Chapter 20 #2
“And if you can’t?” Vern laced up the back of her dress, fastening the ties with an elegant rose-shaped knot. “Won’t you tire of visiting me in the same place, every day, while I can never do the same for you?”
“Let’s find out,” Florrie said. “For the next fortnight or so, I’ll come here every evening and see how the arrangement suits the both of us. I don’t expect it will change my opinion, mind you.”
With the dress completely fastened, Vern suddenly spun her around to face him once more.
“You are a miracle, Florrie,” he whispered.
“Am I? Is it so unbelievable that I might wish to spend every night with you?”
“It is.” Vern drew her nearer, and Florrie was obliged to sigh.
“But would you mind doing another favour for me?” said Vern. “While you’re busy looking into my predicament—”
“Yes?” Florrie sighed once more as his hands traced her shoulders.
“Please don’t tell me anything about it,” Vern continued. “Not until you’re certain. I can’t dare to hope without reason. And, above all, I would prefer it if you didn’t go to a great deal of trouble on my account.”
“I will avoid going to a great deal of trouble,” she conceded.
Before he could reply, she punctuated her promise with what turned out to be a rather exceptional kiss.
Tearing herself away from painting and Vern was difficult enough, but re-entering the world of the Commonplace Palace presented a formidable challenge, too.
Surely residents of the palace would be curious if they spotted her sneaking out of storage in the same gown she wore to the ball?
Perhaps fortune would favour her, and anyone awake at this hour would be too weary from the prior evening to notice Florrie’s bedraggled appearance.
As she exited the tunnels and crept into the sculpture court, however, she nearly collided with Prince Ardant himself.
“Oh! Florrie!” said the prince, holding out an arm to steady himself. “I do apologise.”
“The fault was mine. I rounded the corner too quickly,” she murmured. Florrie took a deep breath and looked up in his direction – only to observe that Prince Ardant, too, still sported his finery from the grand event.
“Mauve and I were only talking in the library!” Prince Ardant exclaimed without prompting. “I felt charitable enough to let him lecture me about his favourite bibliographical style – for the better part of the morning! That man is a menace.”
But Prince Ardant said so with such gentleness that Florrie felt quite sure he didn’t mind such menacing.
“Have you been working all this time?” Prince Ardant continued. “Why, you simply can’t keep your hands off those paintings!”
It hadn’t occurred to Florrie that the most reasonable explanation for her appearance was an innocent evening of conservation. Under the circumstances, she was content to leave Ardant’s misconception intact.
“Well, rest up and enjoy your morning.” Prince Ardant gave her a quick bow. “Why don’t we meet this afternoon to plan the de-installation?” Then he hurried up the stairs in the direction of his personal quarters.
Though Florrie wouldn’t have traded her evening for even the most engaging discussion about bibliographies, she could not help feeling jealous of Prince Ardant and Lord Mauve, and of their good fortune at occupying the same realm of existence.
Meanwhile, Florrie had no choice but to part from Vern so that she could meet with a certain unpredictable Fairy artist.
The temporary parting might prove worthwhile, however, if Florrie could discern whether Ceru had misspoken about Vern’s situation at the ball. Florrie was so intensely focused on uncovering this information that she greeted Ceru simply by asking for clarification.
“Well, good day to you, too, Florrie,” said the artist, sounding much more like his usual mournful self.
Ceru had taken up temporary residence in a presently unused banquet hall near the galleries, where Prince Ardant rather ambitiously hoped he might one day host art tutorials.
When Florrie found Ceru, he was slumped against a blank canvas, rolling the enchanted brush between his thumbs.
“Forgive my hastiness,” Florrie said. “But is there truly no hope? What if we take Vern to see the scholars – surely they couldn’t say no to him—”
“They already did.” As Ceru sighed, his shoulder unsettled the easel and caused the legs to rattle. “I did my best, Florrie. Last night, after I regained my senses—”
Florrie rolled her eyes. “After becoming intoxicated by the artwork, as you suggested?”
“I must explain. While I do, why don’t you come to the easel? As I said yesterday, the brush is yours now.”
Florrie acquiesced, if only because painting would help her think more clearly. The paintbrush felt surprisingly mundane in her hand. Though it was crafted from an enchanting transparent wood and embellished with carved curves, its form was altogether identical to any broad brush.
Ceru watched with vague approval as Florrie painted a single red stroke that transformed to orange when she varied her motion.
She could see where the slightest bit of yellow began blending with the red pigment, before transforming the entire stroke into a dramatic gradient.
Florrie practically bit her lip with excitement – then ordered herself to focus.
“You were about to explain your actions,” she prompted.
“Curve your wrist more, Florrie, and that orange will look more vibrant. Yes, I suppose I must. When we arrived at the Commonplace Palace, I immediately noticed The Resolute Portrait on display. I didn’t think I could spend the evening near that painting without feeling overwhelmed by my guilt.
So I painted an image in my mind of a world in which I bore no responsibility for the forgery, and that magicked away my concerns for a short while. ”
“How convenient for you,” Florrie muttered.
“But once the spell wore off, I felt awful. I did – do – want to help you. So that’s when I snuck out my seer’s canvas and scried for the Archival Institute.
To my delight, the assistant on duty was the flightiest and kindest one – Plum Vespertine, the eldest of the Riverine sisters – you know, the girl who failed at—”
Florrie frowned. “Am I supposed to be acquainted with this individual?”