The Painter's Promise : A YA Portal Fantasy (The Painter Trilogy Book 2) by Alexander Small

Author:Alexander Small [Small , Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2021-12-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

The letter was delivered by a swaggering knight named Theodore.

Member of a party of imperial emissaries, he was chief among their dozen, though the diplomacy in his tone and demeanour needed serious polishing. About six and a half feet tall, broad, and clean-shaven, Jack wasn’t sure what was shinier: his breastplate or his floppy blonde locks. He was sure though, that he didn’t like Theodore’s smug, satisfied face. Its slapability factor was off the scale. The situation was made worse by the fact that—for some inexplicable reason—the Empire Valleys didn’t give their knights the title of Sir or Ser. It was Beloved instead. Beloved. As well as being laughable, it seemed particularly inappropriate in Theodore’s case.

“Her Majesty sends her regards and requests you consider her gracious invitation to the Empire Palace, under the sacred Flag of Peace,” he said, presenting a beige scroll sealed in the centre with pressed red wax. His voice was posh, spoken from lips that sounded like they’d sucked silver from the cradle upwards. Looking across the Throne Cavern, he winked at Jack as he passed the parchment to Zora’s aide. A casual eyelid flick given in the manner of a grown man greeting a child. Sly cobalt gaze topping cocksure smirk told Jack they wouldn’t be best buddies any time soon. It seemed Jack’s subconscious had manifested yet another walking, talking, toxic canvas fart, birthed from brushstrokes.

The party of Humanite knights had arrived unannounced at the Onyx Gate a few hours after Jack’s painting display, requesting entry, and flying a white and lilac flag of horizontal stripes. The symbol of peaceful intentions, respected universally between the Three Kingdoms, so Zora had told him. The Greys gave it no such acknowledgement, of course.

Weaponry having been handed over on arrival, the imperial guests now stood in audience a dozen feet from Zora. Beside her was the blonde aide who’d helped Jack with fashion, and two stocky Vampyra soldiers with heavy-handled, jagged pikes flanking each side of the throne.

To Jack, it was a surprisingly modest one, placed atop four broad steps. It was carved from Onyx and impeccably polished, though without cushioning, unlike the chairs in the banquet hall. Before the knights had been granted entry to the Throne Cavern, Zora had said she didn’t like to feel at ease while sitting on the seat of power and that the solid surface pressing her flesh kept her mind focused, reminding her of the seriousness accompanying throne-related matters. The walls were sparse too. Looking around, he could see there was actually no decoration at all, except for candelabra on fancy stands and torches washing warmth through the air with their bright, flickering dances.

Jack was standing quietly to the side, far back from them all, wanting both to observe interactions and avoid his presence causing any unhelpful interruptions. Or aggravation. He’d thought he would have been glad to see fellow humans—devoid of snake scales and vampire fangs—but now, clanking swaggers in plate and chainmail had him discouraged. Zora’s tongue

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