Читать книгу Palmist. Books 1,2,3 онлайн

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Sultana was allowed to leave the walls of her house on certain days, strictly accompanied by guards, and of course, so that her master was notified of this. Sultana worked every evening, and sometimes at night. She no longer liked dancing as much as it once began in her hometown. When it all started, Sultana was a very young girl, and was under the wing of her father. She always came home, and was not afraid of anything. Now the dance meant nothing to her, it was just a reminder of her mother, sometimes she danced so expressively and this made the dance even more spectacular and attractive, at these moments she remembered how her mother taught her. Sometimes she liked to dance for the audience, because it was her only entertainment. Sultana loved dancing, but lately she believed that dancing had ruined her life, and now her life will never be the same.

Exactly a week has passed, and every evening, returning home, Sultana looked imploringly and questioningly into the eyes of each guard. But there was silence in response. Sometimes she tried to talk to each of them, but all her attempts were in vain. Each of the guards was working his shift, but none of them said a word. Deep down, she hoped that her lover would find her and they would run away, as he promised, but her heart told her something completely different. Every morning there was a change of post, and Sultana eavesdropped on their conversation, hoping that someday they would blab. One shift was too harsh, she did not like them, and she never went shopping with them. Sultana studied each of them, and waited for the others, who were constantly whispering, and thus she sometimes learned news, including those that concerned her.