JК
A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 284 из 293“They would not have been Beatrice.”
And there was the truth. He had loved her in his way, and she had scorned him. He hadn’t meant to kill her, only to hurt her as she hurt him. He had stabbed her through the heart as she had wounded him. He had no way of knowing that faerie had become so fragile that a blade that was neither cold iron nor steel could kill her.
“And the human reporter?” I asked. “Why did he have to die?”
“He was witness,” Gwennin said.
My breath came out, and I cuddled in against Rhys, and wanted nothing more than to hide my eyes from the waste of it all. But I didn’t hide, I kept looking. If I’d been a hundred percent certain I could have stood on my own, I would have had Rhys put me down, but falling into the mud would have ruined what little authority I still possessed.
“I would ask that we wait on the human police and their science, just to confirm. It will make the press conference go better if the police can be up there confirming it all.”
“Press conference? He dies no later than tomorrow.”
“Aunt Andais, he killed a human reporter. If we do not show him well and fairly whole to the press, it could undermine all the good publicity you have built up over these long decades.”
She let out an audible breath. “There is wisdom in your words, Meredith. The press will need him whole, or more whole than this.” She smiled down at him. “It does seem a shame to waste such healing on one who is dead already.”
I couldn’t argue that, but said, “We dare not let the humans see him like this.”
“You think it would offend the humans?”
“I think it would confirm all that the Seelie Court says of us.”
“Your covering of mud, mine of blood—they look very much the same,” she said.
I looked at my hand on Rhys’s white shirt, and realized she was right. I was covered in thick, dark mud. Amatheon was as black with earth as the queen was with blood. His hair was plastered down the length of his body. When he’d vanished his hair had been shorn above his shoulders; now it seemed to be at least to his calves.
Adair was less filthy, for he had been on top. But his hair, too, fell in brown waves around his face, no longer shorn stubble. It did not touch his broad shoulders, but it was a start.
I turned my head, and found that my hair, plastered to my back and shoulders, was longer as well. It fell below my shoulders now.
“You have made a mess of the entryway to my throne room, Meredith.
And there was the truth. He had loved her in his way, and she had scorned him. He hadn’t meant to kill her, only to hurt her as she hurt him. He had stabbed her through the heart as she had wounded him. He had no way of knowing that faerie had become so fragile that a blade that was neither cold iron nor steel could kill her.
“And the human reporter?” I asked. “Why did he have to die?”
“He was witness,” Gwennin said.
My breath came out, and I cuddled in against Rhys, and wanted nothing more than to hide my eyes from the waste of it all. But I didn’t hide, I kept looking. If I’d been a hundred percent certain I could have stood on my own, I would have had Rhys put me down, but falling into the mud would have ruined what little authority I still possessed.
“I would ask that we wait on the human police and their science, just to confirm. It will make the press conference go better if the police can be up there confirming it all.”
“Press conference? He dies no later than tomorrow.”
“Aunt Andais, he killed a human reporter. If we do not show him well and fairly whole to the press, it could undermine all the good publicity you have built up over these long decades.”
She let out an audible breath. “There is wisdom in your words, Meredith. The press will need him whole, or more whole than this.” She smiled down at him. “It does seem a shame to waste such healing on one who is dead already.”
I couldn’t argue that, but said, “We dare not let the humans see him like this.”
“You think it would offend the humans?”
“I think it would confirm all that the Seelie Court says of us.”
“Your covering of mud, mine of blood—they look very much the same,” she said.
I looked at my hand on Rhys’s white shirt, and realized she was right. I was covered in thick, dark mud. Amatheon was as black with earth as the queen was with blood. His hair was plastered down the length of his body. When he’d vanished his hair had been shorn above his shoulders; now it seemed to be at least to his calves.
Adair was less filthy, for he had been on top. But his hair, too, fell in brown waves around his face, no longer shorn stubble. It did not touch his broad shoulders, but it was a start.
I turned my head, and found that my hair, plastered to my back and shoulders, was longer as well. It fell below my shoulders now.
“You have made a mess of the entryway to my throne room, Meredith.