Dragon Rose(48)

Of Theran, I saw no sign.

“It is…unfortunate…that you saw what you did. You should never have gone there, my lady, nor left the castle grounds on your own. It’s dangerous in the woods, what with the boars and the bears—”

“Do not forget the dragon,” I put in.

Her mouth tightened further. “The dragon would never trouble you, my lady, and I think you know that very well.”

“Do I?”

She turned from me then, the set of her shoulders communicating what courtesy would not allow her to. How she probably wished she could give me the talking-to she so clearly thought I deserved.

“You are not well,” she said, after a pause. “You should not have gotten out of bed in the first place. I do think you should allow yourself to rest. This will all look much better to you tomorrow.”

I didn’t quite see how even an extended period of rest would help me to extinguish the grim vision of those rows of gravestones, of the realization that all of my predecessors lay buried not more than a mile from where I now sat. Even ten years of sleep, like that which had captured the enchanted princess from the tale my mother used to tell me when I was a little girl, would not be enough to erase that sight…or the questions it aroused.

Besides, if I slept…if I closed my eyes…who was to say they would ever open again?

Something of my dismay must have shown itself in my face, for Sar’s tone was gentler when she spoke again. “You have nothing to fear,” she said, and somehow I heard the truth in her words, although I guessed it was not the whole truth. “And he knows nothing of any of this, so we can keep it as our secret.”

Her words did seem to lift a burden I hadn’t noticed I was carrying until it was gone. Truly, Theran was probably still angry with me after our exchange the previous night. I didn’t want to think what his response might be if he learned I had left the castle unaccompanied. Not only that, but that I had discovered something no doubt he wished to remain hidden.

“Thank you, Sar. I think I shall sleep now. Don’t worry about bringing me any supper—I’ll make up for it at breakfast.”

She nodded, a little of the worry seeming to lift from her brow, and she appeared even more relieved when I set down my goblet of spiced wine and made my way to my bedchamber. Since I had already removed my mud-spattered woolen gown, it was a simple enough thing for me to shrug off the heavy quilted robe I’d put on over my chemise and then slide into bed.

I closed my eyes, more for Sar’s benefit than because I thought I would actually sleep. She seemed to putter about in the outer room for a minute or two more before I heard the door close.

The wind wailed past the tower, rattling the windows in their casements. Mat had been right; another storm was coming in. Nothing to be surprised about, of course. This was the season for it. I supposed I should have been glad that the snow had held off so far. We were only a few days into Novedre, but snowstorms had been known to come earlier than that.

Perhaps it was the keening of the gale outside that stirred up my restlessness. Not that it really mattered. I knew sleep would not come to me this early, so many hours before the time I usually laid down my head. And besides, that dream of mine had taught me the portrait was not yet right, that there were still many things about it I needed to correct, close as it was to its subject.

Sar had built up the fire, and some of its heat penetrated into my bedchamber. Cold drifted past the cracks in the windows, though, and I gathered up my heavy dressing gown and put it on before going to the alcove and fishing out the portrait from its hiding place.

Out came my palette and brushes as well, and I set to, working to get those crinkles around his eyes just so. Altering the shape of his mouth would take more time, and so I set that task aside for later. If I could get at least this part right, I would feel as if I had accomplished something today.

I worked away, as the stormy gray half-light outside my windows faded into dusk and then black night. At some point I set down my brush long enough to light some candles, but that was the only respite I allowed myself. Too much to do, too much to do, I told myself as I dipped my brush in the paint, using tiny strokes to define the troublesome areas around his eyes.

Finally I set down the brush, mainly because my hand had begun to cramp. I had no way of knowing how many hours I had spent in my frenzied work, but the castle around me was quiet and still, save for the ever-present keening of the wind. Apparently Sar had taken my words at face value and stayed away.

Meaning that Theran had taken his dinner alone. I doubted it was the first time, and I tried to ignore the pang of guilt that went through me as I pictured him sitting by himself at the round table in his chambers, his ingenious little devices whirring and shimmering away in the next room. Why should I feel guilty? It was he who had insulted me, not the other way around. And I was not the one with a graveyard full of dead wives barely a mile away.

That thought brought home the events of the day. I had done a good job of shutting them out while I was working. Perhaps I had thrown myself back into the painting in such a frenzy precisely because I wanted to forget what I had seen.

Not so easy, though. I could see it clearly as if it still lay before me, that forlorn little clearing with its ranks of neat grey headstones. Someone obviously took care to keep it in that condition, for the area had been clear of weeds, and I thought I had even spotted the remnants of wildflowers lying on several of the graves. Whose grim duty was that? Mat’s? Sar’s?