The Witch's Patron

Chapter 16

"You know what I just realized?" Noori mused one night as she lay sprawled across Keizsa's plush armchair watching the witch work.

"What?" Keizsa answered in the far-off way that told Noori that she was only half-listening.

"I still haven't seen the spell you painted for my father. Do you still have it?"

The question managed to pull Keizsa back to the moment. She blinked her tawny eyes into focus. "You're right! I can't believe I forgot to show it to you. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

Noori did as she was told, watching in curious silence as Keizsa laid her brush and paint palette aside and dashed up the stairs that led to the platform above. Keizsa took the steps two at a time, like a child would, and Noori couldn't help but smile over how endearing the scene was. 

A minute later, Keizsa descended the stairs with a large framed canvas cradled carefully in her arms. The painting was so big that she had to walk sideways down the steps, shuffling like a crab until she finally reached solid ground.

"Isn't that where you sleep?" Noori asked, pointing up at the platform. "Why would you keep it up there?"

The half of Keizsa's face that was visible over the edge of the canvas turned red. "For safe-keeping, of course! You see how cluttered my studio is — I didn't want anything to happen to it." Much to Noori's amusement, the witch continued muttering indignantly as she set the painting down on the floor and leaned it against the drafting table. It was only once Keizsa swept back that Noori could see the piece in full, and it took her breath away.

"It's... it's just like the photograph," Noori said in hushed awe. She crouched before it and ran her fingertips gently down the curve of her father's smiling face. In stunningly realistic detail, Keizsa had painted her own version of the photo Noori gave her on the first night they met. But rather than recreating the picture, which had been taken back when Noori was younger, Keizsa had updated it. The painted version of Noori was the same age as she was now, and somehow the witch even managed to capture exactly what her father looked like today despite having never met him. The once fine lines around his sparkling eyes were carved deeper, and grey hairs bloomed among the tight coils at his temples and throughout his beard. In the painting, Noori's father was radiant — a true picture of health.

Our of the corner of her eyes, Noori could see Keizsa's paint-stained hands fidgeting nervously. "Do you like it?" the witch asked. "You're welcome to take it if you'd like. It's yours, after all."

Noori let out a dreamy sigh. She could imagine the painting hanging above the mantle back home, in the place currently occupied by another of Keizsa's pieces. "I love it! It's absolutely perfect. But if I took it home I'd have to explain to my father where it came from."

"Tell him the truth! Tell him you commissioned a beautiful and talented artist for the piece." Keizsa flipped her long raven hair back and winked cheekily.

"That could work," Noori agreed with a laugh. "But perhaps I'll wait until his birthday, just to be safe. Do you mind hanging onto it for a little longer?"

With a sheepish smile, Keizsa dropped her gaze to her hands. "I don't mind at all. Don't worry, I'll keep it safe and sound for you."

Something about the soft flush of Keizsa's cheeks and the demure way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ears made Noori's heart flutter. She wanted so badly to wrap her arms around the witch and give her a hug, but something about that felt too bold, so she kept her hands to herself.

Before she left that night — or rather, that morning — Noori let Keizsa know that it would be a few days before she'd be able to return. "We're coming into a busy season at the port," she explained. "I'll be working some extra long days and early mornings over the next few weeks."