She returned to the waiting jester and found Leonard contemplating a series of portraits in the hall where she had left him. They were not very good pieces; or rather, Una hoped they were not. If they were accurate, then her ancestors had been distinctly lacking in forehead and tended toward greenish complexion.
But the jester, when she neared, was not looking at a depiction of one of her ancestors. Instead she found him studying a small piece of far more ancient work. The figures in this painting, though no more proportionate than the paintings of Una’s grandsires, were gracefully worked, with life in their limbs and expressions on their faces. Three men stood on the shores of a black lake; one of the three wore a crown upon his head while the other two were bound in chains. Otherwise, their faces were identical. In the center of the lake lay another man upon a golden altar that rose up out of the water. Beside this altar stood a woman, her body bent over and her hands over her face as though she wept.
Una must have seen the picture a thousand times without ever pausing to look at it. Glancing at it now, she thought it ugly. Yet the jester appeared captivated.
“Leonard?” She spoke several times before finally touching his sleeve.
He startled but immediately masked his face in a smile. “You’re back.”
“Do you like the picture?” she asked “Not at all. A vile piece – wouldn’t you agree?”
But his gaze wandered back to the painting as though drawn unwillingly. “I believe I have met him.” He pointed to the man lying on the golden altar in the center of the lake. Though the figure was tiny, the artist had intricately painted a skull-like face surrounded by black hair.
Ghoulish, Una thought.
The jester laughed and turned abruptly away. “Reminds me of an innkeeper who tossed me out on the streets after a performance in Lunthea Maly.”
“You’ve seen Lunthea Maly?” Una gasped, forgetting about the ugly painting and allowing Leonard to lead her from it, though she realized after a few steps that she should be the one leading him. “You’ve traveled to the Far East?”
“I dwelt four years in Lunthea Maly, the City of Fragrant Flowers, which indeed is as fragrant as squashed daisies left rotting in the bottom of a wheelbarrow on a summer’s day.” He gave her a roguish wink. “I have even performed within the great halls of the Aromatic Palace, home of his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Khemkhaeng-Niran Klahan of Noorhitam himself!”
“You performed for an emperor?”
“He gave me a peacock, he was so pleased by my foolishness.” Leonard coughed modestly. “Of course, his grand vizier showed up on my doorstep the following morning to reclaim the bird, declaring the young emperor rather too enthusiastic in his gift giving. But it’s the thought that counts, yes?”
With those words, the jester’s stomach let out a terrific rumble, and he clapped his hands to his middle and looked embarrassed. “Forgive me, m’lady. I have not eaten a full meal in many weeks, I believe. Since I left Beauclair.”
“Come to my father, then,” Una said, taking his arm. “He’ll hire you, and I promise he’ll pay more than the thought of food for your performances.”
“One can always hope,” the jester said with the doleful air of one who didn’t often hope anymore. But Una led him to her father’s study, determined to see him situated in Oriana Palace, at least for a time.
The hall in which her father’s study was located was empty except for a gentleman attendant, who stood just outside the door, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. He pulled himself upright at Una’s approach, though he sneered as he took in Leonard’s odd motley.
“Wait here,” Una told the jester. He leaned against the window opposite the study door, his hands behind his back, shifting his feet. She nodded to the still-sneering attendant and motioned for him to depart, then knocked on the door.
No one answered. Inside she could hear the rise and fall of voices and remembered that her father was in conference with Prince Aethelbald. She hesitated, wondering whether to knock again, when suddenly her father’s voice rose, and she heard through the heavy wood:
“That’s nonsense, sir, utter nonsense, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”
Prince Aethelbald replied but spoke in that frustratingly low tone of his, and Una could not make out a word. Her father responded. “She’s my own daughter. I would see that for myself, don’t you think?”
Una’s heart thudded to a stop in her throat. She felt wicked for eavesdropping, but somehow she couldn’t drag herself away from the door. Instead she strained her ears.
Aethelbald’s words were still indiscernible, but Fidel said, “We are in no danger. Southlands can burn to dust for all I care; it still means nothing! Parumvir has never been a temptation to their kind.” Another pause during which Aethelbald spoke, and then Fidel again. “You do what you think best, Prince Aethelbald, but leave me and mine alone. I don’t doubt that you believe every word of your warning. You’re an honest sort and a good man. But you don’t know Una, not as I do.”
Una backed away from the door. She desperately wanted to press her ear to the keyhole and catch every word.