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A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 258 из 338Iheard a voice yell, "No! Keep your sword." It was Cel's voice.
Doyle barked out an order: "Sithney, give us your sword!"
The guard at the door started to lift his sword from its sheath. Frost held his hand out for it. The vines poured over the opening in a dry rushing wave. There was a moment when Frost could have dived through the door, could have saved himself, but he turned back into the room. The door vanished behind a reaching, slashing wave of thorns.
Rhys and Doyle took me to the floor. Doyle pushed Rhys on top of me. I was suddenly under a pile of bodies. Rhys hair spilled past my face like curly silk. I had a glimpse through his hair and someone's arm of a black cloak. I was pressed so hard against the floor I not only couldn't move, I could barely breathe.
If it had been anyone but Doyle and Frost on top, I'd have been waiting for screams. Instead, I waited for the pile to grow lighter as the men were dragged away by the thorns. But the pile didn't grow lighter.
I lay flat on my stomach, pressed to the cool stone floor, staring out through Rhys's hair. The arm that was braced outside the curtain was bare of cloth, and slightly less purely white, so it was Galen.
My blood had been pounding in my ears until all I could hear was the beat of my own body. But minutes passed and nothing happened. My pulse quieted. I pressed my hands to the stones underneath me. The grey stone was almost as smooth as marble, worn away from centuries of passing feet. I could hear Rhys's breathing next to my ear. The shift of cloth as someone above us moved. But over all was the sound of the thorns, a low continuous murmur like the sound of the sea.
Rhys whispered against my hair, "May I have a kiss before I die?"
"We don't seem to be dying," I said.
"Easy for you to say. You're on the bottom of the pile." This from Galen.
"What's happening up there? I can't see a thing," I said.
"Be happy you cannot," Frost said.
"What is happening?" I asked again, putting more force into my voice.
"Nothing," Doyle's deep voice rumbled down through the pile of men, as if the other bodies carried the low tone of his words like a tuning fork straight down my spine. "And I find that surprising," he said.
"You sound disappointed," Galen said.
"Not disappointed," Doyle said, "curious."
Doyle's cloak slid out of sight, the weight above me was suddenly less.
"Doyle!" I shouted.
"Have no fear, Princess. I am fine," he said.
The pressure above me lightened once more, but not by much.
Doyle barked out an order: "Sithney, give us your sword!"
The guard at the door started to lift his sword from its sheath. Frost held his hand out for it. The vines poured over the opening in a dry rushing wave. There was a moment when Frost could have dived through the door, could have saved himself, but he turned back into the room. The door vanished behind a reaching, slashing wave of thorns.
Rhys and Doyle took me to the floor. Doyle pushed Rhys on top of me. I was suddenly under a pile of bodies. Rhys hair spilled past my face like curly silk. I had a glimpse through his hair and someone's arm of a black cloak. I was pressed so hard against the floor I not only couldn't move, I could barely breathe.
If it had been anyone but Doyle and Frost on top, I'd have been waiting for screams. Instead, I waited for the pile to grow lighter as the men were dragged away by the thorns. But the pile didn't grow lighter.
I lay flat on my stomach, pressed to the cool stone floor, staring out through Rhys's hair. The arm that was braced outside the curtain was bare of cloth, and slightly less purely white, so it was Galen.
My blood had been pounding in my ears until all I could hear was the beat of my own body. But minutes passed and nothing happened. My pulse quieted. I pressed my hands to the stones underneath me. The grey stone was almost as smooth as marble, worn away from centuries of passing feet. I could hear Rhys's breathing next to my ear. The shift of cloth as someone above us moved. But over all was the sound of the thorns, a low continuous murmur like the sound of the sea.
Rhys whispered against my hair, "May I have a kiss before I die?"
"We don't seem to be dying," I said.
"Easy for you to say. You're on the bottom of the pile." This from Galen.
"What's happening up there? I can't see a thing," I said.
"Be happy you cannot," Frost said.
"What is happening?" I asked again, putting more force into my voice.
"Nothing," Doyle's deep voice rumbled down through the pile of men, as if the other bodies carried the low tone of his words like a tuning fork straight down my spine. "And I find that surprising," he said.
"You sound disappointed," Galen said.
"Not disappointed," Doyle said, "curious."
Doyle's cloak slid out of sight, the weight above me was suddenly less.
"Doyle!" I shouted.
"Have no fear, Princess. I am fine," he said.
The pressure above me lightened once more, but not by much.