Word of the newfound prodigy spread to every corner of the estate. Among my father’s court, his guests, and those staying for various purposes, I would surmise that close to forty or forty-five nobles now shared the shelter of Highsummit Manor’s roof. This number, of course, did not account for the ever-changing multitude of servants and staff, whose presence ebbed and flowed with the constant comings and goings of daily life. Nevertheless, it was a considerable assembly, and all were abuzz with whispers of Aufelia de Irchard’s miraculous artistic talent, which had seemingly materialized overnight.
It was a curious kind of flattery, to be so widely praised for talents that were, in truth, not my own but Princess’s. To draw or write with my original hands had always been an arduous affair, akin to driving a nail into wood by repeatedly striking my head against it—slow, laborious, and agonizing. But with Princess’s deft fingers at my command, it was as though I had finally been given a hammer. The ease with which I now created left me baffled that others did not find it as simple. There was no real challenge—observe an image, replicate part of it in paint, and continue until the work was complete. It was not as if I were employing the Artan Legacy, a complex feat that would rightfully warrant such praise.
Princess chose to retreat to her room, a decision that was easily anticipated by Fermina, whose gentle knock on the door and relieved expression upon seeing our face communicated her intentions. As expected, requests for portraits had already begun to arrive. Fermina, ever gracious and obliging, could not turn them away but was understandably hesitant to determine who should receive precedence. With her remarkable memory, she listed eight individuals who had expressed interest in having their likeness captured.
“Some of them are speaking about pricing your portraits up to nine royal seals if it has the same quality as the one of Riatna,” Fermina guiltily stated, daring not to lift her eyes. She dreaded the topic but needed address it. “With Master Dubart gone… we cannot expect to earn our meals here for free. If this is something you can make a living out of…”
“I understand, but don’t worry too much about it,” Princess reassured her with a smile, even going so far as to place a hand on Fermina’s shoulders—a gesture she rarely dared, given the emotions I struggled to suppress. “Everything will be alright; money is not going to be a problem.” Not with the inheritance I would provide them, I should think not. “And uh… yes. I guess I can make a living like this, meanwhile. It will make my evenings busy so I do not get into trouble.” Her implication was hurtful, although duly noted.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Fermina, yearning to be helpful, offered to act as our intermediary, her kindheartedness melting our shared heart. She needlessly promised that this arrangement would be temporary until she could devise another means of income.
With the burden of managing our schedule graciously accepted, Fermina would handle all future inquiries regarding painting, allowing Princess the freedom to emerge from her chambers.
I knew Princess well enough to assert with confidence that she did not shy away from compliments or the acknowledgment of her accomplishments, even if they often centered on her inherited beauty, which required no active effort. Her newfound reluctance to accept praise and attention stemmed not from modesty but from a lack of confidence in her ability to perform on demand. Had the admiration been for her singing voice or her knowledge of botany, she would have proudly puffed out her chest, accepted every comment, and engaged with her admirers, basking in the adulation.
We avoided the more populated areas of the estate, seeking solitude whenever possible. This led us to the library, to our little hiding place beneath a table on the third floor, tucked away in a corner behind a bookshelf—the very spot where we had once concocted our forgeries. It was a sanctuary of quietude and seclusion, or at least as secluded as one could be when sharing a mind with another.
“What if they ask me to paint during the day?” Princess fretted, asking her mirror. “Imagine the Lord Duke Archiments or someone important asks me! I… I would be found out at once, Dubart!”
“You suffer fainting spells during the sun’s prayers, witnessed by all. Simply claim that you are a delicate Lady or that you are in mourning,” I reminded her. “Excuses abound, Princess. Neither my brother nor father would ever force you to work, on their honor, if you offer a plausible reason to decline. Furthermore, you are not entirely ignorant of painting. I watched you sketch the outlines for Raiya, that poor maid; you could easily handle the preliminary drawings during the day, and I could finish them in the evenings.”
“Maybe I should just put a bandage over my hand and say I broke it or something until everyone forgets,” Princess demurred pointlessly, lamenting that we had this exploitable talent.
“You would be sent to the physicians, who would uncover the truth at once. Worse still, we could end up in the office of Magister Thorban,” I countered.
Whatever the sisters thought of the man, the old Magister was an accomplished physician, carefully chosen to prolong my life. If anyone had the expertise to uncover our secret, it would be him.
“Instead of torturing yourself with such thoughts, why not find something to read?” I suggested, growing weary of her anxiety. “You could turn the pages for both of us. Have you ever studied the unification wars of the Eastern Empire? It is a recent fascination of mine.”
full story:
Amazon
Apple Books
Barnes & Noble
Everand
Fable
Kobo
The Palace
Smashwords
Thalia
Vivlio
Audiobook now available! Fully voiced for each character! Featuring sound effects:
Barnes & Noble
Google Play
Kobo, Walmart
Storytel
Apple
