The Spy Princess by Sherwood Smith

Author:Sherwood Smith
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2012-07-15T21:00:00+00:00

eight

I couldn’t figure out which of Tsauderei’s revelations amazed me most. One thing I knew: I had to find Bren. If anyone could convince him that art training wasn’t just for nobles, it was a mage whose father had been a pastry cook.

As I neared Irad House, I again saw movement in the garden. I touched down and walked along the winding paths, pausing only to breathe in the scents of my mother’s favorite flowers. At the far end of the ledge, in a small clearing sheltered by enormous trees with an unimpeded view of the lake, stood Bren.

He was in front of an easel, so rapt in his work that he didn’t hear me come up behind him. I watched him touch chalk to a corner of his picture, blending different shades of green to show how the sun filtered through the trees, edging each leaf with silver.

“Hoo,” I exclaimed. “That’s really good!”

Bren jumped, the chalk flying from his hand. He gave me such a strange look—midway between anger and embarrassment—that I laughed.

“Sorry, sorry!” I managed. “Oh, if you could see your face!”

“Why are you nosing around?” He sounded the way his face looked.

“I came to tell you about someone, but—why are you hiding? Your picture’s wonderful!”

“Think so?” His expression was even more comical now, for mixed in with the embarrassment and anger was hope—but this time I managed not to laugh. “I can’t get the light right. It’s not showing . . .” He fought for the right word. “Depth? Distance? Pheg!”

“Peitar was right,” I said. “You do need to train with artists.”

“I told you, art is for nobles,” he said quickly, picking up the chalk. “Derek says that artists who create things that only nobles see are just as bad as nobles.”

“So you don’t make art just for nobles. And that’s why I was looking for you. I think you should talk to the mage—to Tsauderei. In fact, I think you should draw him. He’s got the most interesting face I’ve ever seen.” He was silent. “If you don’t like it there, you can always fly away,” I said.

“That makes me sound like a hatchling.” He made a face. “I’ll go.”

• • •

THE MORNING AFTER I met Tsauderei I woke early, as I often did. I dressed quietly and warmly, because I could see frost making a silvery lace on the grass and leaves.

Then I took to the air. The lake was dark, the ledges shrouded in blue shadow. The mountains made a frame, their eastern contours edged with peachy gold sunlight. I made a wide circle around the lake, the air ruffling over my skin and blowing through my hair. I watched lights glow in the windows of the houses as, above, the stars gradually winked out. To the west, clouds formed a dark line, blotting out the sky. Rain was on the way.

Reluctantly I headed back. Though I loved everything I did during the day, flying was my favorite of all.

After breakfast, the boys and I visited Tsauderei.

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