JК
Faith of the Fallen :: Goodkind Terry
Страница: 561 из 617She could see men beyond the alley sitting on the ground, leaning against buildings on the far side of the street, watching without seeing as wagons rumbled down the roads, taking supplies out to the site of the emperor's palace.
Nicci wanted to get to the bread shop. She had been told they might have butter today. She wanted to get butter for Richard's bread. He would be home for dinnerhe had promised. She wanted to make him a good meal. He needed to eat. He had lost some weight, though it only added distracting definition to his muscular build. He was like a statue in the flesh-like the statues she used to see, long ago.
She remembered how when she was little her mother's servants made cakes out of sunflower meal. She had been able to buy enough to make him some sunflower cakes, and maybe she would have butter to put on them.
Nicci was growing increasingly anxious. The dedication was to take place in a few days. Richard said his statue would be ready. He seemed too calm about it, as if he had come to some inner peace.
He seemed almost like a man who had accepted his imminent execution.
Whenever Richard spoke to her, despite the conversation, his mind seemed elsewhere, and his eyes held that quality which she so valued. In the wasteland that was life, the misery that was existence, this was the only hope left to her. All around her, people looked forward only to death. Only in her father's eyes when she was younger, and more so now in Richard's, did she see any evidence that there was something to make it all worthwhile, some reason for existence.
Nicci was slowed to a halt by the clink-clink-clink of pebbles rattling in a cup. The sound was the unmistakable rattle of her chains. She had been a servant to need her whole life, and as much as she tried, there it was, the cup of some poor beggar, still rattling for her help.
She could not deny it.
Tears filled her eyes. She had so wanted to serve Richard butter with his bread. But she had only one silver penny, and this beggar had nothing.
She at least had some bread and some sunflower seeds. How could she want butter for Richard's bread and cakes, when this man had nothing?
She was evil, she knew, for wanting to keep her silver penny, the penny Richard had earned with his own sweat and effort. She was evil for wanting to buy butter for Richard with it. Who was Richard, to have butter? He was strong. He was able. Why should he have more, while others had none?
Nicci could almost see her mother slowly shaking her head in bitter disappointment that the penny was still in Nicci's fist, and not helping the man in need.
Nicci wanted to get to the bread shop. She had been told they might have butter today. She wanted to get butter for Richard's bread. He would be home for dinnerhe had promised. She wanted to make him a good meal. He needed to eat. He had lost some weight, though it only added distracting definition to his muscular build. He was like a statue in the flesh-like the statues she used to see, long ago.
She remembered how when she was little her mother's servants made cakes out of sunflower meal. She had been able to buy enough to make him some sunflower cakes, and maybe she would have butter to put on them.
Nicci was growing increasingly anxious. The dedication was to take place in a few days. Richard said his statue would be ready. He seemed too calm about it, as if he had come to some inner peace.
He seemed almost like a man who had accepted his imminent execution.
Whenever Richard spoke to her, despite the conversation, his mind seemed elsewhere, and his eyes held that quality which she so valued. In the wasteland that was life, the misery that was existence, this was the only hope left to her. All around her, people looked forward only to death. Only in her father's eyes when she was younger, and more so now in Richard's, did she see any evidence that there was something to make it all worthwhile, some reason for existence.
Nicci was slowed to a halt by the clink-clink-clink of pebbles rattling in a cup. The sound was the unmistakable rattle of her chains. She had been a servant to need her whole life, and as much as she tried, there it was, the cup of some poor beggar, still rattling for her help.
She could not deny it.
Tears filled her eyes. She had so wanted to serve Richard butter with his bread. But she had only one silver penny, and this beggar had nothing.
She at least had some bread and some sunflower seeds. How could she want butter for Richard's bread and cakes, when this man had nothing?
She was evil, she knew, for wanting to keep her silver penny, the penny Richard had earned with his own sweat and effort. She was evil for wanting to buy butter for Richard with it. Who was Richard, to have butter? He was strong. He was able. Why should he have more, while others had none?
Nicci could almost see her mother slowly shaking her head in bitter disappointment that the penny was still in Nicci's fist, and not helping the man in need.