The Night Parade

Начало книги

She hated the storms.

Staring out at the walled city of Arabel through the grand window of her private chambers, Myrmeen Lhal closed her eyes and listened as the rain beat a staccato rhythm against the thick glass. The sound should have been comforting; it reminded her of a nervous habit her father had possessed, drumming his fingers on the side of the lute he had played for passersby on the streets of Calimport. She could still picture him as he sat on the pavement, entertaining the rich from sunrise to sunset, their gold dropping into the plumed hat at his feet. Turning her thoughts from that image, Myrmeen forced herself to smile. Tonight she did not want to think about her early life. At thirty-four she was the ruler of the second largest city in Cormyr and there was no reason for her to give in to the sadness that awaited her in the past.

It had been the storm, of course. The haunting sounds of the rain had brought back moments that were better left forgotten. Better to concentrate on more pleasant memories, such as the young sculptor’s touch as he had expertly worked her tender flesh for the past ten evenings, as if he were attempting to make her into one of his highly regarded works of art. Across the room lay a present that he had left for her: a bust of the ruler wearing her most wicked expression and little else. Behind her was the huge, round bed they had shared, topped with teal and black silk sheets that had been wrestled into unnatural formations by their efforts. On the floor lay a pile of black and gold pillows that had been tossed from the bed in a frenzy that continued to delight Myrmeen when she thought of it.

Читать дальше →