Almost immediately, Father bustled out, and I could sense his glare even before I could see it. Mother trailed him, her brows knit in worry.
“Rhennthyl! What are you doing here?” demanded Father. “Did Master Caliostrus throw you out? I told you-”
“Chenkyr . . . let him speak. He’s shivering, and he’s not even wearing a jacket. And his clothes are covered in soot.”
I hadn’t even really noticed that. “There was a fire. I was in the courtyard grinding and powdering pigments. There was an explosion and the entire second level-that was the studio level-exploded in flames. Master Caliostrus and Ostrius died in the fire or the explosion. The whole building was destroyed, the studio, the quarters, the family spaces. I helped the family escape the flames, and tried to assist the fire brigade.” I shrugged. “I have what you see.”
Father, for once, was taken aback enough that he was silent for a moment. “I see.”
“If you would not mind my sleeping somewhere here . . .”
“Culthyn has your old room. You knew that,” Mother said quickly, “but the chambers where Rousel and Remaya stayed are available. They’re a bit musty . . . because we weren’t expecting them until the first week in Avryl. Rousel doesn’t want to leave her alone while she is expecting, and he has to come back to work out the rest of the year’s shipments.”
“Musty is fine,” I said. Anything was fine at the moment.
She turned to Father. “You take care of the guests. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Ah . . . yes.” He nodded to me. “I’m glad to see you’re all right. We’ll talk later.”
Mother waited a moment, until Father had closed the door off the hallway into the dining chamber. “Are you all right?” She looked intently at me.
“As right as I can be.” Considering that I might have imaged the explosion that killed my master and his son, considering I’d lost everything I had personally-except for the clothes on my back and a wedding suit-and considering that I had no idea whether I could find a place with another master artist . . . or what I might do, given the fact that, if I had imaged the explosion, what I had done was effectively murder, as well as an offense against the Collegium Imago.
“You’re freezing. I’ll have Nellica get you a plate and some hot food, and some spiced wine. You can eat in the family parlor, right in front of the stove. It’s still warm, and I’ll have her find you some dry and warm clothes. We’ll see you after our guests leave. They’re most important for your father. He’s interested in a large contract for the Navy.”
“You’d better see to them.”
“After I make sure you get fed and warm.”
Before long I was wrapped in a heavy wool robe in front of the parlor stove with a platter of chicken naranje and basamatic rice with orange sauce. I ate slowly, trying to think matters through.
Even if I had imaged the fire into being, I had not really meant to kill Master Caliostrus, but I could not say that of Ostrius. Yet intended or not, the deed had been done, and I needed to discover what else I might image, for I was not about to travel the Bridge of Hopes and make my case to the imagers that I should be considered for their Collegium on the basis of an image that had killed two men.
“Here is some more of the hot spiced wine, sir . . .” offered Nellica, pouring some into the mug on the side table.
“Oh . . . thank you.”
“Was it a terrible fire, sir?”
“I’m afraid it was, Nellica. Master Caliostrus and his son Ostrius died. I was working down in the grinding shed when it happened, or I might have been burned or injured.”
“Sir . . . there’s a burn or two, little ones, it looks like, on the back of your neck. After I serve the dessert, I can get some ointment . . . and some warm water.”
“Thank you. That would be good.”
When she left, I took another sip of the hot spiced wine.
My parents would house me for a few weeks, but certainly not longer, not unless I had something firm in mind, and not without more than a few questions, and more than a little pressure to return to the fold, so to speak.
I tried to wait for them, but their dinner went on and on. So I decided go back to the main-floor guest chamber. Nellica had set out water and towels, and the water was still warm. I washed up and then sat down in the one armchair. I thought I might try to see if I could image something, but I was so tired that my eyes kept closing, and I finally just stumbled over to the bed and climbed under the covers and went to sleep.
Before I knew it, Nellica was knocking on the chamber door on Vendrei morning.
“Your parents would like to know if you would care to join them for breakfast.”
That was as close to a summons as possible, and I struggled awake, finally mumbling, “If you’d tell them that I’ll be there in just a few moments.”
“That I will, sir.”
I just pulled on the heavy robe and some slippers that had been left and padded down the back hallway. They were both in the breakfast room.
Mother set down her tea. “Are you feeling better this morning, dear?”
“I’m still tired and sleepy,” I admitted, settling into the chair at the side of the oval table.
Nellica immediately set a large mug of steaming tea in front of me, too hot even to sip.
“I can certainly understand, dear, seeing a fire like that and helping fight it, and then walking all the way here in the cold.” Mother sniffed, but sympathetically.
Father finished chewing a mouthful of what looked suspiciously like trout and egg souffle, took a swallow of tea, and cleared his throat.
I put my hands, still cold, around the mug of tea and waited for the onslaught.
“It’s clear the portraiture business wasn’t for you,” Father said briskly. “These sorts of things, tragic as they may be, aren’t to be ignored as portents. I also heard you had the best painting in the journeyman’s competition, but that it wasn’t picked because it was too . . . unconventional.”
The reference to my painting of the chessboard surprised me. I hadn’t mentioned it to him or to Mother or Rousel. “Who told you that?”
“I do have my sources, Rhenn. Merely being good at figures and trade isn’t sufficient to succeed, especially not in L’Excelsis.”
“I take it that your dinner was successful last night?”
“That’s likely, but only time will tell.” He fixed both of his slightly bulbous eyes on me. “Let us not change the subject. What do you plan to do?”
“I could say that I hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted, “but that wouldn’t be true. I have thought about it, but I haven’t come to a decision.”
“What’s to decide?” He snorted. “You don’t have two silvers to rub together, let alone the five golds necessary to pay for another journeyman’s position with a master, and that’s if you could find one willing to take you on.”
“I’m a good portraiturist,” I pointed out.
“No, son . . . you’re better than good. I saw the one you did of Masgayl Factorius. He boasted of what a great portrait it was and how little it cost him. Your ability is your problem. You’re better than many who are masters. Why would they want to raise up someone who could compete against them for patrons as soon as you became a master? You’re good enough that the guild couldn’t possibly turn you down, even now. That means that no one will take you as a journeyman. Those who might will fear retaliation from the others, and I couldn’t afford the gifts required to get you accepted. It was costly enough when you were just a talented student coming out of grammaire. Now . . .” He shook his head.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I know you weren’t. That wasn’t my point. What I was trying to get across was that if I can’t afford that . . . you couldn’t, either.” He took a deep breath. “But you’ll likely not listen to me, not yet. I’d suggest that you make the rounds of some of the other masters and see what reaction you get. Then, we’ll talk.” He pushed back his chair. “Take your time. You’ll need to be sure, and I need you to understand how matters stand.” Then he stood
