Page 66 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Whether the unknown painter had intended it, they’d shown that the king had come full circle. He ended where he began. She had her own personal doubts the gods resided in the deep skies. Either way, the series of paintings starts and ends with the king among the clouds, a not-so-subtle hint that he has been elevated to a god. That man had been anything but a god. Ego was a funny thing amongst rulers. The current king was the most recent example.
“Some believe,” he mused, looking at the final painting, “there was a time when gods walked among us. They were beings that were so powerful, they could command the very skies themselves. That is, of course, before the Dark Age, but it’s interesting to think that someone powerful ruled long before the king’s line.”
Eleanor brushed her fingers over her dress, feeling the outline of her thigh sheath. She was trying her best to not look around them. This type of talk was dangerous and part of her was imploring him to stop.
“Powerful, magical beings once ruled this world and not kings,” he continued.
“I’d be careful what you’re saying,” she responded in a low voice. “You wouldn’t want anyone to think you believed in…such things.”
The change that passed over him was instantaneous. He lowered his head, so his wide-brimmed feathered hat cast his eyes into shadow, even though it was daytime. “I have no idea of whatsuch thingscould mean,” the marquis replied blandly.
Eleanor felt the loss harder than she thought she would, he’d been openly talking to her, and she’d shut him out. She swallowed. “Regardless of who sits on a throne, they all have something in common. People have always feared their rulers.”
Eleanor tried to leave the King’s Hall Gallery behind her, but seeing King Iacobus’ tribute to himself with his life immortalised on canvas, it was hard to shake the old rage brewing inside her.
She’d had enough of seeing her kind being reduced to evil, dark creatures. They were ethereal beings that lived with nature and its elements, they had been balanced at some point in their history. Throughout time, they themselves had forgotten that. They’d once held a beautiful magic that, although it could be terrifying, also brought so much joy and beauty to the world. The art held in this museum was a testament to that. She wanted to yell that this was lies;it was all lies, but all she could do was take a deep breath and look like she wasn’t affected.
Eleanor and the marquis walked in silence towards her least favourite gallery in the museum: the Sculpture Hall. The marquis excused himself on their travels through the whispering hallways, leaving her to step into this gallery alone.
The Sculpture Hall could have once been an outside space, but it was now covered with a peaked glass ceiling. The combination of the sleek floor, the glass ceiling, and the cold sculptures created an eerie, echoing chamber. Two storeys of windows from the other galleries, that she was more than happy not to visit today, surrounded Eleanor.
Despite the marquis’s presence being known throughout the museum, this gallery held few visitors. Yet, there were faces overlooking her in the windows above, watching and waiting for the marquis to arrive and notice them. She gave a soft sigh at the feeling of being on display and pulled her cloak tighter around her.
Shimmering sculptures were dotted around the hall on plinths, so the lifeless forms looked down on their viewer. Their arrangement, though peculiar, clearly followed a system the curator understood. The bodies varied. Some were in sad, lonely poses while others were in reclined, relaxed positions. Some were nude, while others had fabric draped over them.
Identical plaques beneath each figure identified the artist and date as “unknown,” and the material as a “rare marble.” Eleanor wondered if anyone had noticed that the stone was so rare that it couldn’t be found anywhere else in the kingdom. At a first glance, the figures had a crisp whiteness similar to marble. However, the detailing was so exact even the pull of flesh had been rendered where fingers touched a body part. As the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, the light changed in the gallery and the stone twinkled.
Eleanor knew the figures were motionless and fixed in position for all time, but a person’s occasional shift in herperipheral vision made her second guess what she saw of the sculptures. Chills ran along her spine as she walked among them and cursed the marquis to hurry.
The low fervent voices that carried through the hall didn’t help to shake that eerie feeling. Eleanor attempted to circumvent several marble figures, hoping to locate the murmured conversation’s source. However, the best she could tell, it emanated from somewhere in the shadows of the pillars that ran along the back of the hall.
A movement caught her eye, and she quickly turned, only to find solid statues.
Eleanor sighed. Being in here was making her paranoid, and she didn’t like it. She cursed the marquis again. They’d beenconvenientlycoming across women that’d been posturing since the entranceway. She swore she’d seen a few of them one too many times.
He better not be doing anything with one of those doe-eyed damsels.
She wouldn’t forgive him if so, for leaving her alone in this hauntingly quiet hall with the sculptures looking down at her with unseeing eyes.
The fluid, confident steps of the marquis and his cane tapping along the tiled floor echoed around her as hefinallyjoined her. She held herself in place, as still as the statues before her. Even when she felt his presence warm her as he stood next to her, she didn’t let herself relax, aware of the many unseen eyes dotted around the hall.
“Miss me?” His breath fanned the small hairs around her ears.
“You wish.” Eleanor turned her head to gaze up at him.
If the hall hadn’t been so quiet, she’d have almost missed his short exhale. As if he had also been surprised by his reaction, he stepped away from her.
“Where were you?” Eleanor asked.
He brushed at his long-coat with his gloved hands. “I was purchasing an item.”
“They let you buy something that's on display in a museum?”
“Money has a way of talking. For the right price.”
“Of course. How could I forget? You take what you want, as long as the price is right. How silly of me.” She couldn’t help the bite in her voice, similar to how her fists were biting into her palms, as she maintained her ironclad control over the thin tendrils of her magic to make sure her scars were still concealed.
They moved through the sculptures in silence until they stood in front of a lone woman with a single tear on her cheek.
