Zenya

Начало книги

She was tall, with a mass of golden hair raised and crested in an aureole above her head. Thick strands ran from her temples, cut and shaped into upcurving points which accentuated the high bones and slight concavity of her cheeks. Her jaw was round, with a determined hardness, and her lips were full, the lower pouting in betraying sensuosity. Her eyes were deep-set, glowing amber, wide-spaced beneath arching brows, their upward slant giving her the appearance of a watchful cat.

She had, Dumarest realized, been studying him with unusual interest.

Slowly he turned the page of the ancient volume lying before him on the reading desk, not looking at the crabbed text beneath its transparent coating, but concentrating on the girl.

She wore a dress of luminous gold, rich fabric falling from throat to knee, cinctured at the waist, and tight against the contours of her body. Her arms were bare, coiled bracelets in the design of serpents rising from wrists to elbows, gems bright against the precious metal. Her fingers were long, tapering, devoid of rings, the nails painted to match her dress. Her skin was a lustrous bronze.

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