"Art and love is the same thing: It's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you." - Chuck Klosterman
Candles lit my way to a small hall with paintings on the walls. They are similar to the Vaubadon family portraits in the passages earlier, but these artists are, without a doubt, superior in skill. I have no idea as to my exact whereabouts, but my gut tells me that it is somewhere outside the castle limits.
One painting, in particular, catches my attention. I halt at the beautifully horrifying canvas with its life-sized subjects. A man with a crimson mane, clearly Ardam Vaubadon himself, in full golden armour has conquered a heap of contorted bodies with limbs poking out at grotesque angles. His polished sword is planted in the carnage - with him leaning on the jewelled hilt. I can't help but marvel at the preciseness of every limb and digit of the slain: the diameter of the severed limbs have been depicted accurately; muscles and bones at the correct position and in beautiful proportion. A dust storm gathers on the horizon and I can almost make out the dust particles in the cloud.
"It is a scene from the Wars of Ardam, depicting the king conquering his enemies. The artist thought he was doing it right, but his work isn't historically accurate," a warm voice, strained and vaguely familiar, echoes through the hall.
My heart misses a beat as I am addressed from the darkness. I breathe out slowly, and my first and only thought is that the passage that brought me here must remain my secret. Admitting its existence to the wrong person could be dangerous and ill-fated.
I remember reading something about this painting. Turning around, I hope to keep my unexpected companion's attention from my dirty cobweb-caked dress that betrays the fact that I didn't enter through the door. "Obviously the artist couldn't get it right if the painting was painted only about three hundred years ago and King Ardam lived more than a millennium and a half ago."
"Obviously." The playful candlelight keeps the majority of his features a mystery, but it lights up some of his golden curls that are more luminous than the current light source.
"King Ardam never stood on the bodies of those he conquered. He burned them as soon as he had the sworn fealty of those who lived," I blab next, biding my opportunity to discern his features.
"Burning them was also not desirable. He should have given his enemies a chance to say their goodbyes to their loved ones."
"I don't see what is wrong with burning the dead. We do it all the time."
My hands slam my mouth shut. Now he definitely knows I am an intruder. As far as I know, humans always bury their dead.
"I don't object to the burning of corpses, but I detest handling bodies as objects with no value. Laelia Elderlight, your customs of burning the dead and scattering their ashes on the forest floor are all too familiar to me." My new acquaintance steps out of the shadow of a statue on the opposite side of the hall.
Even from this distance, I can tell that he has the most mesmerising eyes - a colour lighter than sapphire and darker than the sky. There are two flames in his eyes: the reflection of the candles and a lively spark of mischievousness burning in them. There has only ever been one like him: Khairrim Cadeyrn.
Meeting one's patron, guardian, lord and all-whatnot in a room with ghastly paintings at the end of a secret passage in a human city, leaves one at a loss for words. Thus I revert back to the topic at hand: "He had to burn the bodies or everyone would have died of diseases. He was doing the most logical thing, and what was best for the majority of people."
As he approaches me, I see a faraway look on his face. He attempts to flatten one of his rebellious curls and then trace his smooth and angular jawline with the same hand in a fluid movement. The hope that he never grows a beard is interrupted by his dashing smile: "You know your history."
"Of course I do." Not thanks to you, I add silently.
I frown. He is really attractive.
My mind tells me that I should leave as soon as possible, but something tempts me to stay. I wouldn't be able to walk out through the door of this place, as I have no idea where I am. I can't leave through the secret passageway. A brilliant idea passes through my brain: alternatively, I have to bore him so much that he wants to leave immediately which would allow me to leave the way I came. The best way to bore people is to talk about yourself. People never want to hear about someone else, but they do want to talk about themselves.
"I have had a few hundred years of the finest education. I have actually written a thousand-page essay on the health issues related to King Ardam's conquests. I did meticulous research on the subject. It took me ten years to write. I still had to do my normal lessons at the same time, which is quite an achievement - if I must say it myself. No one has ever done such extensive research on the subject. I think it is my best work so far. I've also written an essay on -," I stop midsentence. My scowl deepens.
He doesn't look bored at all. In fact, the grin on his face might make me believe that this is the most fascinating conversation he has had in millennia. "You are trying to get me to leave because you entered the hall through the closet. The mystery would be how you got into the closet."
Thunder.
"Before you start ranting, I know this because I saw you coming in. Why, of all the places those cursed tunnels could lead you, it had to be here and now, not even the most powerful seer would know."
He continues despite my look of pure astonishment. "Yes, I know about Raven's Peak's maze of tunnels and traps. Luckily, I've only had the privilege to see one of the tunnels for myself, but I know they are connected to the vaults and the dungeons. The dungeons I have seen only once - a horrible place."
He reads my thoughts before they pass through my brain. "You would have heard me coming in, but I was already in the room. I was just preparing to start my task before you came in. When I heard the crash in the closet, I decided that it was a good idea to remain hidden - in case a thief was breaking in. You are obviously not a thief, because no thief would stop to admire the artwork. It would be very difficult to steal and sell the paintings in here, in case you were wondering why I am here," he continues.
"The thought never crossed my mind," and honestly it didn't. I was too worried about myself. Which begs the question of why he, Khairrim Cadeyrn, would be in a human city and at this hour. There are no clues for me as to why he is here. Knowing I am defeated, the smirk stays plastered to his face. "Why are you, Second of the Council, here?"
"I've come to admire the artwork." The definite lie is obvious in his voice. "I've actually come to prepare this hall for tomorrow's recruitment of the Second Order."
"Is this still Raven's Peak?"
"The city, yes, but the castle, no."
"Oh. Then where?"
"A non-noteworthy distance away from the castle; at one of the other noble families' mansion."
"What does preparing the hall for recruitment mean?"
Like the sun smiling on water, the playful glint in his eyes flares up.
"Everything and nothing! I have got to clear out the artwork, and set up the arena and spectators' benches."
"That sounds like an impossible task for one person."
"I'll have it done before you could finish reciting the timeline of the Elderlight and Darkwood conquests. That shouldn't be too difficult for you. You said you had an excellent education, and that I know to be true."
I don't believe that he'd be able to do all of those things in such a short time, and thus I start reciting the timeline that I know off by heart.
As I start, he walks toward the centre of the wall, coming to a standstill, and then he looks at me and smiles broadly. I hear the rush of water, and a stream rushes in from a door I did not notice until now. It rushes toward him. For a moment I fear that it would knock him out, but then it encircles him, forming a thin wall surrounding him. A sphere of water tears from the rest and levitates above his head. A burst of golden light erupts from within it, leaving us in a light brighter than the day.
I realise that I have stopped reciting the dates and, not remembering the last date I recalled, I start anew.
The water stretches out into slender limbs, reaching for all the paintings in the room. It swallows the paintings and they completely disappear from view.
I gasp and he winks at me.
It forms a large oval pool at his feet, reaching inside itself and pulling out log benches. They are placed around the hall as the water whirls out.
By this time my jaw is on the ground and I have completely stopped speaking.
"How on the Council did you do that!" I exclaim in wonder.
"I'm of the Council, remember."
"Still, I've never seen anyone do that with water."
"Oh, my dearest! I can do a lot that you have never seen."
"Are you trying to impress me?"
He lifts his eyebrows: "Are you impressed?"
"No, I am not impressed."
His face falls.
"I am overwhelmed."
The smirk again: "Even better. What about the history you were reciting? Does this mean I won the bet?"
"We didn't bet on anything."
"I did. As you can see," he lifts his open hands into the air and turns around once, "I'm not taking anything with me that doesn't belong to me. The paintings aren't technically with me and they'll be back up once the recruiting is done."
"What did we bet on?"
He heads toward the door, which I now notice is just next to the closet that I came in from. "You owe me a dance. I'll claim it tomorrow at Raven's Peak's feast." The friend of my family leaves without giving me a chance to protest his demand.
I go back to the closet and get my candle, lighting it from one of the candles on the wall. The space that I fell in through is still open. The wall reappears behind me as I enter. These are indeed strange secret tunnels with a will of their own. I manage to find my way back with little difficulty. The wall closes of its own accord as I step into my room. I'm grateful that I didn't spend the previous hour or two on the uncomfortable bed awaiting me.