The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Nineteen

He nodded. "Understood."

"So no more looming over here when ever the butcher's boy comes round on his deliveries."

"As if I would," he said, sounding offended by the very idea.

"I know you, Viridian. Don't think you I haven't noticed your sudden need to fetch things from the kitchen when ever he comes round with his basket. He's a nice lad. Sienna's not a little girl who has to be watched every moment."

"Well, I'll have you know, little Sienna, isn't little Sienna anymore."

Hope sighed. "I know. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"What I mean is, she's now little Blossom."

Hope slapped her hand over her mouth. "No," she gasped from under her fingers. "Please tell me you're joking."

Viridian shook his head, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Oh, no. The silly duck. We shouldn't laugh," said Hope, unable to contain her own giggles.

"Don't be cruel, Hope. We were all young once."

"Oh, but it's just too awful."

"What did you pick? You weren't Hope when I met you."

That was true enough. The name she wore had been given to her by her husband. She'd felt no sadness when she chose a new one. One that would speak of her future, not her past. "Now, that would be telling."

"Go on."

"Nope."

"I'll tell you mine," he said, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Hope crossed her arms, shifting her weight so that she was sitting primly on his knee. "Nope," she said. "Some things are better left secret."

His hands crept around her waist, his short nails running up and down her sides. She squealed, knowing what was coming.

"Hush, Hope. You'll wake the whole street," said Viridian, an evil laugh tinting his voice.

"Well, then don't do it."

"Tell me your first name and I won't have to."

"I wouldn't tell the masters themselves."

"Is that so?" he said grinning. He flexed his fingers in readiness.

Quick as a mouse, she slipped off his knee and scuttled around the studio, her skirts brushing against the easel as she slipped past. She edged her way behind an old chair, exiled to the studio when its rattan seat snapped into a mass of broken canes.

"Oh, that's how it is," said Viridian, lifting his hands in surrender. "I see."

Hope stayed behind the chair, not trusting him. His eyes were twinkling a touch to much despite the innocence of his expression.

They stood still, watching each other for the tell tale signs of their game.

He moved first, darting to the left, the easel crashing to the floor in his wake. Hope let out of scream of laughter as she ran right.

"Hush, remember the child," said Viridian, shooting a glance at their still recumbent daughter.

"You started it," hissed Hope, keeping her eyes trained on him. He stepped forward, and she moved back, catching the side of his desk. It jostled, sending sheets of paper sliding onto the floor.

She meant to leave them, but something about them caught her eye. She bent down to pick them up. Viridian, no doubt sensing his chance to catch her, rushed forward.

"Enough of that," she said, using the tone the twins got when they'd been caught stealing treats from the kitchen. Viridian stalled, crashing into a low trunk.

Hope turned her back, laying out the sketches carefully on Viridian's desk. "I didn't think they'd be much call for a young girl's hands at the Battle of Tanworth Bridge," she said, looking them over.

"What was that?" said Viridian, nursing his knee with a deep groan.

"Hands," repeated Hope. "Bit on the feminine side for a battle scene."

"Oh, I'm not doing that any more."

"No?" Hope reached for his file and flicked it open and pulled out the drawings, and bringing them over to the fairy-light to get a better look. Their Lord Patron had always been a great fan of Viridian's battle scenes, even sending over the histories from his own library so that Viridian might scour them for inspiration.

In the end, it had come down to Hope to skim the endless pages of blood and warfare in search of daring tales that might fill the canvas well. And she didn't remember many stories that lingered on the detail of woman's hands. At least, not ones which were still attached to the woman.

The fairy bumped into the side of the glass, its light fragmenting for a second, before dying. Hope tapped it a few times until it skittered back into life.

Viridian jerked his head up. "Hope!" he shouted, as he saw what she was doing. Their daughter jerked awake at the sound with a mumbled exclamation. "Don't look at those."

Hope's eyes fell to the pages as if pulled by lead weights.

She blinked, not quite understanding what she was seeing, but knowing at once that it was dangerous.

"Are you mad?" she asked, tearing the stiff paper as she riffled through the sketches, hoping that she had been mistaken.

Her fingers stiffened, refusing to participate any further in the destruction his art, and the pieces fell like confetti to her feet. She spun around and looked at Viridian. He stood quite still, as if frozen by shock, waiting for the force of her rage to hit him. She shook her head, her hands lifting automatically to cover her ears. She squeezed her eyes tight as if by closing them she could banish the images from her mind, but it was too late. She had seen what he had created. It was only a matter of time before the Masters did too.

He ran towards her, pulling her hands down and trapping them by her sides as he engulfed her. She didn't even try to fight him off. "It'll be alright. I promise you. I'd never do anything to hurt you. All will be well."

But it wouldn't. She knew it wouldn't. Even their carefully cultivated relationship with their Lord Patron wouldn't be enough to see them through what he had done.

"Viridian," she whispered into his shoulder. "This is going to get us all killed."