Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(126)

What had Atorl been alluding to? She frowned. Whatever the man had suggested, it had angered Dahli, so he might not appreciate her asking about it. Though she had a right to, since it involved her. She resolved to later.

For now, she had half a day free to explore. Moving through the statues brought her closer to a wall, painted a dark colour. As her light reached them, small black squares were revealed to be paintings. A thrill went through her and she hurried over to the closest. Dust rimed the frame and coated the painting. She blew on the surface, dislodging a little. With a mental apology to the servants who cleaned her clothes, she rubbed a sleeve gently across the surface. A dull blackness appeared. She could make out no features. Thinking that perhaps it was a night scene, or a dark painting with a small subject to one side, she wiped until the whole square was clean.

It contained nothing but black paint.

Puzzled, she stepped back and brought her light closer. Brushstrokes were revealed. Reading them like a relief carving, she made out the shape of a landscape. Black clouds raced across a midnight sky. Inky flowers bloomed in the darkness.

Was it a style of painting, secretive and deliberate? She moved to the next painting and wiped away the dust. Another black surface appeared, but this time a murky shape lurked in the darkness. A smiling face. It was as if someone had painted over it with many layers of black glaze.

Licking a finger, she rubbed at a corner of the face. Grime came away, revealing stronger colour.

The varnish has darkened, she thought. The residue on her finger was greasy. Oil? Is this what happens to oily paint over time?

Stepping back, she considered the two paintings. Words were carved into the frames. She recognised the style of lettering, but while her grasp of the Traveller tongue was good enough for most conversation–and Dahli’s lessons–she could not read or write it.

Would Valhan remember the artist? she wondered. He must have seen the work of thousands. Thousands upon thousands. Why would he remember them all? Will he remember me, in another thousand cycles–or even just a hundred? Or will I be like Dahli, dedicating my life to the ruler of worlds?

It didn’t appeal. Why would it? Unending cycles of servitude seemed a disappointing future after escaping three unextraordinary domestic existences; and imprisonment. Dahli believed she would be a great sorcerer. To her that meant freedom and independence, not attending to someone’s every wish and command. Though it would be a limited freedom, since she couldn’t travel through the worlds without Valhan’s approval.

And one day I may need his help. I’d have to offer something in return.

She sighed. The gallery and her thoughts had filled her with melancholy. She turned away from the paintings, feeling betrayed by them. All art deteriorated and, in time, fell to dust. As a tapestry artist she’d learned to accept its ephemeral nature, but she’d been consoled by the thought that it should, made well, last beyond her lifetime. She’d assumed paintings would survive far longer.

If she learned to become ageless she would see all her creations perish. And everyone she knew who was not also ageless. And her children, if she ever had any and they did not have strong enough magical abilities to become ageless as well.

“Rielle.”

She jumped; then, spying Dahli in the shadows of a statue, shook her head at him. “Give me a warning before you do that!”

He smiled. “Would you not also jump at the warning?”

“I guess, but that’s not the point.”

“I apologise for not frightening you with a warning that I am about to scare you.” He chuckled. “I thought you might linger here.”

She shrugged. “The paintings are so dark with age they’re almost entirely black.”

“Yes, but the statues are in good condition. In other worlds, if exposed to weather, their features would have long worn off, or they’d have crumbled away.”

“Does Valhan come here?”

He looked up at the statue. “Occasionally. It’s one of the oldest representations.” He opened his mouth to say more, then shook his head and turned back to her. “I expect you want to know who I was talking to, before.”

“Atorl? One of Valhan’s allies.”

“Yes. Do you recall what the term means?”

“Allies? Yes. Sorcerers Valhan has made agreements with.”

He looked pleased. “That is correct. What is important to note is that they are not truly loyal. Many serve him only because they profit from it.”

“So they would betray him if they thought they’d get away with it.”

“Yes.”

“Would Atorl?”

“Perhaps.” He scowled. “No, I’ll amend that to ‘probably’, but it would take a great change of circumstance. Atorl is not ambitious. He’s too lazy to rule over others. Instead he works for whoever is in charge. And that means if someone stronger came along, he’d work for them instead.”

“Valhan knows this?”

“Of course. Nobody can hide their mind from him.”

“So why does he tolerate Atorl?”

“Allies are useful.” Dahli grimaced. “Actually, some of them are more annoying than useful. Some are too dangerous for Valhan not to have some kind of agreement in place to keep them from uniting against him.”

Rielle shivered. “What about Inekera?”