to the arms of the chair like a child. She may have been delicate by sidhe standards, but she was still strong enough that making her leave her chair without hurting her wasn’t really possible. She was saying one word, over and over again—“No, no, no, no”—in a high, thin voice.
“Hawthorne,” I said.
“Yes, Princess.”
“Help Mistral bring her out.”
Hawthorne bowed to me, then moved toward them in his crimson armor, putting his helmet back on so he had his hands free. He went to stand on the other side of the woman’s chair. Mistral shook his unbound hair back behind his shoulders, then nodded to Hawthorne, as if they’d discussed it. They both bent their knees, and raised the chair up with Madenn still plastered to it. They carried her and the heavy wooden chair, threading their way through Blodewedd’s people, and out to the main floor. They carried it all easily, gracefully. If Madenn hadn’t looked terrified, it would have appeared as if they were honoring her, carrying her like the May queen, to be worshipped by her subjects. The look on her face said that she was expecting to be the sacrifice, not the belle of the ball.
They put her chair down beside her husband. Her shoulders rounded, and I thought she was probably crying. “Meredith,” the queen said, “come join me.”
She didn’t have to ask me twice.
She had taken her throne, leaving what had once been Prince Cel’s throne empty for me. It had been my chair for only twenty-four hours. She motioned Eamon, her consort, from behind her throne to take his smaller throne that was a little lower on the dais. There was another throne lower down on my side, too.