Читать онлайн «False Covenant»
Автор Ари Мармелл
Ari Marmell
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
Ari Marmell
False Covenant
Beneath the sun, the roads are man's,
His work, his home, his town, his plans.
But 'ware the ticking of the clock:
The night belongs to Iruoch.
“But I don't understand,” said golden-haired Adeline. “You told me that you were not hungry this evening. ”
“I am not,” said the Marquis Iruoch.
“And you said I had not offended you in any way,” said Adeline.
“You have not. ”
“Then why do you seek to murder me?”
“Because I may later be hungry,” said Iruoch.
“Because you may later offend me,” said Iruoch.
“And because I can. ”
CHAPTER ONE
If she hadn't already known, she'd never have recognized the lie for what it was.
She'd been here once before, a guest in the sumptuous manor of the Marquis de Ducarte. Now, as last time, the air was heavy with the strands and strings of music, the floor vibrating with dancing couples. Vests and hose were deep, richly hued; magnificent gowns with hoop skirts resplendent in all the bright colors of spring. The servants-though clad largely in blacks, whites, and grays-were scarcely less fancy than the guests; the tables over which they stood were laden with fish and fowl, pork and pastry, and an array of wines that would have put most vintners and taverns to shame.
The breath of a hundred conversations pursued the delectable aromas up toward the ceiling, where they swirled around hanging banners and streamers. On some snapped and flapped the sun-and-crown ensign of Vercoule, highest god of Davillon; on others, the rose petals of Ruvelle, patron goddess of the Ducarte line and its current scion, Clarence Rittier.In nearly every way, it looked the same this time around as it had six months ago, when Madeleine Valois had attended Rittier's greatest fete ever, to celebrate the arrival of his honored guest, Archbishop William de Laurent. Nearly every way-but not all. The gleam in the eyes of the guests was perhaps just a bit wild, a bit worried; the tone of their friendly laughter and malevolent gossip high and desperate. Banners and streamers, tablecloths and gowns, were immaculately washed and well maintained, but they weren't
No more. Not since Rittier's disgrace-and certainly not since Davillon's. The ball, the joy, the carefree celebration…A facade, every bit, a lie rigidly maintained by the city's aristocracy because none of them had the slightest clue of how to live any other way.
Well, almost none of them.
Dazzling in her gown of velvet green, the intricate locks of her blonde wig piled high like a hairy wedding cake in the latest fashion, Madeleine glided through the crowd, a beautiful wraith leaving nothing but a faint breeze and the occasional heartbreaking smile to mark her passage. Her knees grew tired of constant curtseying, her cheeks stiff from carrying that artificial smile, her voice hoarse from the false good cheer.
