The Faceless Mage - Kenley Davidson Page 0,48

a reputation for harboring many gifted artisans.

Perhaps Lady Piperell meant further east, but east of Eddris were the mountains. Past the mountains was the sea, and past the sea?

The Zulleri Empire.

Leisa could easily believe this scene might exist in a place that still haunted Abreians, hundreds of years after their ancestors escaped it. But where would King Melger have gotten the painting? And why place it in his portrait gallery?

As they moved past, she happened to look back and saw the Raven, for once not watching her. His head was turned, and if he had eyes, they were trained on the same painting that had captured her attention.

If she touched the gem around her neck, would she be able to tell what he was thinking? Perhaps get a glimpse of what attracted him to that work more than any of the others? Or would she simply find out that his suspicions of Farhall’s princess drove him to inspect anything that drew her attention in hopes of ferreting out the truth of her intentions?

Leisa’s curiosity dimmed somewhat when she saw her suitor awaiting them just outside the gallery. He appeared delighted to see her—far more delighted than their current relationship could explain.

“A beautiful morning,” he exclaimed cheerfully, taking Leisa’s hand and pressing it to his lips. Ugh. As gloves were not considered proper for informal occasions, she’d gone without, so there was nothing to prevent her from feeling his kiss on her knuckles. “I see you are wearing my gift.” His smile, when he wished it to be, was gorgeous. “You have no notion of how happy that makes me, my dear Evaraine.”

Leisa swallowed her protests that she was not his dear anything. “Did I perhaps misunderstand what such a token represents?” she asked hesitantly. “By wearing it, I am making no statement of my position on our engagement or this alliance.”

“Of course not!” He released her hand. “You are merely demonstrating that, at present, my suit continues to be acceptable.”

“Ah.”

His head cocked to one side as his eyes met hers, this time with a sharp, calculating edge. “Forgive me if it seems presumptuous, but you seem to have gained somewhat in confidence since yesterday. Have you perhaps grown comfortable enough with our court that you find yourself imagining a future role here?”

So he’d noticed. Leisa kicked herself in her metaphorical shins as she considered whether to revert to her shy, backwoods self, or come up with an explanation for her newfound assurance. She supposed she could claim that exhaustion had muddled her thinking and made her reckless, but if her experience so far was any indication, she was likely to spend most of her time here in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Was there really any point in continuing the charade?

“Perhaps,” she hedged. “Or perhaps I simply find myself more comfortable in the role I already possess. I might be shy, your highness, but I hope that is not all I am.”

And suddenly, Vaniell’s smile was at its most brilliant. “My most exquisite Princess Evaraine,” he said softly. “I hope that too.”

Their eyes met, and his suddenly blazed up with a fiery purpose, entirely at odds with the flippant, lazy persona he typically exuded. For whatever reason, he truly did hope Evaraine was more than she appeared, and Leisa couldn’t decide whether that should engender confidence or heart failure.

She wasn’t the only one hiding things.

Prince Vaniell reverted to form quickly enough as he escorted Leisa to the council chamber for her audience with King Melger, chatting inanely about everything they saw and everyone they encountered.

Much to Leisa’s disgust and dismay, she found not only the king, but also his heir awaiting them in the large, elegantly furnished chamber, though his council was, thankfully, absent. The Garimorans seemed impatient to begin, and as a footman offered her an exquisitely uncomfortable chair, she recalled the mention of Danric she’d overheard the night before. What had they said? That they wouldn’t want to risk Vaniell being the first to produce an heir?

Perhaps she could understand their concerns for the succession, but so far as she knew, no rumor of the older prince’s engagement had yet crossed the border. Though if Melger were planning further alliances, he might not want rumors to taint his present negotiations. If he indeed intended to bind two of the Five Thrones to Garimore through marriage, the action would only add urgency to the whispered speculation that he harbored imperial aspirations.

“Finally,” King Melger said, seating himself without a word