The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Nineteen

The fairy in Viridian's studio was half dead by the time Hope came in bearing a replacement.

He didn't even lift his head as she approached and swapped over the jars. He was too intent on his work. The charcoal darted around the paper with a fevered urgency. Hope knew better than to disturb him when he was so deep into his work, but she could not resist letting a light kiss drop on the top of his head. He grunted under his breath to show his annoyance, but not before a small smile crept onto his lips.

With the ball of his thumb, he smudged the sharp lines into a dense shadow. Hope leaned over his shoulder to watch him work.

Sienna was curled up on the chaise, acting the part of muse. Her golden dress a mass of creases, trailing on the floor.

"It's well past her bedtime," said Hope.

"It's her nameday, Hope. There's no need for rules on namedays."

Hope pursed her lips. No one knew better than her that namedays were the first step of a life filled with rules. Sienna had experienced her first taste of it during the ceremony, but that was only the start.

Hope thanked the gods that the poor child had recovered well after the fright. Viridian had carried her home and poured sweet wine down her throat until her shaking limbs stilled and she was tempted back to the world.

Hope bent down and leant her cheek against his. The charcoal stilled in his hands. "She's asleep, dear one. Or hadn't you noticed?"

He squinted at the prone figure. "Oh".

"And you say you have an artist's eye for detail."

"I was drawing her hands," he said, in the tones of someone explaining something to a young child.

Plucking the drawing board from his hands and setting it down on the floor, Hope put her arm around her beloved's neck and curled up on his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the steady thump beating within. His linen smock smelt of turpentine and oil paints. She'd given up trying to launder the stains out of it years ago.

She plucked at the collar. "Are you still wearing your chapel clothes?" she said, spying the white lace wilting underneath. That'd be another one for the starching pile. As if she didn't have enough to be getting on with. With their Lord Patron inviting himself over for dinner, there wouldn't be much time to do much of anything else. Sienna would be next to useless in the morning. After all the excitement of her naming, she'll be sleeping in until noon.

"Are the others asleep?" said Viridian, the sound reverberating through his body.

"Are you changing the subject?"

"Yes."

"Daft sod," she said, lovingly. "And yes, they've been in bed for hours. It's well past midnight."

His arm crept around her, holding her tight to him. "As late as that?"

"You've been working too hard," she said, running her hands through his hair.

That would never change. He was always in his studio, sketching away. Before the Lord Patron had started buying his paintings, Viridian had been forever running out of paper, as every square inch had been scrawled over with drawings of flowers, and fruit and anything else that managed to catch his eye. He'd once spent a full week meticulously detailing the body of a dead rat he'd found in the street. Hope had needed to take in laundry, just to stop him taking his charcoal to the walls. All that white-washed space was too tempting for him otherwise.

"Do you want to wake our sleeping beauty, or shall I?"

"I'll carry her down."

"Careful. You know Sienna doesn't want to be treated like a child anymore."