Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [41]
“A good point, my lady,” Ashe noted in his deep voice. He floated in front of her painting for a moment, studying its irregular blotches and semistraight lines. “You’re getting better, my lady.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“No, really, Your Highness. When you started painting five years ago, I could never tell what it was you were trying to depict.”
“And this is a painting of …”
Ashe paused. “A bowl of fruit?” he asked hopefully.
Sarene sighed in frustration. She was usually good at everything she tried, but the secrets of painting completely eluded her. At first, she had been astounded at her lack of talent, and she had pressed on with a determination to prove herself. Artistic technique, however, had totally refused to bow beneath her royal will. She was a master of politics, an unquestionable leader, and could grasp even Jindoeese mathematics with ease. She was also a horrible painter. Not that she let it stop her—she was also undeniably stubborn.
“One of these days, Ashe, something will click, and I’ll figure out how to make the images in my head appear on canvas.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Sarene smiled. “Until then, let’s just pretend I was trained by someone from some Svordish school of extreme abstractionism.”
“Ah yes. The school of creative misdirection. Very good, my lady.”
Two men entered the throne room to present their case to the king. There was little to distinguish them; both wore fashionable vests over colorful frilled shirts and loose, wide-cuffed trousers. Much more interesting to Sarene was a third man, one who was brought into the room by a palace guard. He was a nondescript, light-haired man of Aonic blood dressed in a simple brown smock. It was obvious that he was horribly underfed, and there was a look of despairing hopelessness in his eyes that Sarene found haunting.
The dispute regarded the peasant. Apparently, he had escaped from one of the noblemen about three years ago, but had been captured by the second. Instead of returning the man, the second noble had kept him and put him to work. The argument wasn’t over the peasant himself, however, but his children. He had married about two years ago, and had fathered two children during his stay with the second noble. Both nobles claimed ownership of the babies.
“I thought slavery was illegal in Arelon,” Sarene said quietly.
“It is, my lady,” Ashe said with a confused voice. “I don’t understand.”
“They speak of figurative ownership, Cousin,” a voice said from in front of her. Sarene peeked around the side of her canvas with surprise. Lukel, Kiin’s oldest son, stood smiling beside her easel.
“Lukel! What are you doing here?”
“I’m one of the most successful merchants in the city, Cousin,” he explained, walking around the canvas to regard the painting with a raised eyebrow. “I have an open invitation to the court. I’m surprised you didn’t see me when you came in.”
“You were there?”
Lukel nodded. “I was near the back, reacquainting myself with some old contacts. I’ve been out of town for some time.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was too interested in what you were doing,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think anyone has ever decided to requisition the middle of Iadon’s throne room to use as an art studio.”
Sarene felt herself blushing. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Beautifully—which is more than I can say for the painting.” He paused for a moment. “It’s a horse, right?”
Sarene scowled.
“A house?” he asked.
“It is not a bowl of fruit either, my lord,” Ashe said. “I already tried that.”
“Well, she said it was one of the paintings in this room,” Lukel said. “All we have to do is keep guessing until we find the right one.”
“Brilliant deduction, Master Lukel,” Ashe said.
“That’s enough, you two,” Sarene growled. “It’s the one across from us. The one I was facing while I painted.”
“That one?” Lukel asked. “But that’s a picture of flowers.”
“And?”
“What’s that dark spot in the middle of your painting?”
“Flowers,” Sarene said defensively.
“Oh.” Lukel looked once more