Chapter Seven - Part Four
Lessa
Sure enough, there up and to the left of my empty frame was a picture that included my mother. As a very junior royal princess, Mother hadn't been considered worthy of her own portrait. Instead, the picture was a group sitting with her father, her sisters and their mother, Alarica. If he regretted that he didn't have any sons, Prince Raydon's painted smile didn't give anything away.
A larger copy of Mother was in the process of being created but this image was having an outing in the meantime. It had taken some time to unearth it from whichever back corridor it had been languishing in.
One of the urgent matters that I was supposed to deal with was sitting for my own portrait to hang alongside the throng of the dead. I couldn't think of anything more tedious. Even with the recent endless meetings and stuffy receptions where people insisted on sharing their sorrow with me at great length.
They didn't need me for it though. There had been sketch artists there at my makeshift coronation. One of those drawings could be used for the basis of a full-size portrait. A cross and confused girl having a crown forced onto her head was the most appropriate image for my reign I could think of.
Staring at figures in oil wasn't going to bring any of these people back. I hadn't had the courage to go there before that night but I was about to leave the palace, for good if I could help it. I was satisfied that the figures that haunted my dreams were close enough to real life. It wasn't a natural dream then. The thought brought on a shiver.
Still feeling Marq's hard gaze on me, I crept back to my chambers. There was no chance I was going to be able to get back to sleep again.
Having checked that my gear was still assembled and correct, I sat back and stared out of the window. I watched as the darkness flowed away, drawing back night's veil from the land below. From the lofty palace window, I could see the sprawling streets of Ilserine coming to life.
Using magic, I looked closer, magnifying the view below. I watched a hunched man as he pushed his cart, loaded to the brim with night soil, to the edge of the city. Once he'd passed by, the first risers of the day began to throw open their windows to greet the not-quite day. Many of them were bakers who needed to get on with the morning loaves.
Part one of this chapter can be found here.
Part one of Privileged can be found here.
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