Page 78 of Truth's Blade

“They’re not that useful,” she said, with a shrug. She wanted to ask him who had made the paints, and how he knew about them, but she didn’t think he’d answer. “The painted items only last a few minutes.”

“What?” He sounded incredulous. He shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s not what I was told.”

“Try for yourself. You’ll see.” She cautiously stretched out where she lay on the cold, hard floor. She winced at the pain, and tried to work out whether he had her chained to anything or whether she was still just tied up with the rope.

Then she wondered what Theo was doing. Was he out there right now, waiting for them to emerge?

The thought soothed her.

She wasn’t alone here. She had to remember that.

And it seemed she was still tied up in rope, but nothing else.

It was better than the alternative.

“Show me,” Marchant demanded. “Draw something. But don’t use the black.”

She waited for a moment, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to help her, she sat up and used the wall to get her feet beneath her and pushed against it to stand.

“Stop being so dramatic. You’ll recover.” Marchant tugged at the rope, drawing her toward the table.

“You going to untie me so I can use the paints?” she asked.

“No.” He looked bullish.

She wiggled her fingers. “Then you’ll have draw something. Anyone can use it.” She sat on one of the stools he’d set around his work table.

He had laid the box down and had it open.

He turned to her. “Paper?”

“In my bag.” She didn’t want him touching her things, but they were long past what she wanted.

He pulled out a page, turned it over to look at the design she’d sketched on the other side.

“Use the blank side,” she said. “I had to make do with what I could find.”

He grunted in assent, to her relief seemingly uninterested in the pencil sketch and what it might mean. If there was ever a chance she would go back to jewelry making, she didn’t want him knowing anything about it.

He dug around and found the cup and brush, and sat looking down at the blank page. “I can’t draw,” he said.

She said nothing. She wouldn’t help this man in any way.

Eventually he dipped the brush in water and dipped it in the blue. She watched with interest as he tried to paint a bird.

It was not well done, and when he was finished, he set the brush down and stared at the page expectantly. Then looked at her when nothing happened.

“It has to dry first.”

They watched paint dry, and still, nothing happened.

“This is the set, you aren’t lying,” he muttered to himself, touching the wooden box. “It glows bright enough to blind.”

He suddenly grabbed her by the jacket and yanked her closer. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She sneered at him. “Old man, I had less information than you when I got this set, and I worked it out. Try again.”

“I don’t have time for this.” He twisted her shirt at the collar, but his grip wasn’t strong. If he was trying to choke her, he didn’t succeed, other than to drag her so close, she could see the spittle on his lips.

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