Vengeance

CHAPTER 66

It was close to dawn when Rix staggered into his bedchamber, dropped his robe and fell onto the bed.

‘How is he?’ said Tobry from the armchair on the other side of the room.

Rix jumped. ‘Alive but delirious.’ His lip curled. ‘Though, judging by the litter of bottles, the delirium has nothing to do with his injuries. I’ve never seen Father this drunk before.’

‘What happened?’

‘He raved about being attacked by a ghost, but — ’

‘I didn’t think Lady Ricinus allowed anything so untidy in the palace.’

Rix managed a wintry smile. ‘She doesn’t. Besides, the bloody mark on the corner matches the gash across the back of his skull. There was wine everywhere, two broken bottles and an empty. He just fell over and whacked his head.’ He looked away, grimacing.

‘And?’ said Tobry.

‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but half the palace will know by breakfast time …’

‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’

‘Father had relieved himself on the wall, the disgusting old bastard! If I had any respect left for him, it’s gone now.’

‘But you do respect him,’ said Tobry.

‘I owe him respect as a dutiful son — he’s my father! But as a man, he sickens me.’

‘And you feel guilty about that.’

‘I feel guilty because I feel nothing. For my own father!’

Tobry stood up. ‘He’ll live, then? If he’s not in danger, I need my sleep and so do you.’

‘I’ll never sleep now. I’m going to work on the portrait.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, right now?’

‘No, but it’s like a wall across my mind.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘I should be working out tactics to combat the enemy’s new weapons … but how can I concentrate with the bloody portrait hanging over me like an executioner’s axe?’

He climbed the stairs to the studio, donned a paint-spattered smock and directed his lanterns onto the portrait. And started.

Tali was lying on the couch, staring at him. His father had driven her out of mind and all he wanted was to get the stinking portrait finished without interruption.

‘How is he?’ said Tali.

‘Drunk and delirious,’ he said curtly. ‘Nothing unusual.’

‘But he’ll be all right?’

Why did she care? Or was she just being polite? ‘He’ll sleep until he’s sober — another ten hours at least — then wake as mean as a caitsthe with an axe through its ear.’

She relaxed visibly. ‘I’m glad he’ll be all right.’ He stared at her and she added, hastily, ‘I lost my father when I was six. I still miss him.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve got to work,’ he said pointedly. ‘You can have my bed.’

‘I can’t take your bed.’

There was a strange look in her eyes, a wary, trapped look, but Rix had to get on. He mixed paint on his palette and touched a fine brush to it.

‘One of the downstairs couches, then. Anywhere but here.’

‘I don’t like that painting,’ she said.

‘I loathe it, but I’ve got to get it done.’

She picked up her sandals and limped down the steps.

When Rix went down at midday, starving and exhausted, Tobry was on one of the couches chuckling over War and Wantonness, and Tali was curled up on the other, asleep. For the first time since Rix had known her, she looked at peace.

He studied her, wondering about her life. Her skin was so fine that he could see the veins underneath. There was hardly anything to her; she almost disappeared in Tobry’s shirt and pantaloons, yet she was stronger than either of them. How had a slave race produced such a woman?

‘How’s it going?’ Tobry said quietly.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Rix collected a tray of food and a jug of water, and took them upstairs.

Tobry followed, inspected the portrait and studiedly took up his book.

Rix tried to paint on, but Tobry’s presence blocked him. ‘What?’

‘Did I say anything?’

‘You don’t have to. What’s wrong with it?’

‘I did suggest that you not work on it in this mood.’

‘If I don’t it’ll never be finished,’ Rix snapped. ‘And if last night is an example of the way Father carries on, it’s no wonder House Ricinus is on the nose.’

‘On the nose,’ Tobry said meaningfully.

Go away, leave me alone.

‘Does the portrait really matter that much?’ Tobry added.

‘I already told you. If the Honouring doesn’t go perfectly, House Ricinus may fall.’

‘Take another look at it. Not even Lady Ricinus could accept that much truth.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The nose. Why change it?’

Rix went to the window and leaned on the malachite sill, looking out. ‘It wasn’t right.’

‘It was more right than it is now.’

Rix had repainted his father’s nose in a blind fury and had no idea how he had changed it. He always worked better when his mind was disengaged from what was in front of him.

‘It looks like a drunkard’s pizzle, and not even Lady Ricinus would allow you to portray your father that way. He’d be laughed out of the Honouring.’

Pain stabbed through Rix’s chest; he ran to the portrait and the nose was grotesque. It made him sick to look at it, even sicker to think he had painted his own father that way. What if Lady Ricinus came in?

He grabbed a brush, any brush, and painted the nose out.

‘How did Father come to such a state?’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘What turns a good man bad, Tobe? Is it one wrong step, or a lifetime of small errors until there’s no going back?’

And how far had he, Rix, advanced down that path?

‘I’m sure it’s different for everyone,’ said Tobry. ‘In the great melodrama of the fall of the House of Lagger, for example — ’

Rix stalked across to the storeroom, yanked open the door and the first thing he saw was his sketch, facing out.

‘What’s this doing here?’

Tobry strolled across. ‘You left it out, and I put it away after I brought Tali up … but I didn’t leave it like that.’

‘How did you leave it?’

‘At the back, facing the other way.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘So Tali saw it?’

‘Does that matter?’ said Tobry.

‘I don’t want the whole world to know about my nightmares.’

‘Calm down. Who’s she going to tell?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘What is the point?’

‘Forget it. Leave me alone.’

Tobry did not move. Rix made a couple of circuits around his studio, cursing his father, and himself for the way he was portraying him. Lord Ricinus was a deeply troubled man and he, Rix, should be supporting him, not flaying him in this portrait.

But Rix’s art was the one thing in his life that was truly his — the one thing that was not given or withheld at Lady Ricinus’s whim. He had discovered the gift within himself as a little boy, though only after his illness had it burst into magnificent flower. He had nurtured it against the wishes of Lord Ricinus, who considered fighting and drinking the only manly arts. Painting was an occupation for idle ladies and effeminates, not for his heir.

The people whose opinions mattered to Lady Ricinus viewed painting as a tradesman’s occupation, unsuited to the son of a noble house. Not only had she refused to pay for his paints and brushes, or allow him to be tutored in his art, she had hidden him away in this tower at the rear corner of the palace from the age of twelve so no visitor could accidentally see his work. Only after the chancellor had heard about Rix’s gift, came to see for himself and praised Rix, had she relented.

Nothing was too good for her brilliant son then, Rix thought sourly, and he resented everything she had bought him with.

‘My art was always about truth. When one of my paintings reveals an inner truth, I feel as though I’m taking a stand, that my life really matters.’

‘Of course it matters. House Ricinus’s army would follow you anywhere.’

‘That’s not something I feel very often. Mostly I feel that Lady Ricinus has cut me out and pinned me to the wall.’

Tobry rolled his eyes.

‘The portrait doesn’t matter a damn to me,’ said Rix, more calmly, ‘but this sketch does. There’s a dreadful wrong here and no one else can find the truth in it.’

He put the canvas on its easel and took up a handful of brushes. ‘What are we going to do with Tali?’

‘I’ve made some arrangements. I can get her out, but it won’t be easy to hide her from the chancellor.’

Rix made some random marks on the canvas. ‘Haven’t you got friends you could take her to?’

‘Away over in Reffering. But it could fall at any time.’

Rix shivered, for it was cold in the studio. He made a few more dabs, then stepped back, frowning at his palette.

Tobry inspected the sketch and swung around, fists clenched. ‘That’s not funny!’

Rix dragged his gaze back. ‘What are you talking about?’

Tobry hissed at him, ‘You’ve painted Tali’s face on the woman on the bench.’

‘Gods!’ said Rix. ‘What’s the matter with me today?’ He clutched at Tobry’s arm. ‘I’ve had a horrible thought.’

‘I think I know it already.’

‘Sometimes my paintings are divinations. What if she’s going to be caught and killed, and I’m seeing it?’

He stared at the canvas, worms squirming under his skin. Why would he paint such a thing when Tali had risked her life to save his? The bond between them was indissoluble.

Tobry walked around the sketch a couple of times, reached out towards the woman’s cheek, then drew back sharply and walked away.

Rix checked the sketch again. Why would he be seeing Tali’s death? ‘Tobe? Answer me.’

‘I don’t know what to say. Some of your paintings have divined the future.’

‘Most haven’t.’

‘But this is a powerful imagining, the strongest I’ve ever known from you. Even when you white the sketch out, the scene comes back the next time you pick up a brush — only more of it.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Rix. ‘I can’t think.’

‘These two people at the end of the bench are the key. Paint them and, if we recognise them, we’ll have the answer.’

‘I’ve tried a hundred times, but nothing comes.’

‘Keep trying. This is getting dangerous.’

Rix had a sudden flash of poor Luzia and the red mouth opened across her old throat. ‘I know! Clear out and let me work.’

There came a forceful rapping at the entrance door.

‘That’s Lady Ricinus,’ said Tobry. ‘White it out, quick! I’ll bring Tali up.’ ‘What are you going to do with her?’

‘Take her out a window with the climbing straps.’

‘With an injured leg?’

‘I hauled you back up the other night.’

Tobry ran down the stairs. Rix painted over the sketch with broad strokes and put the canvas in the back of the cupboard. He was on his way down when he heard his mother’s key in the door, and Tobry still had not brought Tali up. What was he supposed to do? How could he choose between Tali and his house?

He sprang the rest of the way and skidded across the floor at the bottom of the steps. Tobry was in Rix’s bedchamber, looking under the bed.

‘Where is she?’ Rix hissed.

‘I can’t find her.’

The door opened. ‘Rixium?’ came Lady Ricinus’s voice.

She was advancing down the hall, and next to her tottered an absurd, hunched little figure in shoulder-length wig, high heels, knee britches and stockings — the chancellor of Hightspall.

Absurd but deadly. His nose and chin formed a nutcracker and his eyes were like miniature black olives, so deeply sunken that nary a gleam escaped them. He was a small man with a big voice, and he was accompanied by a dozen female flunkies.

‘Good day to you, Lord Rixium,’ said the chancellor, bowing. ‘Where is Thalalie vi Torgrist?’