Dragon Rose (25 page)

By some effort of will I did return to my chamber, where the white morning light sent everything into clear relief. By its unforgiving glare I could see that I had been a bit too heavy-handed the evening before, and some of my work would have to be undone.

I did not precisely sigh, but I did feel my mouth tighten as I laid out my pigments and brushes once again. And as the light touched the stranger’s painted eyes, it seemed almost as if they met mine with some sort of secret amusement, as though he were laughing at some joke unknown to me.

“If it’s that amusing, I wish you would share,” I remarked with some acerbity, dipping my paintbrush into the linseed oil so I might freshen the pigment I required for a flesh tone paler than the one I had used the previous night. “I think right now I could do with a good laugh.”

 
But of course the painted mouth did not move, and nothing happened except I experienced that same sensation of creeping despair as the day before. This time, perhaps, it was subtly different, in that it was less amorphous, more an ache within, as I thought of Theran, and how he had rebuffed me.

It was the cry of a child, really, that plea of “but I love you!” These things were not always so simple. Love given was not always returned. A lesson I would rather not have learned, of course, but…

But nothing. It hit me then, cold and rough and painful as the winds that had buffeted me in the garden the day before. I loved him, but he did not love me.

And gods, the ache of that, the realization of how I wanted him— the need cramping my very limbs so the paintbrush fell from my nerveless fingers, and I dropped to my knees, doubled over as if someone had hit me in my midsection. I found myself hunched on the rug, body shaking with the sheer misery of it. What could I do, when he seemed so immovable? How could I go on in such a state?

I had no answers, and none came to me. After what might have been a few minutes or a few hours, the spell seemed to pass, and I wearily got to my knees, moving with a stiffness that spoke of someone four times my age.
 

The painting stared across the room at me, but I saw no compassion in those still, perfect features. Indeed, the slight tilt to his mouth seemed more a mockery, and I turned away, knowing I could not look at it a second longer.

I crossed to the door and slammed it, shutting the painting away.

If only I could do the same thing with my pain.
 

Chapter Fourteen

I resolved from then on not to dine with Theran in his chambers. In the past we had quarreled and made up, but I saw no resolution to our current impasse. I did not have the steadiness of mind to sit down with him, knowing he could never give me what I wanted. And so I made excuses that sounded even feeble to me when Sar came by to ask if I would care to change for dinner.

Of course she knew the Dragon had circled overhead the night before, and so she also must know that all was far from well between us. To her credit, she did not press me, but said she agreed that I was looking pale, and that perhaps I should go back to bed for a while; she would send up a tray.

I seized on this opportunity for solitude and thanked her, and she went away soon enough. Whether she’d seen this particular little drama play out before, I had no idea. I didn’t want to know.

Perhaps I was the only one foolish enough to develop feelings for the Dragon Lord. Perhaps all those other Brides had seen him for the monster he was. Monster within and without, unfeeling, incapable of love.

No, I could not believe that. I
would
not. We had had enough interactions that I had seen something of his quickness of wit, his appreciation for beauty, even if he believed he possessed none of his own. It was not his fault that I was not clever enough, or pretty enough, or interesting enough, to engage his affections. Who was I really, but a foolish girl from a simple family, a girl who fancied herself a painter but in actuality had done nothing but disgrace her kin?

Misery seemed the best company for me then, and I let it overtake me, falling into it like a swimmer diving into a deep, cold lake. I did not question it. How could I, when I knew I had done everything wrong since the moment I first stepped foot inside Black’s Keep?

Days passed in a similar fashion, days in which I barely struggled out of bed to eat a few bites before crawling back under the covers like a wounded animal. This was not even like the time when I had spent so many hours asleep; at least then I had some recollection of time passing, although I spent much of it in slumber. Now, however, I seemed to drift in and out, barely aware of the world around me. I thought Melynne came in from time to time, and Sar, but I could hardly be certain. They seemed like something out of a dream, insubstantial as ghosts.
 

Once I thought I even heard
his
voice raised in question outside my door, but this time I did not answer, and he did not come in. And then perhaps an exchange with Sar that I only partially overhead, something about it being “far too soon.” What was too soon, I had no idea.

At length, though, I roused myself from my torpor, fighting away the cobwebs within my mind as if they were physical things. My legs felt shaky and my head as light as the time when I was ten and had contracted a rare case of tertian fever. But I had won out against that, and I would not let this…whatever it was…get the better of me.

I tottered out of bed and gazed around my chamber as if I had never seen it before. All seemed more or less in order, and once again my instinct for self-preservation seemed to have won out, for the stranger’s portrait had been safely stashed away in its hiding place. I had no clear recollection of doing so. The important thing was that at least I had remembered enough to put it away.
 

The water in the basin was almost freezing, but I splashed it on my face anyway, knowing that it would help to shock me into some semblance of alertness. Toothbrush, comb. I could not remember the last time I had used either one of them. They helped to make me feel a little more human, although what I really needed was a hot bath. Soon. I could have Sar call for one after I had eaten.

Stockings, chemise, gown…I struggled with all of it as if I had never dressed myself before, never tied a garter or struggled with the lacings on a dress. This one at least fastened up the sides and not the back, so I could get myself into it without having to ring for help.
 

Once I was more or less decently attired, I went to the outer chamber and pulled on the bell in the far corner. Usually I did not have to resort to these summons, as Melynne and Sar seemed to know instinctively when I needed assistance. Now, though, they had absented my chamber, almost as if they were fearful of catching some sort of dread disease from me. Perhaps I was ill, although I did not feel particularly unwell. Tired, and the darkness had only retreated to the corners of my mind and not disappeared entirely. But that was not the same thing as being physically sick.

Sar appeared within a few minutes, obviously surprised to see me up and about. She cleared her throat. “What is it you wish, my lady?”

“Some food, I think…and a bath before I retire this evening. What time is it?”

A quick, uncertain glance at the window, where the familiar grey snow light showed beyond the diamond-shaped panes. “Just past the third hour of the afternoon.”

Too late for luncheon, and early for supper, but my stomach had turned into a ravenous beast, awake now that I had roused myself. I could not bend to convention. “Something solid, I think. No soup. And bread. I would like some bread.”

“Of course, my lady.”
 

I moved toward the casement and observed the familiar contours of the garden, all blanketed in snow. Then again, what had I expected to see? The snow seemed to have stopped for the moment, but the skies were so low it appeared they touched the tops of the towers, and I guessed snowflakes would begin to fall within the hour. “And what is the day?”

Her hesitation was obvious this time. “The second of Decevre, my lady.”

Perhaps my sudden faintness could have been attributed to my hunger, as I had not eaten for longer than I could recall. I doubted it, though. The second of Decevre? Had I really spent the greater part of a fortnight drifting in and out of darkness, noting little of the world around me, eating and drinking only enough to keep myself from fading entirely away?

I had thought my gown felt a little loose, but so many of the gowns in my wardrobe did not fit me precisely, hand-me-downs that they were, that I hadn’t thought anything of it. But if I had eaten little for the past two weeks, then it only stood to reason the dress would have enough slack in it that I would have to pull the laces so tight they almost overlapped.

Somehow I managed to gather myself and remark lightly, “No wonder I feel so ravenous I could eat a boar!”

“Then let me see to that at once, my lady. His lord—that is, there was smoked pheasant last night, and there is a goodly portion left over. I’ll bring it up directly.”

I thanked her and she left, clearly relieved to be given the errand. For myself, I still had a hard time believing her words, though of course she had no reason to give me anything but the truth. Two weeks? A fortnight gone, slipped by while I had drifted in and out of darkness, knowing nothing of the world.

A sudden impulse made me rush to the portrait and retrieve it from its hiding place. I touched the surface gingerly; it felt dry enough, with none of the tackiness of freshly laid pigments. Clearly I had not set paintbrush to the thing for quite some time.
 

“I’m so, so sorry,” I murmured, though why I felt it necessary to apologize to the portrait, I couldn’t say. Perhaps he had begun to appear a little too real to me, as if he deserved some sort of explanation for being neglected for so long. Certainly such a rationalization seemed no less illogical to me than anything else I had experienced lately. “I’ll return to you this evening, just as soon as I’ve had something to eat.” And I ran a finger along one edge of the canvas, as if in a caress, before I set it back in its hidey hole.

Sar appeared soon after, bearing a tray positively brimming with food. Not just the pheasant she’d promised, but whipped turnips with butter and cunning little rolls studded with currants, and spiced apple compote, and peas covered in more butter.
 

How I would ever eat it all, even in my current deprived state, I couldn’t have begun to guess. It seemed a feast fit for Midwinter. When I sat down to eat, though, I found I was able to devour an alarming portion of the meal, so much so that all I left behind was a bit of the turnips and half a roll.

“Good,” Sar said, and it appeared she was somewhat relieved to witness my ravenous appetite. “And you will sleep again now?” She sounded dubious, as if she did not want me to curl up in bed again so soon but knew she would be overstepping her role as my subordinate if she advised against it.

“I think not, actually.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and set it down. “A bath, I believe, and then I plan to read by the fire.” This was only a partial lie; I did desire a bath very much, but after that I planned to return to the painting. I could not make up for two weeks of neglect, of course. Still, a good evening’s work would make me feel better about the whole situation.

“I’ll have a bath sent up directly.” And with that she gathered up the denuded plates and stacked them on the tray before whisking them away.

Knowing her efficiency, I guessed it would not be long before the bath arrived. They would not even have to pump water, but could gather fresh snow from the courtyard and melt that instead. So I did not return to the portrait, but instead drew a chair up to the window and gazed outside, considering.

Two weeks. What had happened during that time? All here at Black’s Keep seemed very much as it always had been. Then again, it was a place cut off from the world, keeping much to itself. The weather only served to increase its isolation. Sar had not mentioned the Dragon Lord, and I had not asked. We’d parted on such bad terms, and yet I know it was his voice I had heard through the darkness. No one else had a voice like that, one which seemed to caress every syllable as it was spoken. So obviously he had cared enough to check on me, even if he had not come in to visit my bedside.

I wished I had the courage to go to him, although even if I had possessed such fortitude, I would have waited until the promised bath arrived and I was fit for company once again. But I found myself quailing at the thought of seeing him again, knowing I did not have the words to put right what was between us.

In the storybooks, the words “I love you” held a charm, could act as a cure for any misunderstanding, any slight. But they could not heal the rift between Theran Blackmoor and myself, not if I repeated them a hundred times. And how does one recover from such an admission? I could not take the words back. They would always linger, staining whatever relationship we might salvage after this.

Thankfully, I was saved from further brooding by the arrival of the bath. As wretched as I felt, I could not help but be a little revived by the touch of the warm water against my skin, the scent of the lavender oil reminding me of summer gardens and happier times. I stayed in the bath until the water turned lukewarm, and then reluctantly climbed out and dried myself off in front of the fire. The heat of the flames soothed my bare skin, and I wondered what it would be like to have the warmth of Theran’s hands on my naked flesh, to have him touch me as a husband touches his wife.

That cramping need came again, and I clutched the linen towel against my body even as I grasped the mantel with my other hand, seeking to steady myself. I must stop reaching for things I could not have. It was foolish and would only upset the fragile calm I appeared to have reclaimed.

With those admonishments fresh in my mind, I went to the bedchamber and pulled on a clean chemise, followed by my heavy quilted dressing gown. I saw no point in putting on yet another dress when I only planned to stay here in my rooms and paint. My feet went into a pair of fur-lined slippers, and then I was quite ready, save for my hair.