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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 262 из 293“What in the name of Danu is that?”
“It will not last, Merry,” Doyle said. “It will become like a drawing on your skin.”
“You mean like a tattoo?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he said.
“How long will it keep moving like that?” I asked.
“A few hours,” he said.
“You say that like you’ve seen this happen before.”
“He has.” Nicca propped himself up on one elbow, turning his body to face me. He had a white flower in the hollow between his shoulder and chest, startling against his deep brown skin. The flower had a yellow center and five petals raised above his skin, but the stem was lost in his flesh. Like the moth in me, the flower was alive, but embedded in his skin.
Galen rolled over onto his side and let me see his right arm. Just below the shoulder was a butterfly so large it took up all the width of his arm. Its yellow-and-black-striped wings folded back around his arm as the butterfly flexed, gentle and unhurried, as if it were feeding from some sweet-nectared flower.
“It doesn’t seem to be afraid that it’s trapped,” he said.
I stared down at the moth on my own body. “No, they should be panicking, trying to free themselves. Why aren’t they?”
“They are not real,” Doyle said.
“They are real,” Nicca said.
Doyle frowned, but gave a quick nod. “Perhaps ‘real’ is not the correct word. They are not free animals that would mourn their captivity.”
I touched the moth’s wings again, and it flicked them at me. Leave me alone, it was saying as clearly as it could. The sensation of having something alive wriggling inside me made my stomach roll uneasily. The more I touched the wings, the more irritated the moth became. I lay back against the pillows, closing my eyes and breathing around the sensation of it.
“Can you feel its legs inside you?” Galen’s voice didn’t sound any happier than my stomach felt.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s not a good feeling,” he said.
I opened my eyes and looked into his face. He looked a little greener than usual.
“Stop trying to pet them and they won’t struggle,” Rhys said.
I stared at the black, red, grey, and even white that was smeared across my fingers. “What are these things?”
“They are the beginning of tattoos,” Doyle said, “marks of power.”
I stared up at him. “You mean the tattoos that the sidhe once had? They were more like birthmarks, weren’t they?”
“Some are born with the marks upon them, but many are not.
“It will not last, Merry,” Doyle said. “It will become like a drawing on your skin.”
“You mean like a tattoo?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he said.
“How long will it keep moving like that?” I asked.
“A few hours,” he said.
“You say that like you’ve seen this happen before.”
“He has.” Nicca propped himself up on one elbow, turning his body to face me. He had a white flower in the hollow between his shoulder and chest, startling against his deep brown skin. The flower had a yellow center and five petals raised above his skin, but the stem was lost in his flesh. Like the moth in me, the flower was alive, but embedded in his skin.
Galen rolled over onto his side and let me see his right arm. Just below the shoulder was a butterfly so large it took up all the width of his arm. Its yellow-and-black-striped wings folded back around his arm as the butterfly flexed, gentle and unhurried, as if it were feeding from some sweet-nectared flower.
“It doesn’t seem to be afraid that it’s trapped,” he said.
I stared down at the moth on my own body. “No, they should be panicking, trying to free themselves. Why aren’t they?”
“They are not real,” Doyle said.
“They are real,” Nicca said.
Doyle frowned, but gave a quick nod. “Perhaps ‘real’ is not the correct word. They are not free animals that would mourn their captivity.”
I touched the moth’s wings again, and it flicked them at me. Leave me alone, it was saying as clearly as it could. The sensation of having something alive wriggling inside me made my stomach roll uneasily. The more I touched the wings, the more irritated the moth became. I lay back against the pillows, closing my eyes and breathing around the sensation of it.
“Can you feel its legs inside you?” Galen’s voice didn’t sound any happier than my stomach felt.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s not a good feeling,” he said.
I opened my eyes and looked into his face. He looked a little greener than usual.
“Stop trying to pet them and they won’t struggle,” Rhys said.
I stared at the black, red, grey, and even white that was smeared across my fingers. “What are these things?”
“They are the beginning of tattoos,” Doyle said, “marks of power.”
I stared up at him. “You mean the tattoos that the sidhe once had? They were more like birthmarks, weren’t they?”
“Some are born with the marks upon them, but many are not.