Sorrow froze. “A model? A Rhannish one?” To her ears she sounded too curious; she could hear the desperation in her voice, and she held her breath, waiting to see if Xalys noticed.
But it seemed not, as the Rhyllian replied, “I don’t know. I was never allowed to see him; Mama always sent me away when they came. He came for a few years. Then he stopped, and Vespus told my mother what he wanted changed.”
Luvian spoke before Sorrow could. “Such as?”
“Nothing especially. Comments on the length of his hair, the size of his lips, the tilt of his nose. It’s hard, sometimes, to predict how a child will look, especially through their teens. Vespus said the very same about Rasmus – that he’d changed into a boy he didn’t think he’d recognize. He said he didn’t want that for your father.”
Sorrow turned to Luvian, who met her gaze with his own bright eyes.
“Did he?” Luvian murmured. “How interesting. I wonder where the model is now?”
“I couldn’t tell you. Lord Vespus probably could.”
“We’ll be sure to ask when we see him at the Naming,” Luvian said.
Sorrow nodded, her whole body buzzing with this new knowledge. There had been a model. Someone had sat for the paintings. Someone real. And they’d stopped going after three years… So the model would have been around seven. Young enough, perhaps, to not remember doing it. Sorrow couldn’t remember anything specific from her seventh year; it was only after Rasmus had arrived that she had real memories of her childhood… So the Mael she knew might have been the model… And if he’d stopped going, was it because Vespus didn’t want him to remember doing it?
Even if the model wasn’t Mael, but some other child, Xalys had practically proven Vespus had been planning this for years. Why else would he do it? Sorrow fought back a grin at this realization. Finally, they had something.
“Does he look like her work?” Xalys asked Sorrow, interrupting her thoughts. “Mael, the real one. Were we close?”
“He’s identical,” Sorrow said, unable to keep her glee from her voice. “It’s incredible.”
Luvian rose to his feet then. “Well, that’s cleared that puzzle up. Now we know who our mysterious benefactor is, and the gifted artist. Thank you for your time.” He offered Sorrow a hand, hauling her up with surprising strength as Xalys gracefully unfolded her limbs and stood too.
“Can you find the way out?” Xalys asked.
“Not a chance,” Luvian replied cheerfully, and the Rhyllian girl smiled.
For the first time, Sorrow recognized Rasmus in her face, and her stomach gave a gentle flip in response.
Xalys led them back along the winding passageways, until once again they were standing in the entrance hall. Two other Rhyllians were descending the spiral stairs, and they looked coolly at Sorrow and Luvian but said nothing as they passed them, disappearing into the warren of rooms and studios beyond.
“Thank you.” Sorrow echoed Luvian’s words as Xalys pulled open the main door to the street.
“Enjoy the Naming,” Xalys said.
“We will.”
“Oh, and if you’re looking for somewhere to eat tonight, there is a place on the other side of the square, on Crown Street, called Anwyn’s. It sells kishkies; they’re a pastry peculiar to Ceridog. You should try them while you’re here.”
“Thanks again,” Sorrow said. “I mean, you’re good to us!”
Xalys closed the door then, seemingly deciding the goodbye was over.
“To the inn?” Luvian asked, and Sorrow nodded, trying to contain her happiness.
They remained silent as they retraced their steps back through the bustling square to the inn, collecting a bored-looking Dain on the way. They told the bodyguard they were going to rest before dinner, and left her outside the floor once more. Sorrow opened her door, counted to three, then closed it loudly, before sliding into Luvian’s room and silently latching it shut.
He was already sitting at his desk, coat sleeves rolled up, a pen in his hand and a frown at his brow. She sat on his bed and watched as he began to go through his ever-present list of children, crossing things out before writing something else, underlining that and drawing arrows between words. There was a breeze dancing through the open window, and he tutted at it, as though that might make it stop, trying to pin the sheets down and write at the same time. She wanted to ask why he was working on the list now, why then of all times, but something in his posture made her wait until he’d put his pen down and sat back.
“Is now really the time?”
Luvian jumped, as though he’d forgotten, or not realized, that she was there. “What?” He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up like the crest of a bird.
Sorrow nodded towards the papers. “To do that?”
He gave her a long, unreadable look before replying. “There were over fifteen thousand children reported missing or presumed dead during the seven years I’m looking at.”
“Fifteen thousand?” Sorrow was shaken.
“Relatively it’s a small amount, especially for a country with a population of almost twenty million people. But still, a lot,” he added hastily, when Sorrow gaped at him. “So whenever I have time to do this, it’s time to do it. Besides –” he paused, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his tunic “– it helps me focus. It’s something solid.”
“So is what we learned from Xalys,” Sorrow said.
Luvian paused, and put his glasses back on. “Oh, that’s something,” he said, confirming what Sorrow had realized earlier.
“So…” Sorrow didn’t understand why he wasn’t as pleased as she with what Xalys had told them.
“We still have no proof that Mael is an imposter. All we know for certain is that Vespus commissioned the portraits, and, in the early days, had someone model for them. We don’t know who the model was, Xalys never saw him. He might not even have been Rhannish – it could have been Rasmus, did you think of that? Perhaps the reason Xalys had to stay away was so she didn’t meet her brother.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Sorrow. It’s confirmed our suspicions, and raised a lot more questions. That’s all.”
A lump formed in Sorrow’s throat and she swallowed, forcing it down to say, “So finding the artist was pointless, despite everything she said.”
Luvian wrinkled his nose. “It depends on what the point is. If it was finally proving Mael is an imposter, yes, it was pointless. But what it proves is that Vespus has been behind the portraits from the beginning. He ordered them five years before he became the ambassador. And he clearly wanted it to remain a secret. Why?”
“I don’t know. Because he’s an evil puppet master who likes to toy with people?”