The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  “Mostly Velia,” he said. He was trying to be soft-spoken and kind and not to do anything to draw the wrong kind of attention—but Ottilie flinched a little. Was it his demeanor or did she feel bad that she, her older sister, and Princess Elodie were more concerned with Velia than they were him? Velia was the important one. She was the one marrying Cathal. Flavian, or “Flavia” really, was just her companion. A companion should fade into the background. They weren’t required to invite him anywhere.

  And he was perfectly happy fading into the background. Less of a chance he would be found out and dragged back to Ardunn, and fewer people who might recognize him later if they saw him as himself, that way.

  “Ottilie, Lady Flavia.”

  They both turned. Isaline was standing a few feet away. Ottilie smiled at her. “Yes?”

  “Princess Elodie and Lady Velia are ready to leave.”

  “Thank you,” Flavian said quickly. “I’ll just purchase these things.”

  Isaline raised an eyebrow at him. Surprised perhaps that he wasn’t jumping immediately to the will of Velia and the princess? He supposed he should have—an impoverished young lady chosen as companion to an imperial cousin would have—but he was not leaving these sketchbooks behind when drawing was currently his only pleasure. Velia said she’d brought them to the bookshop for him anyway. She could wait a moment while he made his purchases.

  Their stop at the bookshop turned out to be their last, much to Flavian’s relief. He didn’t think he had the patience for another dressmaker. The afternoon’s excursion had emphasized quite well that he wasn’t very good at playing his role. He had too much trouble keeping his sharp tongue in check, too much trouble playing demure and subservient. It had been easier on the ship, when he really only had to convince Velia’s aunt and uncle and there had been far fewer social situations for him to run afoul of.

  Flavian stayed quiet on the carriage ride back to the palace. On the way they brought each of Cathal’s sisters and her packages to her door, Isaline to the house she shared with her husband and Ottilie to her father’s. Both houses were large and stately, but Duke Umber’s home was by far the larger. Flavian wondered what it was like for Cathal to grow up in that large home. What kind of childhood had Cathal had? Had he run wild with his brothers, or had he always been as serious as he was?

  And why was Flavian wondering about Cathal’s childhood of all things?

  He resolutely forced his thoughts from Cathal entirely and focused his attention out the window, staring at the large homes behind walls and gates as the carriage rattled past. He studied the lines and carved decorations in the stone facades, the intricate work of the iron gates, trying to distract himself by studying the motifs as art.

  Cathal and his brothers probably hadn’t run wild, not with a father like Umber. No, Cathal had probably always been a serious boy. Grown into a serious man, who could kiss well enough to make Flavian nearly swoon just remembering it.

  He cursed himself silently. He should not be thinking about Cathal, not like that. Not at all. And he certainly would do no swooning, not over Cathal, not over anyone. Ridiculous to even think it.

  A little voice told him the notion came from the memory of what one kiss from Cathal could do to him, but he ignored it. The stupid little voice was annoying—probably right, but definitely annoying. And Flavian would not, could not, think about that kiss, what it felt like or how much he might want another. Because he wasn’t getting another kiss from Cathal. The first one had been a mistake, and even if it hadn’t been such a horrible idea, Cathal would not want to kiss him again now he knew Flavian was a man. So no use thinking of it.

  Better to think of his new sketchbooks and what he would draw first. The carriage driver circled the large public park and gardens near the palace as he drove them toward the palace gates. Flavian had seen them briefly during the tour of the city with Cathal. What little he’d seen had been beautifully laid out with a variety of plants and trees and some interesting fountains and statues. They seemed like a peaceful little area in the middle of the bustling port city, perfect for taking a break from the pace of Jumelle.

  He wondered if he was allowed out of the palace on his own. Prince Philip had told him he wasn’t a prisoner, but the prince didn’t want Flavian to leave the palace permanently. Did that mean he was allowed to leave temporarily? Could he go to the park without anyone stopping him?

  Even if he could, he really couldn’t. He didn’t know the customs in Tournai, but in Ardunn, a young lady of good family would never go out walking on her own. She needed a servant with her at the very least, but preferably a male family member. While he hadn’t seen that extent of supervision in Jumelle, he hadn’t seen any of the ladies out on their own either. Which meant it would certainly look odd if he went to the park on his own as Lady Flavia.

  He thought about sneaking out as himself, or at least dressed as a man. He wouldn’t cause anyone to look twice on the streets like that, but he wasn’t certain he could get out of the palace and back in without being seen. There were many fewer people in the palace in Tournai than in the imperial palace in Ardunn; anyone out of the ordinary would immediately attract attention from the vigilant guards. He also wasn’t certain he wanted to tempt Prince Philip’s anger should he be caught. He believed the prince was a good man, a fair one, but that didn’t mean he would take kindly to someone defying his orders. Even if Flavian wasn’t entirely certain what those orders had been.

  Still, it was tempting. No women’s clothes. No inconvenient thoughts of Cathal. Finally out in Jumelle on his own.

  But if someone saw him, if Velia’s uncle realized who he was, he would potentially lose a lifetime of freedom for an afternoon. Probably best if he just took his new sketchbook to the palace gardens. He hadn’t explored all of them yet, and odds were good he could find something to draw. Perhaps even inspiration for paintings. He could go back and look at those large cat statues he’d seen that first day. He’d read some of the legends of cats associated with Tournai, and they seemed more interesting.

  But he’d first seen them with Cathal, and Cathal had told all those stories about them, so perhaps they wouldn’t be the best subjects.

  He allowed himself to be helped down from the carriage after the princess and Velia and followed them into the palace. Servants unloaded Velia’s and Princess Elodie’s numerous packages, but Flavian carried his own lone, paper-wrapped package. No reason to burden anyone with one light package when he planned on carrying it directly to his bedchamber. And from there, perhaps, to take one of the sketchbooks out to the garden before he had to change for dinner.

  “Ladies.”

  Cathal’s voice snapped Flavian out of his musings, and he looked up quickly to see Cathal approaching them. Cathal was carrying a large stack of papers, obviously still working, not waiting for their return.

  “I trust you had an enjoyable afternoon.” Cathal smiled a charming smile at them all, but Flavian didn’t think he was imagining that Cathal’s eyes lingered on him just a fraction longer than they should have. Maybe not. Flavian had no clue why they would.

  Flavian murmured something vaguely polite that certainly went unheard under Velia’s and Princess Elodie’s more vocal and much more proper responses. Velia shot him a reproving glare as the princess skipped over to Cathal and kissed his cheek. She was smiling again by the time Cathal looked back at them, but the brief look had delivered her message amply.

  He was failing in his role again.

  Velia still didn’t know that Cathal and the princes knew his secret. He had planned to tell her after his talk with Prince Philip. But he hadn’t seen her for most of that day, and by the time he did see her, he’d changed his mind. He no longer saw the purpose in telling Velia everything. She would marry Cathal, and Flavian would disappear. When that happened, it wouldn’t matter who knew what before. There was no reason to worry her when it wasn’t an issue. Velia wanted to get out of the empire as much as he did, and the marriage wa
s her opportunity.

  Cathal offered to walk with them, and they set off toward the wing where Velia and Flavian were housed, Velia on Cathal’s arm with the princess on her other side. Elodie chattered happily about what they’d done and where they’d gone and what they’d purchased. Flavian knew Cathal would look perfectly polite and interested, as he had so often seen him at various social events, but he wondered if the man could really care that much about a particular pattern of imported lace that the princess had found.

  Flavian had done his best to look suitably impressed in the shop, but he didn’t think he could manage much more. He hoped the princess didn’t address anything to him.

  At some point, Princess Elodie linked arms with Velia, and the two began talking excitedly about something—a party?—and Cathal dropped back to walk next to Flavian. He hadn’t expected that. Velia was Cathal’s betrothed, and the princess was his cousin and the highest ranking person present—Cathal should, by rights, be walking with them. And yet, there he was, choosing to walk with Flavian for no reason Flavian could see.

  After a moment, Cathal offered his arm to him. Flavian stared for a moment, certain Cathal had lost his mind, but Cathal just stared back, implacable. Finally, with narrowed eyes he hoped conveyed some of his feelings, Flavian took the arm offered to him.

  “May I carry your package for you, Lady Flavia?” Cathal asked, his voice perfectly polite, but Flavian didn’t think he was imagining the ripples of amusement. Cathal knew exactly what he was doing; he wanted to annoy Flavian.

  Forcing himself to speak calmly, “Thank you, Lord Cathal. That’s very kind of you, but it isn’t heavy.”

  Velia must have heard because she shot him a look over her shoulder, another look filled with warning. It was quick again, and she was back to speaking with Princess Elodie.

  “Thank you, Lord Cathal. That’s very kind of you.” He forced the words through clenched teeth and handed the parcel to Cathal as they walked.

  Cathal juggled papers and parcel easily, settling the whole stack in one arm and offering Flavian his other again. “You’re welcome, Lady Flavia. Happy to be of service.”

  Yes, Cathal was definitely laughing inside.

  Flavian and Cathal walked in silence for a few moments as the princess and Velia chatted easily ahead of them. Farther and farther ahead of them, Flavian realized with a frown. He glanced at Cathal, who was deliberately slowing their pace to let the princess and Velia walk ahead. Not by too much, not so much that it would be remarked upon. Cathal was good at the ins and outs of court life. Flavian would admire that if he weren’t so puzzled about what Cathal was doing. Why would he want privacy while walking with Flavian? Because that’s what he’d done—given them a certain amount of privacy if they kept their voices down and were nonchalant about it.

  “How did you really enjoy your afternoon?” Cathal finally asked. His voice was quiet as Flavian had predicted, but Flavian had feared a far weightier topic. While he was happy nothing was wrong, he was more than a little confused at why Cathal was talking to him when he could be talking to Velia.

  “How do you think? We spent the whole afternoon in and out of shops looking at ribbons and lace and hats.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps you’re beginning to like ladies’ clothing.”

  Flavian shot him a withering look, but Cathal’s expression didn’t alter. Except for his eyes—amusement gleamed there. The sight only made Flavian bristle more. “I am not becoming fond of these clothes.”

  “Nothing wrong with it if you were. You certainly look fetching in them.” That gleam was still in Cathal’s eyes, but now it had an edge of wickedness to it. Who knew that proper Cathal could tease?

  There was some delight in the discovery, delight he shouldn’t be feeling. So he tried to tamp it down by concentrating on his annoyance at the teasing. It wouldn’t do for Cathal to see that spark of delight, that bit of softening. Instead, he tightened his fingers around Cathal’s arm, squeezing until Cathal winced.

  “All right, all right. I’ll stop,” Cathal finally said, and Flavian would have been happy with his capitulation if it weren’t for the vibrant thread of amusement weaving through the words. “So tell me what’s in the package, because I know it isn’t dancing slippers or Elleran lace.”

  No, it wasn’t either of those, but that afternoon Velia had tried prodding him into purchasing such things, he assumed to keep up the pretense. But he hadn’t seen the point in it. Practically, he shouldn’t waste his funds on useless items, and really, despite Velia’s disappointment, he didn’t think the princess or Cathal’s sisters thought it odd that he didn’t purchase anything. He was meant to be from a less well-off background after all.

  He couldn’t see why Cathal cared what was in the package, and Flavian thought for a moment about not telling him, but that seemed petty and didn’t serve much purpose except being difficult. “Sketchbooks. I’ve nearly filled the ones I brought with me from Ardunn.”

  “Sketchbooks? Are you an artist, then?” Cathal seemed sincerely interested—everything in his face and body said so—which left Flavian baffled. “I know you have an interest in art, but I don’t think you ever said you were an artist yourself. Or is it just a hobby?”

  “It’s not just a hobby. It’s what I’ll be, once I leave the palace and become myself again.”

  “I suppose that means you’re quite good.” Cathal’s voice remained serious, as it always was, and Flavian couldn’t tell if he was teasing again.

  “Yes, I am.” If some pride snuck into that statement, well, he was justified in a little pride in his accomplishments. Just because Velia envisioned the role of demure companion for him didn’t mean he had to put on false modesty with Cathal.

  Cathal only nodded. “No wonder you’re so knowledgeable about art. You’ve been studying it for years.”

  “When I could, as much as I could.” His father had never been enthusiastic about an artist for a son, but he had indulged Flavian for a long time, even longer after Flavian’s Talent manifested itself. Still, the man had only been biding his time until Flavian would be useful either as an artist or as something else.

  “And you plan on living as an artist here in Tournai? You’ll need noble patrons if you want to succeed, to make a name for yourself.”

  He would, but surviving would probably be his first matter of business—surviving and making sure no one dragged him back to Ardunn. That was the best he could hope for after the fiasco his escape had turned into. “Yes.”

  “Let’s hope no one recognizes you.”

  “Now you see another reason I didn’t want to stay at the palace. After this, I may have to leave Tournai.” Something in him balked at that thought. He was surprised at the strength of the reaction; he liked what he’d seen of Tournai, but he hadn’t seen enough to feel this level of attachment.

  “Not necessarily,” Cathal said quickly. “People see what they want to see. I never suspected you were anything other than what you appeared to be, and no one else has either. Everyone knows you to be a lady, and that’s all they see. If they see you much at all. Most won’t pay much notice to someone with less wealth or status, however right or wrong that might be.”

  “It may work to my advantage. If no one recognizes me as Flavia later, I may be able to stay.” He shrugged. He couldn’t believe it would be so simple, but he wouldn’t know until it happened, and he wasn’t certain he could wait around to see. That could be dangerous for him. Still, it was a decision to be made later, when he left the palace. Whenever that happened.

  “I hope you can. It seems you chose to come to Tournai for a reason, not just because Velia was coming here.” Cathal looked away from him, toward Velia and Princess Elodie.

  Flavian didn’t know what to make of Cathal. From the way he spoke, Cathal sounded as if he cared whether Flavian stayed in Tournai, but Flavian couldn’t see why that would be true. They weren’t friends—they weren’t anything. And even if Flavian stayed in Tournai, he doubted
he would see Cathal or Velia more than rarely. He resolutely pushed aside any sense of loss at that thought. He’d always known it would be unlikely he would see Velia again. And as for Cathal… well, Flavian hadn’t know him long enough to miss him, and he shouldn’t anyway.

  He realized he hadn’t responded to Cathal, and the silence was dragging on. “Thank you. And you? How have you spent your afternoon? Since you escaped a shopping outing.”

  “You’ve identified my plan. Avoid shopping outings at all costs.”

  “If only it could be mine.”

  “Someday. I’ve been working all afternoon, in meetings with Prince Philip. I have to go back to my office and finish up several things since I won’t have time for them tomorrow afternoon what with the picnic.”

  Flavian’s stomach sank. “What picnic?”

  Cathal glanced at him. “You don’t know? Elodie planned a picnic for tomorrow afternoon. Really, it’s an afternoon spent out on the cliffs. There’ll be food, entertainment of some kind in addition to socializing and the views of the sea.”

  Velia hadn’t told him, but she had to know already. She probably didn’t want to give him time to argue. He had far less chance of getting out of these things if she gave him less opportunity to think of reasons why he shouldn’t go. At least he had a little more time to prepare after Cathal’s warning. He’d have a reason for staying behind when she told him about it tomorrow.

  “This one won’t be so bad. Far less formal than any of the parties here in the palace. No dancing—I know you don’t care for it. And the spot really is beautiful. It shouldn’t be too much of a hardship to attend.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Flavian asked. “I have time now to think of a reason not to go.”

  “Maybe you should go. Bring your sketchbook. The views are some of the prettiest in Tournai. They might make excellent subjects for drawings.”

  He laughed. “Bring a sketchbook to a party? I doubt that would help me remain inconspicuous.”