Page 74 of Cast in Atonement

“In my opinion, they are not. But they were never paintings. Azoria’s magic relied on altering both canvas and paint. It was delicate work, and likely time-consuming; whatever she built here was a long time in the planning. I do not sense her presence in this place, but it is not empty.

“I would remain, but I cannot be too long from the garden. I will need to confer with the elements—they are likely to be unsettled.”

“Do you understand why?”

“No. I am unwilling to speculate without further research. There is one last painting I wish to see.”

“The self-portrait.”

Evanton nodded. His face was disturbingly expressionless as he looked down the gallery, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Hope was now rigid as he stood on her shoulder. “Mrs. Erickson?” Kaylin asked, voice softer. Although the old woman had entered the building by Evanton’s side, she had fallen behind. Kaylin joined Mrs. Erickson; she and Bellusdeo walked to either side of her, as if she was the only person here who needed protection.

Her eyes were too wide, her shoulders too slumped; her hands seemed to tremble slightly.

“Imelda,” Bellusdeo said, her eyes dark orange, her voice very gentle. “What do you see?”

Mrs. Erickson shook her head, mute, as if to deny that she could see anything. But she didn’t say the words, because they would have been lies. Maybe living with children for all her life had made honesty so instinctive she couldn’t lie, except by shaky omission.

Evanton lifted a hand before Bellusdeo could ask again. He’d glanced at Mrs. Erickson, but it was brief; that glance, even given his lack of familiarity, took in everything Kaylin had seen.

“My apologies, Mrs. Erickson. I have perhaps been too demanding. I wish to view the final painting, after which I must do research of my own. Thank you for your patience.” He approached her and once again offered her his arm.

She put more of her weight against it as she accepted.

Terrano was visible in the distance, dwarfed by the large frame that had once contained the self-portrait of Azoria An’Berranin. She was no longer in the painting, but the painting persisted, its frame unchanged. The absence of Azoria had initially left the gray, almost cloudlike landscape of the outlands. It had been both window and door. Now the landscape was different.

Clouds persisted, but they occupied the height of the painting, as natural clouds occupied parts of the sky. From the height of clouds, spokes of light fell on a slant, toward the ground. There, trees stood—or plants that resembled trees at this distance; had they not been so small, she wouldn’t have had any doubts.

But above those trees towered pillars—or what Kaylin assumed were pillars—that almost seemed to hold up the sky, the clouds; there was no roof, no upper limit to the structure. The pillars were wider by far than the trunks of the trees that seemed almost minuscule in comparison.

The sky was an odd shade—a sunset shade of crimson and violet with streaks of gold from one side of the frame to the other.

“Mandoran, what do you see?”

Mandoran described what Kaylin saw almost exactly.

“Bellusdeo?”

The gold Dragon failed to answer.

“Evanton?”

“I see what Mandoran claims to see,” the Keeper replied. His tone was neutral, almost stiff.

Do you see what I see?

Yes. But Evanton’s reaction implies that it has a meaning to him that it doesn’t to the rest of us.

Kaylin didn’t ask Mrs. Erickson. Instead, she said, “What does Terrano see?”

“He can see what we see.”

“And?”

Mandoran nodded. “This was one of Azoria’s paintings. There are elements to it that aren’t visible to normal eyes.”

Terrano’s eyes were not normal. They were far too large, and far too oddly colored; they took up half of his face. “Serralyn says Bakkon is done for now—they’re going to close up and head back to the Academia through his portal, if that’s okay.”

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