rj.acrownofswords-第89部分

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of　Storms；　High　Seat　of　House　Mitsobar；　awaited　him　in　a　room　with　yellow　walls　and　a　pale　blue　ceiling；　standing　before　a　huge　white　fireplace　with　a　stone　lintel　carved　into　a　stormy　sea。　She　was　well　worth　seeing；　he　decided。　Tylin　was　not　young　…　the　shiny　black　hair　cascading　over　her　shoulders　had　gray　at　the　temples；　and　faint　lines　webbed　the　corners　of　her　eyes　…　nor　was　she　exactly　pretty；　though　the　two　thin　scars　on　her　cheeks　had　nearly　vanished　with　age。　Handsome　came　closer。　But　she　was。。。　imposing。　Large　dark　eyes　regarded　him　majestically；　an　eagle's　eyes。　She　had　little　real　power　…　a　man　could　ride　beyond　her　writ　in　two　or　three　days　and　still　have　a　lot　of　Altara　ahead　…　but　he　thought　she　might　make　even　an　Aes　Sedai　step　back。　Like　Isebele　of　Dal　Calain；　who　had　made　the　Amyrlin　Anghara　e　to　her。　That　was　one　of　the　old　memories；　Dal　Calain　had　vanished　in　the　Trolloc　Wars。
　　　〃Majesty；〃　he　said；　sweeping　his　hat　wide　in　a　bow　and　flourishing　an　imaginary　cloak；　〃by　your　summons　do　I　e。〃　Imposing　or　not；　it　was　hard　to　keep　his　eyes　away　from　the　not　small　lace…trimmed　oval　where　her　white…sheathed　marriage…knife　hung。　A　very　nicely　rounded　sight　indeed；　yet　the　more　bosom　a　woman　displayed；　the　less　she　wanted　you　to　look。　Openly；　at　least。　White…sheathed；　but　he　already　knew　she　was　a　widow。　Not　that　it　mattered。　He　would　as　soon　tangle　himself　with　that　fox…faced　Darkfriend　as　with　a　queen。　Not　looking　at　all　was　difficult；　but　he　managed。　Most　likely　she　would　call　guards　rather　than　draw　the　gem…encrusted　dagger　thrust　behind　a　woven…gold　belt　to　match　the　collar　her　marriage　knife　hung　from。　Maybe　that　was　why　the　dice　were　still　rolling　in　his　head。　The　possibility　of　an　encounter　with　the　headsman　would　set　them　spinning　if　anything　did。
　　　Layered　silk　petticoats　rippled　white　and　yellow　as　she　crossed　the　room　and　walked　slowly　all　the　way　around　him。　〃You　speak　the　Old　Tongue；〃　she　said　once　she　stood　in　front　of　him　again。　Her　voice　was　low…pitched　and　musical。　Without　waiting　for　a　reply；　she　glided　to　a　chair　and　sat；　adjusting　her　green　skirts。　An　unconscious　gesture；　her　gaze　remained　fixed　on　him。　He　thought　she　could　probably　tell　when　his　smallclothes　had　been　washed　last。　〃You　wish　to　leave　a　message。　I　have　what　is　necessary。〃　A　lace　fall　at　her　wrist　swayed　as　she　gestured　to　a　small　writing　table　standing　beneath　a　gilt…framed　mirror。　All　the　furnishings　were　gilded　and　carved　like　bamboo。
　　　Tall　triple…arched　windows　opening　onto　a　wrought…iron　balcony　admitted　a　sea　breeze　that　was　surprisingly　pleasant；　if　not　exactly　cool；　yet　Mat　felt　hotter　than　in　the　street；　and　it　had　nothing　to　do　with　her　stare。　Deyeniye；　dyu　ninte　concion　ca'lyet　ye。　That　was　what　he　had　said。　The　bloody　Old　Tongue　popping　out　of　his　mouth　again　without　him　knowing　it。　He　had　thought　he　had　that　little　bother　under　control。　No　telling　when　those　bloody　dice　would　stop　or　for　what。　Best　to　keep　his　eyes　to　himself　and　his　mouth　shut　as　much　as　possible。　〃I　thank　you；　Majesty。〃　He　made　very　sure　of　those　words。
　　　Thick　sheets　of　pale　paper　already　waited　on　the　slanted　table；　at　a　fortable　height　for　writing。　He　propped　his　hat　against　the　table　leg。　He　could　see　her　in　the　mirror。　Watching。　Why　had　he　let　his　tongue　run　loose？　Dipping　a　golden　pen　…　what　else　would　a　queen　have？　…　he　posed　what　he　wanted　to　write　in　his　head　before　bending　over　the　paper　with　an　arm　curled　around　it。　His　hand　was　awkward　and　square。　He　had　no　love　of　writing。
　　　
　　　I　followed　a　Darkfriend　to　the　palace　Jaichim　Carridin　is　renting。　She　tried　to　kill　me　once；　and　maybe　Rand　as　well。　She　was　greeted　like　an　old　friend　of　the　house。
　　　
　　　For　a　moment　he　studied　that；　biting　the　end　of　the　pen　before　realizing　he　was　scoring　the　soft　gold。　Maybe　Tylin　would　not　notice。　They　needed　to　know　about　Carridin。　What　else？　He　added　a　few　more　reasonably　worded　lines。　The　last　thing　he　wanted　was　to　put　their　backs　up。
　　　
　　　Be　sensible。　If　you　have　to　go　traipsing　around；　let　me　send　a　few　men　along　to　keep　you　from　having　your　heads　split　open。　Anyway；　isn't　it　about　time　I　took　you　back　to　Egwene？　There's　nothing　here　but　heat　and　flies；　and　we　can　find　plenty　of　those　in　Caemlyn。
　　　
　　　There。　They　could　not　ask　for　pleasanter　than　that。
　　　Blotting　the　page　carefully；　he　folded　it　four　times。　Sand　in　a　small　golden　bowl　covered　a　coal。　He　puffed　on　it　till　it　glowed；　then　used　it　to　light　a　candle　and　picked　up　the　stick　of　red　wax。　As　the　sealing　wax　dripped　onto　the　edges　of　the　paper；　it　suddenly　struck　him　that　he　had　a　signet　ring　in　his　pocket。　Just　something　the　ringmaker　had　carved　to　show　his　skill；　but　better　than　a　plain　lump。　The　ring　was　slightly　longer　than　the　pool　of　solidifying　wax；　yet　most　of　the　sigil　took。
　　　For　the　first　time　he　got　a　good　look　at　what　he　had　bought。　Inside　a　border　of　large　crescents；　a　running　fox　seemed　to　have　startled　two　birds　into　flight。　That　made　him　grin。　Too　bad　it　was　not　a　hand；　for　the　Band；　but　appropriate　enough。　He　certainly　needed　to　be　crafty　as　a　fox　to　keep　up　with　Nynaeve　and　Elayne；　and　if　they　were　not　exactly　flighty；　well。。。　Besides；　the　medallion　had　made　him　fond　of　foxes。　He　scrawled　Nynaeve's　name　on　the　outside；　and　then　Elayne's；　as　an　afterthought。　One　or　the　other；　they　should　see　it　soon。
　　　Turning　with　the　sealed　letter　held　in　front　of　him；　he　gave　a　start　as　his　knuckles　brushed　against　Tylin's　bosom。　He　stumbled　back　against　the　writing　table；　staring　and　trying　not　to　turn　red。　Staring　at　her　face；　just　her　face。　He　had　not　heard　her　approach。　Best　to　simply　ignore　the　brushing；　not　embarrass　her　any　further。　She　probably　thought　he　was　a　clumsy　lout　as　it　was。　〃There　is　something　in　this　you　should　know；　Majesty。〃　Insufficient　room　remained　between　them　to　lift　the　letter。　〃Jaichim　Carridin　is　entertaining　Darkfriends；　and　I　don't　mean　arresting　them。〃
　　　〃You　are　certain？　Of　course　you　are。　No　one　would　make　that　charge　without　being　certain。〃　A　furrow　creased　her　forehead；　but　she　gave　her　head　a　shake　and　the　frown　disappeared。　〃Let　us　speak　of　more　pleasant　things。〃
　　　He　could　have　yelped。　He　told　her　the　Whitecloak　ambassador　to　her　court　was　a　Darkfriend；　and　all　she　did　was　grimace？
　　　〃You　are　Lord　Mat　Cauthon？〃　There　was　just　a　hint　of　question　in　the　title。　Her　eyes　minded　him　more　than　ever　of　an　eagle's。　A　queen　could　not　like　someone　ing　to　her　pretending　to　be　a　lord。
　　　〃Just　Mat　Cauthon。〃　Something　told　him　she　would　hear　a　lie。　Besides；　letting　people　think　he　was　a　lord　was　just　a　ruse；　one　he　would　rather　have　managed　without。　In　Ebou　Dar　you　could　find　a　duel　any　time　you　turned　around；　but　few　challenged　lords　except　other　lords。　As　it　was；　in　the　last　month　he　had　cracked　a　number　of　heads；　bloodied　four　men　and　run　half　a　mile　to　escape　a　woman。　Tylin's　stare　made　him　nervous。　And　those　dice　still　rattled　about　in　his　skull。　He　wanted　out　of　there。　〃If　you'll　tell　me　where　to　leave　the　letter；　Majesty。。。？〃
　　　〃The　Daughter…Heir　and　Nynaeve　Sedai　seldom　mention　you；〃　she　said；　〃but　one　learns　to　hear　what　is　not　said。〃　Casually　she　reached　up　and　touched　his　cheek；　he　half…raised　his　own　hand　uncertainly。　Had　he　smeared　ink　there；　chewing　the　pen？　Women　did　like　to　tidy　things；　including　men。　Maybe　queens　did；　too。　〃What　they　do　not　say；　but　I　hear；　is　that　you　are　an　untamed　rogue；　a　gambler　and　chaser　after　women。〃　Her　eyes　held　his；　expression　never　altering　a　hair；　and　her　voice　stayed　firm　and　cool；　but　as　she　spoke；　her　fingers　stroked　his　other　cheek。　〃Untamed　men　are　often　the　most　interesting。　To　talk　to。〃　A　finger　outlined　his　lips。　〃An　untamed　rogue　who　travels　with　Aes　Sedai；　a　ta'veren　who；　I　think；　makes　them　a　little　afraid。　Uneasy；　at　the　least。　It　takes　a　man　with　a　strong　liver　to　make　Aes　Sedai　uneasy。　How　will　you　bend　the　Pattern　in　Ebou　Dar；　just　Mat　Cauthon？〃　Her　hand　settled　against　his　neck；　he　could　feel　his　pulse　throbbing　against　her　fingers。
　　　His　mouth　fell　open。　The　writing　table　behind　his　back　rattled　against　the　wall　as　he　tried　to　back　away。　The　only　way　out　was　to　push　her　aside　or　climb　over　her　skirts。　Women