Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Jonas whirls on his heels to face us, curls bouncing around his face without a hat to pin them down.
“Oh goodness, no. It’s only that Azizi asked us about spirits and ghosts in her letters, I assume because of you.
My Zagreus is quite interested in your experience, so do not be surprised if he badgers you with questions throughout the night. ”
“I do not badger,” comes a voice from another doorway, followed immediately by a tall man I have only ever seen in passing at various court events. “I am simply in search of answers to questions where I have none.”
It is no wonder, really, why my brother is so obviously infatuated with Zagreus Macabre.
I had always assumed it was due to the mystery surrounding the man—the heir to the second most powerful family in our society who decidedly remains out of the public eye and sequesters himself away to his so-called studies and work. A fellow black sheep, much like myself.
With him standing before me now, I cannot discount that his appearance has likely had some play in the matter.
He is an older man, with more silver than brown in his short hair and neatly-trimmed beard.
The wrinkles around his small eyes speak to his age, but his bone structure boasts a false youthfulness that many others cannot claim—his cheekbones high and his jawline sharp, his nose long and thin, curving gently like a scalpel.
He cuts a handsome figure in his rouge suit and crème necktie. I can see why Jonas hangs at his side like a lovesick puppy.
“There he is!” Jonas doesn’t hesitate to loop his arm through Kolfina’s again, guiding her—and thus the rest of us—further into the house.
He turns his expectant gaze to me when we stop a polite distance away from the new stranger.
“Sister, this is my dearest friend, Lord Zagreus Macabre. Zagreus, my beloved twin sister, Lady Azizi Alilovi?.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you all,” he says when I introduce Kolfina and Theodore, a thick northern accent colouring his words.
“I must assume Jonas did not welcome you properly, so you must allow me the honor of welcoming you both into La Cour Macabre. We are always eager to receive new members into the family.”
The smile at the corner of his lips betrays his scolding, not that my brother seems to notice it anyhow, judging by the mischief still swimming in his eyes.
He leans into Kolfina’s side, holding a hand up as if to whisper despite not lowering his voice at all.
“Zagreus is just upset that I found you first, I’m sure.
He thinks me terribly improper, you see, and when I dare to veer off script, it irks him so.
He insists on being a bore, so do not think ill of him if he comes off as grumpy.
You must trust me when I tell you he is rather soft inside. ”
It does not surprise me when Kolfina shakes with a silent giggle.
She shied away from most company at Theodore’s festival, but Jonas has always had a way of making people feel at ease around him.
It is one reason why our father jokingly refers to us as twins.
Jonas and I had been adopted into the family within months of each other, and as such, we grew extremely close in a short amount of time.
A feat our father found fascinating, considering our wild differences—Jonas with the endless energy and outgoing personality of a puppy, and myself with a preference for solitude and deeper connection.
And while Lord Macabre is much more intimidating than my brother, Kolfina only hesitates for a moment before she allows the older man to take her hand and press a kiss to her gloved knuckles.
“I beg you forgive Jonas,” he says when he straightens back up.
“We are the oldest of friends, and yet still he enjoys, ah—how do you say—poking my buttons?” Lord Macabre offers her a warm smile, dutifully ignoring Jonas’ gasp of offense.
“He is correct, however. I would very much like to ask you a few questions about your situation tonight, should time allow it.”
Kolfina frowns slightly at that, considering. After a moment, she presses her fingers to her lips and flicks her eyes toward me and Theodore, imploring and shy. Not uncomfortable, just unsure.
"Would you like to answer his questions?
" I ask her, just in case. When she nods, I turn my smile to Lord Macabre.
"If you do not mind one of us accompanying you, then we will be sure to make time for you tonight.
Kolfina cannot speak, in either of her forms, so it is best if we are there to help her communicate.
" Kolfina taps my wrist, drawing my attention to her pinched fingers and wiggling hand.
"Ah, or if you've a pen and ink, she is happy to write her answers as well. "
Already there is an interest in the man’s pale eyes as his gaze focuses on Kolfina. It is the same look Theodore gets when inspiration strikes. The same look Kolfina gets when she hears a piece of music she does not recognize. Something scholarly, almost. A hunger for knowledge and answers.
"Fascinating," he mutters, scratching absentmindedly at his beard. "A condition of the circumstances, perhaps? Or maybe a trauma response to the events leading to the death—"
“Well, you’ve done it now,” Jonas says with a soft, fond smile. “Zagreus, darling, before we’ve lost you entirely, wouldn’t you like to thank my sister for the gift she’s brought you?”
Lord Macabre blinks in surprise before turning to me and offering a polite bow. “Of course, forgive my manners, my lady. You have my gratitude for your attendance—”
Jonas sighs playfully and rolls his eyes, an action that draws another giggle from Kolfina. “No, dear. She brought you an actual gift. Allard?”
The steward steps forward with the painting box, drawing Lord Macabre’s attention, and the man flushes slightly in embarrassment.
“Ah, yes, I see. Apologies, Jonas has been forcing me to socialize all evening and my mind has quite run away from me. Come, we can open it in my office, away from all the ah—prying eyes, as you say, yes?”
I am unsure if the man knows of my nerves when it comes to showing others my art, but I find myself grateful that he’s requested to view it privately.
I trust my brother to know if his friend would like my work or not, but that trust does not get rid of the near-painful anxiety that builds in my chest when Allard places the box on one of the sofas in the office and pops it open.
The room is silent for a long moment, the only sounds being those of conversation and music floating in from the parlor across the hall.
Sweat gathers on the back of my neck, and it’s not until Theodore and Kolfina’s hands slip into mine that I realize I’ve been twisting painfully at my fingers, stretching the seams of my gloves.
“Azizi,” Jonas breathes. “It’s beautiful.”
But it is not my brother’s opinion that I am terrified of. He has always loved my work, his approval was never in question. It is Lord Macabre that I watch, desperately searching for disgust in his eyes or a sneer on his lips.
I find none.
In fact, there is a similar look of awe in Lord Macabre’s eyes that Kolfina had when she first saw this particular painting. He does not brush his fingers over it like she did, but he does pluck it up from the cushion to view closer, as if cataloging each and every brush stroke.
“Indeed, it is marvelous,” he finally says. “The way you’ve captured the colour of the blood in particular is astonishing. You’ve a way with colour that I rarely see in artists these days.”
The relief that floods through me is staggering, and if not for Kolfina and Theodore holding me steady between them, I am sure I would have collapsed on the floor at the suddenness of it.
For the first time since that dreadful showing, something eases inside of me, a pressure lifting just enough to let me draw in a desperate breath I do not need.
“Azizi makes all of her own paints,” Theodore chimes in with a proud lift of his chin. “She says the ones in the stores don’t have the right ingredient for what she needs them for.”
“Oh? What ingredient?” Lord Macabre asks, finally looking away from the painting to find me.
The memory of a heartbeat thuds painfully beneath my ribs. The shadows in the room deepen, writhing in the corners and stretching across the floor like twisted hands.
“Passion,” I say quietly, swallowing past the lump in my throat to answer.
“Our father has always taught us that passion is the most important characteristic a person can have. I do not see the point in creating something with only half measures. While I do not make the canvas myself, I do stretch and prepare them, as well as mix my own paints and pigments. When the occasion arises, I’ve been known to make my own paintbrushes as well, though my father has a friend who usually supplies me with custom brushes for my needs. ”
Lord Macabre’s eyebrows rise in surprise before he looks back down at the painting. “Such impressive dedication. It certainly shows in your work, I must say. You are sure you wish to part with this one? My help is freely given, I assure you. I do not require payment.”
But I shake my head at the implication, his kind words and honest reaction helping me to steady myself on solid ground once more. “It is a gift, Lord Macabre. In thanks for helping Kolfina, yes, but not as payment. I only hope that you like it.”
The man hums low in his throat and gently places the painting back down. As soon as he is facing us again, he drops into a short bow, one hand crossed over his chest. “Zagreus, please. You have my utmost thanks and admiration. I shall have to find a place of honor to put it.’
“Oh, don’t you worry,” Jonas interrupts, sending his companion an amused wink. “I’ll be sure to help you. His eye for interior design is absolutely abysmal, if you must know. I’m not sure what he would do without me.”
“My home would be much quieter, that is for certain,” Lord Macabre replies. And though his tone is bland and a bit scolding, there is a fondness in the way he looks at my brother that belays his affection toward the man.
Despite the look, Jonas gasps dramatically, one hand pressing over his heart and the other grasping at Kolfina’s elbow.
“Do you see how he treats me? What cruelty! To think I have blessed him with my beautiful voice—one thousands upon thousands of people have paid to hear, mind you—and this is how he speaks of me? Whyever do I put up with him?”
“I suppose it only fair that someone else suffer your eccentricities,” I jest, my smile coming easier now that the nerves have been battered down by approval and praise.
I offer Lord Macabre—Zagreus—a look of mock sympathy.
“I would apologize for my brother, but I have had to put up with his unrelenting optimism and dramatics for over a century now. I think it high time someone else do so for a change.”
“A task I take on with great humility,” the man replies with a serious nod.
“Terrible. Absolutely terrible, the both of you.” Reaching across me, Jonas takes Theodore’s hand in his and drags him closer, tucking both Kolfina and Theodore’s hands into the crooks of his elbows.
“Come, my new friends. I shall not stand here and be bullied any longer! Let me introduce you to the rest of the guests. Others will be arriving throughout the night, but I think it best we leave now before we face the full brunt of my sister’s wit and Zagreus’ sarcasm. I fear I won’t survive it.”
Zagreus releases a huff of amusement as Jonas absconds with both of my companions, his eyes never leaving the other man until he’s out of sight completely.
“Well then,” he says, offering his elbow with a polite smile, “shall we go make sure he does not bring your lovers any unwanted trouble?”
I take his arm with a sigh and a nod. “I suppose we should. My Theodore and your Jonas ought not to be left unsupervised. Theodore is much more mischievous than he seems.”
“As is Jonas, unfortunately.”
I do not glance back at my painting as Zagreus leads me out of the room. I’m not sure what would happen if I did, but leaving it there feels right in away nothing has in a long time.
My father once told me that the world receives a gift when an artist is born. That in times of despair and unrest, in times of grief and madness, it is art which bring light to a dying world.
“Art is the very act of creation, my little treasure,” he told me, “and in a world so filled with death and destruction, it is up to us to fill it with something beautiful. It is up to us to give birth to hope. Never forget that.”
I have never doubted my father’s words, but in this moment, I cannot help but think he was wrong on one point.
It is not just the world that art gives hope to, it is the artist as well. Perhaps it is even the artist who needs that hope the most.