Dragon Rose(41)

“It is.”

Another nod, but this time I caught her giving me a searching look, as if she found something amiss in my expression or my manner. I tensed a little, even though I told myself I was being foolish. After all, I was the lady of the castle. It was not her place to question me. Never mind that her no-nonsense manner reminded me a little too much of my own mother. Even after several months in the castle, I had to school myself not to snap to Sar’s commands the way I would have if I still lived at home and they had been delivered by my mother instead of someone who was in fact one of my servants.

A hesitation, and then she said, “Well, enjoy your luncheon, my lady. His lordship says you will be taking your dinner in his rooms again this evening?”

“This evening, and for the rest of the winter, I don’t doubt, unless we have an unexpected warm snap.”

“Very good, my lady.”

And then she took her leave of me and went. I stood there, staring at the shut door for a long moment, wondering at the diffidence I had seen in her aspect. Truly it couldn’t have been that much of an imposition for Theran and me to dine in his chambers, as he must have his other meals brought there anyway. Perhaps it was just that Sar did not like to have her routines disturbed. Yes, that must be it.

Satisfied that I had explained away any oddness I might have noticed in her manner, I sat down to my meal and ate hungrily enough. Painting can be hard work, even if that which one paints is seen only through the mind’s eye, and has no true substance in this world.





I spent much of the rest of the afternoon in the same manner, working quickly and without stopping. This time I created nothing that I thought I might have to paint over later, and when I finally stopped a little after sunset—or at least what I guessed must be sunset, as I could see nothing of it through the sullen rainstorm that seemed to have descended on the castle—I was much farther along in the portrait than I had ever dreamed I would be. True, I was not done, and still some weeks off from being done, but for the first time I thought I might reasonably finish the portrait sometime this winter.

What I would do with it then, I couldn’t imagine. Hide it under my bed, most likely. I couldn’t see Theran being terribly pleased with my hanging a picture of some unknown man in my rooms, even if I had conjured him from my own imagination and a combination of features I thought pleasing. Those sea-colored eyes I had seen the previous summer in a young man who’d come to Lirinsholme in the train of a traveling merchant from Purth, and the heavy fall of dark hair was quite similar to that of Kellin Strathelme, who was apprentice to Master Mackinrod, the blacksmith. Not so odd, I supposed, to invent someone who combined qualities I found attractive, when I lived day to day with someone who refused to show me his face.

With that thought I realized I should tidy myself up for dinner. Once again I set aside my apron, and washed my hands vigorously before brushing my hair. I had worn no jewelry while I was working, but I slid a pair of earrings with dark green stones I didn’t recognize into my ears, and fastened a matching necklace around my throat. I stood for a moment, regarding my own reflection, wondering if I might see something there that Sar had noticed.

But I looked much the same as I always had, although perhaps there was just the slightest hint of darkness below my eyes—from my restless night, no doubt. I had heard that the ladies of the court used powder and paint to hide such things, but Sar had only used such subterfuges on my wedding day. They were not a permanent addition to my toiletries. Just as well; I shuddered to think what my mother might say if she ever discovered that her daughter had stooped to dabbing powder on her face or stain on her cheeks.

As I left my chambers and headed for Theran’s quarters, I thought of the tale I had read the night before, of Alende and Allaire. She had been brave enough to love him despite his scars, and they had lived a happy life, even if he was never restored to his former self. Was this what the Dragon Lord wished to teach me? Would I have the courage of Allaire, who had looked into the baron’s face and seen only the man she loved, and not his deformity?

The memory of those rough lips against mine returned to me, and I drew in a breath. Truly they had not felt human, and yet Theran seemed so much a man to me, from the measured woodwind tones of his voice to the spare elegance of his movements.

And what would you know of a man? some part of me seemed to scoff. You, who have never even stolen a kiss in the alley behind your parents’ house, or caught the fancy of a single young man?

To be fair, my experience was not large. In truth, it was nonexistent. Some might have thought this odd, since I had been deemed more than pretty by the standards of my town, and certainly my family was good enough. Perhaps it was simply my obsession with drawing and painting, which, though my parents tried to suppress talk of it as best they could, still made me the subject of some bemused speculation. Nor did it help that I had spent a good deal of my spare time learning what I could of the craft from Lindell. The gossips must have known that he had a longstanding understanding with Melisse, the keeper of the Dragon’s Head, but I suppose those same busybodies did not find that relationship salacious enough, instead preferring to manufacture some sordid explanation for his interest in me. That could do much to shred a girl’s reputation, even if there were no truth in it.

If there had been talk, I never heard it, although that meant little. My parents did what they could to shelter me, and Lilianth did rather more. She would never hear one ill word spoken of me, and recalling that about her made me doubly glad I had stepped in to take her place here at Black’s Keep.