The Deepest Blue(72)
He told himself not to worry, smoothed his tunic, and then crossed to open the main door to the room. Flanked by two servants, a woman in silver-fish-scale pants marched in. “Are you the artist?” the woman demanded. “I was told there would be no charge.”
Kelo bowed, unsure of the exact protocol with ladies of the court. “Welcome. You were told correctly. Her Majesty has issued a request to create a portrait gallery in the palace with images of the most important people in Belene. It will be paid for by the royal treasury.”
“The most important people in Belene, you say? Do you know who I am?”
His throat felt as if it were stuck. He hadn’t thought to ask who he’d be interrogating. He felt like the worst intelligence gatherer in history. Please don’t let me fail so soon. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I was only told where to go, not whom I would have the honor of depicting.” He tried adding a bit of flattery. “Truth be told, I am relieved to see my first subject is someone of elegance and beauty. It will make my task simpler.”
She snorted, but seemed pleased. “You will have more of a challenge with some of my peers. Very well. Let’s begin. I am Lady Biliarn of the Family Culo. You will do to concentrate efforts on my nose. I’m told it’s my finest feature.”
“It’s the pairing of your nose with your cheekbones,” Kelo said promptly. And honestly. Lady Biliarn was a striking woman. Striking not unlike a venomous snake, but still striking. “The way your face catches the light. The angles are perfect.”
To his surprise, Lady Biliarn laughed. “I have been complimented on many things in my years, but never on my angles. I am not displeased.” She positioned herself on the stool he’d provided and tilted her face up to catch the light.
“This may take a while,” he cautioned. “I want to be sure I do you justice.”
“I will clear my schedule.” She gave a nod toward one of her servants and barked, “Clear my schedule. Give polite rejections to the people I like and aloof ones to those I don’t.” To Kelo, she asked, “One hour?”
“That should do,” Kelo said, then hesitated. “You can dismiss both your servants, if you have things you’d prefer they accomplish while you are occupied. I have refreshments already here, as you can see, and can tend to your needs.”
To his relief, she dismissed both servants with a litany of instructions, and then resumed her position on the stool. He began to sketch.
She really did have nice cheekbones, he thought. He worked on them first, catching the angle. Soon, he lost himself in the work.
“I have not had my portrait done since I was a girl,” Lady Biliarn mused, breaking the silence.
He opened his mouth to ask her not to speak—it made it difficult to capture the line of her neck—but then remembered she was supposed to be talking. He’d gotten so caught up in his task that he’d forgotten his purpose. “I’m sorry. I am making you sit for too long. Would you like a break?” Standing, he felt stiffness in his own legs. How long had he made her hold still? How much time was left in the hour? He scurried to the refreshments table and reached for the pitcher to pour her a glass of Garnah’s beverage.
“I’m not thirsty, but is that goat cheese?”
“Infused with . . .” He had no idea what was in the cheese. “Herbs?” He composed a plate for her, adding salted nuts, salted crackers, and salted dried figs, and then carried it to her. “You mentioned having your portrait done before. Was it for a special occasion?”
“A coronation. Not of Queen Asana. This was before her.” She nibbled on the nuts and figs as Kelo returned to his stool. He wondered what he’d do if she wasn’t thirsty before the hour was up. “The prior queen was originally from our island, and so I was given the honor of crowning her, after she emerged from the grove. She had to be cleaned up quite a bit before her portrait. Bloody work, being crowned. The artist was only too happy to paint me while we waited for her to be dressed.”
He wondered if he could get her to talk without the drink. She seemed to want to chat.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “A bit too salty, isn’t that?” She looked with distaste at the cheese, then sniffed her fingertips. “And perhaps a bit off.”
He sprang up. “Let me get you something to drink—”
But before he could reach the table, Lady Biliarn slipped off her stool. She landed in a heap on the floor and began to twitch.
He ran to her. “Someone, help! Help!” he cried.
The closet door burst open. “Shush, you ridiculous man.” Lady Garnah hurried across the room. “Stand back and no more noise.”
“But she—”
“Appears to be having an allergic reaction to the cheese, poor dear.”
“How do you know—”
“Because she just appears to be. I laced the food with terracet powder, in case our targets didn’t get thirsty. Incidentally, what took you so long? I was bored in there. I detest being bored.”
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call for a healer?”
Garnah had pinned Lady Biliarn down with a knee to her chest. She pried open Lady Biliarn’s eyelids and peered at them. Lady Biliarn continued to twitch. “I am a healer. Of sorts. Hold her legs steady.”