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A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 285 из 338Frost had to catch me around the waist, lifting me completely of the ground, pressed against his body, encircled in his arm. He was still searching for the attack—the attack that wasn't coming, not here, not now.
Rhys was moving around the floor, checking for other traps. None of us moved very much until he nodded, still crouched on the floor.
Doyle was on his feet. He hadn't taken out the other knife. He met my eyes. "How badly are you hurt, Princess?"
"Twisted ankle maybe the knee, too. Frost swept me off my feet before I could tell."
That earned me a glance from Frost. "I can put you down, Princess."
"I'd rather you carry me to a chair."
He looked at Doyle. "It's not a matter for knives, is it?" He sounded almost wistful.
"No," Doyle said.
Frost snapped the blade closed one-handed. To my knowledge he'd never handled a fading knife of any sort, but he made the gesture look smooth and practiced. He slid the blade into the back of his waistband and scooped me up in his arms.
"What chair would you prefer?" he asked.
"This one," the queen said. She was standing in front of her throne on the far raised das. Her throne rose above everyone else's, as befit her position. But there were two smaller thrones on the dais just below her own, reserved for the consort and the heir, usually. Tonight, Eamon was standing at her side, his chair empty.
Cel was sitting in the other small throne. Siobhan was at his back. Keelin was at his feet on a small cushioned stool, like a lap dog. Cel was looking at his mother, and there was something very close to panic on his face.
Rozenwyn moved up beside Siobhan. She was Cel's second in command, Frost's equivalent. Her cotton-candy hair was piled in a crown of braids atop her head, like a bowl woven of pink Easter grass. Her skin was the color of spring lilacs, her eyes molten gold. I'd thought her lovely when I was small, until she made it clear that I was lesser than she. It was Rozenwyn's hand-shaped scar across my ribs, she who had almost crushed my heart.
Cel stood so violently that it slid Keelin down the steps with the leash straining between them. He never looked at her as she got to her feet. "Mother, you cannot do this."
She looked at him, hand still guiding us toward Eamon's empty chair. "Oh, but I can, Son. Or have you forgotten that I am still queen here?" There was an edge to her voice such that, if it had been anyone but Cel, they'd have thrown themselves down on the floor in an abject bow, waiting for the blow to fall. But it was Cel, and she'd always been soft with him.
"I know who rules here now," Cel said.
Rhys was moving around the floor, checking for other traps. None of us moved very much until he nodded, still crouched on the floor.
Doyle was on his feet. He hadn't taken out the other knife. He met my eyes. "How badly are you hurt, Princess?"
"Twisted ankle maybe the knee, too. Frost swept me off my feet before I could tell."
That earned me a glance from Frost. "I can put you down, Princess."
"I'd rather you carry me to a chair."
He looked at Doyle. "It's not a matter for knives, is it?" He sounded almost wistful.
"No," Doyle said.
Frost snapped the blade closed one-handed. To my knowledge he'd never handled a fading knife of any sort, but he made the gesture look smooth and practiced. He slid the blade into the back of his waistband and scooped me up in his arms.
"What chair would you prefer?" he asked.
"This one," the queen said. She was standing in front of her throne on the far raised das. Her throne rose above everyone else's, as befit her position. But there were two smaller thrones on the dais just below her own, reserved for the consort and the heir, usually. Tonight, Eamon was standing at her side, his chair empty.
Cel was sitting in the other small throne. Siobhan was at his back. Keelin was at his feet on a small cushioned stool, like a lap dog. Cel was looking at his mother, and there was something very close to panic on his face.
Rozenwyn moved up beside Siobhan. She was Cel's second in command, Frost's equivalent. Her cotton-candy hair was piled in a crown of braids atop her head, like a bowl woven of pink Easter grass. Her skin was the color of spring lilacs, her eyes molten gold. I'd thought her lovely when I was small, until she made it clear that I was lesser than she. It was Rozenwyn's hand-shaped scar across my ribs, she who had almost crushed my heart.
Cel stood so violently that it slid Keelin down the steps with the leash straining between them. He never looked at her as she got to her feet. "Mother, you cannot do this."
She looked at him, hand still guiding us toward Eamon's empty chair. "Oh, but I can, Son. Or have you forgotten that I am still queen here?" There was an edge to her voice such that, if it had been anyone but Cel, they'd have thrown themselves down on the floor in an abject bow, waiting for the blow to fall. But it was Cel, and she'd always been soft with him.
"I know who rules here now," Cel said.