‘No one could fault the artistry,’ said Tobry. ‘In fact, it’s magnificent — ’
‘But?’ said Rix. ‘Don’t tell me you like it?’
‘I don’t. Not at all. Though …’
‘For the Gods’ sakes, say it.’
‘If you’re painting to please yourself, you can do what you like. But when you’re working to commission, doing a portrait for your father’s Honouring …’
‘What?’ snapped Rix.
‘Do you have to be so damned honest about him?’
‘Mother says I’ve captured his essence.’
‘She would.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sorry, but I have to be blunt.’ Tobry adjusted his coat, though it still hung lower on the left.
‘I want you to be blunt.’
‘Do you? You can be a trifle blind where — never mind. Look, Lady Ricinus despises your father and you’ve captured it in his face — her contempt and his knowledge of it, the guilt at his drunkenness and bad behaviour, the wastage of the family fortunes. His face has it all.’
‘But?’ said Rix, squirming as he realised Tobry was right.
‘It’s a magnificent portrait. It’s going to be a masterpiece, but if it was my father I wouldn’t hang it in my house. Assuming I had a father, or a house, you understand.’
‘Perhaps I have gone a bit far.’ Rix had loved his father once, and would never want to hurt him, though that was hardly possible. Lord Ricinus had the skin of a shifter pig. ‘It’s too late to change it now. There’s only six days until the Honouring.’
‘I’m not telling you to change it; just what I see in it.’
‘Anyway, I’ve begun another painting,’ said Rix.
‘Really? Where do you find the time?’
‘I haven’t been sleeping well, and I’ve turned away Mother’s bed mate. I’m not letting her have the pleasure.’
‘By depriving yourself of it. That’ll really sting her.’
Rix shrugged. It was rare to win a battle with Lady Ricinus but he was determined to beat her on this one.
Tobry pulled him close. ‘There’s something else the matter, isn’t there? Are you having the nightmares again?’
Rix cast an uncomfortable glance down the stairs. Though the great heatstone in the salon could not be seen from here, he could feel its brooding presence.
‘I was dreading them all the way home, yet, oddly, I haven’t had a one. I guess all that action drove them out of my mind. Or maybe the war did — something real to worry about. But — ’
‘What?’
‘Come and look at this. I keep it in here so Mother won’t find it.’
‘You can paint what you like.’
‘Until the portrait is done I can’t even scratch my arse without permission.’
Rix led Tobry into a storeroom full of blank canvases. From the back, facing the wall, he lifted out a smaller painting, only a yard across.
‘I was planning to do a cruel satire on Mother,’ said Rix. ‘To balance my depiction of Father, I suppose. Anyway, I ended up with this instead. I don’t know where it came from, but it scares me.’
‘As you said, sometimes your paintings can be divinations.’
Rix turned the painting to face them. It was little more than a sketch rendered in quick, violent brushstrokes. A large, windowless chamber, crowded with junk and filled with a greenish mist. Dim lanterns to left and right, haloed rings around them, illuminating a black bench in the middle and, lying on it, the figure of a woman, just a few strokes of the brush.
‘What’s it supposed to mean?’ said Tobry.
‘No idea. The scene feels familiar, yet oddly remote.’
‘Perhaps it’s a picture you saw as a kid. Remember those grim old paintings that used to be everywhere around the palace, full of bloody war and violent hunting scenes? What happened to them, anyway?’
‘Mother got rid of them. She wanted art more in keeping with what the higher families had on their walls.’
‘Of course she would,’ said Tobry.
‘I couldn’t sleep after I painted this. I was afraid that if I dropped off I’d have another of those nightmares about blood, and an ice leviathan rolling over the palace, and the fall of our house.’
‘Hardly surprising, with the war going so badly.’ Tobry adjusted his coat again and took another look at the sketch. ‘I can practically smell the mould, the filth, the damp.’
‘When I close my eyes I can smell it.’
‘Paint the rest of it. That might get it out of your mind.’
‘I doubt it. I whited over it last night, but ten minutes later I was sketching the place again, exactly the same only more detailed. Where does it come from? What does it mean?’
‘I haven’t a clue, but …’
‘What?’
‘The viewpoint is quite low. No higher than the bench.’
‘Why didn’t I notice that?’ said Rix. A shiver began, low down, then spread up his back to the top of his head. ‘It’s as though it’s being seen by a child …’
CHAPTER 61
‘Tobe,’ said Rix. ‘You’ve known me a long time.’
They were in his studio again and he was trying not to look at the portrait, which was getting worse with each brushstroke. After Lady Ricinus’s last inspection the water had frozen in the taps.
‘All your wicked life,’ said Tobry. ‘I remember seeing you just after you’d been born. You weren’t a big baby, oddly enough. And extremely ugly — a veritable horror.’ He chuckled. ‘We spent a lot of time at the palace when you were little … before the scandalous fall of the House of Lagger.’
Rix could not manage a smile. ‘Do you remember being here when I was ten? Something happened back then and I was sick for ages.’
‘I’ve never known you to be sick,’ said Tobry. ‘You’re disgustingly healthy. Everyone in the palace is.’
‘I haven’t been sick since, but I nearly died that time. A fever or something, and afterwards I’d lost a whole month of my life. You must remember it.’
Tobry shook his head. ‘I wasn’t allowed to visit then. We were disgraced; the House of Lagger was sliding towards the precipice and all doors were closed to us.’ He walked away and stared out the window.
‘The nightmares started after I got well,’ said Rix.
‘Fever can do that to you.’
‘But they’ve never stopped. They’ve got worse.’
‘Sorry. What with the bankruptcy, mother’s disgrace, father’s suicide, the manor being burnt to the ground with everyone but me inside, and our creditors taking the rest of the estate, I don’t remember much about those years. Don’t want to remember, if truth be told.’ He looked at Rix. ‘You’re pale enough to be a Pale. You should have an early night.’
‘I can’t. The damned portrait. I’ll be up till three again.’
‘I’ll get out of your way. I’m going to check on Tali.’
‘At the abbey?’
‘Hildy wouldn’t take her, and then I was followed. I shook them off, dropped her at Torgrist Manor and made a false trail — ’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ said Rix. ‘Who followed her?’
‘I assume Hildy betrayed us to the chancellor.’
‘But Tali’s wounded. You did go back? You made sure she’s all right?’ Suddenly Rix understood why Tobry was so flat.
He looked sick. ‘I tried to, but all the mansions in that street were watched, front and back. If I’d gone into Torgrist Manor the chancellor would have known within minutes that she was there. I’m really worried about her.’
‘Has she got food? Warm clothes? Fresh bandages?’
‘No, nothing,’ Tobry said hoarsely.
Rix paced back and forth. ‘Damn it, Tobe, we’ve got to do something. At least, you have — they won’t let me out.’ He handed Tobry a jingling bag. ‘Bribe the guards. Get her away where she can be looked after, then come back. I’m not sure I want to be alone with this, tonight.’
He put the sketch back in the cupboard and closed the door.
When Rix could not bear to touch brush to the portrait again, it was four in the morning. Too exhausted to undress, he lay on the huge bed and blew out the lantern. Outside, big snowflakes were fluttering down in the moonlight.