Ch. 157 The Face in the Painting

Chapter 157: The Face in the Painting

We left Merrowden beneath a sky that promised snow and had not yet decided whether to deliver it.

Hethan came to the inn with the final copies.

He handed the packet to Mary.

Then handed her a smaller one.

“What is this?”

“The passage concerning storage of active records.”

Mary looked pleased.

Melody looked at me.

“They’ve been exchanging recommendations.”

“So I see.”

Hethan adjusted his spectacles.

“There are worse habits.”

Neither of us disagreed within his hearing.

Lady Senra waited beside the carriage.

She had brought nothing.

For a moment, I wondered whether she had found another condition.

Then she turned to Aurelia.

“I wanted to see you leave.”

Aurelia studied her.

Senra looked toward the road.

“After yesterday, it seemed better than watching you return to that room again.”

Our teacher offered her hand.

“I hope your next examination is easier.”

“So do I.”

“And the pending cases?”

“Hethan has found nineteen with sitting papers attached elsewhere.”

Mary turned sharply.

Senra nodded.

“We will begin with those.”

Nineteen.

I looked at the windows of the house on the hill.

Then helped Aurelia into the carriage.

She slept before we reached the orchards.

Evelyn tucked a blanket around her.

I held the packet of copies on my knees until my wife took it from me and put it safely beneath the seat.

“You may stop guarding it with your face.”

“Was I?”

“Yes.”

I leaned back.

The wheels found a rut.

Aurelia shifted but did not wake.

For a while, I watched the pale fields pass.

I had imagined leaving Merrowden with relief enough to fill the carriage.

Instead, I was tired.

Evelyn rested her head against my shoulder.

Apparently she was too.

We let the road carry us.

Sabine left us at the turning toward Caerwyn.

There were embraces.

A promise to write when she heard from Senra.

A brief disagreement over whether we had already thanked her enough.

“We have not,” Evelyn said.

Sabine smiled.

“Then save some for the next time.”

Aurelia took both her hands.

“I will remember this.”

Sabine’s expression softened.

“I’m glad I could come.”

Then she mounted.

We watched until the bend took her from sight.

The nearer we came to Greykeep, the more often Evelyn asked the hour.

I considered making a joke.

Then realized I had been doing the same thing.

When we finally passed through the gate, she did not wait for anyone to announce us.

She gathered her skirts and walked quickly toward the stairs.

I followed.

Behind us, Melody called something about royal dignity.

Neither of us slowed.

Carol had acquired a new habit.

She waited until Evelyn lifted her.

Then pressed her open mouth against my wife’s cheek.

Evelyn froze.

Helena smiled.

“She has been doing that since yesterday.”

“Is it a kiss?”

“We have decided to accept it as one.”

I took Garrick from his grandfather.

My son gripped my hair and pulled.

“He remains more direct,” I said.

Evelyn laughed against Carol’s little shoulder.

Aurelia stood in the doorway.

She had come upstairs more slowly.

Garrick noticed her.

His hand opened.

My hair survived.

He reached toward her with such sudden enthusiasm that I had to adjust my hold.

“Wait your turn,” I told him.

He did not appear impressed by the arrangement.

We told Helena and Garrick over supper.

The old notes.

Senra’s decision.

The silence in the examination room.

The withdrawal.

I left out how close I had come to breaking the table.

Evelyn’s glance suggested that omission had been noticed.

When we finished, Lord Garrick looked toward Aurelia.

“How are you feeling?”

She considered it.

“Tired.”

He nodded.

“Then we should finish eating.”

No demand for a demonstration.

No suggestion that she ought to be celebrating differently.

He passed her the potatoes.

She took some.

The Castellan met us the following morning.

He waited until Aurelia had sat down before placing the final copied mark on the table.

One remained.

The place named beside it had still not been found.

“I have compared the surviving charts,” he said. “Several boundaries have changed. Some names appear only once.”

“Keep looking,” I said.

“I will.”

Aurelia examined the mark.

A narrow arch above a star.

“Do you recognize it?” Evelyn asked.

“The mark. Not the place named here.”

The Castellan inclined his head.

“I will bring you the other references when they have been copied.”

Aurelia nodded.

Then pushed the sheet gently toward the center of the table.

“Tomorrow.”

I looked at her.

She glanced at Evelyn.

“We have something else to finish today.”

My wife stared.

“The portrait?”

“You promised.”

“I did.”

“Then I should like to sit for it.”

Evelyn looked toward the window.

The morning light was pale but clear.

“I’ll need my things.”

“I believe they are still in my room.”

That was true.

The painting had waited longer than any of us intended.

Evelyn rose.

For once, she did not ask whether there was something more urgent.

I was proud of her for that.

They used the south sitting room.

The window gave enough light.

The hearth gave enough warmth.

Aurelia’s chair was carried in, and Evelyn arranged the painting where she could work without standing between it and her subject.

I was given the task of keeping the twins occupied nearby.

This seemed reasonable until Garrick decided the paint box required inspection.

I moved it.

He followed.

I moved him.

He objected.

Evelyn looked over her shoulder.

“You could take him farther away.”

“He’s supervising.”

“He has not been appointed.”

I carried him to the other side of the room.

Carol followed us on hands and knees, offended to have been excluded from whatever we were doing.

Aurelia sat with a folded blanket across her lap.

The children in the painting were still small enough to lie within her arms.

The children on the floor were becoming difficult to keep in one place.

Evelyn worked from the earlier sketches when she needed their shapes.

For the face, she looked at Aurelia.

Not continuously.

A glance.

A brushstroke.

Another glance.

After a while, Aurelia asked, “Am I moving too much?”

“No.”

“You keep looking as though something has changed.”

My wife lowered the brush.

“Something has.”

Aurelia waited.

Evelyn studied the canvas.

“I painted your hands first because I knew how they looked.”

“And my face?”

“I was frightened of getting it wrong.”

I sat with Carol against my knee.

Garrick had discovered the wooden ring again.

For a few moments, the room remained quiet except for its occasional contact with the floor.

Evelyn mixed a little color.

“You looked so tired when you first held them,” she said.

“I was.”

“And so happy.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to lose either.”

Aurelia looked down at the blanket in her lap.

Then back at my wife.

“Then keep looking at me.”

Evelyn nodded.

She lifted the brush again.

By midday, I had been painted on.

Not intentionally.

At least, that was Evelyn’s account.

A little blue marked my sleeve where she had reached past me for a cloth.

“You moved,” she said.

“I was rescuing your brush from your son.”

“Our son.”

“Only until the inquiry is complete.”

Aurelia laughed.

Evelyn stopped.

Then turned toward the canvas and worked quickly.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Keep speaking.”

That was an unusual instruction to receive while being useful.

I did my best.

Beatrice brought food.

She surveyed the brushes, cloths, bowls, children, and displaced furniture.

Then chose the only clear surface.

“There.”

Evelyn looked up.

“I’ll eat in a moment.”

Beatrice placed a plate directly beside her.

“Yes.”

My wife considered arguing.

Then set down the brush.

Aurelia took a piece of bread.

I helped Carol investigate a little soft pear while Garrick attempted to seize the entire dish.

For a while, the painting watched us eat.

It felt strange to see the children so still.

After the twins went to sleep, I sat beside the window.

Evelyn worked.

Aurelia rested.

At some point, our teacher’s eyes closed.

My wife did not wake her.

She changed brushes and began working on the edge of the gown instead.

I watched the face on the canvas.

There was still something unfinished around the mouth.

But the eyes were there now.

I remembered the first time Aurelia had looked at me as though she already knew I belonged somewhere.

I had not understood how badly I needed that.

Perhaps I still did not.

Evelyn glanced toward me.

I smiled.

Then let her work.

Aurelia woke when someone knocked.

Mary stood at the door with two letters.

Neither concerned a god.

That improved the afternoon considerably.

One came from Nessa’s relief healer.

Davren had resumed part of his work and was arguing about being made to stop at midday.

The other came from Mina’s mother.

Evelyn held out her hand immediately.

It was a short letter.

Mina was home.

Her brother had moved his books downstairs so she would not have to climb to hear him read.

She was still coming for care.

She had also begun complaining about the exercises.

Evelyn read that part aloud.

Aurelia smiled.

“Then you have become a proper teacher.”

Mary noticed the portrait.

She stopped beside it.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Evelyn watched her.

“Well?”

Mary looked at Aurelia.

Then at the painted hands.

“I remember that.”

My wife let out a breath.

I had not realized she was holding it.

Mary did not offer improvements.

She returned the letters to their envelope and left us with the afternoon light.

Near evening, Evelyn stepped back.

Then forward.

Then back again.

I recognized danger.

“How much longer?” I asked carefully.

She looked at the brush in her hand.

“I could keep changing things.”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t helpful.”

“I know very little about painting.”

Aurelia rose and came to stand beside her.

She studied the canvas.

The blue gown.

The two small children.

The curve of the chair.

Her own face turned slightly toward whoever had stood just beyond the painter.

Toward us.

Evelyn waited.

At last, Aurelia said, “I would leave it.”

My wife set the brush down.

That was all.

No announcement.

No final flourish.

She simply stopped.

I stood beside them.

For a while, we looked together.

The painting held a day we could not return to.

Our children had already outgrown it.

Aurelia had changed.

So had we.

But there she was, holding them when holding them had cost her far more than I understood.

I touched Evelyn’s shoulder.

She leaned into me.

“Where will it hang?” Aurelia asked.

“We hadn’t decided.”

“Your room?” Evelyn suggested.

Aurelia considered that.

Then shook her head gently.

“I would like to see it when I come in here.”

I looked toward the wall beside the hearth.

“That would suit.”

“Not too close to the heat,” Evelyn said at once.

“Farther along.”

“And it needs to dry first.”

I nodded solemnly.

We had apparently reached the part of the project in which I could become dangerous again.

That night, Aurelia sang to the twins.

She sat between their cradles.

Evelyn stood beside me at the door.

The melody was the one we had heard through the inn wall.

The words concerned a bird that kept refusing to sleep because it had important business with the moon.

I understood why Aurelia remembered it.

Garrick watched her.

Carol’s eyes closed.

The bird’s negotiations continued.

At last, even our son surrendered.

Aurelia finished the verse anyway.

Then she looked toward us and smiled.

Later, I passed the south sitting room on my way upstairs.

The painting stood where Evelyn had left it.

I went in to make certain the fire was safe.

Then remained a little longer.

My wife had painted the small crease between Aurelia’s brows.

The tiredness.

The pleasure she had scarcely dared to trust.

She had also caught the way Carol’s hand rested against her gown, utterly certain that someone would keep holding her.

I heard footsteps behind me.

Evelyn slipped beneath my arm.

“Still looking?”

“Yes.”

“Is something wrong?”

I kissed her hair.

“No.”

We stood there until the last light left the window.