CHAPTER 13

As Rielle woke she realised she had thrown the bed coverings off and was lying completely naked and exposed. Not that it mattered. Izare had seen her unclothed many times now, and in the warm air of the lower room she was perfectly comfortable. For now she was too sleepy to bother reaching for a blanket. Parts of her were tired that she had never known could be, until that first night with Izare.

Thinking of that, and the many times since, she smiled.

And then she did want to wake up properly. Opening an eye, she looked at the kitchen bench, now clean and bearing a tidy, diminished stack of the least chipped dishes. Though Izare obviously wasn’t bothered by the way it had been, he also appeared to like what she had done. Or perhaps he liked the idea of eating home cooking.

They’d spent a few hours tidying the room and washing the floor. Afterwards he’d accidentally dumped a pitcher of clean water over her, and that had led to removing wet clothing, which had led to things that kept them well occupied late into the night.

Was he awake? She listened for his breathing. Instead, she heard a soft, familiar sound of scraping and dabbing. She turned over and saw that she was right: he was standing behind his easel facing her. Painting.

“Don’t…” he said. “Roll back to where you—”

“What are you doing?” She grabbed a blanket and drew it up around herself.

“Painting.”

“Obviously.” She rose and, holding the blanket close, strode over to him. Rounding the easel, she turned to see a small board, barely larger than her two hands held together. The bed was sketchily laid down, but the woman on it was already taking on the magical lifelike quality of all his figures.

“Narmah warned me this would happen,” she muttered.

“That you’d run away to live with me and I’d be forced to paint nude women in order to pay the rent?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You plan to sell paintings of me naked?”

He sobered. “Of course not. Nobody can tell it is you. Your face is hidden and…” he grinned “… and it’s not like anyone else would recognise the rest of you.”

Turning to look at the painting again, she noted how the woman’s head was turned away. Her head. Only the profile of a breast showed. It was mostly a view from behind. Which meant her buttocks were clearly in view. She frowned. I don’t like it. But they needed the money.

“People will buy this?” she asked.

“Yes. Readily. Though more eagerly if more was showing.”

“A painting from the front.”

“Yes. I could conceal your face. Or paint in another face, from memory.”

She thought of herself posing naked and shrank from the idea of standing exposed for so long. “Why can’t you do all of it from memory?”

He chuckled. “Despite what you might think, I’ve not spent that long staring at women’s naked bodies in my short life. And certainly not one as beautiful as yours.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Flatterer. Don’t think I missed the admission that you have spent some time staring at women’s naked bodies.”

“It’s a hazard of my profession. How can I convey beauty if I have not seen it?” He set his brush and palette down. “And how can I see it daily and resist the artist’s urge to capture it in paint?” He snaked an arm out and, before she could dodge away, caught the edges of the blanket. Pulling it out of her grip, he spread his arms wide, exposing her. “Surely it is selfish to keep this sight all to myself?”

She covered her breasts. “But what if I don’t want to be shared around like a … like a…?”

“A whore?” He shook his head. “No. This is entirely different. When a singer sings does it diminish her? When a storyteller tells his tales does it cheapen him? No matter how many times I painted you, you would remain unmarked by the brush. Still you.” He pulled the blanket edges, drawing her closer and wrapping them both in the cloth. “The physical you.” He leaned down to kiss her neck. “The flesh and blood.” The kisses were soft surprises, moving down into the shadows cast by the blanket and making her pulse race. “That is for me alone.”

She bit her lip, caught between wanting to argue and wanting very much to say nothing more, then nearly drew blood as a loud pounding came from the main door. Izare stilled, then cursed and emerged from the blanket.

“The bastard is early. Well, at least he didn’t barge in.” He stood up and Rielle quickly drew the blanket around herself again.

“Who?”

“Errek. He’s going to introduce me to a few customers he doesn’t want to work with. Ones he holds grudges against. A few he doesn’t trust.” He moved to the easel and put it behind the lower room door, so it would be hidden when it opened.

“If he doesn’t trust them, should you?”

He walked back to her. “I’ll insist on part payment in advance. If they fail to pay the rest, at least I have some income.” Giving her a firm kiss, he smiled and turned away. “If I run into Jonare I’ll let her know you’re ready for cooking lessons.”

Rielle let out a short laugh. “She’ll have to bring the pots. And the ingredients.”

He looked back and smiled at her before closing the door behind him. She heard the main door open and Errek’s muffled voice. Then the sound of the door closing reverberated in the stairwell and silence followed.

Sighing, she turned away and got dressed so she could fetch water and wash. Once clean and clothed, she moved over to the easel and examined the painting.

Izare could not have been painting her for long, and yet he had captured her so well. The naked form was so luminous that the eye barely registered that the rest of the scene was sketchily painted. It’s perfect as it is. I wish I could keep it.

But they needed money. In order to sell it, the painting needed to be finished.

Well, I can do something about that. Izare can hardly complain if I work on it. It’s not like he wants to establish a reputation as a painter of indecent art.

Picking up the easel, she set it back in place and set to work.

Since the painting was small and she was only finishing the background and drapery, enough paint was already made up that she did not have to stop and prepare any. An odd mix of contentment and agitation filled her. She was not familiar enough with the new medium to be confident with it, yet it was wonderful to set her mind to the challenge again, and every success was like a victory. After a few hours she stopped, deciding that though it wasn’t completely to her satisfaction, it had progressed well enough that she was happy for Izare to see it.

As she was wiping her hands clean, a light but urgent tapping came from the main door. She answered it to find a small, grubby child hovering outside.

“Priests coming,” he whispered loudly, then pounded away.

Her heart skipped a beat. Sa-Baro had said he’d return with a time and place to meet Narmah. She looked back at the lower room, pleased that he would see how clean it was now. The easel blocked her view.

The painting! She would die of shame if he saw it. Running forward, she grabbed it, the easel and paints and carried them upstairs. Setting the easel down, she took the nude off and cast about for a place to hide it. The stacks of paintings leaning up against the walls were much smaller than they had been before she’d moved in with Izare, and his portrait of her was gone. He’d told her he’d moved it and many others to a safer place. Recalling how he used to hide paintings within the frame of larger ones, she hurried over to the nearest stack and flipped them forward until she found one with a partly torn backing. Carefully holding the gap open so the fresh paint wouldn’t smudge, she slipped the nude inside.

As she straightened, a pounding came from downstairs. She took a deep breath, then forced herself to descend to the door. As she’d feared, the memory of the corrupter and the knowledge of what she had learned filled her mind. Swallowing shame and fear, she opened the door.

The man who stepped inside was dressed in blue, but he was not Sa-Baro. It took her a moment to realise where she had seen his face before. This was Sa-Elem, the priest who had caught and punished the tainted who had abducted her. Another man pushed through, his shoulder sliding across her chest in a way that was neither rough nor polite. She stepped back and glared at him. Sa-Gest, the young priest the temple girls disliked so much, smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with a peculiar satisfaction.

The older priest frowned at his companion, but said nothing. He turned to her.

“Ais Lazuli, is Aos Saffre home?”

“No, Sa-Elem.”

He nodded. “This would be your first inspection, then?”

Inspection. Not a message from Sa-Baro, then.

“No, the dyeworks has been searched a few times, though not for many years I believe.”

He turned towards the lower room. “I expect your parents would have kept you out of the way.”

“Yes.” She followed as the two men entered the room. “Can I help in any way?”

He looked around then he waved at Sa-Gest. “Go upstairs.”

She stepped away as the younger man passed, anticipating an attempt to brush up against her again.

“Have you seen anything suspicious hereabouts?” Sa-Elem asked.

Rielle caught her breath as she realised what he meant by suspicious. “Another tainted?”

“Yes.” He almost appeared to smile. “While you are not as safe here as you would be at the dyeworks, he or she is as likely to hide in this part of the city as any other of the lower parts.”

“That’s reassuring,” Rielle replied, letting out a wry laugh. “No, I haven’t seen anything suspicious, though I haven’t been out except to fetch water from the fountain and take out the garbage.”

He nodded. “Well, let us know if you do.” He walked back into the stairwell. “Done?” he called.

A moment passed before Sa-Gest answered. “Yes.”

Rielle heard footsteps move towards the stairs. They seemed to come from near the stack of paintings. She forced herself to breathe slowly and her expression to stay the same – a little concerned but not too concerned. The young priest appeared and started down the stairs, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes. Sa-Elem turned away, moving to the door. As he did, Sa-Gest looked at her and grinned.

Her stomach flipped over. She permitted herself a frown, then stepped back so that she was well away when he passed her. Sa-Elem held the door open for his companion, then followed him out and closed the door without saying anything more.

She waited, heart racing, until she had counted to a hundred before she ran upstairs. Looking around the room, she saw nothing disturbed. She moved to the window, searching the street below. The priests had gone.

Hurrying over to the paintings, she found the one she had slipped the nude inside. Carefully opening the tear in the fabric, she looked inside.

The painting was gone.

Sitting down on the floor, she pressed her hands to her mouth. How had he known where to look? What would he do with it? She was still sitting there some time later when Izare returned. He came upstairs when she didn’t answer his call, then hurried over to her side. She gasped out the awful news.

“Don’t worry,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Nobody can tell it’s you.”

“But he’ll have guessed.”

“So? He can’t prove it. If he shows anyone they’ll think he bought it for himself. Which is not something a good priest ought to be doing. Since you worked on most of it I can deny that I painted it. A good artist will be able to tell the difference between our work.” He rubbed her shoulders. “At least he didn’t break anything, or take something more valuable.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t think I can pose for you again.”

He smiled. “You won’t have to. I have a commission.”

Hope filled and lifted her like a gust of cool air. “What is it?”

“A portrait.” He grinned. “The first time someone has walked up to me on the street and commissioned one based entirely on my reputation.”

“Can they pay?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?

“A young woman of one of the families. About your age.”

The lightness vanished and Rielle’s stomach plunged to the floor.

“Who?”

“Her name is Famire, and she will be coming here next quarterday afternoon for her first sitting.”