Felomar led her back into the house. They strolled along a corridor that ran the length of one of the vast wings, visiting several rooms. Some were meant for formal gatherings, others for entertainment. All were embellished with lavish decoration and furniture. She asked questions haltingly, drawing the words she needed from Pel’s mind. The old man was full of memories–of people filling the enormous dance hall that could have housed Fyre’s main temple, of Lord Felomar as a child playing in a room filled with games, of important visitors including the Emperor, and of the various duties of the men and women in the lord’s employ.
They reached two huge doors to what Pel knew was Felomar’s favourite room of the house. It housed a collection of paintings gathered over many generations and from many worlds. Rielle’s pulse quickened, and as she followed him into the room she caught her breath. It was almost as big as the dance hall, though the ceiling was not so high. Some of the paintings were as large as the front wall of her family’s dyeworks. Statues populated the floor. Pel moved to one side and turned a dial on a panel. At once lanterns spaced between the paintings flickered into life, bathing the room in a soft light and revealing the contents of the artworks.
Felomar began to explain the origins and age of each piece, leading her down one wall at an unhurried pace. Sometimes he also told her about the artist, or workshop, that had produced the artwork. She saw landscapes more strange and spectacular than anything she had glimpsed in Baluka’s mind. The variety of beasts and plants, people and clothing depicted seemed endlessly varied.
But it was the mediums used in the artworks she was most fascinated by. Simple paintings made up of a few swipes of a brush hung beside works so fine she could not make out a single stroke. Paint had been applied thickly, or was translucent, or applied in layers. To her disappointment and amusement, Izare’s invention of oily paint was a common discovery in most worlds. She had to concede that her own world was far behind in artistic invention compared to most.
As they neared the end of the room the paintings’ subjects changed to portraiture. Felomar explained who each subject was. One painting in particular dominated the far wall, but she did not let it draw her attention away from her host and guide. Yes, I know you’re important, she thought at it, but you can wait your turn. Only when she had neared the far corner did she glance at it.
A familiar dark stare froze her in place.
It’s him!
And yet it wasn’t. It was slightly wrong, as if the artist had not succeeded in capturing a likeness, or had only painted his subject from a description. As she stared, she noted the differences. No blue light reflected from the dark hair. The skin was no longer utterly, unearthly white, but merely pale. The fine ridges of the jaw, cheekbones and brows were right, however. The eyes…
“You’ve seen him before?” Lord Felomar asked.
Though his tone was light, he could not quite hide the tension in his voice. There would be consequences to her answer. She examined the servant’s thoughts and her heart sank. Of all the people her Angel had to look similar to, why this one?
“No,” she replied. “He looks a little like someone I have met, but it is not him.”
“Who does he remind you of?”
“A holy man from my world.”
She turned towards the painting they had been about to examine before she had noticed the big portrait. Felomar did not take her cue. Instead he walked over to stand before the not-Valhan painting. She followed reluctantly. Averting her eyes from the face, she examined the background. It was of a room, but it contained nothing significant. Walls, a table, a plant growing in a squat bowl.
“I can’t imagine he posed for this,” Felomar said. “He doesn’t seem the sort. Most likely it was done from memory. I’ve been told it is remarkably accurate despite being two hundred cycles old. Yet no painting of him can be considered entirely reliable, since he can change his appearance.”
Rielle’s stomach turned over. That will only make it harder to convince the Travellers that this isn’t Valhan. Can I convince Felomar not to show this to the Travellers? Or has he already?
The cold gaze of the man in the portrait was starting to make her skin crawl. She sighed and shook her head.
“What is it?” the lord asked.
“It is obvious to me it isn’t the person I know. It’s like… Sometimes you meet someone who looks a lot like a person you know. You’re convinced they are twins. When you put the two next to each other you find they look nothing alike. It’s the similarities you notice when you see them separately, but the differences you see when they are together.”
He frowned. “You would see the differences if both men were here?”
“I can see the differences even though one is not here.”
He nodded. “There’s something else I want to show you.”