Page 36 of The Faceless Mage

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Lady Piperell led the way to Leisa’s first appointment by way of the portrait gallery, which proved to be mostly filled with unimaginative paintings of past members of the royal family, all looking as stiff as humanly possible.

Leisa had to admit that the official portraits of the current princes were quite detailed and true to life, obviously the work of a painter who knew his subjects well. Danric’s expression held a stoic certainty of purpose, while Vaniell’s lips curved with some secret mockery. As she pondered his portrait, she wondered anew—just how much keen intelligence could he be hiding behind an elaborate pretense?

Melger’s portrait, on the other hand, seemed to be the work of a different, less talented artist. It was an older painting, certainly, of a younger king with less gray in his beard and fewer lines on his face. But the real Melger’s eyes seemed to burn with some inner fervor, while the painted one merely appeared cold. Withdrawn. Still regal, but in a stiff and distant way, where the man himself was commanding.

As she gazed up at the trio, it struck her that while Danric and Vaniell were clearly brothers, Vaniell did not resemble his father in the slightest. His mother’s elegant features were even more striking on his pale, masculine face, but there was nothing of Melger’s kingly gravity.

Was that why his father held him in such contempt? Because the two men were nothing alike? Or was it merely the prince’s dissolute habits that drove a wedge between them?

As they continued through the portrait hall, a small collection of landscapes caught her eye, clustered together as they were in an out of the way spot. One, in particular, drew her attention, differing as it did from those around it in nearly every way.

Most of the paintings were of clearly Garimoran scenery—fertile fields, green orchards, gently rolling hills, and gracious country estates. This one…

Well, it was a palace, but one unlike any she had ever seen or imagined. Built of gleaming red stone, it towered and loomed and grew to impossible heights, and the artist had somehow made it even more menacing than its size would suggest. Armies crowded the plains below its gates, while storm clouds obscured the sky, allowing only a single ray of light to fall on the highest tower.

Leisa shuddered almost involuntarily. If someone had undertaken to paint a nightmare, she imagined it might look like this.

“What is this one of?” she asked, as innocently as possible. “It’s quite dark. Almost frightening, I should think.”

“That?” Lady Piperell frowned. “I believe King Melger brought it back from one of his journeys to the east.”

East? Straight east was Eddris. Of the Five Thrones, they were more isolated than any but Farhall, and kept mostly to themselves. A kingdom of hunters and foresters, Eddris butted up against the nearly impassable Yllian Mountains and shared a brief stretch of border with the shapeshifting night elves. The red palace was most certainly not in Eddris, nor did Eddrisians have a reputation for harboring many gifted artisans.

Perhaps Lady Piperell meant further east, but east of Eddris were the mountains. Past the mountains was the sea, and past the sea?

The Zulleri Empire.

Leisa could easily believe this scene might exist in a place that still haunted Abreians, hundreds of years after their ancestors escaped it. But where would King Melger have gotten the painting? And why place it in his portrait gallery?

As they moved past, she happened to look back and saw the Raven, for once not watchingher. His head was turned, and if he had eyes, they were trained on the same painting that had captured her attention.

If she touched the gem around her neck, would she be able to tell what he was thinking? Perhaps get a glimpse of what attracted him to that work more than any of the others? Or would she simply find out that his suspicions of Farhall’s princess drove him to inspect anything that drew her attention in hopes of ferreting out the truth of her intentions?

Leisa’s curiosity dimmed somewhat when she saw her suitor awaiting them just outside the gallery. He appeared delighted to see her—far more delighted than their current relationship could explain.

“A beautiful morning,” he exclaimed cheerfully, taking Leisa’s hand and pressing it to his lips. Ugh. As gloves were not considered proper for informal occasions, she’d gone without, so there was nothing to prevent her from feeling his kiss on her knuckles. “I see you are wearing my gift.” His smile, when he wished it to be, was gorgeous. “You have no notion of how happy that makes me, my dear Evaraine.”

Leisa swallowed her protests that she was not his dear anything. “Did I perhaps misunderstand what such a token represents?” she asked hesitantly. “By wearing it, I am making no statement of my position on our engagement or this alliance.”

“Of course not!” He released her hand. “You are merely demonstrating that, at present, my suit continues to be acceptable.”

“Ah.”

His head cocked to one side as his eyes met hers, this time with a sharp, calculating edge. “Forgive me if it seems presumptuous, but you seem to have gained somewhat in confidence since yesterday. Have you perhaps grown comfortable enough with our court that you find yourself imagining a future role here?”

So he’d noticed. Leisa kicked herself in her metaphorical shins as she considered whether to revert to her shy, backwoods self, or come up with an explanation for her newfound assurance. She supposed she could claim that exhaustion had muddled her thinking and made her reckless, but if her experience so far was any indication, she was likely to spend most of her time here in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Was there really any point in continuing the charade?

“Perhaps,” she hedged. “Or perhaps I simply find myself more comfortable in the role I already possess. I might be shy, your highness, but I hope that is notallI am.”

And suddenly, Vaniell’s smile was at its most brilliant. “My most exquisite Princess Evaraine,” he said softly. “I hope that too.”

Their eyes met, and his suddenly blazed up with a fiery purpose, entirely at odds with the flippant, lazy persona he typically exuded. For whatever reason, he truly did hope Evaraine was more than she appeared, and Leisa couldn’t decide whether that should engender confidence or heart failure.

She wasn’t the only one hiding things.

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