The stones and dust that poured out of the jar onto the grinding bowl were a rich brown. Narmah seized the smooth round rock and began crushing.
“Get to work,” she told Rielle.
Looking down at the thick slab of polished stone before her, Rielle sighed. “You said we were going to paint.”
“No time for that now, but we may as well put what we have left to good use.”
Taking down a jar from the shelves, Rielle measured out some of the chalk within and dumped it on the mixing slab. She added the tree sap, thankfully already pulverised, and mixed it in with a scraper. By the time it was well combined Narmah had swept the results of her grinding through a filter and into a smaller jar. Taking this, Rielle measured out the pigment and added it to the mound of powder, stirring it all together. Next she added water and a dash of nectar to preserve, working with the scraper until all the powder was wet. The mix was now a gritty blood-red paste. Picking up the refiner, she set the large head down, seized the handle in both hands and began to grind.
Though it was hard, boring work, today Rielle found the motions calming. She let her thoughts circle along with her movements. Memories of the day flashed through her mind all out of order: the wall of blotchy Stain that had spilled out across her path, Izare’s smile, the priest pushing past her in the poor quarter, the tainted writhing and screaming.
She stopped. The paint had spread out over the slab in a thin, red smear. She pushed it to the centre with a scraper and began grinding again.
It had been horrible seeing the man suffer, but the priest had done it to stop him using magic, no more. He had learned something he knew to be forbidden. He had stolen from the Angels. He’d dragged her around the poor quarter… though why she could only guess. Had he hoped to use her as a hostage, if he was cornered? It was the most likely reason, she decided. Would the priests have let him go to avoid harm coming to her? Would he have taken her with him, to ensure they didn’t follow?
She shuddered and paused to scrape the paint to the centre again.
Despite everything, she couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for the man. He must have grown up, like her, knowing he could do something that was forbidden. But that was the only similarity between them. He had succumbed to the temptation. As a child she had wondered what she might be able to do with magic and wished she was free to find out, but whenever she had looked at the paintings of the Angels in the temple and on spirituals and heard stories of their kindness, she wanted so badly to meet one that she knew she would do nothing to anger them.
Looking down at the growing swirls of paint, she remembered the Stain created by the abductor. Had he observed her noticing it? Would he tell the priests? Would they believe him? With the scraper, she moved the paint into a puddle at the centre then pushed the refiner over it again. If he had and they did there was nothing she could do about it.
The priests had cleansing rituals to erase the taint of using magic from their souls. She had once longed to be a priest and thought it unfair that women were barred from the role, but that wish had faded. Life held other attractions. Love. Children. Painting. Izare’s face rose in her memory and she nearly laughed aloud. He was interesting, but not as a prospective husband. She was mostly curious to see his work.
“What are you smiling at?” Narmah asked.
Rielle shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, eh? It’s never nothing when someone smiles like that.” She was continuing to grind down the pigment, stopping to filter it into the jar. “It’s that young man who walked you home, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no. I was wondering how good he is at painting.”
“Izare Saffre? Oh, he’s very good.”
Rielle stopped grinding and turned to stare at her aunt. “You’ve seen his work?”
Narmah smiled. “So have you. He did the paintings at our local temple.”
“He did those?” Rielle felt a shiver run down her spine. The smaller local temple had been built a few years ago, a few streets away from the dyeworks. Since then Rielle’s family attended the regular ceremonies and sacrifices there. Rielle would have preferred to have lessons there, too, but the girls from families her mother wanted her to associate with went to the main one.
The paintings had amazed Rielle when she first saw them. The Angels were so real she sometimes felt sure they were about to move and speak. The sun was coloured so cleverly that she wanted to shield her eyes, and the storm clouds loomed with a tangible sense of threat.
Her mother did not like them, saying they were too unconventional. Which only made Rielle love them more.
Turning back to her grinding, Rielle pushed the refiner in circles and found her feelings and opinion of Izare shifting. It was hard to reconcile the impression she’d formed of him with someone who could produce such glorious temple paintings. He was too forthright, too cheeky. A painter of spirituals should be dignified and pious. But perhaps it was the memory of him chatting to the prostitute that lowered her opinion of him.
Hmm, she thought. What was he doing there?
“He offered to paint my portrait,” she told her aunt, to see what reaction she would get. “I told him Mother would never approve.”
“No, she would not,” Narmah said. She looked up. “You were right to turn him down.”
Rielle shrugged. “But I’ve painted you, and Ari, and some of the dyeworkers.”
“Family. People you know and trust, who live in your home. He is a young man and you an attractive young woman. People would assume he was doing a lot more than painting a portrait. And that may be his intent.”
Rielle laughed. “You have a higher opinion of my looks than anyone else, Aunt.” Except for him. She stopped to scrape the paint again, then paused. “What if he came here to do it?”
Narmah straightened and set her stained hands on her hips. “Don’t even consider it. Besides, you’re the artist here.”
“Not the only one, or else why am I learning from you?” Rielle set to grinding again. “And if he’s so good, maybe we would both learn something from watching him.”
Her aunt frowned. “Why are you suddenly so interested in having your portrait done?”
“I’m not. But if he’s so good, and willing to do it for free then why not let—?”
“Free?” Narmah’s eyebrows rose. “Now that’s suspicious.” She opened her mouth, then closed it again and tilted her head to the side. “I think that’s… yes. The priest is here. Did you get any paint on you? No. Give me your apron.”
Rielle untied the apron and handed it to her aunt. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, but I’ll finish up here first. Go on. Off you go. Don’t talk too much. Don’t be opinionated–it’s vulgar in a woman. And don’t forget your scarf.”
Picking up her scarf from a nearby chair, Rielle left her aunt’s room and started down the corridor. Muffled voices came from the receiving room at the end. Narmah had left the door partly open so she would hear when the priest arrived.
As she walked she considered what she would say to him. Or, rather, what she wouldn’t. Nothing about seeing Stain. Nothing about taking the short cut down Tanner Street. But even as she thought of it, she realised she couldn’t lie about her location. She would have to admit to taking the short cut. Nobody would believe the abductor had snatched her from Temple Road without anyone seeing it. The priest would look for Stain on Temple Road, or find it on Tanner Street, know she had lied and wonder why.
Her mother was going to be furious.
Yet Mother had forgotten about her missing scarf the moment she had heard Rielle’s tale of being dragged away at knifepoint by the tainted. She had gone pale, then briefly embraced Rielle in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “My daughter,” she had whispered. “I could have lost you.”
Narmah had then insisted Rielle must still have her painting lesson. As soon as they were alone together she had asked Rielle if she had seen anything she couldn’t speak of.
Rielle had paused to consider her words. “Yes. I pretended to see nothing. I will not speak of it.”
“Good girl.”
Reaching the door, Rielle draped the scarf over her head, tied the ends behind her neck, then drew in a deep breath before pushing through to the other room. Three people stood by the spiritual: her mother, father and Sa-Elem. Dark spots were slowly fading from the stone where the priest had sprinkled water. Not unlike Stain. She tore her eyes away and smiled as all turned to face her.
Sa-Elem smiled. “Rielle Lazuli. Have you recovered from your ordeal?”
“I think so.” She shrugged. “I feel fine.”
“Come and sit down,” Mother invited, gesturing to carved stone benches the family had passed down for several generations.
The priest paused as he saw the cushions, which were blue with silvery grey stitching to match the spiritual background. “This is lovely work.”
“Rielle and my sister made and embroidered them.”
He smiled at Rielle. “You are very talented.”
She inclined her head at the compliment. This room was where her parents entertained important clients, so they took care to fill it with belongings that showed their products in the best light. But she had hated the stitching, preferring paint to thread.
Sa-Elem sat down. “So, Rielle. Tell me how your encounter with the tainted began.”
“I was coming home from temple lessons. It was hot, so I decided to cut my journey short by walking along Tanner Street. I hadn’t gone far when I encountered something solid but invisible…” It was not often that etiquette allowed her free rein to talk to visitors. Her parents expected her to remain largely silent, to respond only when addressed and to keep her answers short and to the point. Fortunately, telling stories well was a skill highly valued and discussed in temple classes. She tried to follow those principles as she described the day. Orient the listener in the setting, describe action with clarity, maintain attention, lead to the point of the story, then establish the moral. “If I had stayed on Temple Road none of it would have happened,” she finished, hanging her head.
“Oh, Tanner Street is no more dangerous than Temple Road,” Sa-Elem told her. “We have as many incidents of crime on one as the other–not that we have many,” he added as Mother drew in a breath. “And it saddens me to say, had you chosen to stay on Temple Road it would not have prevented the crimes of the tainted. Instead your actions enabled us to capture him, and for that we thank you.”
She lowered her gaze and kept her expression demure, though she wanted to grin. She was not in trouble. The priest was pleased with her.
Her mother shrugged. “At least something good came of it all.”
“This is the third tainted in the last year,” Father said. Rielle looked up at him, surprised. He looked as if he would go on, but seeing her surprise he closed his mouth again.
Sa-Elem nodded. “You are not the only one who has noted this.” He sighed. “I fear we may have a corrupter in Fyre.”
“The tainted said he had been tricked,” Rielle ventured, earning herself a frown from Mother.
The priest’s expression hardened as he nodded. “He has refused to speak of it. But we will get the truth from him, I assure you.”
Mother reached out and took Rielle’s hand. “I will make sure Rielle does not walk home alone from lessons from now on. The corrupter will have no chance to tempt her.”
The look Sa-Elem gave her made Rielle’s blood go cold. She stared at her mother in horror, wondering if Narmah had changed her mind and told the woman of her ability. The priest’s gaze shifted to Rielle, then he smiled.
“I’m sure Rielle would be of no interest to a corrupter.”
Mother flushed as she realised what she had implied. “I didn’t mean… Rielle isn’t…”
“Of course not,” he said. “As for anyone who does have reason to be tempted, they will soon be well dissuaded.” He stood up, and manners dictated that they all got to their feet. “I will take no more of your time–and I must also thank Izare Saffre for bringing Rielle home safely.”
“He is known to you?” Father asked, as he led the priest to the main door.
“Yes.”
To Rielle’s disappointment, Sa-Elem said nothing more, and she could discern nothing positive or negative from his tone. As the main door closed behind the two men she opened her mouth to tell her mother that Izare had done the temple paintings, then remembered how much she detested them and changed her mind.
The inner door opened and Narmah entered. She looked around and frowned. “Did I miss him?”
“Yes,” Mother said, her lips thinning.
“Did it go well?” Narmah asked, looking at Rielle.
“Very well,” Mother answered, turning away.
Rielle met her aunt’s gaze and nodded. Only then did Narmah relax.
“Well, then, we still have a painting lesson to finish before dinner. Come along, Rielle. We must finish what we started.”
Slipping her hand out of her mother’s, Rielle obediently followed her aunt out of the room. As they walked down the corridor she considered the meeting. Her mother hadn’t been too angry that she’d taken a short cut. Sa-Elem’s assessment of the safety of the street had helped with that. Rielle didn’t think she had said anything to suggest she could see Stain. Her mother’s ill-considered comment might have raised his suspicions, though. At times like those she wished her mother wasn’t so disinclined to obey the social rule that women should remain silent in company and business, though if she did then nothing would be said at all when visitors came. Her father was far too inclined to be silent.
Sa-Elem saw I was aghast at what Mother said, and when Mother realised what she’d implied she was mortified. He must know she isn’t as clever as she thinks she is. In fact, if he did he’d realise she could never manage to hide a secret like that, as Aunt Narmah knew all along.
But if Rielle had been a priest she would have to consider the possibility it wasn’t a mistake, and store that fact away in the back of her mind.
Along with a thousand other meaningless comments. The priests are surely trained to know the difference between a foolish remark and true hints at magical ability.
She had to believe that. And put it out of her mind. Following her aunt into her room, she resolved to think of nothing but paint preparation for the rest of the night.