Painting Rain (Books of Dalthia Book 4)

by Annette K. Larsen

  Finally, he spoke. “It’s certainly not flawless, but it’s vibrant—moving, even.”

  I tried to keep my expression professional, tried to hide the ebullient grin that wanted to burst forth in that moment.

  “To accomplish this after being here for only six months.” He shook his head then turned his eyes to me. “You surprise me, Lorraina.” He gave me a nod and turned away.

  I let my smile out, grinning to myself as I enjoyed the sense of satisfaction that his approval leant me.

  He turned back, saying over his shoulder, “I expect you’ll stay on for another six months, and I look forward to seeing what you can do in the next half year.”

  My smile slowly dimmed. I should have been elated and puffed up and unbearably prideful after such a compliment. He had invited me to continue studying; I should have been bursting with joy, but I wasn’t. His last words left me with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach. I’d been here half a year, and while I was glad for the opportunity and the knowledge I’d gained, there was a deeper sense of loss in thinking that I would remain here for the rest of the year. The urge to stay and keep learning as much as possible, to become great, to become incomparable, pulled on me, but my heart heaved in protest. I missed my parents, my sisters, my home.

  I had wanted this experience, but was it still what I wanted?

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  I argued with myself over the next two days, debating over the virtue of accepting Sterrino’s invitation to stay against the wisdom of moving on as I had planned. Did I want or need to stay for another six months? If I left, would I regret it later on? If I didn’t leave, what would I miss? Ella was expecting her second child in the next couple months. Lylin had written just a few weeks ago to tell me that she too was with child. How much was I willing to miss?

  I forced myself to consider my options and question my own motives before arriving at a decision.

  Once my decision was made, I didn’t wait for Sterrino to come around to my workspace, but instead went in search of him. Carolyn directed me to the room where he was working.

  She curtsied when she entered, despite the fact that Sterrino had his back to the door. “The princess would like a word, Master Sterrino.”

  He looked back and gave a wordless gesture indicating that I should enter. Carolyn left and I stepped over to his side.

  “What is it?” he asked, sweeping his brush through the edge of a blob of paint on his palette.

  “I will be returning home in a few weeks.”

  His hand stilled and he looked over to me, narrowing his eyes as if I were daft. “Why would you do a foolish thing like that?”

  “I’m simply ready to move on.”

  He continued looking at me as if I were speaking a different language.

  “You’ve taught me so much. I’ve stretched and grown in ways I never expected to, and I’m proud of my progress.”

  He studied me for several moments before responding. “There is a great deal more that you could learn, Lorraina. There are vistas of potential you haven’t even touched yet.”

  “There will always be more I can learn. I’ll simply have to explore my abilities at a slower pace from now on, and I’ll have to do that from home. I appreciate all you’ve taught me, though I may not have agreed with your methods in the beginning.” I smiled, remembering the way we had clashed.

  He grunted. “If you’re so grateful, why are you running away?”

  I considered his question, but I knew that I wasn’t running away. “I love painting, I should think that’s obvious, but it’s not what I love most. I will happily continue to work and progress as I return to my life, but I cannot devote any more of my time to this singular pursuit. I need to find a way to incorporate my love of painting into my life instead of letting it rule my life. There are other endeavors I wish to explore. There are people I wish to know better and share experiences with.” I swallowed, suddenly desperately missing my family, missing West. “I can’t do that if I refuse to acknowledge anything but my painting.”

  “Your mind is made up?”

  “It is.”

  He heaved a sigh and turned back to his work, giving himself time to consider. “Very well,” he said, turning back after an uncomfortable length of time. “But you’d best take advantage of these last weeks.”

  “Believe me, I have every intention of utilizing every moment of my remaining time here.”

  He gave a nod, though his brow was still furrowed as he turned away from me.

  I breathed out a sigh and left him alone.

  My first course of action was to find Ingrid in the gallery. I caught her throwing flirtatious looks at Maxwell as they both pretended to focus on their work. When I got her attention, her cheeks turned red and she tried to arrange her face into a mask of innocent curiosity.

  I decided not to tease her, instead confiding my plans to depart in a few weeks’ time. Her face fell. “You weren’t invited to stay?”

  “I was, but…”

  She pulled her chin back and shook her head. “You’re leaving anyway? But why?” she asked in dismay.

  My heart tightened a bit at her show of friendship. I would miss her and her bright honesty. I did my best to explain my reasons, and she reluctantly accepted my decision. “Besides,” I added, nudging her shoulder. “When I am gone, I won’t be intruding on your time with Maxwell.”

  She bit her lip and blushed again.

  “Just be sure he continues to act like a gentleman,” I said in my best warning voice.

  She chuckled a little, then narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Is that why you’re going? To find your own gentleman again?”

  I took a deep breath. “I won’t pretend I don’t hope for that, but even if West wasn’t a factor, it would still be time for me to move on. I’ve spent enough time putting my own wants first.”

  “I know how much you still miss Sir West. I hope it works out with him.”

  A lump formed in my throat and I barely managed to say, “So do I.”

  ✼ ✼ ✼

  I wrote to my parents, letting them know of my decision and asking that arrangements be made for a carriage and driver. My last weeks were filled with finishing touches. I wanted to finish as many pieces as possible and allow them time to dry so that I could take them with me. That left me with precious little to actually do during the last several days, so I spent most of my time at the Brooks’ house, arranging for my things to be packed and visiting with Lady Brook or Ingrid as often as possible. The little time that I spent at the villa was taken up mostly with sketching. I drew the faces of all my fellow students, as well as Carolyn, Dante and Sterrino. They would likely never be paintings, but I liked being able to take the pictures with me as a reminder of the people who had surrounded me during these months. I made sure to sketch Lord and Lady Brook as well.

  The day before I was set to depart Faria, my guards and I went to the villa in the carriage. They helped me to store all my paintings in protective tubes and pack them into trunks. I had to gather all of my supplies, both the ones I had brought with me from the castle and the ones I had purchased while in Faria. After my space was cleared and my finished paintings packed into the carriage, I returned to the gallery one more time to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Once I’d assured myself that nothing was left behind, I pulled my eyes from my workspace, taking in the gallery instead. I mentally bid farewell to the other students, to the easels and lamps, the windows and high bright ceiling.

  Ingrid caught my attention and waved me over. I happily joined her and she latched onto my hands, pulling me close to her side. “You will write to me, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” I leaned in to whisper, “And I expect to be one of the first to hear when Maxwell finally proposes.”

  She laughed a little and then sighed. “I shall miss you, Raina.”

  I gave her a quick squeeze. “I shall miss you as well.”

  She took a fortifying breath, then tipped her head in
the direction of the stairs. “Go on. Be happy.”

  “Farewell, Ingrid.” I turned toward the stairs, looking back to wave before descending.

  I found Carolyn and asked her to take me to Master Sterrino. When she brought me to him, he shocked me by doing something he’d never done before.

  He bowed.

  I stood there and blinked, not knowing how to interpret such an action.

  Then he fixed me with his gaze and said, in all seriousness, “It is a shame you’ve chosen to leave us so soon, but I respect your decision. I quite enjoyed having you as a student, certainly more than I expected to.”

  His comment left me oddly flattered.

  “The piece you did with the rain, it meant something to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “It shows.” Two words, but they felt like the highest praise. “I wish you well in your life, Lorraina.”

  I curtsied, because it felt like the right thing to do, the right way to reciprocate his unexpectedly gracious farewell. “Thank you for all you’ve taught me.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement and I left him—left him to his art and his students, his brilliant creations and sometimes questionable tactics.

  I closed the doors behind me and turned to find Dante standing not two steps away from me. He spoke before I had time to recover.

  “You’re going, then?”

  “I am,” I answered, not sure if he would consider it good news or bad.

  His brow furrowed deeply. “I don’t understand it. You have talent, raw talent, and now you have discipline as well. You are exactly where so many other artists hope to be. Why would you give it up?”

  How could I explain it? He was right. I was giving up a great deal, but this experience had been all about me, about what I wanted. I had been devoted to my art. “I don’t want to live my life only for me. There are people I care about, people that mean more to me than my paintings, and I want to be with them. I want them to know how much they mean to me, because I’ve done a poor job of showing them that in the past.”

  He pinched his lips and shook his head. “You’ll regret it.”

  “I think I would regret it more if I stayed.”

  “Well.” He looked about as if we had run out of conversation, which we probably had. “I wish you well.”

  “And you.”

  He gave me a nod, then backed away slowly and went his way.

  I stood there for several moments before Stephen cleared his throat, pulling me from my reverie. I turned toward him. “Is everything in the carriage?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Then, I suppose we should be on our way.”

  I walked out the front door, bidding Carolyn farewell as I passed, then climbed into the carriage, which was laden with the evidence of my months here. I leaned out the window, admiring the imposing structure set against the background of a gleaming lake as we pulled away, and I said goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE ROAD RUSHED beneath the carriage wheels and my pulse raced with it. I had been distracting myself for the entire day, trying not to let the anticipation of returning home make me sick. But now we were nearing the castle and the questions would not be put off any longer. My parents knew of my arrival, and my father had written to tell me of his looking forward to my return. He’d also conveyed my mother’s overwhelming joy at the news. I knew what to expect of them.

  What I didn’t know was what it would be like to see West again. Would I see him right away? Perhaps he would seek me out. Then again, perhaps he would stay away on purpose. I didn’t know what position he now held. Had he been accepted as one of my father’s knights?

  Sitting in the carriage, waiting to arrive, was torturous. My muscles were taut as I sat forward in my seat, my eyes trying to see as far ahead as possible. I tried distracting myself again by thinking of all the paintings that I was bringing home with me. I tried to think of places I might be able to display some of them. Which ones would I want to keep to myself, and which would I want to allow everyone to see? But my mind kept returning to what West would think of my work. I especially wanted to know what he would think of the piece I had dubbed Painting Rain. Would he be proud of me?

  At last the castle came into sight, but instead of the sight relaxing me, it only served to make my hands fist tighter and my heart beat faster. It was a beautiful scene, but I couldn’t appreciate the way the late afternoon light made the stones of the castle shine, because all I wanted was to arrive.

  We slowed when we reached the main gate, then passed through and up the drive. When the carriage finally stopped, I barely kept from throwing the door open myself, only just managing to wait for a footman to open it and hand me out.

  The moment my feet hit the ground, I hurried toward the door, only to be stopped by someone calling my name. I turned to see Ella hurrying toward me from the direction of the gardens, her large belly leading the way and a broad smile on her face. Gavin trailed farther behind her, his hand wrapped around Guin’s small one.

  I backtracked and met her halfway, wrapping my arms around her as best I could with the obstruction of her pregnant midsection getting between us.

  “How are you, Raina?” she asked, pulling back. “Have you become simply brilliant during your time away?”

  I shrugged. “I hope so.”

  She laughed and linked her arm with mine, turning us toward the doors. “How were your travels?”

  “Well enough. What brings you to the castle?”

  “Why, you, of course. We wanted to be here to celebrate your return.”

  Her sincere answer left a little ache in my throat. Ella and I had certainly come a long way in the last year and a half.

  In the entryway I was accosted by my mother, then she and Ella walked me to my room, where they helped me to settle in again and asked question after question about my time there. Each one delaying the time when I might be able to see West again.

  My father was occupied, so I knew I wouldn’t see him until dinner. When Ella had to see to Guin and my mother was pulled away by other duties, I was left to myself, staring at the familiar but oddly unfamiliar features of my room. Should I go look for him now? Should I head outside and traipse through the stables and around the grounds in hopes that I would run into him?

  Sarah appeared to help me unpack before I could decide. I noticed her shaking her head, perhaps because she disapproved of something. It wasn’t Sarah’s habit to pass judgment on things that I did, so I couldn’t help asking, “Is everything all right, Sarah?”

  She looked up from her task before looking down again. “Yes, of course, Highness. I was just thinking on the silliness of my Papa.”

  This made me smile. I had never thought of Stephen as silly. “And what silliness is that?”

  “It seems he’s anxious to find Sir West and have a proper sparring match. Said he’s missed having West as an opponent.” She shook her head. “Aren’t men the strangest creatures? My father is looking forward to a good walloping by a man more than ten years his junior.”

  My throat was dry and I had to try to swallow several times before I convinced my voice to work. “Was Jonas not an acceptable sparring partner?”

  She gave a shrug. “I think he’s just anxious to prove he can still hold his own, even if Sir West is part of the king’s guard now.”

  I smiled to myself. He had done it. West had joined my father’s knights. He was here at the castle somewhere. And the moment Stephen found him, he would certainly realize I had returned, if he didn’t know already. “When was he going to find him?”

  “It seems West has been away all day and Papa is planning a bit of an ambush for when he returns.”

  So he didn’t know. But he would know for certain as soon as he returned. “Where does your father plan to ambush him?”

  “By the stables, I would guess.” She went back to her task, gathering clothing and carrying it to the wardrobe.

  My mind raced with the possible
outcomes of such a scheme, and I found myself staring into the looking glass for several long moments, wondering what West would see when he looked at me. Would he see the change? Would he know what it meant? Would he like it?

  I left my room, my sketchbook in hand, and went to the north corridor, which was lined alternately with windows and tapestries. The windows looked out onto the stables, and there I sat with my sketchbook and pencils, waiting to catch a glimpse of West whenever he returned. Of course I could draw nothing but picture after picture of him, each one making me more anxious for the moment we would see one another face to face again.

  I glanced out the window for the hundredth time and was arrested by the sight of West riding toward the stables. I was surprised that my recognition was instant, that even from a distance, I didn’t question for a moment that it was him. I simply knew. And so caught up was I in admiring him—the way he slowed his horse, the way he dismounted and handed the reins over to a waiting stable hand—that when Stephen charged at him, his sword raised in challenge, I was completely taken aback. My heart stopped for a moment before I remembered that this was what I had been waiting for. If West didn’t know of my return already, this would be the moment he realized.

  The drawing of his sword at Stephen’s challenge appeared instinctual, but then he faltered. His mouth moved, speaking words I couldn’t hear. Then he looked up toward the castle—toward me—and dropped his sword. He took off at a sprint, heading for the nearest doors leading inside.

  It took me a moment to realize what was happening. Was he truly running to find me? Could I inspire such action in a man? I had to find out, so I grabbed my sketchbook and dashed down the corridor, turning the corner and rushing to the balcony that overlooked the entry hall. Would he come in by way of the front door, or one of the other entrances? My breathing was heavy as I watched, my hands clutching the banister. A commotion erupted from the direction of one of the side entrances and I looked to see West skid into view. A couple of servants gave him odd stares and he slowed his step as he came forward. I looked about, noting the few footmen in the entry who would witness whatever happened next. Then my eyes returned to West as he looked up. He stopped and I could see the way his chest rose and fell. I held his gaze, but stepped toward the stairs. He followed suit and we each worked our way toward the other, me going down the stairs, him walking to meet me at the bottom, trying to act natural while stealing look after look at the face of the other.