A Court of Thorns and Roses / Двор от рози и бодли: 2.

Английски оригинал Перевод на български

The sun had set by the time I exited the forest, my knees shaking. My hands, stiff from clenching the legs of the deer, had gone utterly numb miles ago. Not even the carcass could ward off the deepening chill.

#1

Докато изляза от гората, слънцето беше залязло, а коленете ми трепереха. Ръцете ми, вкочанени от стискането на сърната, отдавна бяха станали напълно безчувствени. Дори трупът на животното не можеше да ме опази от вледеняващия студ.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:06

The world was awash in hues of dark blue, interrupted only by shafts of buttery light escaping from the shuttered windows of our dilapidated cottage. It was like striding through a living painting—a fleeting moment of stillness, the blues swiftly shifting to solid darkness.

#2

Светът беше потънал в нюанси на тъмносиньото, нарушавани само от редки лъчи приглушена светлина, процеждаща се иззад спуснатите кепенци на порутената ни колиба. Сякаш се движех в жива картина – миг на покой, още по-красив заради бързината, с която тъмносиньото е превръщаше в пълен мрак.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:06

As I trudged up the path, each step fueled only by near-dizzying hunger, my sisters’ voices fluttered out to meet me. I didn’t need to discern their words to know they most likely were chattering about some young man or the ribbons they’d spotted in the village when they should have been chopping wood, but I smiled a bit nonetheless.

#3

Когато поех по пътеката към вкъщи, единственото, което ме караше да продължавам да движа краката си, беше зашеметяващият глад. Първият звук, който ме посрещна, бяха гласовете на сестрите ми. Нямаше нужда да различавам думите, за да се сетя, че си говореха за някой младеж или за панделките, които са видели в селото, когато е трябвало да секат дърва. Въпреки това се усмихнах.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:06

I kicked my boots against the stone door frame, knocking the snow from them. Bits of ice came free from the gray stones of the cottage, revealing the faded ward-markings etched around the threshold. My father had once convinced a passing charlatan to trade the engravings against faerie harm in exchange for one of his wood carvings. There was so little that my father was ever able to do for us that I hadn’t possessed the heart to tell him the engravings were useless … and undoubtedly fake. Mortals didn’t possess magic—didn’t possess any of the superior strength and speed of the faeries or High Fae. The man, claiming some High Fae blood in his ancestry, had just carved the whorls and swirls and runes around the door and windows, muttered a few nonsense words, and ambled on his way.

#4

Ритнах няколко пъти по каменната каса на вратата, за да изчистя снега от ботушите си. От сивите камъни се посипаха люспици лед и разкриха полуизтритата защитна резба около прага. Веднъж баща ми убеди един пътуващ шарлатанин да размени резбата, която трябваше да пази от елфи, срещу една от неговите собствени дърворезби. Нещата, които баща ни можеше да прави за нас, бяха толкова малко, че сърце не ми даде да му кажа, че от резбата няма никаква полза и без съмнение е измислена. Смъртните нямаха магия, нямаха нито силата, нито бързината на нисшите и Върховните елфи. Онзи човек твърдеше, че във вените му тече малко кръв от Върховни елфи и просто издяла няколко завъртулки, спирали и руни около вратата и прозорците, измърмори няколко безсмислени думи и продължи по пътя си.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:07

I yanked open the wooden door, the frozen iron handle biting my skin like an asp. Heat and light blinded me as I slipped inside.

#5

Отворих дървената врата, замръзналата метална дръжка захапа ръката ми като змия. Пристъпих вътре, заслепена от топлината и светлината.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:07

“Feyre!” Elain’s soft gasp scraped past my ears, and I blinked back the brightness of the fire to find my second-eldest sister before me. Though she was bundled in a threadbare blanket, her gold-brown hair—the hair all three of us had—was coiled perfectly about her head. Eight years of poverty hadn’t stripped from her the desire to look lovely. “Where did you get that?” The undercurrent of hunger honed her words into a sharpness that had become too common in recent weeks. No mention of the blood on me. I’d long since given up hope of them actually noticing whether I came back from the woods every evening. At least until they got hungry again. But then again, my mother hadn’t made them swear anything when they stood beside her deathbed.

#6

– Фейра! – чух сепнатия глас на Илейн и премигнах срещу ярките пламъци на огъня, за да видя по-голямата си сестра. Беше увита в одеяло, но златистокестенявата ù коса – същата, която имахме и трите, беше безупречно навита около главата ù. Осемте години бедност не бяха убили желанието ù да изглежда добре. – Откъде взе това?
Дълго потисканият глад накара думите ù да прозвучат остро. Не спомена кръвта, с която бях изплескана. Всъщност вече спрях да се надявам, че забелязват дали се прибирам от гората всяка вечер. Нямаше да забележат, докато не огладнеят. Не тях майка ми накара да положат клетва на смъртния ù одър.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:08

I took a calming breath as I slung the doe off my shoulders. She hit the wooden table with a thud, rattling a ceramic cup on its other end.

#7

Поех си дълбоко дъх и свалих сърната от раменете си. Тя тупна на дървената маса с глух удар и разклати една керамична чаша в другия ù край.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:08

“Where do you think I got it?” My voice had turned hoarse, each word burning as it came out. My father and Nesta still silently warmed their hands by the hearth, my eldest sister ignoring him, as usual. I peeled the wolf pelt from the doe’s body, and after removing my boots and setting them by the door, I turned to Elain.

#8

– Откъде мислиш, че съм го взела? - гласът ми беше дрезгав. Баща ми и Неста седяха край камината и си грееха ръцете. Най-голямата ми сестра, както обикновено, не обръщаше внимание на баща ни. Свалих вълчата кожа от тялото на сърната и след като си събух ботушите и ги оставих до вратата, се обърнах към Илейн.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:13

Her brown eyes—my father’s eyes—remained pinned on the doe. “Will it take you long to clean it?” Me. Not her, not the others. I’d never once seen their hands sticky with blood and fur. I’d only learned to prepare and harvest my kills thanks to the instruction of others.

#9

Кафявите ù очи, очите на баща ни, не се откъсваха от сърната.
– Много време ли ще ти трябва да я почистиш?
Аз. Не тя, не другите. Нито веднъж не видях ръцете им полепнали с кръв и козина. Сама се научих да одирам и почиствам улова си, следвайки съветите на чужди хора.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:13

Elain pushed her hand against her belly, probably as empty and aching as my own. It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. I’d never been able to decide whether she actually didn’t understand that we were truly poor or if she just refused to accept it. It still hadn’t stopped me from buying her seeds for the flower garden she tended in the milder months, whenever I could afford it.

#10

Илейн продължи да се взира в трупа, притиснала ръка към корема си, който сигурно беше също толкова празен и я болеше колкото моя. Не че Илейн беше жестока. Не приличаше на Неста, която сякаш се е родила с подигравателна усмивка на устните. Просто Илейн понякога... не разбираше нещата. Не от злоба отказа да помогне. Изобщо не ù хрумваше, че може да си изцапа ръцете с някаква работа. Така и не разбрах дали тя въобще съзнава, че сме истински бедни, или просто отказва да го приеме. Това обаче не ме спираше да ù купувам, когато можех да си го позволя, семена за цветната градина, която поддържаше през по-топлите месеци.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:14

And it hadn’t stopped her from buying me three small tins of paint—red, yellow, and blue—during that same summer I’d had enough to buy the ash arrow. It was the only gift she’d ever given me, and our house still bore the marks of it, even if the paint was now fading and chipped: little vines and flowers along the windows and thresholds and edges of things, tiny curls of flame on the stones bordering the hearth. Any spare minutes I’d had that bountiful summer I used to bedeck our house in color, sometimes hiding clever decorations inside drawers, behind the threadbare curtains, underneath the chairs and table.

#11

Не спря и нея да ми купи три малки бурканчета с боя – червена, жълта и синя, през същото онова лято, когато имах достатъчно пари за ясеновата стрела. Това беше единственият подарък, който някога ми е правила, и в къщата още личаха следи от него, нищо, че на много места боята беше напукана и избеляла. Мотиви с лози и цветя около прозорците, праговете и разните други ръбове, пламъчета по камъните пред камината. Използвах всяка свободна минута през онова лято, за да украся къщата, понякога криех малки рисунки във вътрешността на чекмеджета, зад прокъсаните завеси, под столовете и масата.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:15

We hadn’t had a summer that easy since.

#12

Оттогава не сме имали толкова спокойно лято.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:15

“Feyre.” My father’s deep rumble came from the fire. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, his face spotless—like my sisters’. “What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast.”

#13

– Фейра – долетя дълбокият глас на баща ми откъм камината. Тъмната му брада беше подстригана, а лицето чисто и гладко като тези на сестрите ми. – Голям късмет си имала днес, това е цяло пиршество.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:16

From beside my father, Nesta snorted. Not surprising. Any bit of praise for anyone—me, Elain, other villagers—usually resulted in her dismissal. And any word from our father usually resulted in her ridicule as well.

#14

Неста изсумтя от мястото си до него.
Не се изненадах. Всяка добра дума за някого – за мен, за Илейн, за някой от селяните, най-често предизвикваше пренебрежението ù. А всяка дума на баща ни обикновено предизвикваше и присмех от нейна страна.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:16

I straightened, almost too tired to stand, but braced a hand on the table beside the doe as I shot Nesta a glare. Of us, Nesta had taken the loss of our fortune the hardest. She had quietly resented my father from the moment we’d fled our manor, even after that awful day one of the creditors had come to show just how displeased he was at the loss of his investment.

#15

Изправих гръб, макар че едва се държах на краката си, подпрях се на масата и изгледах Неста враждебно. От всички нас Неста най-тежко преживя загубата на богатството ни. Намрази баща ни от момента, в който избягахме от имението, след онзи ужасен ден, когато ни посети един от бащините ми кредитори, за да покаже точно колко е недоволен от загубата на инвестицията си.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:16

But at least Nesta didn’t fill our heads with useless talk of regaining our wealth, like my father. No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her, and rarely bothered to acknowledge my father’s limping presence at all. Some days, I couldn’t tell which of us was the most wretched and bitter.

#16

Но поне Неста не ни пълнеше главите с безсмислици за това как ще си възвърнем богатството, за разлика от баща ни. Не, тя само харчеше всички пари, които не успеех да скрия от нея, и рядко си правеше труда да забелязва присъствието на сакатия ни баща. В някои дни ми беше трудно да реша коя от нас е най-нещастна и озлобена.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:17

“We can eat half the meat this week,” I said, shifting my gaze to the doe. The deer took up the entirety of the rickety table that served as our dining area, workspace, and kitchen. “We can dry the other half,” I went on, knowing that no matter how nicely I phrased it, I’d still do the bulk of it. “And I’ll go to the market tomorrow to see how much I can get for the hides,” I finished, more to myself than to them. No one bothered to confirm they’d heard me, anyway.

#17

– Можем да изядем половината месо тази седмица – казах аз и хвърлих поглед към сърната. Тя заемаше цялата паянтова маса, която ни служеше за място за хранене, за работна маса и за кухня.
– Другата половина можем да изсушим – продължих, с ясното съзнание, че без значение колко мило ще го кажа, пак аз ще свърша повечето работа. – А утре ще отида до пазара, за да видя колко ще ми дадат за кожите.
Последното казах повече на себе си, отколкото на тях. Никой не даде знак, че ме е чул.

Крисито2004 4.06.20 в 17:18

My father’s ruined leg was stretched out before him, as close to the fire’s heat as it could get. The cold, or the rain, or a change in temperature always aggravated the vicious, twisted wounds around his knee. His simply carved cane was propped up against his chair—a cane he’d made for himself … and that Nesta was sometimes prone to leaving far out of his reach.

#18

He could find work if he wasn’t so ashamed, Nesta always said when I hissed about it. She hated him for the injury, too—for not fighting back when that creditor and his thugs had burst into the cottage and smashed his knee again and again. Nesta and Elain had fled into the bedroom, barricading the door. I had stayed, begging and weeping through every scream of my father, every crunch of bone. I’d soiled myself—and then vomited right on the stones before the hearth. Only then did the men leave. We never saw them again.

#19

We’d used a massive chunk of our remaining money to pay for the healer. It had taken my father six months to even walk, a year before he could go a mile. The coppers he brought in when someone pitied him enough to buy his wood carvings weren’t enough to keep us fed. Five years ago, when the money was well and truly gone, when my father still couldn’t—wouldn’t—move much about, he hadn’t argued when I announced that I was going hunting.

#20

He hadn’t bothered to attempt to stand from his seat by the fire, hadn’t bothered to look up from his wood carving. He just let me walk into those deadly, eerie woods that even the most seasoned hunters were wary of. He’d become a little more aware now—sometimes offered signs of gratitude, sometimes hobbled all the way into town to sell his carvings—but not much.

#21

“I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same moment Nesta rose and declared: “I need a new pair of boots.”

#22

I kept quiet, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of their arguments, but I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces.

#23

“But I’m freezing with my raggedy old cloak,” Elain pleaded. “I’ll shiver to death.” She fixed her wide eyes on me and said, “Please, Feyre.” She drew out the two syllables of my name—fay-ruh—into the most hideous whine I’d ever endured, and Nesta loudly clicked her tongue before ordering her to shut up.

#24

I drowned them out as they began quarreling over who would get the money the hide would fetch tomorrow and found my father now standing at the table, one hand braced against it to support his weight as he inspected the deer. His attention slid to the giant wolf pelt. His fingers, still smooth and gentlemanly, turned over the pelt and traced a line through the bloody underside. I tensed.

#25

His dark eyes flicked to mine. “Feyre,” he murmured, and his mouth became a tight line. “Where did you get this?”

#26

“The same place I got the deer,” I replied with equal quiet, my words cool and sharp.

#27

His gaze traveled over the bow and quiver strapped to my back, the wooden-hilted hunting knife at my side. His eyes turned damp. “Feyre … the risk …”

#28

I jerked my chin at the pelt, unable to keep the snap from my voice as I said, “I had no other choice.”

#29

What I really wanted to say was: You don’t even bother to attempt to leave the house most days. Were it not for me, we would starve. Were it not for me, we’d be dead.

#30

“Feyre,” he repeated, and closed his eyes.

#31

My sisters had gone quiet, and I looked up in time to see Nesta crinkle her nose with a sniff. She picked at my cloak. “You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”

#32

I didn’t let the sting and ache show. I’d been too young to learn more than the basics of manners and reading and writing when our family had fallen into misfortune, and she’d never let me forget it.

#33

She stepped back to run a finger over the braided coils of her gold-brown hair. “Take those disgusting clothes off.”

#34

I took my time, swallowing the words I wanted to bark back at her. Older than me by three years, she somehow looked younger than I did, her golden cheeks always flushed with a delicate, vibrant pink. “Can you make a pot of hot water and add wood to the fire?” But even as I asked, I noticed the woodpile. There were only five logs left. “I thought you were going to chop wood today.”

#35

Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.” She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother—especially when she wanted something. “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.”

#36

My jaw clenched. “Please,” I asked, calming my breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing I needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood.” I unbuttoned the top of my tunic. “Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.”

#37

Her brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!”

#38

But I was already walking toward the small second room where my sisters and I slept. Elain murmured a soft plea to Nesta, which earned her a hiss in response. I glanced over my shoulder at my father and pointed to the deer. “Get the knives ready,” I said, not bothering to sound pleasant. “I’ll be out soon.” Without waiting for an answer, I shut the door behind me.

#39

The room was large enough for a rickety dresser and the enormous ironwood bed we slept in. The sole remnant of our former wealth, it had been ordered as a wedding gift from my father to my mother. It was the bed in which we’d been born, and the bed in which my mother died. In all the painting I’d done to our house these past few years, I’d never touched it.

#40

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser—frowning at the violets and roses I’d painted around the knobs of Elain’s drawer, the crackling flames I’d painted around Nesta’s, and the night sky—whorls of yellow stars standing in for white—around mine. I’d done it to brighten the otherwise dark room. They’d never commented on it. I don’t know why I’d ever expected them to.

#41

Groaning, it was all I could do to keep from collapsing onto the bed.

#42

We dined on roasted venison that night. Though I knew it was foolish, I didn’t object when each of us had a small second helping until I declared the meat off-limits. I’d spend tomorrow preparing the deer’s remaining parts for consumption, then I’d allot a few hours to currying up both hides before taking them to the market. I knew a few vendors who might be interested in such a purchase—though neither was likely to give me the fee I deserved. But money was money, and I didn’t have the time or the funds to travel to the nearest large town to find a better offer.

#43

I sucked on the tines of my fork, savoring the remnants of fat coating the metal. My tongue slipped over the crooked prongs—the fork was part of a shabby set my father had salvaged from the servants’ quarters while the creditors ransacked our manor home. None of our utensils matched, but it was better than using our fingers. My mother’s dowry flatware had long since been sold.

#44

My mother. Imperious and cold with her children, joyous and dazzling among the peerage who frequented our former estate, doting on my father—the one person whom she truly loved and respected. But she also had truly loved parties—so much so that she didn’t have time to do anything with me at all save contemplate how my budding abilities to sketch and paint might secure me a future husband. Had she lived long enough to see our wealth crumble, she would have been shattered by it—more so than my father. Perhaps it was a merciful thing that she died.

#45

If anything, it left more food for us.

#46

There was nothing left of her in the cottage beyond the ironwood bed—and the vow I’d made.

#47

Every time I looked toward a horizon or wondered if I should just walk and walk and never look back, I’d hear that promise I made eleven years ago as she wasted away on her deathbed. Stay together, and look after them. I’d agreed, too young to ask why she hadn’t begged my elder sisters, or my father. But I’d sworn it to her, and then she’d died, and in our miserable human world—shielded only by the promise made by the High Fae five centuries ago—in our world where we’d forgotten the names of our gods, a promise was law; a promise was currency; a promise was your bond.

#48

There were times when I hated her for asking that vow of me. Perhaps, delirious with fever, she hadn’t even known what she was demanding. Or maybe impending death had given her some clarity about the true nature of her children, her husband.

#49

I set down the fork and watched the flames of our meager fire dance along the remaining logs, stretching out my aching legs beneath the table.

#50

Следваща страница →

Минутку...