Chapter 1
For as Long as I Have Sunrises by K.A. Masters
As Iyala stood in the tablinum waiting for her patron to appear, she resisted the lowborn urge to pace and let her eyes roam over the room, instead of her feet.
A half-smile appeared on her lips as she realized how much the room had changed since last winter.
Since her husband’s death, her patron, Columba, had made numerous changes to the decor of the stuffy office, infusing the room with her feminine touch.
Instead of wax death masks of her husband’s austere ancestors lining the walls, the shelves were lined with dozens of life-size paintings of doves—doves that Iyala proudly recognized that she herself had painted and presented each year to the family as a Saturnalia present.
The doves told the story of her childhood friend grown into a woman.
Through the years, the dove and its mate cuddled in a nest woven with gold and silver, and eggs or chicks would appear and disappear according to the couple’s births or losses for the year.
This Saturnalia, the painted dove sat regally in a nest alone, but with two adult doves flying overhead with wings proudly outstretched.
Iyala relished the fact that her girlhood friend (how easily they pretended that they were mere friends!), born the daughter of a lowly butcher, had caught a senator’s eye and become his wife.
Iyala praised the gods at Columba’s good fortune, but the smile faded as she looked down at her own trembling, paint-stained hands.
She wrung them and chaffed them, trying to shake off the tremor that she’d pretended was nerves and not the shakes that invaded her limbs as the day wore on.
She ran her hands through her silver hair and hoped that she would still have the ability to meet her patron’s needs, terrified that her dimming eyes and trembling hands would disappoint the woman who had supported her throughout her career as Rome’s first and only female painter.
Her aging ears still recognized the gait of her Columba’s dainty feet as they walked upon the marble floors, and as she heard the heavy wooden doors of the tablinum open, Iyala instinctively turned to greet her patron.
As their eyes met, Iyala’s breath hitched.
She could not seem to understand how age had melted off Columba’s youth and revealed a goddess underneath.
The smile that appeared on Columba’s face rippled across her features; the row of wrinkles blossoming from her eyes revealed her happiness and genuine excitement to see her.
Iyala began to bow, but she gasped as Columba swept her into a hug.
“My Iyala!” Columba exclaimed as she planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thank you so much for coming, dearest friend!”
Her next breath made her smile fade. The impossible fragrance of citrus in winter wafted from Columba’s hair, revealing her patron’s wealth. Iyala swallowed back her fear, intimidated by the gulf of status that would always separate them. “Thank you for asking for me, Lady.”
“Always! I am so glad you came!”
Iyala marveled that Columba’s hand lingered a little long on her shoulder. As she turned her head to look at it, her patron quickly removed it, suddenly becoming shy.
“Is there a portrait I can create for you?” she prompted. “Perhaps a painting of your late husband? So that you may still look upon his face, and think on your love of him?”
Columba seemed to have no words. “Well, I…”
“Come now, we are friends. I’ll not blame or judge you. Use my hand. We are friends, are we not?”
“Friends, yes,” she watched as a strange look fell on Columba’s face.
“And I am always in your debt,” Iyala offered. “Just tell me what you wish, and I will provide it.”
“I…want a portrait.” Columba still could not seem to meet Iyala’s eyes.
“Always, Lady,” she bowed. “Your beauty knows no bounds. It is easy to capture your beauty…”
“A self-portrait,” she quickly interjected.
“Lady?” Iyala squeaked.
“O—ver…Over my bed.”
“You want me to paint a mural of you over your bed?” she repeated, confused.
Columba shook her head. “Of you.” She seemed to be steeling herself up to say something. “So that the first thing I see when I wake up is you.”
Iyala watched in wonder as Columba interlaced her fingers in her own, her pale, gold-tipped nails interlacing with her paint-stained hands.
“For as long as I have sunrises, I want to wake up and see you.” Once she finished speaking, Columba turned away, her courage faltering. “If—if you’ll have me.”
Iyala brought Columba’s fingers up to her lips and kissed them with reverence. “Then I will paint you suns. A thousand suns, a thousand sunrises. And every day, a sunrise together. As many as you want, my dove. For as long as you’ll have me.”
And, fingers still locked, Iyala followed Columba out of the tablinum towards the bedroom.