The Deepest Blue

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “I know a few herbs,” Garnah said with a smile. “You just do your art, ease their thirst, and ask the question. A simple task.”

  “Won’t they remember what they told me?” Kelo said.

  “You let me worry about that. Will you help your queen? And by doing so, help your wife?”

  The choice was clear. He didn’t even have to consider what would happen if he refused. He didn’t want to refuse. “Of course, Lady Garnah. When can I begin?”

  Garnah kept smiling, all her many laugh lines crinkling, yet it wasn’t a joyful expression. It was, he thought, the kind of smile you’d find on a skeleton, as if the laughter was at something you couldn’t comprehend. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wondered what he had gotten himself into, but like Mayara when she dived, he didn’t second-guess his decision. “Today.”

  KELO CHOSE CHARCOALS TO SKETCH WITH. HE LAID THEM OUT IN front of him and tested each pencil until he found one that smeared nicely across the parchment. Lucky the spirits broke my left wrist, not my right, he thought. And then felt absurd for thinking that any of this was “lucky.” He was merely trying to make the best of a bad situation—and trying not to feel so terribly out of his depth.

  “You know, it doesn’t matter what the portraits look like,” Lady Garnah said. She’d come with him to prepare her “flavored” drink. Once it was ready, she’d remove herself from the room, and it would be up to Kelo to placate the lord or lady, create a portrait, and coax information out of them. While Kelo prepared, Garnah was laying out an array of salt-laden snacks that she’d said would encourage the models to sample the beverages.

  “It matters to me,” Kelo said.

  “It shouldn’t. You should reexamine your priorities.”

  “If the portraits are bad, then no one will want them done. And then this will fail. Unless you think we’ll be lucky and the very first model will be the one with the information we need?”

  Garnah added to a pitcher a pinch of powder from a vial she’d kept in one of the many pockets of her dress. It sparkled as it dissolved. Kelo was trying not think about what else was in the other pockets. He’d heard stories about poison-makers—none of them turned out well. “Have it your way. I’m happy to hear it’s not just about your ‘artistic integrity.’”

  “That’s important too,” Kelo said. “If I betray my art, I betray my soul.”

  “You really spew a lot of bullshit for one so handsome.”

  He bristled, but he pushed down the feeling and said, “Someone like you wouldn’t understand about integrity.” He tried not to wince visibly at his own words. He’d never thought of himself as someone who would say anything that pretentious, but Garnah was exquisitely unsettling. It made him want to prove he was different.

  “There is no one like me,” Garnah said with a tinkling laugh. “But there are plenty like you. Earnest young men and women who think they’ll never compromise their ideals because they’ve never been in a situation where they’ve had to. The queen was like that. My son was like you too. So above everyone. Until it was time to make the difficult choices. And then . . . he made me proud.”

  “Just because you’re jaded and bitter—”

  “There isn’t a shred of jaded bitterness in me. I am sunshine and delight. Especially now that we have a purpose. Are you ready?”

  He’d positioned his stool and the model’s stool so that the angle of light from the window would be perfect. He had his easel and all his supplies. He had his own water to drink from, so he wouldn’t be expected to share with the model. And he was nervous.

  Terrified, he admitted. So much rode on this.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “I will be on the other side of that door,” Garnah said, pointing to a smaller door that led to a closet full of various instruments. He’d been positioned in one of the palace’s music rooms. “If anything goes wrong, simply shout for me.”

  That was not reassuring. “What do you expect to go wrong?”

  “Occasionally people have an adverse effect to the ‘flavor.’”

  That was alarming and sounded like something that should have been mentioned sooner. “What kind of ‘adverse effect’?” But Lady Garnah had already swept through the door and closed it behind her with a click.

  He told himself not to worry, smoothed his tunic, and then crossed to open the main door to the room. Flanked by two servants, a woman in silver-fish-scale pants marched in. “Are you the artist?” the woman demanded. “I was told there would be no charge.”

  Kelo bowed, unsure of the exact protocol with ladies of the court. “Welcome. You were told correctly. Her Majesty has issued a request to create a portrait gallery in the palace with images of the most important people in Belene. It will be paid for by the royal treasury.”

  “The most important people in Belene, you say? Do you know who I am?”

  His throat felt as if it were stuck. He hadn’t thought to ask who he’d be interrogating. He felt like the worst intelligence gatherer in history. Please don’t let me fail so soon. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I was only told where to go, not whom I would have the honor of depicting.” He tried adding a bit of flattery. “Truth be told, I am relieved to see my first subject is someone of elegance and beauty. It will make my task simpler.”

  She snorted, but seemed pleased. “You will have more of a challenge with some of my peers. Very well. Let’s begin. I am Lady Biliarn of the Family Culo. You will do to concentrate efforts on my nose. I’m told it’s my finest feature.”

  “It’s the pairing of your nose with your cheekbones,” Kelo said promptly. And honestly. Lady Biliarn was a striking woman. Striking not unlike a venomous snake, but still striking. “The way your face catches the light. The angles are perfect.”

  To his surprise, Lady Biliarn laughed. “I have been complimented on many things in my years, but never on my angles. I am not displeased.” She positioned herself on the stool he’d provided and tilted her face up to catch the light.

  “This may take a while,” he cautioned. “I want to be sure I do you justice.”

  “I will clear my schedule.” She gave a nod toward one of her servants and barked, “Clear my schedule. Give polite rejections to the people I like and aloof ones to those I don’t.” To Kelo, she asked, “One hour?”

  “That should do,” Kelo said, then hesitated. “You can dismiss both your servants, if you have things you’d prefer they accomplish while you are occupied. I have refreshments already here, as you can see, and can tend to your needs.”

  To his relief, she dismissed both servants with a litany of instructions, and then resumed her position on the stool. He began to sketch.

  She really did have nice cheekbones, he thought. He worked on them first, catching the angle. Soon, he lost himself in the work.

  “I have not had my portrait done since I was a girl,” Lady Biliarn mused, breaking the silence.

  He opened his mouth to ask her not to speak—it made it difficult to capture the line of her neck—but then remembered she was supposed to be talking. He’d gotten so caught up in his task that he’d forgotten his purpose. “I’m sorry. I am making you sit for too long. Would you like a break?” Standing, he felt stiffness in his own legs. How long had he made her hold still? How much time was left in the hour? He scurried to the refreshments table and reached for the pitcher to pour her a glass of Garnah’s beverage.

  “I’m not thirsty, but is that goat cheese?”

  “Infused with . . .” He had no idea what was in the cheese. “Herbs?” He composed a plate for her, adding salted nuts, salted crackers, and salted dried figs, and then carried it to her. “You mentioned having your portrait done before. Was it for a special occasion?”

  “A coronation. Not of Queen Asana. This was before her.” She nibbled on the nuts and figs as Kelo returned to his stool. He wondered what he’d do if she wasn’t thirsty before the hour was up. “The prior queen was originally from our island, and so I was
given the honor of crowning her, after she emerged from the grove. She had to be cleaned up quite a bit before her portrait. Bloody work, being crowned. The artist was only too happy to paint me while we waited for her to be dressed.”

  He wondered if he could get her to talk without the drink. She seemed to want to chat.

  She ran her tongue over her teeth. “A bit too salty, isn’t that?” She looked with distaste at the cheese, then sniffed her fingertips. “And perhaps a bit off.”

  He sprang up. “Let me get you something to drink—”

  But before he could reach the table, Lady Biliarn slipped off her stool. She landed in a heap on the floor and began to twitch.

  He ran to her. “Someone, help! Help!” he cried.

  The closet door burst open. “Shush, you ridiculous man.” Lady Garnah hurried across the room. “Stand back and no more noise.”

  “But she—”

  “Appears to be having an allergic reaction to the cheese, poor dear.”

  “How do you know—”

  “Because she just appears to be. I laced the food with terracet powder, in case our targets didn’t get thirsty. Incidentally, what took you so long? I was bored in there. I detest being bored.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said automatically. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call for a healer?”

  Garnah had pinned Lady Biliarn down with a knee to her chest. She pried open Lady Biliarn’s eyelids and peered at them. Lady Biliarn continued to twitch. “I am a healer. Of sorts. Hold her legs steady.”

  “Do you know how to help her?”

  “She’s supposed to be helping us, remember?”

  “Well, she’s not doing that right now.”

  Lady Garnah gave him a quelling look and then pulled out a vial and let a drop fall into Lady Biliarn’s mouth. The twitching slowed. Lady Biliarn’s breathing became more steady. In a broken whisper, she said, “What have you done to me?”

  “Poisoned you,” Lady Garnah said matter-of-factly. “You’ve had one drop of antidote.” She wiggled the vial in the air. “If you tell me what I need to know, you may have the rest. If not, the one drop will wear off, you’ll be in excruciating pain, and then you’ll die in your own excrement. It will look like an allergic reaction to—oh dear, is that anemone-laced cheese? You have an anemone allergy, don’t you, my dear?”

  Kelo backed away. “What have you done? You said it would make her talk . . .”

  “This will make her talk,” Lady Garnah said. “I had no idea you were squeamish.”

  “But she knows who we are and what we’ve done!”

  “She won’t remember. I’ve added a helpful herb to the antidote that will ensure that,” Lady Garnah said. “If she survives. The survival bit is up to her. Antidote or no antidote, Lady Biliarn?” She held up the vial again.

  Lady Biliarn sucked in air. It sounded as if she were breathing through a tiny hole. Everything in Kelo made him want to yell out for help. Lady Garnah was clearly insane, and she was killing Lady Biliarn.

  But if he were found here like this . . .

  If they didn’t learn who held Queen Asana’s family . . .

  He didn’t move.

  “What do you want to know?” Lady Biliarn asked, her voice so strained it was hard to hear. He leaned closer.

  “Very simple. One question. One answer. Who holds Queen Asana’s family?”

  “No one,” Lady Biliarn whispered. Her legs began to twitch again. “They live happy, prosperous lives.” She gasped like every breath cut her throat.

  “Ooh, the drop of antidote is wearing off. How much pain are you willing to withstand? Tell me: Where is her family?”

  Lady Biliarn began to cry. Fat drops slid down her perfect cheekbones. “I do not know. I swear to you, I don’t.”

  “You know they were taken.”

  “It’s how it’s always done. But who holds them is secret.”

  “Then tell us who would know.”

  “Only a member of the Family who has them. And that’s not mine. Or if it is, I am not important enough to know it. Please, the antidote. This is the truth!”

  Lady Garnah didn’t move. She studied Lady Biliarn’s face as the woman began to twitch again and gasp for air. “Give it to her!” Kelo cried.

  Shooting him an amused look, Garnah poured the vial down Lady Biliarn’s throat. Her head flopped to the side. “Now you may call for help. She had an allergic reaction, remember.” Standing, Garnah swept across the room and closed herself in the music closet.

  Kelo ran to the door. “Help! Someone, help!”

  In the distance, he heard footsteps. When the courtier reached him, he said, “Please, help, Lady Biliarn has had an allergic reaction. She ate a wedge of anemone cheese and collapsed.”

  IF I HAD INTEGRITY, KELO THOUGHT, I’D STOP THIS.

  But he didn’t. He set aside the nearly complete portrait of Lady Biliarn, displaying it by leaning it against one of the harps. The new arrivals would be able to see his work and anticipate how he’d capture their best side. He’d done a nice job on her portrait, before she’d eaten the cheese. He’d captured her dignity and majesty in the moments before she lost both.

  Lady Garnah emerged from the closet and, using tongs, she plucked the cheese off the plate and dropped it into a bag that she slid into another of her many pockets.

  “Don’t we need that?” Kelo asked.

  “Two allergic reactions in a row would be suspicious, don’t you think? No, for the next one, encourage them to drink the beverage. You’ll be able to question them freely.”

  “Wait—it really does work as you said?”

  “Of course. I don’t lie. Unless it suits me.”

  “Then why didn’t you put the same stuff on the food?”

  “Because that wasn’t for them,” Garnah said. “It was for you.”

  He recoiled. She’d planned to poison him? Why? It didn’t even make sense. “But I wasn’t going to eat any of the food.”

  “Not for you to ingest. For you. I needed to see how far you’re willing to go and how much you’re willing to compromise your ideals to achieve your goal.” She gave him a motherly smile. “I think you’ll do nicely.”

  He pointed to the spot in the carpet where Lady Biliarn had fallen. “You did that . . . put her through pain . . . to prove a point to me?” This . . . it was wrong. It was appalling.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding eagerly. “Also, it was fun.”

  A knock on the door. Kelo tried to compose himself as Lady Garnah hid again in the closet. This time his model was a dignitary from the Family Toral, and he came without servants. Near as Kelo could glean, he was a lower-ranking official. But Kelo obediently offered him the beverage, and he drank before even sitting down to be painted.

  Tense, Kelo waited for him to collapse to the ground or start foaming at the mouth, but he didn’t. He just started to talk. And talk. Before long, Kelo had learned the official’s every dirty secret—and the man had a disgusting array of them—but not who held Queen Asana’s loved ones.

  Kelo finished the portrait, working as quickly as he could so he’d be done with this odious man sooner. It was a challenge to keep his contempt for the man out of the lines of his work. If he hadn’t been handsome, it would have been much trickier, but luckily or unluckily, his ugliness was within, hidden behind a strong and symmetrical face. “Would you like to see it?” Kelo asked politely.

  The man blinked. “You’re remarkably fast.”

  Lady Garnah’s potion must be wearing off, he thought. At least he’d timed it well.

  Kelo managed a weak smile. “Thank you for coming.” With his uninjured hand, he turned around the portrait, and the man gushed his praise. Kelo was happy to see him go.

  Lady Garnah emerged as soon as he left. “Pity we didn’t poison him.”

  Secretly, Kelo was inclined to agree. Then he banished that thought in horror when he realized Garnah might be right that he was suited for this kind of work. He quickly set up for the
next portrait, while Lady Garnah stirred a new beverage. He had the unnerving sense that the poison-maker guessed his thoughts and was amused.

  The next model came in, and Kelo repeated everything: the praise, the offer of a beverage, the questioning while he sketched the portrait. This courtier was less vile than the last, but Kelo still learned more than he wanted to about affairs within the woman’s family.

  By the end of the day, Kelo was thoroughly disgusted by humanity and no closer to learning who held Queen Asana’s family. He glared at the row of portraits as if it were their fault.

  “Don’t despair,” Lady Garnah said, as she bottled her special beverage. “We hunt the long hunt, as they say in my home forests. Actually, I don’t know if anyone says that, but it sounds like something a gruff, burly hunter would say.”

  “Every hour we waste is another hour Mayara is in danger.”

  “I’m sure she’s having a delightful time. All your islands are tropical paradises.”

  He snorted. “With death lurking around every corner.”

  “Death always lurks around every corner,” Lady Garnah said, steel in her voice. “You can die for arbitrary, stupid reasons just as easily as you can die in a grand gesture. The key is how you live before that moment.”

  “This—drugging people, listening to their torrid secrets—is not how I planned to live,” Kelo said. He’d created such beautiful portraits of people with such ugly souls.

  “Maybe not. But you have to admit, it’s terribly entertaining. So many secrets! So much drama! Imagine the blackmailing potential of all that you’ve learned today. You could be a wealthy man, if you played it right.”

  “I have no interest in wealth. I just want Mayara back.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Eh, more for me, then.”

  He fixed her with a glare that he hoped looked imposing, even though he found Lady Garnah, beneath all her ruffles and ridiculous hat, to be the most terrifying person he’d ever met. “We have one purpose and one purpose only. Don’t jeopardize it for personal gain.” He was certain she’d laugh at him.

  And she did, a full belly laugh that shook her shoulders. When she caught her breath again, she said, “Silly boy. I don’t care about wealth. If I did, I’d sell my potions for a fortune. Or just use them on someone with a ridiculous amount of gold and take it for myself.”