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Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 120 из 148He was trying to get Frost to lie down on the clover, but the other man was arguing. Doyle pressed harder on the wound, which made Frost draw a sharp breath. He continued, “But Sholto told us to run, if we were sidhe. He has conjured it to hunt us.”
I started to turn away, but couldn’t quite tear my eyes from Frost. Once he had been the Killing Frost: cold, frightening, arrogant, untouched, and untouchable. Now he was Frost, and he wasn’t frightening, or cold, and I knew the touch of his body in almost every possible way. I wanted to go to him, to hold his hand while Doyle tended his wound.
“Merry,” Doyle said, “if you do not get us out of here, Frost will not be the only one hurt.”
I caught Frost’s gaze. Pain, I saw there, but also something hopeful, or good. I think he liked that I was so worried about him. “Get us out, Merry,” Frost said between gritted teeth. “I am fine.”
I didn’t call him a liar, but I did turn away so I couldn’t watch. It would have distracted me too much, and I didn’t have time to be weak.
“I need a door to the Unseelie Court.” I said it clearly, but nothing happened.
“Try again,” Rhys said.
I tried again, and again nothing happened.
“Sholto said No doors, ” Mistral said. “Apparently his word stands.”
Sholto’s feet had touched the edge of the field I’d made. He was only yards away from the first of the clover. The air above him was thick with tentacles and mouths and claws. I looked away from it, because I couldn’t think while I was staring into it.
“Call something else,” Abe said.
“What?” I asked.
It was Rhys who said, “Where rowan, ash, and thorn grow close together, the veil between worlds is thinner.”
I looked up at the circle of trees that I’d called into being. Their branches had formed a lace of roof above us. They still hushed and moved above us the way the roses in the Unseelie Court moved, as if they had more life than an ordinary tree.
I began to walk the inside of the circle of trees, searching not with my hands, but with that part of me that sensed magic. Most human psychics have to do something to get themselves in the mood for magic, but I had to shield constantly not to be overwhelmed by it. Especially in faerie — there was so much of it that it became like the engine noise of some great ship, and you ceased to “hear” it after a while, though it was always there thrumming along your skin, making your bones vibrate to its rhythm.
I started to turn away, but couldn’t quite tear my eyes from Frost. Once he had been the Killing Frost: cold, frightening, arrogant, untouched, and untouchable. Now he was Frost, and he wasn’t frightening, or cold, and I knew the touch of his body in almost every possible way. I wanted to go to him, to hold his hand while Doyle tended his wound.
“Merry,” Doyle said, “if you do not get us out of here, Frost will not be the only one hurt.”
I caught Frost’s gaze. Pain, I saw there, but also something hopeful, or good. I think he liked that I was so worried about him. “Get us out, Merry,” Frost said between gritted teeth. “I am fine.”
I didn’t call him a liar, but I did turn away so I couldn’t watch. It would have distracted me too much, and I didn’t have time to be weak.
“I need a door to the Unseelie Court.” I said it clearly, but nothing happened.
“Try again,” Rhys said.
I tried again, and again nothing happened.
“Sholto said No doors, ” Mistral said. “Apparently his word stands.”
Sholto’s feet had touched the edge of the field I’d made. He was only yards away from the first of the clover. The air above him was thick with tentacles and mouths and claws. I looked away from it, because I couldn’t think while I was staring into it.
“Call something else,” Abe said.
“What?” I asked.
It was Rhys who said, “Where rowan, ash, and thorn grow close together, the veil between worlds is thinner.”
I looked up at the circle of trees that I’d called into being. Their branches had formed a lace of roof above us. They still hushed and moved above us the way the roses in the Unseelie Court moved, as if they had more life than an ordinary tree.
I began to walk the inside of the circle of trees, searching not with my hands, but with that part of me that sensed magic. Most human psychics have to do something to get themselves in the mood for magic, but I had to shield constantly not to be overwhelmed by it. Especially in faerie — there was so much of it that it became like the engine noise of some great ship, and you ceased to “hear” it after a while, though it was always there thrumming along your skin, making your bones vibrate to its rhythm.