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Swallowing Darkness :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 203 из 242I had asked for help, and my help wasdying around me.
I stood there bleeding, staring across the yards of the frosted grass at my cousin's mad eyes. His helmet left his face bare save for a crosspiece down the line of his nose. His eyes burned with the color of his magic. He had called all his power, and I realized that it wasn't enough. It had never been enough.
The wind picked up the long blackness of his hair where it spilled free around his armor. He'd always worn it loose in battle. Too vain to hide his beauty, too bad a warrior to be willing to hide the hair that marked him as high court Unseelie. He would never braid it or put it back as Doyle did.
Cel was weak, evil-minded, and petty. Faerie would never accept him. I was going back to L.A. but I could not leave my people to him. I could not leave faerie in his inadequate hands.
I whispered onto the wind, "Bleed for me." The wind carried my voice, my magic, and where it moved it began to form into a whirlwind. A tornado formed of ice and blood and power. Faerie was the land, the land was faerie, and I had been crowned its queen. It rose to my word, my power, and my desire.
The nobles around him who could move, ran. Those who could crawl did so. They picked up their wounded and fled. Cel screamed at them, "Come back, cowards!"
His concentration had slipped away from me, and my old wounds were closed, as if by... magic.
Cel lashed out at his followers. Some fell in the winter-kissed grass, brought low by ancient wounds reopened by the man they would have made their king.
A wave of blackness moved across the field, as if a different night moved in a line above the frost. This night was moonless, and darker than dark. I knew, before she materialized completely, who would be standing in the way of my cold wind and blood.
Andais, Queen of Air and Darkness, stood in front of her son, as she had always stood in front of him. She wore her black armor, carried her raven blade. Her cloak spilled out behind her, and it was darkness itself spun into cloth, and more. She held darkness around her, and I felt her power of air push back at my own.
The twister I had conjured with faerie's help stopped moving forward. It did not die or fade, but it stopped, as if its twisting front had hit an invisible wall.
I pushed at that wall, willed my power to move forward, and for a moment the wall softened. I felt the whirlwind move forward; then it was as if the air was drawn away from it, sucked out and sent whirling into the moonlight. She pulled the air from my whirlwind as she could pull the air from your lungs.
I stood there bleeding, staring across the yards of the frosted grass at my cousin's mad eyes. His helmet left his face bare save for a crosspiece down the line of his nose. His eyes burned with the color of his magic. He had called all his power, and I realized that it wasn't enough. It had never been enough.
The wind picked up the long blackness of his hair where it spilled free around his armor. He'd always worn it loose in battle. Too vain to hide his beauty, too bad a warrior to be willing to hide the hair that marked him as high court Unseelie. He would never braid it or put it back as Doyle did.
Cel was weak, evil-minded, and petty. Faerie would never accept him. I was going back to L.A. but I could not leave my people to him. I could not leave faerie in his inadequate hands.
I whispered onto the wind, "Bleed for me." The wind carried my voice, my magic, and where it moved it began to form into a whirlwind. A tornado formed of ice and blood and power. Faerie was the land, the land was faerie, and I had been crowned its queen. It rose to my word, my power, and my desire.
The nobles around him who could move, ran. Those who could crawl did so. They picked up their wounded and fled. Cel screamed at them, "Come back, cowards!"
His concentration had slipped away from me, and my old wounds were closed, as if by... magic.
Cel lashed out at his followers. Some fell in the winter-kissed grass, brought low by ancient wounds reopened by the man they would have made their king.
A wave of blackness moved across the field, as if a different night moved in a line above the frost. This night was moonless, and darker than dark. I knew, before she materialized completely, who would be standing in the way of my cold wind and blood.
Andais, Queen of Air and Darkness, stood in front of her son, as she had always stood in front of him. She wore her black armor, carried her raven blade. Her cloak spilled out behind her, and it was darkness itself spun into cloth, and more. She held darkness around her, and I felt her power of air push back at my own.
The twister I had conjured with faerie's help stopped moving forward. It did not die or fade, but it stopped, as if its twisting front had hit an invisible wall.
I pushed at that wall, willed my power to move forward, and for a moment the wall softened. I felt the whirlwind move forward; then it was as if the air was drawn away from it, sucked out and sent whirling into the moonlight. She pulled the air from my whirlwind as she could pull the air from your lungs.