Heir

Chapter 3, Scene 3

Fayne stood in her studio in front of a canvas. She had taken small wooden pegs and attached them to the thick cloth at intervals. Now she let paint run in streams of many colors down from the top of the canvas. Their paths were diverted by the wooden pegs, turning away from the middle of the canvas, creating the appearance of rainbow curtains being drawn aside. She smiled to herself as she watched the image taking shape before her eyes.

There was a knock on the heavy oaken door. Leaving her canvas, Fayne went to the door and pulled it open just a crack. The man who stood outside wore peasant clothes. His skin was nearly as dark as hers, but his hair was much straighter, closer to his Nolde mother’s in texture. He was a few years older than Fayne, but not yet thirty.

“Lloyd, what took you so long?” Fayne asked. “I expected you much earlier.”

“I beg your pardon, Milady.” Lloyd apologized. “I got held up. But I brought you your paints, just as you ordered.”

“Well, bring them inside.” She directed, stepping aside so that Lloyd could get past her with the heavy crate he held in his arms. Fayne glanced down the corridor. She saw a passing maid pretend she wasn’t watching. She knew what they thought – what they suspected. It wasn’t unusual for Lloyd to come deliver paints to Fayne’s studio and then stick around for an hour or more. She had heard the quiet whispers in the halls of the castle. Some blamed Prince Neirin’s neglect. Fayne didn’t care what anybody said or thought. Once Lloyd was inside, she closed the door and bolted it shut.

“I think I’ve got everything you asked for here.” Lloyd said as he unloaded jars of paint onto a table from the small wooden crate.

“Good.” Fayne acknowledged as she turned her attention to the woven rug that covered a section of the floor. It was a worn tapestry, marred by a multitude of paint spills in various colors. Pulling it aside, she revealed a trapdoor set into the wooden floor. A metal lock held it shut. Fayne withdrew a small iron key from a secret pocket in the hem of her dress and turned it in the lock, satisfied by the faint click of the tumblers sliding aside. Lifting the trapdoor she peered down into a small storage space, only as deep as the beams of timber that separated this room from the one below it. Her eyes wandered over its contents for a moment, before she reached in and withdrew an old weathered book and a few other items. She set them all on the table where Lloyd had unloaded the paints. He had removed the caps from the paint, and was adding water to a small mixing bowl now.

Fayne turned her attention to the old book. It had a leather bound cover with an embossed image of an eye enclosed within a hexagon. She opened it to the page she had marked earlier. It was filled with text in the ancient runic script of the Aldmen. Her own notes and translations were scribbled into the margins in a code she had devised herself. She read off a recipe aloud, and Lloyd poured small amounts of the appropriate paints into the mixing bowl as she did so. These paints used herbs and vegetables for coloring, but their ingredients had other uses as well.

While Lloyd stirred the mixture together, Fayne lit two candles and set them on the table. She placed over one a small metal frame that held a metal dish. Around the other, she placed a cylindrical metal shade. The shade featured a cutaway section in the shape of an eye. With the candle burning inside of it, the eye seemed to glow.

“I’ve got the mixture ready.” Lloyd announced. Fayne held her hand above the metal dish for just a moment. It was already quite warm. Carefully, she removed a long strand of hair from a pouch that hung at her waist. It belonged to Tildy, the mysterious peasant woman whom had employed guile and deception to gain an audience with Fayne’s husband. She placed the strand of hair onto the hot dish, coiling it as she lay it down so that none of it hung over the edges. She adjusted the position of the shaded candle just slightly and then readied herself. She leaned over the table, bracing herself with her arms, so that her face was just above the hot dish, and her eyes could look straight ahead into the glowing eye. She nodded once without diverting her gaze.

Lloyd slowly poured the watery mixture onto the hot dish, covering the strand of hair there, and immediately it erupted into steam. The hot mist assaulted Fayne’s face, rushing past her chin, her lips, her cheeks, to sting her eyes. Her vision began to blur, until all she could see clearly was the image of the glowing eye. Tendril of steam rose into her nostrils and suddenly her head was spinning. Snippets of memories – someone else’s memories – flashed through her mind. She felt nervous and regretful as she saw Prince Neirin as a boy, grinning mischievously as he pulled her into a dark, secluded space. She felt intense pain in her nether regions as she got a glimpse of sweaty legs and an older woman pulling a newborn boy from between them. Her heart ached as she saw that boy again, just a few years old, dirty and crying because he was hungry. She saw him again, being teased by other boys. They called him a bastard and his mother a whore. She saw the boy, one last time, as she was saying goodbye – promising she would return soon. He smiled, and she recognized with no uncertainty, the smile Prince Neirin wore when he was exceedingly pleased with himself. And then, everything went dark.

*****