Dragonspawn by Justin DePaoli

Author:Justin DePaoli [DePaoli, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Standing in a field of glowing grass, Valeria touched her cheek. No pain, she thought. Neither was there a wet mush of muscles, fat, and flesh.

The Painter took his brush from her cheek to other parts of her bruised and battered body. With a flick of the bristles, her aches eased.

“Like magic,” she said.

“With the proper blood properties,” Gwendolyn began, “I could accomplish the same.”

“Yes,” the Painter said, “because blood magic is derived from the brush.”

Gwendolyn frowned. “Let me appear as an enigma to the girl, would you? Is it so much to ask I seem mysterious and powerful?”

“The assassin is rubbing off on you,” the Painter said, taking his leave. He drifted toward a floating painting upon a hill.

Valeria crouched and moved her hand through the luminous grass. The colors blinked violently, changing from reds to blues, to hot pinks and vibrant greens.

How far did the Painted realm stretch? Did it go on forever, simply extending as one approached its visible edge? Did it rain here? Snow? Maybe not knowing those answers lent to the magic of this place.

“So,” Valeria said, shuffling over toward the Painter. “I was born here?”

He didn’t answer, his face pressed against the window. Valeria cleared her throat. Still nothing.

Cravis snuck up behind her and jabbed her playfully in the ribs with his elbow. “You’ll get used to his non-answers. He’s fond of them.”

“Your birth disturbs me,” the Painter said.

He pulled away from the window and flowed like the wind down the hillside, a shapeless mote of dust that then assembled itself into something more human in form as he approached another window.

“It disturbed you? That’s… well, it’s not a compliment, I don’t think.”

“Only when I glimpsed your actions in the physical realm did I realize the truth. The Painter you saw with Vandre—his name is Aldez. I knew he’d infiltrated my realm to get to you. I felt him.”

“But you didn’t feel Elenessi when she came here to create me? Sorry, Avanista—that one’s going to take me a while to get used to.”

“No,” the Painter admitted. “It makes me wonder. Who else can I not detect?”

“Maybe the method she used to hide herself is in her notes.”

The Painter pulled away from yet another window. Was he actually looking for anything, or was this a tic of his? “I digested every written word of hers during the brief visit to her chambers. There was nothing of the sort.”

A question had been burning in Valeria’s mind since her first encounter with the Painter. Now seemed as good a time as any to ask it. “Are you a god?”

That question froze the Painter. He straightened himself, seemingly contemplating how to answer. Or perhaps if he should answer.

Finally, after much time had passed, he said, “No. I do not believe so.”

“Then what do you believe?”

“Bloody hell,” Cravis snapped, lying on the hillside and sharpening his dagger above his face—something which seemed unwise to Valeria. “Don’t get him started on this.”

“I believe,” the Painter began, undeterred by the assassin’s quip, “the gods created my kin.

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