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Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
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“I want us to have a terrible beauty then,” he said, and it was as if the world held its breath, as if the whole of faerie had been waiting for him to say those words. I felt it in the pit of my stomach like the chime of a great bell. It was a beautiful sound, but so large, so heavy, that it could crush you with the music of its voice.
“What have you done?” Doyle asked, and I wasn’t sure whom he had asked it of.
Sholto answered him. “What I had to do.” He stood there, stark and pale in the growing dark. The tattoo of his tentacles glowed as if outlined with phosphorus. The flowers of his crown looked ghostly pale, and I thought they would have attracted honeybees, if it had not been dark. Bees are not nighttime creatures.
The darkness began to lighten. “What did you just think of?” Doyle asked.
“That if the sunlight had remained, there would have been bees to feed on the flowers.”
“No, it will be night here,” Sholto said, and the darkness began to thicken again.
I tried for a more neutral thought. What could come to his flowers in the dark? Moths appeared among the flowers, small ones, ones to match the moth on my stomach. Small flashes of light showed above the island, as if jewels had been thrown into the air. Fireflies, dozens of them, so that they actually glowed enough to drive back some of the dark.
“Did you call them?” Sholto said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You raised the wild magic together,” Ivar said.
“She is not sluagh,” Fyfe said.
“But she is queen to his king for tonight; the magic is hers, as well,” Ivar said.
“Will you fight me for the heart of my people, Meredith?” Sholto said.
“I will try not to,” I said softly.
“I rule here, Meredith, not you.”
“I do not want to take your throne, Sholto. But I can’t help being what I am.”
“What are you?”
“I am sidhe.”
“Then if you are sidhe and not sluagh, run.”
“What?” I asked, trying to move a little away from Doyle and closer to Sholto. Doyle held me tight and wouldn’t let me do it.
“Run,” Sholto said again.
“Why?” I asked.
“I am going to call the wild hunt, Meredith. If you are not sluagh, then you will be prey.”
“No, Sholto! Let us take the princess to safety first, I beg this of you,” Doyle said urgently.
“The Darkness does not usually beg. I am flattered, but if she can call back the sun to drive away the night, I must call the hunt now. She must be the prey. You know that.”
I was startled.
“I want us to have a terrible beauty then,” he said, and it was as if the world held its breath, as if the whole of faerie had been waiting for him to say those words. I felt it in the pit of my stomach like the chime of a great bell. It was a beautiful sound, but so large, so heavy, that it could crush you with the music of its voice.
“What have you done?” Doyle asked, and I wasn’t sure whom he had asked it of.
Sholto answered him. “What I had to do.” He stood there, stark and pale in the growing dark. The tattoo of his tentacles glowed as if outlined with phosphorus. The flowers of his crown looked ghostly pale, and I thought they would have attracted honeybees, if it had not been dark. Bees are not nighttime creatures.
The darkness began to lighten. “What did you just think of?” Doyle asked.
“That if the sunlight had remained, there would have been bees to feed on the flowers.”
“No, it will be night here,” Sholto said, and the darkness began to thicken again.
I tried for a more neutral thought. What could come to his flowers in the dark? Moths appeared among the flowers, small ones, ones to match the moth on my stomach. Small flashes of light showed above the island, as if jewels had been thrown into the air. Fireflies, dozens of them, so that they actually glowed enough to drive back some of the dark.
“Did you call them?” Sholto said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You raised the wild magic together,” Ivar said.
“She is not sluagh,” Fyfe said.
“But she is queen to his king for tonight; the magic is hers, as well,” Ivar said.
“Will you fight me for the heart of my people, Meredith?” Sholto said.
“I will try not to,” I said softly.
“I rule here, Meredith, not you.”
“I do not want to take your throne, Sholto. But I can’t help being what I am.”
“What are you?”
“I am sidhe.”
“Then if you are sidhe and not sluagh, run.”
“What?” I asked, trying to move a little away from Doyle and closer to Sholto. Doyle held me tight and wouldn’t let me do it.
“Run,” Sholto said again.
“Why?” I asked.
“I am going to call the wild hunt, Meredith. If you are not sluagh, then you will be prey.”
“No, Sholto! Let us take the princess to safety first, I beg this of you,” Doyle said urgently.
“The Darkness does not usually beg. I am flattered, but if she can call back the sun to drive away the night, I must call the hunt now. She must be the prey. You know that.”
I was startled.