Chapter 18 Ginger
Ginger
Ugh. Art—the trial I was most worried about.
Situations like this made me wish I had a grasp on magic, that I could bend it to my will. Maybe then I’d be able to pull off a masterpiece.
My throat grew sticky as I stared at the paper laid out on the hard ground in front of me.
This trial called for the contestants to complete a painting.
No inch of paper could be left bare. If the image was complete, identifiable, and deemed acceptable by the judges, the trial would be considered passed.
If all contestants were able to complete the requirements, then the judges would pick their least favorite five to be eliminated.
Contestants had to remain in Town Square for the duration of the trial. We were spread in an attempt to shield our paintings from prying eyes, but peeks and sneaky glances were inevitable.
Inspiration refused to strike.
My paper was covered with… a dark misshapen blob. And that was it.
“It’s great! Is it… a mountain?” Kizzi’s voice drifted over my shoulder, breaking my spiral of dismay.
I snorted. “I don’t know what it is. Yet.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the witch. The bright light of one of the dual suns was directly behind her in my line of sight, casting her form into silhouette.
And her dragon was perched on top of her head.
I stifled a laugh. “New hat?” I asked as I shifted onto my ass, taking a momentary break. I kicked my legs out in front of me.
Kizzi reached up and patted the hip of the small dragon.
“Fiella taught it to them. Ember won’t stop, and now Raine thinks she needs to do it, too.
Annoying, right?” Quieter, she said, “I’ve tried shoving her off.
She just comes right back with a vengeance and I’m tired of pulling icicles from my eyelashes. ”
I tilted my head. Something about the silhouette was… pleasant to look at. I squinted into the indirect light.
Tandor approached, wrapping an arm around Kizzi’s waist and lifting a hand to swat at the dragon.
“Be nice to your mother, Raine. You know she doesn’t like it when you mess up her hair.
” Raine squawked with indignance before spreading her wings, hefting them once, twice, and taking off into the sky, only jostling Kizzi’s hair moderately in the process.
Finally. Finally, inspiration sunk its slippery claws under my skin.
I knew what I wanted to paint.
“Why are you grinning all weirdly like that?” Kizzi asked. She lifted a hand to shield my face. “Is the sunlight burning your corneas?”
I returned my gaze to my paper where the ghost of Kizzi’s silhouetted form lingered in flashes as I blinked. “I’ve got it.”
“Oh, fabulous!” Kizzi exclaimed, clapping excitedly. “Is it a mountain? I knew it was a mountain!”
“Not quite…” I picked up my paint brush, swirling it absentmindedly in a dish of water while I planned out my design.
I glanced down at my pretty tunic, covered by my nicest cloak. “Can you bring me an apron? This might get messy.”
Greens, blues, and yellows swirled together, surrounded by prominent greys and blacks.
I hummed to myself while I worked.
I wouldn’t consider myself an artist by any means—I wasn’t nearly as talented as Lunette, or even Velline—but I could translate an image to paper well enough.
At least, the image was identifiable.
I dipped my brush into black paint again, solidifying the outline. I worked carefully, delicately, making sure the details were precise.
Time was almost up, and I wasn’t going to make any mistakes now.
An errant strand of hair drifted over my eyes. I swiped it away with the back of my hand.
“Two minutes!” Tommins called from his station in the center of the park.
“Folk of Moonvale! You better hurry!” Linc echoed.
I rolled my eyes before grinning wryly. Very helpful. The human sure was a riot.
I finished the painting, layering on a few dark slashes in the background, trying my best to bring the image to life, to give it some depth.
It sort of worked.
I sat back to examine my handiwork. I bent my neck to the right and then the left, trying to loosen the crick taking root.
Not half bad. Not groundbreaking by any means, but not half bad.
I heard a quiet gasp of breath behind me, followed by a stifled sniffle.
I turned to find Fiella looming over me. “What? Are you—are you crying?”
She scrubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks, below her nose. “Of course not!”
I lifted my eyebrows.
“It’s just so beautiful!” she insisted, her voice wobbling.
“Oh, come on, it’s nothing, really,” I laughed.
“It is! Really. It’s so special.”
Redd rubbed a reassuring hand across her back while trying to fight off a grin of his own. “It is nice, my love. You’re right.”
She nodded hastily. “I know! Can you paint one for me? For our cottage?”
I glanced back to my painting, trying to view it from the vampire’s perspective. It was alright, but it wasn’t tear-worthy. I shrugged. “Sure. Of course. You can have this one, if you want it.”
She nearly choked. “Ginny! Thank you.”
I laughed awkwardly. “Sure, Fi. It’s really no big deal—”
I was interrupted by the voice of Tommins. “Alright, contestants! Time is up! Brushes down, bring your paintings up here! Hey, I said time’s up!” He stomped toward one of the contestants who was attempting to add a few final touches to his shockingly detailed painting of a croissant.
Guilt shone in the fae man’s eyes when he glanced up. “I didn’t! I wasn’t—”
Tommins pulled the painting from the man before handing it off to Linc with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry. You know the rules. You’re out.”
The man looked dismayed, but he didn’t argue further. He did know the rules, even if he had attempted to bend them. I glanced at Fiella to find her hiding watery giggles behind the palm of her hand.
I scratched my cheek to disguise my own smile.
It was funny watching the contestants pout when they clearly got themselves eliminated by their own stupid actions.
I looked around. The other contestants were in the same position, far from their paint brushes and warily waiting for next steps.
I pointedly avoided looking toward the stranger. Especially after my scandalous dream last night. I didn’t want him to read it on my face, to have any idea where my sleeping mind had strayed.
I was annoyingly aware of his presence—I could almost sense where he was in proximity to me. He was toward the edge of the crowd, under the shade of the forest, clinging to whichever shadow he could find.
It was almost like he hated the sunlight. I could not relate to that one bit—I soaked up sunlight like a flower in bloom.
I could practically feel him watching me. I shivered.
It was probably my overactive imagination.
A ruckus from the three dragons snagged my attention, along with the attention of the rest of the park. A resounding crash sounded, followed by a chorus of squeals and then the shattering of glass.
I was moving before I could fully process what was happening.
“Brambleby!” I shouted. “Honey, are you alright?”
Kizzi and Fiella followed me, along with Redd and Tandor. The vampires were fastest and reached the commotion first.
“Ember! Love! Oh, fucking gods…” Fiella grumbled.
“Come on now, Ember! Now is not the time,” Redd echoed.
“What’s happened?” Tommins shouted from where he stood, refusing to come any closer. “Is anyone dead?”
“No deaths!” Redd called. “Just a mess.”
“Carry on, then. Back to the competition!”
Finally, I approached the scene.
Laughter burst from my throat, drowning out the curses from Fiella.
The dragons were playing on a collapsed table, covered in paint, swatting at each other.
It was a disaster.
“Oh, gods!” I cried.
“Did you feel left out?” Tandor asked, not looking angry at all. If anything, he looked delighted. “Tiny, brilliant artists.”
Brambleby took a step in my direction, but I froze, holding my hands up in defense. “Oh no! Not with this tunic on. You three better take a dunk in a puddle before you get any closer. Someone will bring you a bucket of water.”
I returned to my painting, flapping my hand dismissively behind me. “Have fun, you little monsters! Enjoy being purple and yellow for the day.”
Tommins and Linc were making their way through the square, examining the paintings and taking notes. A crowd of Moonvale folk followed them, shouting out their opinions and interjecting with their thoughts.
It was quite a chaotic sight.
I watched the crowd commence.
The paintings were self-portraits, animals, abstract shapes, patterns, even a cottage or two. Some were quite impressive.
Some were absolutely terrible, but who was I to judge?
Then Tommins proceeded to the edge of the crowd where the stranger lurked.
I couldn’t help myself—I crept closer to get a look.
His painting was enough to force the breath from my lungs.
He had painted a gorgeous scene of a forest at night. It was dark, sultry, and utterly haunting. Just the sight of it squeezed my chest, pricked the back of my eyes.
It felt so… lonely. So desolate.
A tear welled up in my eye and slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
I scrubbed it away with the back of my hand.
It was just a painting.
Not even the best painting I’d ever seen. There was no reason for it to trigger such an emotional response.
I was losing my damned mind. Or I was turning into Fiella—I wasn't sure which was worse.
I retreated, ignoring the oohs and ahhs from the crowd. A small part of me felt relieved that I wasn’t the only one impressed by the stranger’s dark forest.
I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders to shake off the strange melancholy the painting had evoked.
Absolutely absurd.
I swayed back and forth, counting blades of grass between my hooves as I waited for the crowd to make it to me.
Eventually, Tommins approached.
I carefully lifted my painting from the ground, holding it in front of me like a shield.
My fingers smudged the wet paint at the edges. It slipped under my fingernails, made my grip tenuous.
I held my breath.
Ringing filled my ears.
“Fuck yeah! Go Ginny! Woo!” Fiella yelled.
“Go Ginny, go! That’s our artist!” Kizzi joined in.
My friends screamed and clapped obnoxiously loud, and I couldn’t help but grin. My heart warmed.
I couldn’t even tell them to hush, I was too nervous.
I caught a glimpse of the stranger where he stood on the edge.
His face was stark pale, drained of any color, and his brow was pinched like he was in pain.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment.
And then he turned and fled.
I glanced down at my painting. It wasn’t that bad.
I had painted the dark silhouette of a woman with the setting suns behind her, dragon wings spread at her sides as though she were about to take flight. The dragon wings were difficult to paint, so they were a bit hazy, but they were wings, nonetheless.
“The Mother of the Dragon,” I had titled it.
Some of my pride diminished, though I tried not to let it.
Tommins nodded. I couldn’t interpret the expression on his face. “Not bad, Miss Ginger.”
“Woo!” Fiella screamed again.
Tommins glanced at her, his cheek twitching before he moved on to the next contestant.
I brought my painting to Fiella while I joined the crowd to look at the rest of the paintings.
The stranger was nowhere to be seen.