The Golden Key (140 page)

“Of course!”

“Then obey me!” Why must the talented ones always be the most difficult? “Sit for a portrait.”

“To become your captive?” she retorted. “If I am to be your estuda, I will only be your mirror if you rob me of my will.”

Impossible creature. “Moronna! It is my
duty
to protect you from the others. That is why I
must
paint a portrait of you, one that will leave you untouched by mine or any hand.” That struck her to silence. It should not have. Surely she should have understood all along that he intended to protect her, just as he had Saavedra. “Do not be pig-headed! Have you not yourself criticized the Viehos Fratos?”

“I have,” she said in a small voice.

“Do you not agree the Academy style is worthless? That the Grijalvas have become pointlessly self-absorbed? That the course they have taken will lead to ruin?”

“I do agree.”

“Then let me protect you so you can learn from me without their interference! Eiha!
I am right.
You know it. So let us have done with this argument and do what needs to be done. So many things! An inventory of Grijalva paintings in the Palasso. A complete restructuring of the tutorials for the young Grijalva estudos. A new style of painting that will reinvigorate our line; indeed, art in Tira Virte altogether.” He let out a great sigh and waited for her acquiescence.

“The inventory,” she said hesitantly. “I found an inventory made in the time of Arrigo the Second.”

So many lives ago. He could only recall now that he had taken advantage of Arrigo IPs coronation to rid himself of Renzio. He extended a hand. “May I see it?”

Her hesitation annoyed him. “I … didn’t bring it.”

This was not about the inventory. Like Alejandro, she needed him. He did not need magic to persuade her, only the rights words uttered with the right emotion. “Eleyna, you must trust me. I want—I need—a student who will bring credit to my name, one whose brilliance will shine because of what I teach him. Teach
her.
If I wanted a copyist, I would not be rebelling against what the Viehos Fratos have become, would I?” He spoke gently now, because she was still skittish. And no wonder, after what had been done to her. Forcing her to marry Felippo, that disgusting chiros. What a repulsive thing to do to a girl! What an appalling thing to
do to a child with the Luza do’Orro! He
must
convince her, so it could never happen again. “Let me paint this portrait. I will use white chrysanthemums for Truth, white oak for Independence, water willow for Freedom, and juniper for Protection and Purification. You will help me prepare the paints. You will watch each brushstroke I lay down. You will take the painting with you when I am not working on it. Let me protect you in this way. It is a selfish wish, I know, to have you as my pupil. To want you always to be free to paint, as you are meant to, with me or without me. Grant me this wish, Eleyna.”

She struggled against her fears, but he knew what she would do. She had no choice, just as he had no choice. She was, as he had always been, in thrall to the Luza do’Orro, the Golden Light. Of all of them, she was the one most like him.

“I will trust you,” she said in a low voice, but as if the admission hurt her. She sat down.

Satisfied, he got out a fresh piece of paper.

  EIGHTY-TWO  

Eleyna
rose before dawn and adjusted herself precisely in the chair that faced her writing table. She shifted Agustin’s drawing a final time, then waited.

In what madness had she agreed last night to allow Sario to do a portrait of her? She wanted to turn and look at the two sketches Sario had done by candlelight, but she dared not move. Why had she followed Sario back to his chamber? What if he
had
killed Andreo?

Eiha! What if he truly could paint her a
Peintraddo
that would protect her forever from Grijalva magic?

The fire crackled behind her. The servant girl came in before dawn to rake the coals and add new wood. This morning Eleyna had risen and locked the door as soon as the girl left. Now she stared at the parchment that lay flat, squared off, on the table’s surface. Suddenly she heard the whisper of distant words.

“Eleyna, it’s Agustin. Do you think she can hear me, Zio?”

Though it had not changed, the drawing of one corner of the Grijalva studio now looked uncannily lifelike. She expected Agustin to walk into her line of sight at any moment. But of course he did not. Yet that was his voice, like a voice heard through a keyhole.
Miraculo!

“Agustin. I can hear you.” Her voice trembled.

“Matra Dolcha!” swore Giaberto, sounding more appalled than pleased.

“I told you it would work!” Agustin sounded smug. “Giaberto and Cabral are here with me, Eleyna. Cabral wants you to get the Grand Duke to stand with you, tomorrow, out of the line of sight of the drawing, so that he can listen—”

“Impossible!” Giaberto again. “Can you imagine the scandal if the Grand Duke was found in her bedchamber at dawn?”

“But we must consult with him on the matter of a new Lord Limner,” said Cabral.

“Let me speak, grazzo,” said Eleyna, desperate to break in. “The Grand Duke named a new Lord Limner. Sario.”

“Sario—!”

“That chi’patro chiros—!”

“Forgive me, Zio.” She had to find out the truth, yet still she hesitated. She felt she was betraying him. “How … how did Andreo die?”

Cabral’s voice was cool, cataloging the symptoms. “A sudden illness. Hemmoraging.”

“Is it possible—” She forced out the words. “—for one Limner to kill another?”

“You are suggesting that Sario murdered Andreo?” How could Cabral be so calm?

“Eleyna.” Giaberto was not calm, yet he spoke with authority. “Tell no one of these suspicions. If you can, go today and see if Andreo’s Lord Limner portrait still hangs in the Grand Duke’s study, and if it remains untouched. There are powerful protections painted into that portrait, and it
ought
to be impossible for a Limner to harm another unless through that portrait.”

“I will do as you ask, Zio.” She found that her hands were trembling and that her back hurt horribly, but she could not shift her position lest she break the spell that linked her to Agustin. “Is it possible for a Limner to paint a person into a painting?”

Agustin’s gasp she recognized. The other two made incomprehensible sounds.

“That I should be talking about such matters in front of an unGifted limner and a woman!” exclaimed Giaberto. “I have read nothing in the
Folio
that suggests Grijalvas have ever known of or attempted such a horrific deed.”

“Then is it possible there was once a copy made of
The First Mistress
?”

“The portrait of Saavedra Grijalva?” asked Cabral. “I never heard of any copy being made, but I suppose such a copy might have been done before my birth. But I can assure you that the portrait hanging in the Galerria is the original.”

It was wild stab in the dark, but she had to ask. He was almost eighty years old. “Wasn’t that portrait in storage?”

She almost heard Cabral’s smile. “Yes. Grand Duchess Mechella and I found it. That’s why I know it is the same one.”

“Do you remember where Saavedra stood?”

His reply took so long she thought she heard dust settling on the table. “Behind the table, I think. She was reading a book. Mennina, I haven’t thought of that day in so many years.” He gave a sharp laugh, bittersweet. “Women notice such peculiar things. The Grand Duchess thought Saavedra was pregnant. Isn’t that an odd thing to recall after all these years?”

Behind the table.
“Zio,” she whispered. At last she found her
voice. “If a person could not be captured within a painting, explain to me then how Saavedra now stands before the door? Why, if there is no other copy, does an inventory I found dating from 1216 describe her, as you say, standing behind the table, at night?”

“At night!” So eerie, to hear Cabral’s shock in only his voice and never to see his face. “It was dawn. I remember
that
clearly enough. The candle had just been snuffed. Mechella commented on the artistry…” His voice trailed off only to return with a kind of horrified astonishment. “
I had forgotten this.
”

“Sario believes Saavedra is
alive
in that painting.”

“Matra Dolcha!” swore Giaberto again.

“I have not been in the Galerria since ‘Chella became too ill to walk with me there,” whispered Cabral.
’Chella
? Since when did a common limner speak so familiarly of a Grand Duchess?

“Merditto!” swore Giaberto. “Eleyna, we must get that painting to the Atelierro so the Viehos Fratos can examine it.”

“How can she get a painting of that size through the barricades?” asked Agustin.

“We must see what Don Rohario can accomplish,” said Cabral. “Giaberto is right. We must have that painting here.”

Their blithe words alarmed her. “Sario would notice at once! You don’t understand, he controls everyone here now.”

Giaberto snorted. “We can take care of Sario Grijalva. Just get the painting to us, however it must be arranged. That is an order, Eleyna. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”
They
were the ones who did not understand. They were blind to Sario’s power and skill.

“That is enough for today, Agustin. You may talk with Eleyna tomorrow.”

“Yes, but—” Agustin wanted reassurance.

She gave it. “Beatriz is well. As am I. You are well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Come,” said Giaberto curtly. “We must now discuss how you came to devise this, without consulting any of the Viehos Fratos.”

“Agustin? Agustin?” Silence met her words. The spell had been broken.

We can take care of Sario Grijalva.

Eleyna no longer believed they could. The Viehos Fratos had
no idea
how powerful Sario was. She was the only one who truly
saw
him, the master at work, who understood his brilliance. She did not want them to destroy him, he who was everything she hoped to be as an artist. Yet what if Saavedra lived inside the portrait? What if that voice she had heard was Saavedra’s voice: “
Who are you, my
sister? Can you not help me
?” Only a Gifted Limner could free her, if it was true, and she had heard Sario declare to Saavedra’s figure that he had no intention of freeing her … yet.

Eiha! It was impossible. It could not be true.

But for the sake of the woman in the painting, she could not take the chance. Somehow, she had to get
The First Mistress
to Palasso Grijalva without Sario knowing.

  EIGHTY-THREE