The Faceless Mage - Kenley Davidson Page 0,47

not exceeded. Your safety is his primary concern, I assure you.”

So Leisa had erred once again. Most likely, Lady Piperell would expect a real princess, when confronted with a bodyguard who never slept, to express concern for the risk to her own safety rather than to her bodyguard’s health.

But in this case, Leisa didn’t really care whether the other woman approved of her concern or not. She was stuck with her bodyguard, and he with her. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t show him compassion—treat him as a reasoning being, with thoughts and fears and needs. Leisa couldn’t imagine the isolation of having spent years with everyone acting as though he were invisible. Maybe he preferred it that way, but it seemed wrong to make such an assumption.

And she knew all too well that a bodyguard couldn’t possibly be expected to subsist on little to no sleep. He would need to be awake and alert enough to counter threats to the body he guarded. When there were guests in the palace and she was the primary guard for Princess Evaraine, she was never expected to remain on duty for longer than six hours.

So while Lady Piperell might be sure of King Melger’s intentions—and her charge’s security—what Leisa was feeling was far from certainty. It was more like pity. Or at least concern. For a giant, scary, magical assassin who had dropped her on her head only… yesterday. That had been yesterday.

The next few weeks were going to last an eternity.

Lady Piperell led the way to Leisa’s first appointment by way of the portrait gallery, which proved to be mostly filled with unimaginative paintings of past members of the royal family, all looking as stiff as humanly possible.

Leisa had to admit that the official portraits of the current princes were quite detailed and true to life, obviously the work of a painter who knew his subjects well. Danric’s expression held a stoic certainty of purpose, while Vaniell’s lips curved with some secret mockery. As she pondered his portrait, she wondered anew—just how much keen intelligence could he be hiding behind an elaborate pretense?

Melger’s portrait, on the other hand, seemed to be the work of a different, less talented artist. It was an older painting, certainly, of a younger king with less gray in his beard and fewer lines on his face. But the real Melger’s eyes seemed to burn with some inner fervor, while the painted one merely appeared cold. Withdrawn. Still regal, but in a stiff and distant way, where the man himself was commanding.

As she gazed up at the trio, it struck her that while Danric and Vaniell were clearly brothers, Vaniell did not resemble his father in the slightest. His mother’s elegant features were even more striking on his pale, masculine face, but there was nothing of Melger’s kingly gravity.

Was that why his father held him in such contempt? Because the two men were nothing alike? Or was it merely the prince’s dissolute habits that drove a wedge between them?

As they continued through the portrait hall, a small collection of landscapes caught her eye, clustered together as they were in an out of the way spot. One, in particular, drew her attention, differing as it did from those around it in nearly every way.

Most of the paintings were of clearly Garimoran scenery—fertile fields, green orchards, gently rolling hills, and gracious country estates. This one…

Well, it was a palace, but one unlike any she had ever seen or imagined. Built of gleaming red stone, it towered and loomed and grew to impossible heights, and the artist had somehow made it even more menacing than its size would suggest. Armies crowded the plains below its gates, while storm clouds obscured the sky, allowing only a single ray of light to fall on the highest tower.

Leisa shuddered almost involuntarily. If someone had undertaken to paint a nightmare, she imagined it might look like this.

“What is this one of?” she asked, as innocently as possible. “It’s quite dark. Almost frightening, I should think.”

“That?” Lady Piperell frowned. “I believe King Melger brought it back from one of his journeys to the east.”

East? Straight east was Eddris. Of the Five Thrones, they were more isolated than any but Farhall, and kept mostly to themselves. A kingdom of hunters and foresters, Eddris butted up against the nearly impassable Yllian Mountains and shared a brief stretch of border with the shapeshifting night elves. The red palace was most certainly not in Eddris, nor did Eddrisians have