Page 31 of The Coveted
“Yes,” I said, closing off my connection now that I knew he was no threat. “I’ve never seen art so… multidimensional.”
He shook his head lightly. “Oh, no, I was talking about you.”
I forced a smile, but I felt a pang in my gut. I wasn’t sure how to navigate this situation. On the one hand, I needed to keep up appearances to divert attention away from Daelon and me, especially if Nathaniel was trying to convince Lucius there was something still between us. On the other hand… well,Daelon. This would be sure to test his need for control, just as Renata clearly tested mine.
“Come, let me show you what I’m working on,” he said, with a childlike enthusiasm that was infectious. He pushed off the pillar and clasped his hands behind his back.
He led me through more rooms of paintings and sculptures, but one room in particular stopped me in my tracks. The ceiling was vaulted and the room spacious. Tall windows filled the space with light, and the gardens lay beyond. I had the most peculiar feeling as I looked from the tall paintings of meadows, oceans, and mountains, to the sculptures of men, women, and children performing magick, to the artifacts encased in glass cases at the base of the walls, that I was being watched. Not by Sebastian, though. By something in the art itself…
“It’s right through here,” Sebastian said, turning back to me. His smile faltered when he realized I’d stopped following him. His brows drew together. “Oh my.”
The sculptures that lined the center of the room had stopped performing their rituals and tasks, all of them turning to face us. The energy embedded in their various media burst forth like a tsunami against a dam, and suddenly all of my senses became awakened with its crashing. Voices grew louder, frenzied, and exuberant, and the smell of delicate florals and crisp herbs filled the air. A wind blew my hair back. The light from beyond the tall windows grew brighter and warmer against my skin.
“They’re looking at you,” Sebastian said, his mouth agape. He looked from me to the sculptures, who were calm and focused, some smiling while others appeared to cry.
“They don’t usually do that?”
“Uh, well, no. This room almost never reveals its magick. It’s been stagnant and unchanging for many years, not since the Queen… well, maybe that’s why the King didn’t just burn it.”
“The Queen?” I waved my hand through the air, and the sculptures mirrored me.
“Lucius’s mother,” he murmured. “She passed around the time his father did.” He stared at me, and I realized that I was already failing at my vow to be inconspicuous. But how could I havepossiblyknown that some witchy art would blow my cover?
I remembered the scene with a young Daelon and realized this bit of information at least helped my timeline of events. How do their deaths fit into the story? And why would this room come alive for his mother?
“Why would he have burned it?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“Because it’s heretic art, of course.” He shook his head. “Oh, right, I forgot about your circumstances. This is all new to you, isn’t it?”
I managed a nod. I walked over to a plaque that stood in the center of the room and read its shimmering gold lettering:
Works of the conquered heretics, a war-loving, uncivilized people whose magick grew barren in the face of the true Divine, our eternal Lord and King, Lucius the All-Powerful, he who gives us our strength and beauty, he who freed us from the old ways, who championed equality, fairness, and self-determination. This hall serves as a reminder of what happens to magick that is not divinely given, and to those who shun progress, peace, and truth.
I bristled, and the room echoed my discontent. My chest tightened with the sudden feeling of entrapment. Lucius stole things that were sacred, things that belonged to their native lands, not here… in this place of lies and cruelty. These pieces and artifacts yearned to go home, and all I could whisper back to their magick wasso do I.
“I see,” I said, suddenly hyperaware of my audience. I felt my heart rate pick up as I turned around and mustered a smile.
“I invited you here to quell my curiosity, but here I am finding you even more of a mystery than you were before,” he said softly, and his energy was alight with puzzlement. It thirsted for answers that I could not give.
Time for damage control. “I—I don’t know why…” I stammered.
He waved a hand in dismissal, his dimpled smile growing. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell,” he promised, but his eyes spelled mischief. “This is not the first time someone has stirred something strange in this room. Like I said, it’s not often. But I’ve never told.”
Well, now I was the one who was curious. I took his outstretched arm, and a warm breeze followed me, rustling my tulle skirt. I cast one last glance over my shoulder, and the statues were kneeling, their arms outstretched toward me. This gesture filled the deepest parts of me, and with their show of support I didn’t feel so trapped anymore. I heard the echo of a familiar song, like all parts connecting at once to form a whole. A path to freedom.
I held my breath, grateful they at least waited for Sebastian to turn away. I was afraid this wasn’t something that could be easily explained.
“Here we are,” he said as we entered a spacious art studio.
Finished paintings rested against the far wall, others in various stages of completion resting on easels or strewn across tables. There were other materials and workstations to the left, with clay, glass, and marble blocks, but they didn’t seem as in-use. The right wall was almost entirely windows, revealing more lush and meticulously manicured gardens. I caught a glimpse of a few servants tending the grounds, dressed in plain, off-white clothes. Flowers and tree branches reached out toward them as they passed.
“Artistic gifts have been passed down in my family tree for generations,” he said, guiding me to a couple of easels facing the gardens.
“Like the parable,” I said, remembering Daelon’s poor attempt at diverting my attention. I couldn’t help but meditate on the story’s message, which posited that stealing coveted magick causes its ruin and the destruction of all things natural and beautiful…
“My father always claimed the woman of the story, Helen, to our lineage, yes. But it’s obviously pure myth. Important nonetheless,” he mused.
“Has your father passed?” I asked, watching as he began to sketch, a faraway look in his eyes as they focused beyond the window.
