Cross flipped the coin over and over in her hands, staring at it as if she was turning a decision over in her mind.
“Don’t.” Bello’s deep voice broke in with authority. Cross looked up at her Echo and bit her lip, then back down at the coin, clearly torn. “Belloza, don’t,” Bello repeated, and his Stormtouched gave an agonized glance back and forth between him and Elena.
“Master Gritti didn’t take De Luca’s chest of coin because if she did, by the rules, the offense would be repaid,” Cross blurted, lowering her voice and speaking fast as if worried she would change her mind.
“What?” Elena asked, startled.
“This is going to bite you in the rear, Belloza,” Cross’ Echo muttered.
“Master Gritti doesn’t want the offense to be repaid. If the offense is repaid then Slug stays angry, and he would take it out on the rest of the studio,” Cross continued in the same hushed and hurried manner, “instead she’s letting him take action, a vengeance on his own. Slug can break a rule, and it would be considered repayment for your rule-breaking.”
“Maybe that’s fair,” Elena mused, “I did break the rules, I ruined his artistry, that’s one of the worst things I can imagine. Maybe I should go tell him I’ll accept whatever punishment he thinks is just.”
“New girl, look at me,” Cross hissed, and Elena took a step back at the intensity from the other girl as she indicated her bruised eye and swollen cheek, “does Slug strike you as the kind of person who is interested in justice? Don’t...just don’t...” she clearly struggled for words for a moment, but then stepped in close, inches away from Elena. Even so close Elena could barely hear the words the other girl breathed, though she could see the fear in her face. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Slug has any humanity in him.”
Elena stammered for an answer, but Cross was already gone, walking away with a light pace, almost a skip in her step, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. If she could see the young archer’s expression, Elena was sure it would be happy, without a trace of the fear she had just seen.
“We’re staying as far the hell away from Gritti’s studio as we possibly can,” Ele said, “you can call me ‘paranoid’ as much as you like-”
“No. You’re not being paranoid,” Elena turned and began walking back to De Luca’s studio in a daze.
“I’m not?”
“Cross is in her first year as a garzona, Ele. She’s only been there for a month.”
“I know that. What does that have to do with Slug?”
“How is has she already gotten so much practice hiding how scared she is of him?”
The pair walked back to the studio in silence.
Chapter XXVI
...Before...
Elena sat with her back to the hallway wall next to De Luca’s office door, uncomfortably aware of the cool tile beneath her. Staring blankly at the equally blank paper on her knees, she tapped the feathered tip of her quill against her chin.
“Can you please give me a hand with this, Ele?” she asked, shifting her position to relieve the cramp in her leg.
“It’s a bow, how much of a hand do you need?” Ele asked, “it’s the product of thousands of years of people thinking of the best way to stick someone with an arrow, I doubt you’re going to improve on that.”
“If people had always thought like that, we wouldn’t have the crossbow, and I like Cross.” Elena wasn’t really paying attention to the flow of the conversation, focusing instead on drawing the basic outline of the bow. It was crooked with wobbly lines, and she turned the paper over and redrew it.
“You think Cross’ Storm wouldn’t have touched her if the crossbow hadn’t been invented?” Ele asked. Elena stopped drawing and pondered the question for a moment.
“I don’t know...perhaps it would’ve, but in a different way? Maybe it’s like The Artifex and the Prince.”
“You know how much I hate The Artifex and the Prince.”
“Oh really? You should’ve mentioned that, I’m sure mother would’ve stopped reading it to us,” Elena smiled as she copied down numbers from the book next to her, things like the strengths of different strings, the stretch of different woods.
“If your mother had ever believed I was real, she wouldn’t have stopped just because I whined every night. She would’ve found a way to beat me. What has that got to do with Cross?”
Elena herself had never much cared for the story, a saccharine-sweet tale in which a beautiful Artifex was mocked for only painting in yellow, until her fated love the Prince discovered that her paintings were made of pure gold. It was childish and riddled with plot holes (how did no one realized that her paintings suddenly weighed tons?), but Joanna had delighted in reading it to her daughter every night.
“Cross could’ve been like the Artifex,” Elena explained, continuing to diagram and label, “not knowing what her Storm was, or thinking she’d been cursed with a weak one.”
“You think she would’ve just gone through life, preternaturally skilled at something that didn’t exist?” For some reason, the question made Elena uncomfortable, and she returned to her sketching with a frown on her face.
“Very well, we won’t try to re-invent the bow. If we can’t improve on the design of his tool, or on the “function” as he would say, maybe we could improve on the form.”
“Isn’t that the opposite of what Niccolo says? Wouldn’t he be the first to say that this is a waste of your time?”
“I’ve made Frederica and Carlo and Vittoria tools, I would feel bad if I didn’t do the same for him.”
“And you think this will impress De Luca as a final project?”
Elena was spared from having to answer Ele’s point by the door next to them swinging outward and Lorenzo stepping out.
“Oh, hello there, Elena. Are you here to see Master De Luca?”
“Yeah I was just waiting-”
“What are you working on?” Lorenzo’s normally quiet Echo asked, leaning over and tilting his head to look at her paper.
“Hello, Lore. Just a design for a bow I was thinking of building. Well, thinking of having someone build,” Elena showed off the paper, and Lore scrutinized it. He wasn’t as similar to Lorenzo as Vi was to Vittoria, but the pair definitely looked related. They both had the sweep of pretty black hair, they both had the same slight pout to their large lips, and both tended to walk around with a vacant expression on their faces.
Neither was looking very vacant at the moment. Elena hadn’t ever seen them so fascinated in anything that didn’t involve lodestones. It was a strange sight, watching their dull expressions light up with fervor.
“How did you figure out the tension that was needed here?” Lore asked, indicating a few notes with a thumb.
“I had to look up the tensile strength, and then do the math by hand,” Elena replied glumly, “normally my power lets me remember little things like that, or figure them out without trying, but trying to design Niccolo’s bow it just won’t...it won’t come to me.”
“Maybe your power is dying,” Lorenzo said absentmindedly, taking the sheet from Elena and turning it sideways to study the designs from a different angle.
“What? Does that happen?” Elena’s stomach went cold.
“Not that I’ve ever heard, but you never know. Do you think I could keep this?”
“I...I suppose I haven’t gotten very far beyond the measurements yet...so sure, I guess. But why would you want-”
“Thanks!” Lorenzo and Lore turned and left as soon as she let go of the paper.
“Hey! Why do you want it?”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Lorenzo turned to address her, but his eyes stayed glued to the page as he continued to walk backwards, “Master De Luca said to have you come right in as soon as I saw you.”
Elena sighed and walked through the door to De Luca’s office.
“You mentioned at breakfast that you wanted to see me at thirteen-stroke, Master De Luca,” Elena asked, glancing at the cl
ock on his desk and trying not to sound accusing.
“I did, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I kept you waiting for so long,” De Luca said. As soon as she had entered he set aside the large book he had been studying, giving Elena his full attention. “I despise breaking my own rules of punctuality, but as I’m sure you know, sometimes a rule must be broken and there’s just no way of getting around it.”
His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so cheerful. Bea was nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t so strange that she might be out and around the studio taking care of the things that she could. “Now, tell me how you are progressing with your Storm.”
“With my Storm?” Elena and Ele sat in the chairs that across the desk from De Luca, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well when we last spoke, it sounded as if your biggest problem was that you still haven’t quite gotten a handle on your Storm, on the ins and outs of how it works. I had assumed that you would have spent the past week working on figuring it out.”
“I’ve...mostly been trying to figure out what I would do as my final project, Master De Luca.”
“Your ‘final’ project?”
“It’s what the full garzoni have been talking about all week, the last project before you decide who stays and who goes. They say it’s the most important one, so I thought I’d think for a week and then spend two weeks working...” Elena trailed off, searching De Luca’s face for some hint of where the conversation was going. His cheerful demeanor had sobered a little, and he was looking at her thoughtfully.
“One of my greatest regrets in taking so many trips to the Milian palace and to Florenzia,” he sighed, “is that I have so little time to help my individual garzoni. Elena, the most important thing you should be focusing on right now isn’t how to impress me with some individual project.”
“But they said you picked the garzoni with the most impressive projects last year!”
“That might very well be true, but I didn’t pick them because they were the most impressive. I am a Master Artist, Elena, and I am at the head of this studio because I hope to, someday, train up another Master Artist just as good as I am. Better than I am, perhaps. Do you know what makes the best Master Artist, Elena?”
“They make the best art,” Elena said simply, still confused, “but you just said-”
“Wrong. The best Master Artist is the artist who knows their Storm. The one who has the most control over it, the most mastery in it, the most domination of it. Those are the Stormtouched I have my eye on.”
“I thought you said the Stormtouched with the best gifts came from Florenzia.”
“The ‘best Stormtouched’ and the Stormtouched with the best gifts are often two entirely different beasts, my little garzona. The best Stormtouched come from all over Italoza, there is no city that constantly produces the best. But you’re right, the best do tend to flock to Florenzia. As time goes on I would like to send more and more of my Journeymen students there, to spread great art through the world. I truly hope that you are among them someday Elena, and I think you may yet have the potential to be.”
“So...you’re saying that to become the best artist I can be, I have to figure out how to use my Storm?”
“You have to figure out everything about your Storm, Elena. Every tic of it, every little trick it lets you use, every facet and every detail. Don’t worry about impressing me with your project, stop couching your thinking in unimportant details like ‘will I stay in the studio’.” Elena thought that was an incredibly important detail, but she kept silent as he continued, “worry about making your Storm work for you. Worry about using it as an extension of your own body. If you can master that, you’ll produce something that keeps you in this studio as a mere side-effect.”
“It’s just so hard, Master De Luca,” Elena protested, “sometimes it comes to me when I don’t even realize I have a problem to solve, and other times I can sit and try to focus for an hour and can’t get so much as a tingle.”
“I’m afraid when it comes to the specifics, I’m little help to you, Elena,” De Luca said, “your Storm is far too personalized to you for me to be able to give you advice on using it.”
“How did you do it?”
“Hmm? Do what, child?”
“You said that the best Stormtouched knew every in and out of their power. How did you learn about your Storm when it’s so dangerous?”
“What do you know of my Storm? Why do you say it’s dangerous?”
Elena was surprised at the question, she had figured it out as a child reading about De Luca in her books, and she had always assumed it was too obvious for anyone to mention.
“Everyone says you’re one of the best artists in Italoza, and you run the most prestigious studio in Milia...but you didn’t ever move to Florenzia, you stayed here. The King and Queen invite you to Florenzia all the time, but always to visit, never to stay. Why would that be the case if your power wasn’t dangerous?”
De Luca was silent for a long time, his fingers steepled in front of him and pressed against his mouth. A strange smile played around his lips.
“I sometimes wonder if your Storm somehow manifests itself in your curiosity,” he said as if to himself, “you can be so completely oblivious to questions that dangle right in front of your face, but every now and then you’ll say something like that.”
“What? What questions are staring me in the face?”
“I’ll tell you what, Elena, we’ll work on your Touch right now. No one knows about my Storm, you said? Figure it out, right this moment.”
Elena was tempted to blurt that she couldn’t, but the last time she had tried to use her power under similar circumstances it had worked beautifully. She straightened her shoulders in the chair and closed her eyes.
“Build a De Luca in your mind, from scratch,” Ele reminded her quietly. Elena nodded and began.
“A man who is a Stormtouched, leads the arts of Milia,” she said slowly, “he is invited to Florenzia often, but stays in Milia. His power is something dangerous...not dangerous enough to keep captive or kill like a Rhetor...”
“Or maybe even more dangerous,” Ele offered, “so dangerous that no one dares try to keep him captive.”
“Right, or more dangerous. Let’s see...”
“It’s well known that he’s an Artifex, but that could cover quite a lot,” Ele said.
“But he doesn’t have any galleries, no one can buy his works anywhere,” Elena countered, “how can we be sure that’s what he really is? Bea proves he’s Stormtouched, but what evidence do we have that he’s Artifex? Maybe he pretends for some reason. Unless his Artifex Storm is too dangerous to let others find out about.”
“That’s good, that’s good! What else?”
Elena strained her mind, thinking so hard she wrinkled her nose.
“I think that’s it,” she said finally, “at least, all I can figure out for now.” When she opened her eyes, De Luca was watching her with a raised eyebrow.
“Very good,” he said dryly, “you’ve figured out that I am Stormtouched, that I stay in Milia, that I’m either less dangerous or more dangerous than a Rhetor, and that I am certainly either an Artifex or not an Artifex.”
“I couldn’t get my Storm to work,” Elena said.
“Try again. With less of the talking-things-through nonsense. Just use your Storm.”
Elena closed her eyes again, imagining the buzzing in her temples, the prickle across her fingertips. She tried to build a De Luca in her head, first imagining a personality, then adding bits and pieces onto it, adding relationships with other studios, with his students. She had flashes of ideas and thoughts, but the Storm stubbornly refused to cooperate.
“I can’t,” she finally said, “I just can’t. Maybe my Storm is just random, and there will never be a way for me to control it.”
“If you expect me to believe that, you’re both far more lazy and far more stupid than I imagined of you
,” De Luca snapped, his cheer and fatherly tone gone.
Elena blinked, stung by the sudden shift of tone. “It could be true, no one knows exactly-”
“But I know, I know that it’s an excuse. You want to be a garzona in this studio? You really want to? Did you think it would be easy?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a De Luca garzona!”
“Then try. Try again, try harder.”
Elena grit her teeth and tried again, tried so hard that her head spun and her face grew hot. She pictured the boy De Luca must’ve been, forced that boy to grow in her mind. What choices must he have made, what factors must have influenced him to reach this point? How had De Luca become De Luca, and what part had his Storm played in shaping him into De Luca?
It was no use. She was starting to get a headache, but beyond that her temples didn’t feel any different, and they certainly weren’t buzzing.
“It’s random. Or it won’t come when I call it, only when I need it,” she said, “however it works, I can’t get it to work now.”
“More excuses.”
“It won’t work! I’m trying!”
“You know, we get garzoni like you in here every now and then.” De Luca leaned forward, not a scrap of pity in his eyes, “usually Pietro or Bea will catch them, but once in a while a good enough actor comes along and fools them. You don’t actually care about art at all, do you? You couldn’t care less about graduating to journeyman.”
“I do care-”
“The real reason you’re here is two months of soft beds and luxury, feeding off of this studio. You took the spot that other Stormtouched, true artists, would’ve done anything to have. You’re wasting the time and money that could’ve been spent training them into great artists, all because of your selfish wants.”
“That’s not true!” The tears were flowing now, and Elena didn’t know if they were tears of anger or despair, “I care! I care about art more than anything!”
A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1) Page 23
