Chapter 80: Art

Yes, she thought. That had to be it. Because the alternative, that she had willingly imagined such a thing of her own husband, in the middle of an art studio no less, was far too mortifying to consider.

Drawing in a slow breath, Lucrezia fixed her attention firmly on the opposite wall, where charcoal studies of horses galloping across open fields offered a far safer subject for contemplation. Still, she couldn’t help but replay the image in her mind.

It was not scandalous curiosity, at least, that was what she tried to tell herself, but rather the innocent bewilderment of someone who had spent her entire life being told such things existed without ever being shown them.

Lucrezia wiped her sweaty palms on her cloak. They still trembled, but it was bearable.

A few patrons moved slowly between displays, murmuring in appreciation. At that moment, Lucrezia realized that no one bowed here or stiffened, which made her feel a sense of satisfaction.

Her gaze traveled across the studio, until it settled on a woman at the far end dabbed at a canvas with concentrated intensity. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, hands stained with color, as she bit the lower half of her lips, focusing entirely on nothing but her easel.

Lucrezia felt compelled to take a look.

Carefully walking behind to catch a glimpse of the craft, Lucrezia tried to make herself small by walking silently though one could barely hear a sound in the midst of voices and laughter.

When she leaned slightly to glimpse the painting—

“Anastasia.”

Lucrezia turned at the sound of her name.

Across the room, Vespera stood beside an empty easel, waving one hand with a grin that looked entirely too mischievous.

Reluctantly, Lucrezia abandoned her attempt to observe the other painting and walked toward her, carefully avoiding the sight of the naked models.

With a flushed face, “What are you doing?” Lucrezia asked once she reached her, noticing the brush in her hands.

Vespera stepped aside with theatrical pride.

Before them stood two blank canvases that were freshly stretched, seemingly waiting for them.

“We are painting,” Vespera declared almost naturally, and Lucrezia stared at the empty canvas.

“We are what?”

Vespera had already picked up a brush. “Oh, do not look so frightened,” She said lightly. “Everyone here begins somewhere,”

“I do not begin at all,” Lucrezia said quickly. “I have never painted anything in my life,” As a supposed lady, all Lucrezia was taught relied on the curtesy and manner of being born part of royalty, especially after the announcement that she would be replacing her stepsister as the current Lady of Dreadwyn.

Art had never been among those expectations.

“Then this will be your first,” Vespera said, refusing her excuse. “We’ve enough time at our disposal,”

Vespera dipped her brush into a small dish of deep blue paint and dragged the color across her canvas with reckless enthusiasm.

“There,” She said. “See? Already magnificent,”

Lucrezia eyed the rather uneven streak. “That appears to be a line,”

“Art,” Vespera corrected softly. “The simplest of all,”

Lucrezia folded her arms against the warm air. The weather outside was bad, but inside was bearable. “I… shouldn’t. I will embarrass myself,”

Vespera turned, holding out another brush toward her. “Anastasia,” She said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, and added, “… no one here cares. I’ve been here longer than you can imagine. No one’s going to condemn you. Trust me,”

Lucrezia glanced around the studio again. It was true. No one was watching them. No one was judging the strokes of another painter as everyone was too busy with their own work.

But still, she hesitated only for a brief moment. What was the worst that could happen?

Slowly and cautiously, she accepted the brush. It felt strangely light in her hand. “Since when did you discover… all this”

“The gallery?” Vespera asked, and Lucrezia nodded. “I come here when the palace grows suffocating. Ever since then, painting became a useful habit,”

Her honesty struck Lucrezia deeply and surprised her just so. “What do you paint then?”

“Whatever I cannot say,” Vespera slid a small wooden palette toward her. “Choose a color,”

Lucrezia studied the paintings as though they might bite. “They are all colors,”

“That is generally how paint works,” Vespera educated. “You start with a line. It doesn’t need to become anything,”

Lucrezia’s eyes met hers for a brief moment. She was internally grateful that the lady didn’t seem offended by her hesitation. She wondered when the last person had patiently waited until she could pick herself, if not Maddie.

Feeling nostalgic, Lucrezia swallowed the lump down her throat and dipped the brush into a pale silver shade after a moment of hesitation. She stared at the blank canvas before her.

She wondered what to paint. Her trembling hands made it less easy. Lucrezia managed to hide the tremor when she raised her brush, but that didn’t entirely mean Vespera didn’t notice.

There were so many paintings in the gallery. Lucrezia wondered if she could steal their inspiration since she didn’t have any. Searching for an easier piece, her eyes found the painting of the naked man hung perfectly on the wall.

Heat bloomed across her face as she quickly looked away though she could still feel its gaze on her skin.

Start with a line, she recalled, doing just that. It didn’t have to be that hard, yet she felt the weight of expectation over her shoulders.

Slowly and carefully, Lucrezia pressed the tip to the canvas, creating a first stroke that was crooked and uncertain.

She frowned at it, “That looks… terrible,”

It looked even worse.

Vespera leaned over to inspect it. “Hmm,” She said thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Yes, but now you have begun,”

Lucrezia glanced toward Vespera’s canvas and blinked in surprise. While she had been struggling to produce a single line, Vespera had already filled half the space with confident strokes of blue, violet, and soft streaks of white.

The colors flowed together like clouds drifting across twilight. The simplicity made it even more magical. “You make it look effortless,” Lucrezia admitted quietly.

Vespera shrugged. “It wasn’t always. Do you want to know what I painted when I first found this place?”

Intrigued, “What?”

She dipped her brush into more colors and said, “A door,” Her brush moved slowly now, blending them with a calm patience. “A closed one, of course,”

“A door?” Lucrezia questioned in surprise.

“Yes,” She said and glanced at her. “It didn’t necessarily have to mean a professional painting. I drew what I could think of,”

Lucrezia tilted her head slightly, trying to capture the thought of it. “That sounds… symbolic,”

“It was,” Vespera said with a small smile. It wasn’t the kind of smile one took genuinely but the kind that hid so much of the past.

She said nothing in return.

Refocusing on the canvas before her, she cleared her throat softly. Around them, the muted sounds of the fair drifted faintly through the windows, and for the first time since arriving in Blackvale, Lucrezia felt as though she stood somewhere not built for judgment.

Realizing the advantage, she dipped her brush into the paint. Her hand trembled, but she lifted the brush anyway, adding another to the silver line that meant nothing.

She knew what to paint.

For a while, Lucrezia worked in quiet concentration, dipping her brush into color and returning again and again to the canvas. The tremor in her hand faded with each careful stroke. What began as hesitant lines slowly gathered shape beneath her brush, forming a small piece of the image that had lived in her mind for longer than she had realized.

She added shadow where the paint felt too bright, softened edges that appeared too sharp, and dragged pale silver through darker shades until the colors blended into something almost resembling moonlight.

Time slipped by unnoticed. It was only when Vespera shifted that Lucrezia paused, lowering the brush slightly as she leaned back to observe what she had created.

“Nice work,” Vespera praised, and Lucrezia gave a small grateful smile.

Her painting was crooked in places with lines uneven, and the colors imperfectly blended. To anyone passing by, it might have looked like nothing more than a clumsy attempt at a landscape like a scattering of silver hills beneath a darkening sky.

But Lucrezia knew better. The soft curves she had painted were not merely hills, but the distant ridges of Blackvale.

The hills alone felt safe enough in her painting where soft silver ridges were beneath a darkening sky. But as she stared at the canvas, brush still poised in her hand, something restless stirred in the back of her mind.

Almost without realizing it, Lucrezia dipped the brush into a darker shade, and slowly she began to paint again.

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