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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 264 из 293It was too painfula reminder of lost glories.
“Darkness, you know better than to ask that,” Rhys said.
Doyle actually bowed. “I am sorry, forgive me. It’s just…” He made a frustrated noise. “I see power given to everyone, but I remain as I have been.”
“Are you jealous?” Rhys asked.
Doyle hunched inside his cloak, then gave a nod. “I believe I am. Not just of Merry, but of the magic, too.” Saying it out loud seemed to make him feel better, or clear his head. For he shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and he turned a more peaceful face to me.
“Most of the tattoos were like my wings. They appeared at birth,” Nicca said.
The comment made me turn to him, because I realized what I’d missed. “Where are your wings?”
He rolled over and let me see them. I expected them to be the tattoo I’d always known on his back, but they weren’t. They were raised above his body like the flower, touchable and real, but lying flat now, as if they were but a step away from the tattoo they had once been.
“Are they going back to being a tattoo?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Rhys said.
“They don’t know,” Nicca said.
“Have you both been awake longer than I have?” I asked.
“No,” Galen said, “but we didn’t pass out as soon.”
I leaned up, very carefully, against the headboard. The moth flicked its wings, giving me a sudden flash of color, then settled back to its black and grey upper wings. Underwing moths, when at rest, try to blend in with tree bark. It wasn’t the moth’s fault that, trapped against the whiteness of my skin, it was very visible. It felt unnerving enough for the moth to move just a little. One of my new goals in life was not to scare it. I did not want to feel it truly struggle. I was very afraid that if it did, I might be quite sick. If a princess is not allowed to show fear, then nausea is completely out. Too unseemly.
Doyle seemed to understand my difficulty, because he helped me prop pillows under my back and head, so I could sit up and see the room, but not bend too much at the stomach. “How are Royal and the rest?” I asked.
“Your demi-fey is fine, though he is the only one who would not leave even to clean off the blood. He insisted that he stay and see you were well.”
I looked out into the darkened room. “Is he here?”
“Outside by the door with Adair and Hawthorne.”
Ivi wrapped his arm around the bedpost, showing a pale line of flesh.
“Darkness, you know better than to ask that,” Rhys said.
Doyle actually bowed. “I am sorry, forgive me. It’s just…” He made a frustrated noise. “I see power given to everyone, but I remain as I have been.”
“Are you jealous?” Rhys asked.
Doyle hunched inside his cloak, then gave a nod. “I believe I am. Not just of Merry, but of the magic, too.” Saying it out loud seemed to make him feel better, or clear his head. For he shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and he turned a more peaceful face to me.
“Most of the tattoos were like my wings. They appeared at birth,” Nicca said.
The comment made me turn to him, because I realized what I’d missed. “Where are your wings?”
He rolled over and let me see them. I expected them to be the tattoo I’d always known on his back, but they weren’t. They were raised above his body like the flower, touchable and real, but lying flat now, as if they were but a step away from the tattoo they had once been.
“Are they going back to being a tattoo?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Rhys said.
“They don’t know,” Nicca said.
“Have you both been awake longer than I have?” I asked.
“No,” Galen said, “but we didn’t pass out as soon.”
I leaned up, very carefully, against the headboard. The moth flicked its wings, giving me a sudden flash of color, then settled back to its black and grey upper wings. Underwing moths, when at rest, try to blend in with tree bark. It wasn’t the moth’s fault that, trapped against the whiteness of my skin, it was very visible. It felt unnerving enough for the moth to move just a little. One of my new goals in life was not to scare it. I did not want to feel it truly struggle. I was very afraid that if it did, I might be quite sick. If a princess is not allowed to show fear, then nausea is completely out. Too unseemly.
Doyle seemed to understand my difficulty, because he helped me prop pillows under my back and head, so I could sit up and see the room, but not bend too much at the stomach. “How are Royal and the rest?” I asked.
“Your demi-fey is fine, though he is the only one who would not leave even to clean off the blood. He insisted that he stay and see you were well.”
I looked out into the darkened room. “Is he here?”
“Outside by the door with Adair and Hawthorne.”
Ivi wrapped his arm around the bedpost, showing a pale line of flesh.