“THIS IS a bad idea.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It’s never going to work.”
“Yes, it will.” Velia stepped back and glared at him, her green eyes narrowed to slits. “When did you turn so pessimistic?”
Flavian stared at her, incredulous that she even asked that question. Considering the circumstances of his life over the last several years, it was a wonder that occasionally pessimistic was all he was. But he only mentioned the current situation he found himself in. “Well, I’m trussed up in a gown—”
“And you look lovely in it.”
It was his turn to give her a vicious glare. She didn’t even flinch. “And heeled shoes, which are ridiculous torture contraptions on a normal day and even worse aboard a ship.”
“You’re very graceful on them, though. More so than I expected.”
He didn’t think he could glare any harder, but he did try. “And all for a plan that will never work.”
“But it is working. We left Ardunn with no one the wiser, and no one on this ship knows you’re a man. Now sit still.” She returned to the task he had interrupted—applying cosmetics to his flinching face. She had already fussed with his hair, pinning up his own chin-length locks around the hairpiece that matched the red-gold color almost perfectly. It hadn’t been easy to find, nor had it been cheap. Neither had the gown that Velia laced him into.
“There. Look,” Velia said, turning him toward the gilt-framed mirror in the corner of her cabin—and only Velia would have such a thing on a ship. “No one will be able to tell you aren’t a woman.”
Sadly, she was correct.
The reflection in that extravagant mirror was his and yet undeniably that of a woman. Not a raving beauty but not unattractive either. Velia had used her cosmetics to enhance the delicacy of his features, something smudged on his eyelids, something sooty on his lashes that made his blue-green eyes look huge. Something else gave his cheeks the look of having a delicate flush and his lips a rosy cast. The green silk gown was an excellent shade for him, complementing his eyes, highlighting the pale gold of his skin, which he was certain Velia had considered when she ordered it. She had also contrived a way to fill out the bodice of the gown with padding, giving his slender frame the necessary curves to appear female.
He knew he wasn’t the most masculine of men, but he never thought he could look so much like a woman. It was disconcerting to say the least, but he supposed it was good for their plan. Still. He didn’t have to like it.
“See?” Velia’s face peeked over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. “You look like a woman, a lovely woman at that.”
His expression immediately fell into something between a scowl and a pout. Not an attractive expression for a grown man. He made a lovely woman? It already made him cringe any time someone said he was pretty as a man.
“Hey. This is a good thing, remember?” Velia poked him in the shoulder.
“Ow.” He rubbed the area where her long fingernail had dug in. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She turned away and began sorting through her jewelry. “You wanted to leave Ardunn.”
He had. He did. “But I didn’t want to do it in a dress.”
“A dress is the only way you managed to escape the empire, in case you didn’t realize that.”
“I would have figured something out.” He had been making plans already when Velia presented him with the idea.
“If you say so.” She fixed him with an arch look, and he gritted his teeth. “It won’t be for much longer. Another week until we arrive in Tournai. I’ll meet my intended, and you’ll disappear, leaving your disguise behind.”
“It can’t come soon enough.”
Velia laughed. “Here, help me with this necklace.”
He nodded and stepped behind her to fasten the sapphire and gold necklace around her neck. “You’ll have to find a maid to do this for you after I’m gone.”
He had been helping Velia dress when she needed it since they boarded the ship, just as she helped him. Though she needed far less help than he did getting all trussed up—mostly just fastenings she couldn’t reach on her own. Most men would probably consider it a gift to spend so much time with a beautiful woman in various states of undress. If they were interested in women. Which he was not.
“I’m certain that won’t be any trouble. I’ll finally have someone to help me with my hair again.” Velia grinned at him over her shoulder. “What will you do? I don’t think I ever asked. Will you stay in Tournai?”
“I might.” Tournai appeared to be a more hospitable place than Ardunn for someone like him, what with Tournai’s ruler having married a man the year before. It had been, in fact, his plan to go to Tournai all along. It was coincidence and serendipity that Velia’s arranged marriage provided him with a means of getting directly there. Still, he wasn’t sure he should tell Velia that his plans were set. Not because he didn’t trust her if someone came looking for him, but because he didn’t want to cause trouble for her. “Probably not in Jumelle if I do. Maybe somewhere smaller, on the coast. I think I like the sea. I’d like to paint it.”
Velia stared at him for a moment and then laughed. “I think I would go mad staring at the sea all day.”
She probably would, but the prospect didn’t seem bad to him. Peace, painting, maybe someone to share it with someday. That might be nice.
A sharp knock on the door jolted him out of the pretty picture his mind was painting. Probably for the best—he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.
“Yes?” Velia called out toward the closed door.
“My lady, dinner is about to be served in the captain’s quarters.” Flavian recognized the voice of one of the sailors who often attended Velia’s party.
Well, there they went again. His hopes of eating alone in a cabin and hiding as much as possible during the voyage had been dashed the first night. He didn’t even bother arguing anymore.
“Ready to go, Lady Flavia?” Velia asked, putting emphasis on his assumed name. As if he could ever forget it.
Another week of this ruse and then he was free.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Chapter 2
WEEKS OF traveling were finally coming to an end, and Flavian couldn’t be happier. Once the voyage was done and they were off the ship, he could disappear, and the subterfuge would be finished, his escape made. It would be over, or just beginning, depending on how he looked at it, and that varied based on whether excitement or anxiety was stronger at that particular moment.
He was weary of travel even without that desire. This was the longest journey he had ever taken, the farthest he had ever been from home. It was the first time he had ever seen the sea, let alone set foot on a ship like the one they traveled on for the sea voyage, or even the slightly smaller boat that carried them through Ardunn via river. The sea voyage had been a novelty at first, the sea itself an awe-inspiring sight. And a welcome distraction from worry.
He’d spent much of the voyage up on deck with his sketchbook, doing countless drawings. Sometimes he drew parts of the ship and sometimes other ships that he saw, but mostly he drew the waves and the clouds in the sky, the sparkle of sunlight and shimmer of moonlight on water, the shapes and shadows of the few rocky islands they passed. He was dissatisfied with every single one of them, and he’d nearly filled a thick sketchbook.
Velia called him mad more than once, but he couldn’t help it. It took him days to realize what the problem was—he needed color. The sketches were fine, but the black and white and shades of gray the charcoal produced did nothing to capture the colors of the seascape. The water was such a vivid blue, like nothing he had ever seen. He itched to capture it on canvas, his mind working on what to mix to produce those colors. But he had no paints, no easels or brushes with him. It had pained him to do so, but he’d left it all behind to make his escape. But he would find new soon. Because land was in sight, and so was his freedom, the
beginning of his new life.
He had woken before dawn that morning after sleeping only fitfully. Wishing he could get up and walk on deck but unable to because of his inability to don his ridiculous disguise on his own, he lay in his narrow bunk, restless and impatient. As dark bled away into the gray light of dawn, as Velia slept across the cabin, thoughts of his plans ran through his head over and over and then over again.
After his long wait, he finally stood at the ship’s rail. When Velia woke, he’d nagged her into helping him dress immediately. She’d grumbled that he needed to learn to do it on his own—which he did not, since the whole charade was about to end—but she helped him nevertheless. He was laced into a robin’s egg–blue gown with a neckline more modest than most women, including Velia, would wear. A small matching hat perched on his head and a sheer embroidered scarf wound around his neck. He’d drawn the line at piercing his ears at the beginning of this venture, so his jewelry was confined to a necklace and a bracelet. He was perfectly fine with that even if Velia was not.
The wind fluttered his skirts around his legs, but he resolutely ignored the still unfamiliar sensation. He was anxious enough without thinking too much about his disguise. Because it was important that it be foolproof for one more day. Just that day, and it would be done.
He focused instead on the coastline of Tournai, not as the place where his new life would begin, but as the subject of a painting. It would make an excellent painting. He studied the dramatic sweep of the cliffs, strips of golden sand at the base of some, others dropping off into the brilliant blue sea. The colors, the shapes, the tenacity of the trees clinging to rock, the charm of small buildings dotting the cliff tops, the splashes of color that could only be flowers. In his head, he planned the composition and calmed without realizing it.
He looked at the busy port and saw the energy, the bustle, the jumble. The different ships and boats, the people, the warehouses, some brightly painted, and the fortifications, the colored flags snapping in the breeze—his fingers twitched with the need to grab up a brush and paint it all. Soon. Soon he would be painting again. He stored all of it away in his mind until then.
Velia joined him as they drew closer to port. She scrutinized the coast and the port of Jumelle as closely as he did. He could only assume Velia was so studiously looking over the coast of Tournai and the port of Jumelle, its capital, because it was about to be her home, and as the soon-to-be wife of a royal duke’s heir, she would need to acclimate herself to the place quickly. Just from what little he’d seen, Tournai was quite different from where they grew up in Ardunn. His home district and Velia’s just south of it were landlocked and mountainous and cooler than the more southern Tournai.
He took in a deep breath of the sea-scented air. He was certain he, at least, could get used to it, maybe even love it, in Tournai. He thought he would enjoy building a life in a new country, exploring a new place. Part of him quaked, though. Tournai was so different.
But the most important differences were good.
And all he had to do was get through the day.
Velia stood at his right, lost in her own thoughts as she stared out at the harbor, right up until they docked. Only then did she turn to him, her green eyes keen. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He watched the sailors rushing around, going about the tasks involved in putting the large vessel into port, whatever those tasks were. Velia’s party would disembark first, but he’d heard the ship carried goods for trade that presumably would be unloaded after the passengers were gone. “Where are we going now?”
Velia shrugged and tossed long, golden curls over her shoulder in one elegant, unconcerned movement. “Wherever we’re staying in the city. Someone will be here to meet us and take us there. A house in Jumelle, I think they finally decided.”
Horror chilled him despite the warmth of the sun. “Someone is meeting us?”
“Of course.”
“You never told me that.”
“Sorry.” She sounded anything but, and her expression was more quizzical than contrite.
“Who’s meeting us, Velia?”
Another elegant shrug. “I don’t know. Lord Cathal or his father, the duke, maybe. Probably. It would be rude of them if they didn’t send someone. Why?”
He just managed to stop himself from raking his fingers through his hair. That was all he needed, to dislodge hat and hairpiece and pins in full view of the sailors and Velia’s uncle and aunt, who had just come up on deck. Flavian lowered his voice even further, though it had been quiet already. “Because it would be best if as few people as possible saw me. I assumed we would just be going to wherever we’re staying and I would slip away later. With no one else knowing I was here.”
“Stop fussing,” Velia said dismissively. “You can still do that. You can sneak out tonight. I’ll think of something to tell anyone who asks. It isn’t as if no one knows I have a companion with me on this journey anyway. Aunt and Uncle have met Lady Flavia.”
That was true, but neither of them had been particularly interested in him on the trip—Velia’s uncle had seemed preoccupied with other matters, and his wife had been miserably seasick for most of the voyage, despite the calm seas. They’d accepted Velia’s story about who he was and paid him no more attention. They would presumably do the same when he left. He doubted they’d recognize him in the unlikely event they saw him again, but someone else might. Someone else might take note of him and not accept whatever story Velia fed them. Especially Velia’s future husband and his family.
“I don’t like it. What will you tell them?” And if she shrugged one more time, he would be extremely tempted to scream.
To his relief, at least over that, she didn’t. He got no relief from her answer, however. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” She waved aside all his concerns with a negligent hand that had him gritting his teeth. “Don’t worry so much. No one is going to be paying attention to you anyway. They won’t remember you after you leave, and you won’t see any of them again.”
He winced. Harsh words, but likely true. He was playing Velia’s companion. She was the bride, and an imperial one at that, even though her familial relationship with the emperor wasn’t close. Still, all Flavian needed was one person to remember him, to think something was odd, and everything he was trying to accomplish could crash down around him.
Her exasperated huff was less than ladylike but typical of Velia in private, as he well knew. He wondered what her future husband would think.
“Stop worrying. Come on, we’re going.”
With no choice, Flavian trailed after her. He briefly entertained the idea of trying to slip away at the docks but dismissed it almost immediately. It would cause a stir, which would mean attention he didn’t want, and he would have to walk away with only what he carried. Not ideal.
Nothing for it, then. He straightened his shoulders and followed Velia and her aunt and uncle off the ship. He teetered with his first step in weeks onto a surface that wasn’t moving. The stupid shoes probably didn’t help. A sailor jumped to his aid, but Flavian shook his head, remembering at the last moment to smile sweetly in a way he hoped was ladylike. Maybe he succeeded, because the sailor smiled at him. Flavian wondered what the man would think if he knew he was smiling like that at a man.
He continued walking along the dock, much more careful of his steps after his near fall. A large carriage waited at the end of the dock, presumably for them, but there was no one near the carriage except the driver.
The carriage door opened when they were nearly to the end of the long dock, and a man climbed down, followed immediately by another man, who turned and reached back into the carriage. When he drew back, it was to help a young woman descend from the carriage to stand next to him. Flavian assumed that one of the men was Velia’s betrothed. He had no idea who the girl was. A sister, perhaps?
The first man stepped forward as they approached. He was an older man and regal in his bearing. Flavian studied the m
an as best he could from his position behind Velia. He was only slightly taller than Velia, and his height made things difficult sometimes. As the man launched into a speech welcoming them, he confirmed Flavian’s suspicions. The man was Umber, duke and father of the man Velia was to marry. Which probably made the other man his son, Cathal, Velia’s betrothed.
And so it was. The duke motioned, and the other man stepped up beside him. The duke introduced him, but Flavian hardly heard any of it. He was too busy looking at Cathal. He was tall. Very tall. Without these stupid heeled shoes, Flavian probably would barely be as tall as the man’s shoulder. Shoulders that were deliciously broad. In fact, Cathal’s whole body seemed well muscled, thick but not bulky. Flavian could only imagine the lines of those muscles hiding under the man’s fine clothing. The thought made him yearn for a sketchbook or, better, a canvas and paints. He could see the lines of those muscles taking shape on the page… but he would never paint them. He couldn’t even let himself think of painting them.
The rest of Lord Cathal was just as nice. His hair was dark and thick and wavy, well ordered at the moment, but Flavian wondered if that was always true. It had the look of hair with a mind of its own. Cathal’s features were chiseled and quite handsome, but set in serious lines. There was an easily identified resemblance to his father, but despite its seriousness, Cathal’s expression seemed to have less rigidity than his father’s. And his eyes….
Flavian nearly jumped to find himself the focus of Lord Cathal’s unusual gold eyes. Flavian had been so engrossed in studying the man that he must have missed introductions making it around to him.
“Lady Flavia.” Cathal’s voice was deep and smooth, and Flavian shivered just hearing it. But the shiver was nothing compared to the heat that flared when Cathal took his hand to bow over it. The heat rushed through his body and left him biting back a gasp. No. Not good. He could not be attracted to him of all men.
The Artist’s Masquerade Page 2
