Not knowing what to say about the art lessons, she said nothing.
After a while, Papa called in a set of the line drawings and a decorative box similar to the one he gave Titian. “You could start with these and see if art in some form appeals to you—and also let me know if you think it would appeal to other children. I’m considering giving assistance to the artist who made these in order to have more sets printed.”
When she’d seen them at the eyrie, she’d thought the drawings looked boring, like something to do on a rainy afternoon if you couldn’t find anything else to do. But helping Papa decide on a business matter made the drawings and pencils much more interesting. “I can do that.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
She hesitated and wondered if her question would touch dangerous territory. “Did the Lady in the Mist like to draw?”
She’d been named for Papa’s father and his Queen, and ever since she ran into trouble for acting like she was special, she’d wondered about how she compared to the most powerful witch in the history of the Blood—and often worried that she was found wanting, especially after what she’d overheard during this visit with her cousins.
It took forever before he replied, but he sounded thoughtful, not upset, when he finally said, “She did. All the Queens who lived at the Hall during that time took drawing, music, and dance lessons. These were considered necessary social skills and restful activities that balanced the Craft lessons and the training required of Queens in order to rule well. The Lady often did charcoal sketches when she had some free time or when the coven gathered and they all decided to spend an afternoon talking and sketching. Some of her drawings were quite good. Others . . . She would laugh when she was done and twist up the paper to use as kindling. Out of all the Queens who ruled during those years, only Lady Kalush, the Queen of Nharkhava, was a gifted watercolor artist. We have a couple of her paintings on display at the Hall.”
Did she want to learn to draw now that she knew Papa’s Queen had taken drawing lessons? Wouldn’t that be another way she’d be competing against someone great and powerful? Besides, drawing meant sitting still.
“I met a young witch about your age,” Papa said. “Lady Zoela, who is Lady Zhara’s granddaughter. She helped me select the art supplies for Titian, and it occurred to me that you might enjoy her company. I could inquire about Zoela coming with us for an outing when we’re in Amdarh.”
“To do drawings?” She wasn’t sure how much fun it would be to spend an afternoon with Zoela if they were going to sit and do drawings.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a ride in the park, if Zoela rides.”
Oh. Maybe this girl would be interesting. And us meant Papa would be doing something with them and not just chaperoning. “That sounds good.”
They didn’t speak for a while. She was just happy to be with him, even if he had to give lots of his attention to guiding the Coach because they were riding the Black Wind.
“So,” he finally said, “what did you do on this visit? Anything interesting?”
“We didn’t do much. Nothing different.” Which was pretty much true, except for that one thing.
He made a sound, like he’d choked on a laugh. “Were the ‘not much’ and ‘nothing different’ before or after you and Daemonar built a raft and went over a waterfall? Because I truly hope that was different from what you usually do.”
Uncle Lucivar must have blabbed. “We’ve never done that before.”
Oddly enough, Papa didn’t seem to find that reassuring—but he did smile.
Lucivar walked around the family room, tidying up. Marian had gone—alone—to the eyrie’s heated pool. Normally, he would have joined her, but he knew by the change in her physical scent and her psychic scent that her moontime was about to start, and his presence this evening bothered her.
That explained some of her emotions after Daemon and Jaenelle Saetien headed home, but he suspected it was bad timing on Daemonar’s part—and the subject that was on the boy’s mind—that had pushed his darling hearth witch too far.
“I guess Uncle Daemon and Auntie Surreal have sex, since they’re married.”
“Yes, they have sex.”
“So he puts his cock inside her?” Not really a question, more just wanting confirmation.
“Yes.”
“But not from behind like the wolves mate.”
From the kitchen archway, where she’d been standing when she’d overheard them, Marian had shouted, “Dinner!”
Yeah, bad timing on the boy’s part.
As they had taken their seats, Marian had snapped at him in front of the children—something she’d never done before—and didn’t even realize it. The boys, however, sat at the table, stunned, while Titian silently slipped into her seat beside Daemonar.
It had been a long few days, and they were all feeling raw to various degrees because of the children’s conflict with Orian, so Lucivar had let it pass without challenge.
He looked around the family room. Everything was back in place except the line drawings and box of colored pencils Daemon had brought for the boys to balance his gift to Titian.
Andulvar had colored in a few parts of one drawing before losing interest. Daemonar hadn’t shown even that much interest. He’d sat with Titian as she looked at the artist’s primer and quietly told him what each lesson demonstrated. The boy would absorb some of the information, but mostly what he’d absorbed was his sister’s excitement and pleasure.
Lucivar looked through the drawings. Was there too much detail for youngsters Andulvar’s age, especially when you didn’t know what the picture was supposed to look like? Although this one . . .
A quick psychic scan of the eyrie told him Marian was still in the heated pool, the boys were in Andulvar’s room, Titian was in her room—and there were no other demands on him this evening.
He settled in a chair and called in the hinged lap desk that his father had given him for Winsol years ago. Made of fine wood by a master carpenter, the top lifted to reveal storage compartments for paper and pens, as well as wax sticks and official and personal seals. He didn’t use it often when he was home. He didn’t see any reason to spoil being outside by bringing out paperwork. But the lap desk came in handy when he was visiting the villages in Ebon Rih and reviewing reports from the Eyrien guard camps and mountain settlements, or needed a flat surface for some reason.
After putting a shield over the wood, he set one of the drawings on the lap desk, selected a couple of pencils in shades of green, and starting filling in spaces. He let his mind drift, absorbed in the colors giving shape to something stark, like the green buds on trees after the barren wood of winter.
A movement at the doorway had him looking up. Titian hesitated, then hurried over to join him. She was dressed in the top and knee-length pants she wore as summer pajamas, which made him wonder how long he’d been sitting there and . . .
Marian was in their bedroom. Had her moontime started enough for her to notice it?
“Something on your mind, witchling?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she used Craft to kneel on air before sitting back on her heels. Standing—or sitting—on air as if it were solid ground wasn’t a bit of Craft that was second nature to her yet, but she was steady. Even so, he created a shield and slipped it under her to catch her if she wobbled and fell.
She studied the part of the drawing he’d filled in, then studied the green pencils. Scrunching her face in fierce concentration, she pointed to part of the drawing. “How did you get that shade of green? None of the pencils are that shade.”