“No, Joseph. I don’t think you should help me anymore.”
“Why is that? I came all this way, didn’t I?” he growled under his breath.
“I’m not going to steal those chests for you.”
“I know. I…” He ran a hand over his head. “Even before you decided not to, it occurred to me that the workers would probably be blamed even if there wasn’t a shred of evidence—”
“Then you see why I don’t want to have an obligation to you.” I shook my head. “I probably won’t help you in the future—there’s too much risk of someone uninvolved taking the blame.”
“I think you’ll help me when the situation is right. You seem to have morals—”
“A noble with morals, I thought they were mutually exclusive.”
“Will you stop interrupting me?” he growled. “You have morals—or at least you seem to care about more than only yourself, as your father did. If you die, there’s no way that you could ever help us, and the press might as well be a pile of wood. I’m going to help you in the hopes that you help us—not with the expectation that you will whenever I tell you to, all right? But you’ll have to trust me.”
I shook my head slowly. “To be honest, I don’t trust you at all.”
“That’s too bad,” he grumbled. And then he turned around, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted. “I know where the iconoclast is!”
16
Fauve Matisse
Dylan
“Do you have it?” I asked Jane as I jogged up to where she paced back and forth on the dirt road home. Thankfully, I’d found her alone and not among the other maids who often walked beside her. The thick foliage cast a heavy shadow over the road, giving the first respite from the long scorching day.
When Jane only stared off toward the trees, I closed the distance between us, leaned in, and asked, “Jane? Did you find a dress?”
Tendrils of her dark hair smacked me in the face as she jumped and spun. “Oh! Dylan, you scared the living daylights out of me! Damn you!” She swung for a punch.
Jumping out of the way, I waved my hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, no need for violence.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice, “First, you have me stealing for the first time ever in my life. Then you try to kill me on the road, jumping out at me like that. And it’s not to thank me or even greet me, but instead to ask me for a dress.’”
“So you found one?” I asked.
She glared. “I should hate you. I have no idea why I’m your friend or why I help you over and over again.”
I grinned and swung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into me. “Hello and thank you, Jane. I owe you—I owe you a lot. Whatever you need, just tell me.”
She peered at me sideways. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I mean that, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” I gave her what I hoped was a meaningful look. “I’m grateful you did it. I know you risked your job for me, and I should have never asked you to do that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have done it, especially as I know your attention span with these girls. Helping you do something nice for a girl is probably just adding to her heartbreak in the end.” She turned back to the road, shaking her head.
Her words were as sobering as falling in the horses’ outside water trough. The glow of finding out that Jane had the dress extinguished. “Why does everyone assume it’s me with the short attention span?”
She looked over. “Well…” She gestured helplessly at me.
“What? What about me?” I asked, probably too harshly.
Her cheeks pinked. “Nothing. Just—just never mind.”
It was what I’d expected. I could remember with perfect clarity the day I realized what I was worth to girls. I was working at the public stables then, and I’d thought I’d fallen in love with a house servant named Becky whose brother worked alongside me.
She’d had a wicked tongue and big brown eyes. I’d liked her the moment I met her. I’d considered her brother something of a friend back then, and it had taken me a while to realize she was visiting me.
At fourteen, I’d known we were a little young for courting, but after almost half an annos of stolen kisses and late-night rendezvous, I’d told my brother Joseph that Becky was it for me.
That had been a colossal mistake, I realized that immediately. Joseph had stepped between the door and me, hulking over me, even at the age of fifteen. His blue gaze connected with mine with an expression in it like he knew I’d want to kill him for what he was going to say, but he’d say it anyway.
“Dylan, girls like Becky—any girl in this city for that matter—they’re never going to end up with you.”
“Get out of my way,” I’d snarled, but he hadn’t.
“Listen to me!”
I’d tried to push him out of the way, but it hadn’t worked.
Joseph grabbed me by the shoulders and yelled into my face. “They’ll kiss you, they’ll flirt with you, some of them will even couple with you, but none of them will ever marry you! Even if you get one with child, their parents will never come knocking on our door.”
I hit him right in his jaw. I couldn’t put my full weight behind it as he had me by my shoulders, but I managed a decent hit.
He’d just taken it, turning his head and not returning the blow tenfold as he so easily could have done. He worked his jaw back and forth before turning to me. “We’re the orphans of criminals, Dylan—it doesn’t matter if they confess their undying love for you—no girl worth marrying will ever settle for you, not ever. We were supposed to die. People like us don’t even exist—we’re just handsome diversions to girls like Becky.”
I’d swung again, and when he’d dodged out of the way, I’d dashed for the door. He’d let me go, but not without striking me with one last parting blow. “It’s better if you end it before they do, Dylan. Do it soon.”
When Becky and I had been kissing that night, I leaned away to stare into her big brown eyes. Joseph’s words had been running continuously through my head from the moment I left him. “Could you see yourself ending up with a guy like me?” I’d asked her.
She’d blinked a couple of times before a smile shot onto her mouth. It wasn’t her usual smile. Her beautiful browns had disconnected from mine. “I think about it all the time,” she’d said.
I’d broken it off with her fifteen minutes later.
“Dylan, are you listening to me?”
I blinked out of my memory to see Jane looking up at me with a stern expression on her face. I shook my head, reaching up to rub my neck. “I’m sorry, Jane.”
“You mean you didn’t listen to any of that?” she asked, her cheeks even pinker.
I tried to put on a smile. “Let’s hear it.”
“Well…” She looked around us at the empty road, and then scanned it a second time, perhaps thinking someone materialized from the trees. “The favor… I have some questions about… you know…”
I looked around, at a loss. “About what?”
“About coupling.” Her cheeks ripened to almost purple.
“Coupling?” I asked, working hard to suppress a grin.
“Shh!” She hit me.
I laughed. “What, are you afraid of the trees hearing us?”
“Keep your voice down, Dylan Miller, or I will murder you where you stand.”
I laughed again, but lowered my voice. “I’m sorry, Jane, but I’d expect you’d know as much as I would about it.”
She stood up straight. “Oh. Oh. I—never mind then.” She wrapped her hands around her chest. “Well, what about… the other stuff, you know, kissing and all that?” she mumbled before pointing into my face, “And if you laugh again, I will kill you dead right here and now.”
It was difficult, but I managed not to laugh. “Ask me anything, Jane. I’ll tell you what I can.”
She spoke so slowly and carefully, it was as if she would have an evaluation on her questions. “Wher
e do you put your hands?”
I did the best I could to explain the mechanics of kissing to her, though it was surprisingly difficult to explain.
Jane watched me as if I was revealing all the secrets of Nirsha’s realm.
Trying to do a reasonable impression of an embrace, I was gesturing with my hands and kissing the air when hoof beats interrupted us.
Both Jane and I spun around to find a group of riders approaching, a carriage in their wake.
Jane’s eyes went so wide it was as if we’d been caught actually kissing on the road and not doing a fumbling imitation of it.
We moved to the side of the dirt road as the riders and carriage approached at a brisk pace. The gray, graceful-lined horses stood sixteen or seventeen hands, and were well taken care of. From their powerful gait, they were obviously recently rested as well. A well-dressed woman rode on the foremost horse, a tall black topper adding a half-foot to her height.
Beside her rode a man with the most colorful clothing I’d ever seen—reds and greens and blues intertwined up his jacket. Unlike his pale companion, his skin tone held a warm rich brown tone to it. Like the lady beside him, however, the cut of his jacket and high shirt proclaimed his station as a lord. They looked like complete opposites, her in only black and white riding habits while his clothing seemed to contain every color in the spectrum. Two other rather unremarkable men rode beside the pair, conspicuously less finely dressed. If they were servants, though, they were servants of a lavish household judging by their gold-thread embroidered uniforms.
Jane grabbed my arm and squeezed as a smile split across her face. “That’s Fauve Matisse… Fauve, the painter, you know?”
“Fauve?” I squinted my eyes. “That’s him? The one with all the colors riding with the lady?”
“Yes, I’ve known him all my life,” she whispered through a smile. Two dimples I rarely saw creased into her cheeks as she almost bounced in place. “You think I can say hello? He’s in company right now. Oh, maybe we should return to the manor. Would you go back with me?”
I looked to the couple, whose features had come into view with their closer distance. They had a chiseled refinement, so characteristic of the nobility. Both had long hair, flowing around their shoulders.
The woman was talking animatedly, with clear amusement on her face, while Fauve listened with rapt attention. The wide carriage behind them kept up pace but made no attempt at passing the pair, which led me to think they were all one party.
As the horses drew level with us, Fauve looked over. A smile touched his mouth as his gaze fell to Jane. “Preshea, do you mind if we pause our conversation a moment?” He raised a hand.
Their horses slowed, and the carriage behind it slowed as well.
A man stuck his head out of the carriage window, his white hair spilling down around his meaty face. “Why are we stopping?” he yelled.
“Fauve wants to greet someone, Father,” the lady said as she pivoted on her horse.
“My gods, does he know every peasant from here to Egres?” He groused as he ducked back into the carriage. For some reason, this made Fauve and the lady smile, as well as making their two mounted servant companions fight grins.
Fauve turned to us, his gaze finding Jane, whose smile had not dimmed in the slightest. “Jane, that’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, hello!” She hopped a little in place.
Fauve threw his leg over his horse, a gray gelding. Jumping down, he approached with a wide grin on his face. “My gods, you look like an adult. How have you been? How is your mother?”
Mounted, I thought Fauve as young as the lady beside him, but as he approached, I saw the fine lines gathering around his eyes and mouth.
“I’ve been great—I’ve been fine. My mother’s fine. She’s still a little sad, I suppose.”
The smile faded from Fauve’s face as he nodded. “I am sorry for her loss.”
“Your loss,” Jane said as she reached forward a little.
Fauve took her hand, squeezing gently. “All of our losses. Is Eda at the manor? I would dearly like to see her.”
Jane nodded. “She’s been working long days. My aunt—the housekeeper, she’s been strict on the staff lately.”
“Ah, I see.” Fauve nodded before his gaze moved over to me. “Good day, young sir, I am Fauve Matisse.”
My tongue chose that moment to tie in a million knots, and I was barely able to spit out, “Dylan, Dylan Miller.”
His eyelids spread wide just a fraction of an inch as he regarded me. “Well met, Dylan Miller.”
“I’m a… great admirer of your work,” I managed. Then, in a low voice, I added, “I have a friend who is perhaps your greatest admirer. She speaks of you highly.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I thank you for your kind words. Do you work at the manor as well?”
“Yes, in the stables.”
“I would be happy to meet with you and your friend; I’m happy to meet any admirer of my work,” he said with an earnest look. I did not know if his expression was supposed to convey the meaning I hoped, or if he was just a man who concentrated on everyone so intensely.
I cleared my throat. “We would both enjoy that, immensely. She is—unwell—and the journey may be difficult for her. But she would make the journey to meet with you.”
“Fauve…” The lady laughed. “Father is quite hungry.”
“I must go,” Fauve said to Jane as he squeezed her hand once more. “Seeing you was like seeing the first sight of home, young Jane. I hope to see more of you and your mother around the manor.”
“We’ll be cleaning it,” she said with a smile.
He bowed. “We all live to serve, don’t we?” Turning back to me, he reached out for me as he had Jane, but with his other hand.
Tentatively, I took it. The moment I did, something small, round, and hard as glass pressed into my fingers.
Fauve squeezed my hand once before pulling away, leaving whatever he had pressed into my hand. “We will speak again, I hope.” Stepping away, he broke from my gaze. “Lady Preshea, meet Jane and Dylan.”
The lady rolled her eyes, but her lips puckered into a smile. She didn’t look over at us as she said, “Well met. We really must go. I plan to have Lord Klein madly in love with me by supper, and if we don’t go now, I’ll have no time.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, but he didn’t walk away. “Jane, here, practically grew up underfoot at Hope Manor. She and her mother even posed for me, once.”
Lady Preshea laughed. “Yes, but your portraits never look like people, do they?”
Fauve returned to his horse. When he’d swung up in the saddle, he said, “I’d argue they look just like the subjects, only without their bodies.”
Lady Preshea laughed again, dug in her heels, and passed us quickly.
With one more nod and smile, Fauve and his gray horse trotted past, the horse-drawn carriage behind it, immediately matching his pace.
Not moving from the side of the road, I watched as the dirt settled behind the tall black carriage. The smell of oil and horses lingered in the air. As I slipped the small object he’d transferred into my hand into a pocket, I thought the painter and I had the silent conversation that I’d intended, but it was hard to be sure. He’d widened his eyes just the slightest bit at my name, meaning perhaps it had been the connection to the press that he’d made. My fingers itched to take the object out and investigate, but I couldn’t risk it here, and definitely not in front of Jane.
A loud sniff pulled my attention back to Jane. “Are you crying?”
“Of course not,” she snapped as she wiped quickly across her face. “It’s the dust.”
“If you say so. Do you want me to keep teaching you how to kiss?” I asked, gently nudging her.
“Oh, shut your mouth,” she grumbled, “I think you’re not the expert I’m looking for.”
“The only way to learn to kiss is to do it,” I said.
“I’m not kissing you, Dylan
Miller!”
I laughed, and decided not to tell her I wasn’t volunteering. We kept our silence most of the way into Hopesworth, when Jane finally mumbled, “The painting he did of me and my mother really looked nothing like us—we posed for days and it was only a canvas covered in blue, green, and gold. It was pretty, though.”
“Where is he from? The South?” I kept my gaze on the divots of the road, hoping to hide how much I wanted to know about Fauve Matisse.
“He’s from here.” She halted. “Haven’t you heard the story? Everyone’s heard his story.”
I shrugged. “I guess I haven’t.”
She leaned in as she started walking again. Even though no one was anywhere near us, she lowered her voice as well. “Fauve Matisse is from an unsanctioned marriage—Lord Fauve and Lady Matisse. Their marriage wasn’t recognized by the Congregation when he was born. The Congregation wouldn’t allow Fauve to take his father’s title or inheritance—it was all assumed by the main family line after his father’s death.”
“Why wasn’t their marriage sanctioned?”
“No, it was unsanctioned or de-sanctioned. They took their approval away just after the lady bore Fauve. It was an unfavorable decision as both the lord and lady were loved and popular—especially by the Kleins, who were powerful at the time, or so my mother told me.”
“Did they commit some crime?”
“No one knows why the Congregation did it, at least not that anyone has told me. Lord and Lady Fauve refused to remarry, as they were supposed to. The lord gave Fauve his name in the only way that he was allowed—by giving it as his given name. The lord and lady were taken by the Congregation only a few weeks later, again, with no explanation. Fauve was taken in as a ward of Lord Klein at Hope Glen. He was raised with the two young heirs until the old Lord Klein’s death.” She looked over at me. “Am I just rambling on, or are you actually interested?”
“Interested.”
“Well, Fauve came to live at Hope Manor with the younger Lord Klein, just after Lord Klein, our Lord Klein, inherited. Fauve is a bit strange, but in a good way. You see, Fauve has always been treated like a lord—but doesn’t act like one. He’d eat with us half the time, the other half at the great table.” She grinned off toward the trees, as if she was remembering something particularly entertaining. “Mother is going to be so happy.” She sniffed again, turning her head away.
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