Morning started quieter than usual. And much later, judging by the fact that the sun flooded the bed, and it became absolutely impossible to sleep further. Usually, the Duchess of GormLate woke up from a child's cry, laughter or patter, or even from the fact that the six-year-old World - up to the ugliness of the dirty shirt and pants - climbed into bed with her and pressed her with his whole body and whispered how much he loved her. Sometimes Maria Gormlate thought it was funny, but more often she was angry. From powerlessness or just incredible fatigue - the Duchess did not know.
The unbearable boy rose to such an early age! Maria herself regretted that she woke him up so early when he was a baby. Otherwise, he might have let her sleep in the morning. It was useless for the world to explain anything, either too small or simply by being a character in his incomparable father. The second was much more likely. And much happier.
The world was running around the house, playing with his hand wolf - about the horror, as soon as the duchess managed to let him get such a pet - distracted from the work of the servants, constantly crashed somewhere, broke something, smashed and crashed on his way, laughed loudly, talked a lot, confused and completely irrelevant, caressed himself, demanded kisses and hugs and constantly got into all sorts of trouble.
Yeah, well... In the last six years, Maria Gormlate had forgotten almost what it was - the silence in her own home. And what is order - too. Tin soldiers, different wooden figures, a lot of children's clothes and everything that the world could reach in its six years - it was worth noting that for his age, he was a fairly tall child, in addition, gladly turning everything into homemade stairs, What was possible was that it was lying on the floor, on chairs, on beautiful vases, written from distant levels of Ibero, some of the things were hopelessly spoiled, and the culprit himself smiled and tried to hug Mary even harder than usual, hid his face in her palm and sneakily watched over her reaction.
The world was charming and took advantage of it with no shame. When I wanted to sneak out of class when I did something when Magn did something when I wanted sweet when I just wanted attention. To Maria Gorme-Late's great shame, most of the time that devil was able to make her feel sorry for herself.
The Duchess suddenly worried. Silence in the house could mean that something had happened to this uncontrollable child. The last time it was so quiet, it was only when the world went for a walk into the woods in the morning, managed to fall off a cliff - good, it wasn't high - and hurt his leg so badly that he got a huge abrasion to his forehead.
And a year ago, when they were still living on Uvenka, it turned out that the World had sneaked into Swaard's father's house (after Mir categorically refused to say through what gap between the levels he managed to get through), stumbled upon some monster from the Empress's pristine creations there, almost killed her, but escaped quite successfully, and if Argo hadn't grabbed his son at the very last moment by the cone, he would have probably fallen into the Tigert, a stormy magical river. The Duchess still remembered that day with a shudder. And here, on the shard of old Ibero, something even worse could have happened.
Maria immediately jumped out of bed, quickly cleaned herself up, not even paying attention to what kind of clothes were lying next to her bed, at some point it all became completely unimportant for her, and almost ran out of her bedroom. In her chest, there was a lump that held her breath tight, and her hands trembled with excitement.
The Duchess was ready to pray to all the gods of Iberia that the world would only stay alive and not hurt itself. And she was ready to forgive the next destruction in her house and any mess that Drachomir could make - only that nothing would happen to this little tomboy.
It was quiet on the floor, too. Maria Gormlate felt strangely frightened. If Mira is nowhere to be found in the house, we will have to contact her husband, the Duchess said to herself. She had no right to risk her son's life, and her endless quarrels with Argo Astal had nothing to do with Drachomir. He was not to blame for the fact that the relationship between the adults had been cracking at the seams since the day they met each other. To tell the truth, sometimes it seemed to Maria that she had started divorcing Argo even before the day they were married. It was... sad. But the world was definitely not to blame.
Once upon a time, someone told young GormLate that they should choose their life partner based on the color of their wings. His own and his. It seems that then she even brought a whole encyclopedia on the combination of colors of wings - Maria did not pay attention to such a combination. However, Argo's wings she saw later. Much later than they met.
And even - much later than they began to live together as husband and wife. And he himself... Yes, it is possible that he did not even know that there is some book with the preferred combination of color wings. And when did he care about such a thing? He also did not consider the primordial monsters to be particularly important - no more important than himself, that's for sure.
When the Duchess was already down the stairs, she heard someone slowly playing a simple song on the piano in the music hall. Approximately so difficult that it could be performed by a six-year-old child, with whom they had been playing music for a year. Something like Asturian marches that she couldn't stand. She didn't like more of them from music except table songs that were sung at her husband's feasts. Maria Gormlate loved organ music more. Only did anyone listen to her opinion at the Asturian level?
The rhythm of the song that came out of the music scene wasn't always the same. Inexperienced fingers repeatedly pressed the wrong keys, which made listening barely possible. There were no hues and strokes either - the volume of sounds was uneven, weak parts often sounded much more sharply than they should have. It was only because the melody was quite simple and simple that the Duchess could understand the score.
Once and for all... A hesitation. A fake note. Two-and-three was all in one pile, too fast and blurry. Four. A stutter. And once... And again. And again, it's a fake. And Maria madly wanted to come closer, to see her son play - now the duchess had no doubts about it - and, finally, to start counting aloud, if the world could not cope with the rhythm without it.
The continuation should be...