Sitting in a large plush armchair in the royal library of Kingston Palace, Olivia Thompson re-read the letter in her hands uncertainly for about the twentieth time that day. It said the same impossible thing it had said before, that it had said every day for the past week. She had even agreed on payment in a brief series of letters with Pickett Randolph of all people. Somehow, though, it still didn’t seem real. Maybe she should have gone out for the ceremony. It had seemed too much this morning, too difficult to get back inside in a timely manner, too crowded and unnecessary. But how likely was she to ever again see an Advisor appointment? How likely was she ever to come back to Kingston? Olivia shook her head and stuffed the letter back into its envelope. She’d be spending plenty of time in the company of royalty today and tomorrow. There was no use fretting over something that was now beyond changing.
She was just reaching into her pocket to retrieve the letter again when the sound of the great doors being pulled shut echoed back to the corner of the library Olivia was stationed in. She leapt to her feet, trying to smooth her pants and control her expression as tired voices echoed around the hall.
“I’m just grateful I never have to do that again,” a young female voice groaned.
“Oh no you don’t. Twice more,” another female, slightly accented laughed back. “You did well. Only a little frazzled.”
“Spectator from here on. Watching from the back if I can help it. And by then hopefully I’ll be more used to the job.”
“It will only get easier from here, Nora, I promise,” a weary-sounding man replied, as he turned dark face and eyes around the corner. When he saw Olivia, his shoulders visibly sank in relief. He gave her a genial nod, then called over his shoulder to a group of four more people stepping into view behind him, “She’s prompt and prepared. Well chosen, Pickett.” Then he turned his gaze back to Olivia, and said, “Thank you. Welcome to Kingston Palace.” Olivia hurried to bow her head, but couldn’t find any words in her throat before someone else was speaking.
“I’d say have more faith in people, but that doesn’t really come with your job description, does it?” an elderly woman retorted in her accented voice. From the look of her, Olivia guessed she came from the lower mountains, all limbs and rail thin from the top of her forehead to the tips of narrow boots. She was dressed the most casually of everyone in the group, wearing linen pants and an unbuttoned vest, which was trimmed in gold. The fine silk of her sky-blue blouse was light and airy, its expense more visible up close than from far away. Her hair was a near perfect white, with only the faintest hint of its original mahogany left in a few strands underneath. She stepped forward with a broad smile and an extended hand. “Olivia Thompson, yes? I’m Pickett Randolph. We exchanged a few letters.”
“How could I forget?” Olivia replied, simultaneously overwhelmed by the immediacy of royalty and put at ease by Pickett Randolph’s gentle confidence.
“Three subjects all here, and a few onlookers, we’ll chase them off before you get to work, don’t worry,” Pickett went on, waving an airy hand at the people behind her. A boy in the arms of a tall, burly, dark skinned man who looked to be his father cried out, “I don’t get to watch?”
“Shh, Devraj. You’ll have to ask nicely,” the man said. The boy, Devraj, turned large, pitiful eyes to Olivia, who caved at once.
“I have a girl about that age. He won’t be a bother.”
“Just for a little while then,” his father said. “And then you’ll have to go with Malik, all right?”
“Thank you!” Devraj cried, ignoring his father in favor of proving his manners.
“I won’t stay the whole time, myself,” the man went on, putting Devraj down so he could find a good seat from which to observe. “Raul Tordault, Mrs. Thompson. A great pleasure. I’m very pleased you could make it on such short notice. We do adore the armchair painting in our collection.”
Olivia said “Thank you, sir,” without too much stuttering, which she felt was a great accomplishment. In the meantime the first man she had seen, who was only about Olivia’s height and had long braids of thick black hair tied elegantly down his back, stepped over to shake her hand, too.
“Nehemiah Smedley. I expect you’re getting the elimination process worked out. Very glad you could make it as well.”
When Nehemiah Smedley stepped aside, everyone turned to the last woman in the group, a very short, very young thing, round in her hips and her face, and adorned with perfect curls in sandy blonde hair. She had a much lighter, clumsier handshake than any before her, and her fingers were very warm to Olivia’s touch.
“Eleanor Muggeridge, the new one,” she said, with a nervous sort of smile. “I’m taking over for Advisor Hotspur.”
“You’re the new Advisor to Magic?” Olivia asked, startled confusion overtaking her sense of propriety momentarily. She felt her eyes darting to Miss Eleanor’s warm hands, yes that was right, but–
“I’m a bit young, I know,” Eleanor started, her voice quiet.
“What has happened to your hair?” Olivia asked at once. “Surely that isn’t natural. We heard in Portown that you were a prodigy. Those curls don’t match that at all.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Olivia felt that she had probably gone too far, but to her great relief, Nehemiah Smedley laughed broadly.
“Point to Amna,” he said, clapping a stunned Pickett Randolph on the shoulder. “You should know better than to make bets with her by now. Let her muss it, Pickett. You won’t be going through the whole process again tomorrow, will you?”
“We thought… Pickett helped me…” Eleanor was mumbling sheepishly.
“For the ceremony?” Olivia asked, trying to be kind. The poor girl was clearly overwhelmed. She was quite young for such a title. Eleanor nodded. “I’m afraid I’ll need to see what your magic looks like for the painting. And it wouldn’t make sense for me to paint it that way, however pretty it looks,” she went on consolingly. “A portrait like this serves as a record, yes? People will look back for visual cues as to the special traits of each person. A prodigy caster with ringlets? No one would believe it.” Olivia brushed at her own dark, frizzy bangs for emphasis. Eleanor’s timid grin took on a crooked mischievous quality even as she looked away to Pickett Randolph for approval. Caught between her companions, Pickett’s extended sigh gave Olivia a very clear, entertaining look into how daily politics at the Kingston Palace must work.
“Oh, go ahead, dear. We succeeded, I think.”
With a great sigh of relief, Eleanor shook out her hands at once towards the marble floor. The blast of magic made Olivia’s hair stand on end, but she felt no burns, no heat, and when she looked to the ground, only a small crystal of ice-blue sparkle remained.
“I can show you a more proper spell also, but I’ve learned to stabilize bits for study,” Eleanor said, her voice much more cheerful now that she was free of her restraints. She leaned over to pick up the sparkling jewel from the floor, then pressed it into Olivia’s hand with significantly more confidence than her handshake had shown. “You can use this as reference if you like.”
“Goodness,” Olivia managed in lieu of a swear. She found herself staring at Eleanor’s wild, sandy hair, sticking out in twirls and puffs that went every which way. “That’s more like it.”
“You were holding back that much?” Pickett asked, a little remorsefully.
“Not holding back,” Eleanor reassured her. “Just… holding still. I can’t maintain my hair if it’s passing through me. It’s not building inside. I promise I won’t let myself catch fire. But it’s magic, Pickett. It likes motion. You know the basic theory.”
“Not enough apparently. All right. Now we know.” This seemed to be some sort of promise between the two Advisors that Eleanor’s hair would never end up that way by Pickett’s hand again. Eleanor looked beside herself with joy.
“Should Pickett and I make any adjustments? Is there anything you need from us?” Nehemiah Smedley asked, shifting his stance slightly. Olivia paused a moment to watch him shift back.
“Those aren’t your usual shoes,” she answered.
“Keen eyes,” Nehemiah Smedley replied. “Ceremonies.”
“Put on something comfortable to stand in. You’re going to be on your feet for a long time,” Olivia suggested.
“They’re in my office, won’t be a minute,” he said quickly before hurrying back around the corner, Pickett Randolph and Raul Tordault snickering after him.
“And me?” Pickett said. “I’m quite comfortable like this, though I’ve reached the age where formality matters less. And I get to be seated for this one, thank the stars.”
“Have you finally found a place where you aren’t looking to break tradition after all these years?” asked Raul Tordault, his voice playing innocence. Pickett nudged the king’s shoulder playfully.
“Am I or am I not wearing gold right now? Some precedents I can live with.”
“What is your symbol?” Olivia asked. Pickett Randolph raised her eyebrows Olivia’s way, but didn’t answer, so Olivia went on with all the confidence she could fake. “A sword for the tactician, a spell for the caster, what do you hold as historian?”
“Elimination,” Pickett answered with a chuckle. “At least, that’s how it’s worked before.” Olivia, feeling that this might be a good way to break tradition, glanced to the library shelves surrounding them. Pickett Randolph let out a broad laugh and said “I have just the thing,” before stepping smartly between the shelves, momentarily out of sight.
“I was somewhat afraid they wouldn’t behave themselves,” Raul Tordault muttered softly. “Congratulations. I’m impressed.”
“Me too,” Eleanor laughed as she walked past Olivia, taking a seat in the small, plush chair that had been staged before Olivia’s canvas. “Just for a minute,” she murmured, slipping off her shoes and rubbing her toes. “Much better.”
“Will you do a spell, Nora?” Prince Devraj asked, scrambling to her side as soon as the first shoe was off.
“Malik and your father can cast for you, princeling,” she teased.
“Not well,” Devraj replied, elongating each word to tell her exactly how bad they were.
“And Malik practiced so long last week to impress you,” Eleanor moaned in return. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” Devraj did not seem to care about this, and shrugged to say so. Eleanor gave a bark-like laugh at his indifference, ruffling the boy’s already messy hair. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of my magic soon enough. You’re going to get sick of the sight of it.”
“Never!” cried the prince, as though horrified at the very thought. “Never ever!”
As Eleanor cackled, Nehemiah Smedley came hurrying back inside, smoothing his hair and the sleeves of his shirt. Upon seeing Eleanor, he picked up a chair from a few steps away and pulled it closer. He had only just sat, however, when Pickett re-emerged from the shelves.
“Here we are,” she said, holding up a slender, leather-bound volume that was quite worn at the corners. “Collection of Ampanian folklore. This collection traces the stories back to their hometown roots and discusses the regional differences as well. Personal favorite of mine. Now how do you want us?”
Eleanor slipped her shoes back on without needing to be asked, and Nehemiah pulled himself to standing again, his determined look not quite masking his disappointment.
“Why don’t we set the arrangement, I’ll get a basic sketch, and then we can do it one at a time?” Olivia suggested. She could see the protests forming on their lips under relieved eyes, and decided never to give them the chance. “Alright, have a seat, Advisor Randolph. All the way back, please. Slumping forward will give you a hunch you don’t have. And Advisor Smedley, here, just beside the chair, maybe a step back from it, closer to the wall. Don’t block yourself. You changed boots for me. I want them in the picture.” Devraj gave a chuckle behind her, and she heard him drop to the floor. Olivia took a step backwards, crouching slightly so she could see the angle correctly. “Another step to your left. Perfect, thank you. And Advisor Muggeridge—”
“That still sounds bizarre,” Eleanor murmured.
“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” said Nehemiah softly.
“Advisor Muggeridge, on the right, if you would, even with Advisor Smedley. Turn your body towards the chair if you would. A little less. There you are. Advisor Randolph, now, if you would put your left foot out a little further, an inch more, there. And Advisor Smedley, take your left hand, and place it on her shoulder. Really on her shoulder. There. Now everyone take a deep breath for me, and picture your favorite palace guard naked.”
The laughter was immediate, and just what Olivia needed. Nehemiah’s hand slid into place on Pickett’s shoulder, revealing the comfort they felt together, while Pickett leaned back in her chair, her back straightening and her legs stretching into the ease of her position. Eleanor, a little removed, blushed furiously as she tried to compose herself again. Her hair was wild and her smile strangely tilted, mimicking the mischief reflected in her eyes. When Olivia sat down at her easel, the angle leveled their varying heights enough for composition, and overlaid the toes of Pickett’s foot against Eleanor’s, so all three were connected. She set to her rough sketch.
Of the three of them, Pickett Randolph was the worst at staying still. She fiddled with the book in her hands, shuffled her feet around, and kept leaning forward to readjust in her chair. Behind her, Nehemiah would sink down into himself over the course of a few minutes, then remember to straighten his back suddenly, and grow four inches simply through his posture. He kept his feet steady, however. The boots had been a wise choice. Off to the side, Eleanor stood almost too still, trying to force regality into her frame in the form of rigidity. Her expressions gave her away. Her mind was clearly elsewhere as her eyes remained unfocused on the far wall. It took nearly half an hour for Olivia to be satisfied with the shape of them, content that they weren’t likely to become better studies with more time.
“Have a seat, Advisors. If you would look my way, Advisor Randolph, I need to study your face.”
On her own, with a direction to focus, Pickett relaxed. Olivia scribbled her hand into place on the book while it was still in her lap, and defined the edges of her vest, draped easily over unclenched shoulders. The royalty sat in easy silence around Olivia and her easel until Devraj finally started to fidget.
“I think it might be time for us to take our leave,” said Raul Tordault.
“Bye,” Devraj told his father, doing his best to resume interest.
“He’s not being any trouble,” Olivia said.
“Yet,” she heard Nehemiah reply.
“We had an agreement, Devraj,” the king tried again, leaning down to urge his son to his feet.
“A little longer! I’ll be good!”
“Malik had chocolates last I saw him,” Eleanor said, loudly and seemingly to herself. The rest of the room stilled a moment, then Devraj called out “Nice to meet you, miss!” and hurried from the library, leaving his father to stand slowly in his wake.
“Thank you, Nora. A great pleasure, Mrs. Thompson. I hope you will join us for dinner in the dining hall tonight, and please let us know if we can provide any further assistance to your work or your comfort here.”
Olivia bowed from her seat, then realized that might be too informal. By the time she had clambered to her feet, however, Raul Tordault had finished his goodbyes and was gone.
“There isn’t a need for formality in such small numbers,” said Nehemiah. “We won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
“I’m honored—”
“You won’t feel that way for long,” Eleanor snickered quietly from the armchair, where she had her shoes off again and was hanging her feet off the side of the chair, letting them rest as high as her head. Olivia couldn’t help her chuckle.
“I thought this morning went very smoothly, didn’t you?” Pickett said.
“As smoothly as could be hoped,” Nehemiah agreed, settling back in his chair. “I was ready for trouble given the suddenness of the ceremony.”
“You two didn’t spend the whole morning getting called the wrong name by everyone,” countered Eleanor.
“You do look a bit like your sister,” Pickett said.
“As I’m older, I think it’s ‘she looks a bit like me’, don’t you?”
Olivia joined in the royalty’s laughter, making a note to herself to remember how easy it was. She had taken the time to browse the gallery a few hours before, looked at the precedents set for her. Stone-faced, intimidating men and women, decked in their finest, each trying to outshine the other. Olivia found them horribly imposing and impersonal. Knowing now that such a portrait would do no justice to the three people sitting with her, she eased her lines, and watched their interactions for clues. Nehemiah’s hand should be tense, but friendly on Pickett’s shoulder, strong on his sword. Eleanor’s fingers relaxed, but her face stiffer – she would settle with time. And Pickett, no more nor fewer wrinkles on her face than in her clothes. The white of her hair was warm and soft, and would do to be drawn as such.
Olivia rotated them in and out, as often as not drawing a different person than the one she currently had staged. They were all too polite, too nervous, or some combination thereof to check on her work. Somewhere she got the impression than Nehemiah and Eleanor at least would rather not see the painting, perhaps ever, if they could help it. Olivia could understand, in a way. If the stories that circulated the Portown Local held any truth, neither of them were born to this sort of luxury, nor were particularly fond of the attention granted them. But the glow of Pickett’s confidence enriched them both. That was a note for the colors later.
The sun started to sink outside the library windows, though none of them paid it much mind until a stomach somewhere made a loud protest that no one would confess to.
“It is getting late, and we do have tomorrow as well,” Pickett said, possibly in admittance of her hunger. “Raul and Malik will be waiting for us. Shall we?”
“What makes you think they waited?” asked Eleanor.
“Just a guess. Leave your things here, Mrs. Thompson. You must be famished. Take a break and come back to it refreshed.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said. After so much time listening, it felt odd to hear her own voice. A break would do her good. She covered her easel with the usual drop cloth before turning to leave with the others, who waited for her. The silence they walked in was the easy silence of having exhausted all other conversation and found it satisfying. It was strange how familiar they all felt after such a short time, and Olivia was left wondering if the entire palace functioned in this manner.
On the other side of the library doors, a young man was standing with his back to them. He was very tall, and dark-skinned, dressed in the blue and silver of the palace guards’ ceremonial wear that Olivia had seen periodically throughout the morning. His black hair was braided into a single twist that reached almost to his waist, tied off with a thin silver ribbon near the bottom. Prince Devraj was running around his legs, apparently playing some entertaining form of keep-away.
“Malik’s got a secret! Secret like a secret crush!”
“You’re terrible at this, princeling. Shh! Any louder and they’ll hear—” Turning in his attempt to hush the young prince, Malik Smedley stopped speaking in the middle of his sentence. He managed to grab onto Devraj’s shoulders, but spotted something behind Olivia as he did so that made his jaw drop. His bright eyes widened, and his grip on Devraj relaxed almost immediately. Instead of running again, however, the prince grinned in the same direction, then went up on his toes to whisper to Malik, who smiled an absent, almost silly smile before catching himself. He shook Devraj playfully by the shoulders before releasing him.
“Are you all done yet?” Devraj asked Pickett at once, running into her arms. “Can I look at it? Does it look good?”
“We haven’t even seen it yet, princeling. Let her breathe!” Eleanor snorted. “You didn’t have to wait up for us.”
This last sentence seemed to be addressed to Malik, and the object of his attention was suddenly plain. He stood up with straight shoulders and bright eyes, and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, which fiddled with the sides of his pants and pockets. Olivia did her best not to chuckle at them.
“I couldn’t go to dinner by myself,” he said. “I’ve already gotten their permission. Come on, no time to change.”
“What—?”
“I’m taking you to dinner, in celebration. Best friends only, no excuses. We don’t have time for them,” he continued over Eleanor’s laughter. When she didn’t move immediately, Malik wrapped an arm around her shoulders, saluted the rest of the group, and started to tug her along.
“Where—?”
“Southside’s finest for an Advisor to the Crown.”
“You do not have the resources for that.”
“Then you’ll have to thank the usual guilty parties when we get back. We have thirty minutes, let’s go!”
Their laughter echoed up the hallway with their running footsteps, and soon faded away.
“Think that will work?” Nehemiah muttered to Olivia’s left. She turned to him, confused, but saw Pickett between them, shaking her head.
“I’m willing to try anything. Let’s not keep Raul waiting any longer.”
“That will be on you, actually,” said Nehemiah, starting down the same hall that Malik and Eleanor had just vanished through. “I’m going home. Amna’s already there, and I’m more than ready to get free of these clothes. Particularly if I need to wear them again tomorrow. Goodnight to you all. I will see you in the morning, Mrs. Thompson. My thanks for making this a much more pleasurable experience than I had recalled it to be.”
And with the shortest bow he could give, Nehemiah Smedley left the palace as well.
“Can you believe this impertinence?” Pickett scoffed over her smile. “First day as Senior Advisor and they leave me with all the work.”
“Pickett can we eat now?” Devraj asked, tugging on Pickett’s wrist with one hand, while clutching his stomach with the other.
“You haven’t eaten? What were you doing, Devraj?”
They started forward again, Devraj leading the way, nearly walking backwards in his excitement.
“I had to stay with Malik, because Dad was just sitting in there and looking at the food, and it was awful. But Malik was waiting for Nora, and Dad told us to go be antsy together. Do you think they’ll kiss tonight?”
“We can only hope,” Pickett told him. She had apparently used this line before, because the young prince made a face at her, then dashed through the open double doors at the end of the hall.
The first thing Olivia noticed about the dining hall was that it was full of windows. She hadn’t expected that for some reason, despite knowing what the palace looked like from the exterior. They weren’t at eye level, but tall panes of glass reached from six feet in the air, up to the ceiling two stories above. It was a large, homey space that she supposed could feel like a picnic or a banquet under the right circumstances. Tonight, however, it was nearly empty – so much so that she was suddenly uncertain of the time.
In the middle of a long central table, solid wood with individual chairs lined up along each side, was a spread of breads, cheeses, and fruits, plus a platter of what looked like duck. Five clean plates were placed with silverware around it, the chairs with them pulled back invitingly. Alone, King Raul Tordault sat behind an empty, though not clean, plate while his son pulled out a chair beside him.
“Cheat!” Devraj cried. “You told me to wait!”
“I’m sorry. And to you, Pickett, and Mrs. Thompson. I have failed at being a good host tonight,” the king said, a sheepish look on his broad face.
“Bernhard?” Pickett asked.
“Bernhard. He brought the whole guard through a little more than half an hour ago. You just missed them. Said he was letting them get home to their families early tonight. They’re expecting a celebration in the market. I’m sure Patricia will be egging them on. Where is Nora?”
“She and Malik went as far as they could from that while staying in the city limits,” said Pickett, pulling out the chair across from Devraj. With her left hand, she offered the chair across from the king to Olivia. “If he had the guard’s plans already from Bernhard or any of his friends in uniform, he’ll be sure to keep her far away from that crowd.”
“You are showing your hand tonight,” Raul Tordault murmured, a chuckle underlying his words.
“Desperate times, Raul. Subtlety isn’t my specialty.”
Raul Tordault raised his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes, making a face that gave acquiescence, while implying “liar”. Pickett ignored him completely. She dished food onto Olivia’s plate first, Olivia watching with no idea how or whether to intervene, then onto her own, and finally to Devraj’s just as he was starting to make a small whining noise.
“I can get it,” he said, trying to split pleading glances with every adult at the table.
Pickett chose not to respond to him either, and when she was finished, she set the platter of duck out of his reach between herself and Olivia.
“A productive afternoon? Pleasant, I hope?” Raul Tordault asked.
Olivia took a moment too long in realizing that the question was directed to her.
“Very,” she said. “Quite. It’s going very well. Thank you.”
“Everyone behaved themselves properly?” He sent raised eyebrows Pickett’s way as he asked this.
“In my estimation, but there’s rarely a well-behaved moment in my house, so I may not be the most accurate judge,” Olivia replied, more comfortable looking at Pickett as she answered.
“We did nothing but torment her, Raul, and you’re no better now.”
The king had a low laugh, smaller and gentler than Olivia would have expected of a man his size. She was certain his voice could boom when he wished, but hearing him now made her wonder how much of his life he had spent wishing he were a smaller, less important man.
She did not have much to add to the light conversation at dinner, which mostly involved entertaining young Prince Devraj. The food was excellently flavored, though not very hot. Olivia felt her cheeks flush as she realized that might have been her fault. No one else mentioned it, and she was far too embarrassed to attempt a heating rune in the wooden table. As soon as her plate was empty, Devraj rushed to gather everyone’s dishes.
“Is there cream for dessert? Would you like dessert?” he asked, not waiting for answers to either question before rushing off with their plates.
“I have a feeling I’m going on a quest for cream,” King Tordault murmured. “Is there anything further I can offer you this evening before I take my leave? The day has been more tiring than I expected.”
“I think I want to work a little later, if I might?” replied Olivia. He inclined his head to her.
“Any door you find unlocked is yours to enter freely. The library is yours, as is the gallery, should you choose to make use of it,” he said.
“I’ll come check on you before I get in bed,” Pickett added, getting to her feet as well. “I’ve got a treaty to finish drafting that I want to get sent in the morning. Shouldn’t take me too long. And we’ll make certain you’ve got a room set up before we all fall asleep around you.”
Olivia gave her thanks, bowed her respects, and left quickly, the intimacy with royalty still leaving her flustered for no logical reason. She struggled not to pay attention to the murals lining the main hallways of the palace as she crossed it again. Paintings she had studied and copied in her training, she knew them well already, and they would be better lit in the morning. She would make certain to look them over on her way to breakfast. For now, however, their different styles would only influence her own, coercing her to change lines she had set already. Smiling, she thought of the mess her home in Portown would be in by the time she returned. Her steps quickened.
Returning to the library, the space seemed more intimate than it had when she had first arrived that morning. Perhaps she was becoming used to the scale of the palace, or the time she had spent here had left her comfortable with the feel of the room. Wood and paper had comforting smells, like the feel of home. It seemed silly to move her whole set-up, so Olivia opted to leave everything in place. She did, however, locate a small table that was resting between a pair of chairs a few aisles over, and carried it over to her easel, so she could rest her pencils somewhere easier.
The library was quiet for almost an hour while Olivia worked. She erased very little, primarily drawing over lines she had sketched roughly before, defining and filling forms where they ought to be. She got the details of Pickett’s book and the armchair while they were available for her perusal, and scribbled in the outline of the standard background she had seen in every Advisor portrait in the gallery before. She wondered vaguely if such a room, wood-walled with blue velvet curtains, had ever existed. Perhaps it was somewhere in the palace. She would ask tomorrow. Tonight, it did not matter.
Olivia did not notice that she was becoming tired at all until the sound of footsteps caught her by suprise.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Pickett Randolph said, a steaming teapot in one hand, two mugs in the other. “I thought I’d check in. You’re very quiet in here.”
“No, no, I…” Olivia looked back to her drawing, realizing suddenly that she hadn’t taken a break in too long and had started to retrace lines that she had considered finished before. “I think I need interrupting sometimes. I take it for granted at home.”
“It’s rare for us to have such a peaceful night, too. Nehemiah and Nora both work too late. So do I frequently. But we’ve all been too active lately, with the changeover. And poor Henry. Resting tonight is good for us.”
“Were you close with Advisor Hotspur?” Olivia asked her as Pickett set the cups down on the table and began to fill them.
“Not as close as I am with these two. Eleanor’s family at this point, and the Smedleys may as well be. My Kingston home, for when I can’t get to Lakepost. My siblings are scattered, and so are their families. We don’t see each other as often as we like. Family is important.” Sitting down across from Olivia, Pickett sipped her tea a moment while Olivia tried to think of something else to say. “Does your daughter like to draw as well?”
“More than anything, it seems,” answered Olivia, grateful to be given a subject she could talk about easily. “She’s an active little girl, likes to take her things outside and play with them. She’ll sketch quietly beside me for five minutes, then run ten laps around the street, then be ready to settle again. She’s starting to express an interest in magic, too. We live next door to the local caster. I don’t know how I’m going to convince her to wait until she’s old enough.”
“We’re having the same problem with Devraj. I thought having Eleanor around might halt that, but he’s fascinated by her. Sees the sparkle and doesn’t listen when she tries to tell him all the problems it can cause. I’d blame Henry showing off for him, but they were having so much fun,” a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth in memory. “I didn’t have the heart to tell them off then, and I wouldn’t now either.”
“Pickett?”
The voice rang suddenly around the corner, not too loud, but quite desperate.
“Pickett? Please be up. I’ve done something horrible only I can’t figure… what… oh.” Eleanor appeared at the table from around the close-by bookshelf, clearly startled by the extra company. She might have been crying, but it was hard to tell under her mess of hair and panicked expression.
“How was dinner?” Pickett asked, in what Olivia thought was not the most consoling way. She seemed to be attempting to hide laughter.
“Fine, er…” Eleanor looked cautiously to Olivia, who raised her mug in the most encouraging way she could think of.
“Dinner?” Pickett pressed. Eleanor gave her one more desperate look, then collapsed in the chair beside her.
“It was wonderful,” she moaned, burying her face on crossed arms. “You know that. You know how it went, don’t make me.”
“What went wrong?” Pickett tried instead, Olivia beginning to realize that whatever was happening was some long-standing, perhaps frequent, problem.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Eleanor admitted, raising her head off of her elbows long enough for one pronounced shrug. “It was perfect, it was glorious, he walked me all the way back here from Southside, completely out of the way, and in the courtyard we talked a little longer, and then, just as he was saying goodnight, his hand comes up, he leaned down – I nearly fainted – and then, then,” Here was clearly the trouble, “He just bolted. I don’t understand. He gets this horrified look on his face, and he just ran away. Full sprinting, I kid you not.” Pickett raised a hand to rub Eleanor’s back gently. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”
“Nothing, dear,” Pickett murmured. Her voice was much gentler now, though a laugh was still crinkling the corners of her mouth and eyes. “You didn’t do anything. Malik just scared himself with his own forwardness. I’ve seen Nehemiah do that, too.”
“He-he’s never—” Eleanor protested through the beginnings of hiccups.
“I suspect so,” Pickett interrupted with airy confidence. “I suspect this is the first time he’s realized how easy it would be for him to kiss you.”
“He’s not that much of an idiot, Pickett,” Eleanor huffed back.
“You might be surprised. Both of you,” Pickett returned, carefully not calling Eleanor dumb, though Olivia heard the implied jab just fine. Eleanor merely gave a long-suffering sigh and readjusted her head on her arms. Pickett continued to rub the girl’s back gently for a minute, while giving Olivia a series of knowing looks that explained the whole story with incredible specificity. Not that Olivia needed much more information. Malik, for the one moment she had seen the young man, was obviously head over heels for Eleanor. She made a quick note to herself to sketch the two of them together during some break tomorrow. Sometimes, the visual aid could be very useful in these matters.
“Get in bed, dear. It’s been a long day. Things will be easier with rest,” Pickett suggested eventually. It did not initially appear that Eleanor would heed this advice, but after a moment she shifted, raised her head, and gave an absent nod. “Can you make it yourself?”
Eleanor responded with another vague nod as she stood and turned around, her hair bobbing out of sync with her head. Olivia heard a mumbling that sounded like it might have said, “I’m a big girl,” and something about, “Advisors to the bleeding crown got to bleeding look after themselves.” But she couldn’t be certain of the exact wording. Pickett gave a wave over her shoulder, which was returned by the retreating Eleanor, neither of them having possibly seen each others’ gestures, both women visibly happy knowing they’d been returned.
“Believe it or not, she’s the most proper of the lot of us when she’s feeling well,” Pickett said as soon as the echoing footsteps had faded into the hallway.
“She has the most to prove. I believe it at once,” Olivia replied. “How long has that been going on exactly?” Pickett raised a weary hand to her forehead.
“Nearly ten years now. Stars, ten years too long at that,” she answered. “I’d call it love at first sight, but the boy was slightly too young to recognize what he was feeling and by the time he caught on, Eleanor was already pushing back against her own hopes and it started a decade-long spiral. Poor idiots. He’s got a bad case of poor timing and she has the worst luck I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I wouldn’t call living in a palace as a Royal Advisor the worst luck,” Olivia pointed out.
“You’ve heard she’s a prodigy. I’m sure you know some part of her story. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d wring both her parents’ necks. A girl of Eleanor’s charm and talents with the usual amount of fortune would be a benevolent dictator of the entire world right now. I believe the world provides the powerful and the powerless with certain balances, but damn if it doesn’t take all of her magic to keep holes from appearing under her feet.” Pickett gave a heavy sigh. “But we were speaking of easier things.”
“I may be an outsider,” Olivia cut in before Pickett could change the subject on her. “But it takes one look to see those two will make it. Give them time. They’re bound to get there.”
Dragging her teacup back up to her gently smiling lips, Pickett returned, “My title for your optimism.” She picked up the pot as though to refill it before changing the subject again, but was interrupted once more before she could manage it by the sound of running footsteps. This time, a tall woman came gracefully around the corner, taking not one more step than she absolutely needed. Full and imposing, she had long, dark hair that curled freely down her back, and the strong sort of nose that Olivia associated with ancient portraits rather than living people. She looked at Pickett with such intensity that Olivia was at once sure that international secrets needed conveyance.
“Have you seen Eleanor tonight?” the woman whispered in a low, quick voice.
“You just missed her, Amna. We calmed her down. How’s Malik?”
“Still muttering nonsense to his father as far as I know,” Amna Smedley groaned. “Eleanor was the more pressing concern as we couldn’t quite understand the state in which he’d left her.”
“Confused, primarily,” Pickett chuckled. Frowning, Amna took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes a moment before taking the three last steps to where they were sitting. She did not join them, but rested on hand on the table’s edge as she spoke.
“Dinner goes too well, and they both lose their heads. What are we going to do?”
“I didn’t see you as the type for craving grandchildren,” Pickett retorted with a laugh. Amna’s returning scowl forced Olivia to take a large sip of cold tea. “Have you tried locking them in a room together after Harvest Fest?”
Amna Smedley’s scowl deepened as she murmured, “We’ll have to coordinate their intoxication schedules better. They keep managing to thwart the best laid plans. If only the armed forces could hold a barrier so well.”
“Talk to Triss,” Pickett told her. “Nora won’t take a drink from my hand anymore.”
“I’m surprised it took her this long,” Amna quipped back, pushing off from the table again. “I can’t stay. If Eleanor’s been seen to, then I should return at once, but I needed to be sure.”
“How long have they been alone?” Pickett asked airily as Amna began to turn around.
“Too long.” Amna tried calling over her shoulder, but in her glance she caught sight of Olivia at the table, seemingly for the first time. Her steps paused, unsteady, and her eyes narrowed, as though she were trying to remember Olivia’s name. Olivia thought Pickett would make some introduction, but she either hesitated too long, or never noticed what was happening, for a moment later Amna’s face had cleared. She gave Olivia the smallest of nods and swept out purposefully.
“Report in the morning,” Pickett called after her. Amna did not answer, though Pickett smiled as she picked up the teapot again.
“You are all more familiar with each other than I had expected,” said Olivia after the footsteps had faded away.
“It comes from living down the hall from each other,” Pickett explained, refilling Olivia’s cup. “The Smedleys don’t sleep in the palace, but they do nearly everything else here. The rest of us have quartered here since Nora came ten years ago. You start to feel like a family once you’ve shared that many meals.” Replacing the pot on the table, Pickett tilted her head to the left, a light smile touching her lips as she inspected the large sketch beside Olivia. “You work quickly. Are your brushes as fast as your pencil?”
“Frequently, but not always. I’d say two days to be safe, but there’s a chance I could finish tomorrow if I start early.”
“You will be paid for your time, however much it takes,” Pickett replied.
“I can’t leave my family for so long,” said Olivia. “A ten year old girl and her father trying to look after themselves? I’d come home to find the house full of fish and sweets and nothing else.”
“Why not bring them along? Devraj would appreciate a playmate,” Pickett suggested.
The small, sad smile Olivia gave answered Pickett’s question without elaboration.
“We nearly have it under control.”
“She’s had a cough for a month,” Olivia said. “Thank you, but I can’t take chances. Not with my daughter.”
“Of course.”
Silence settled in for a moment, then for another, growing easier the longer it stayed. When she had finished her tea, Olivia picked up her pencils again, and turned back to the easel at her side, giving it a fresh look. She lowered the lids on Pickett’s eyes, just a hair. It calmed her face appropriately. Not the energy of youth, but that of care, of devotion. Olivia knew that energy well. It was the careful balance of family: the supporter, the defender, and the advocate. Eleanor would take on the active role. She had the most to prove. Pickett Randolph was a comfort, matriarch of all of Ampany.
“Tell you what. Let me get one of those postcards from the stall out by the front gates in the morning. I’ll get the whole palace to sign it and you can show your daughter what you were doing that way.”
“There’s no need for you to go through so much trouble,” Olivia said.
“Nonsense. No trouble at all.” Pickett stood as she spoke, picking up the pot and her cup with gentle clinking. “It’s that sort of odd trinket that reminded me that such things were within my reach as a child. Portown should have the same opportunities. Been a while since we had someone from that side of the mountains come over. Who knows. You could have a young ambassador in the family. Even an Advisor to the Crown.”
Olivia found herself smiling at the thought, absurd as it was.
“If you could, one that looks like a watercolor would be lovely. She’s been interested in learning those lately.”
“I have just the thing,” Pickett replied. “Knock on Eleanor’s door if you need anything. Girl never sleeps. She’ll be happy to help.”
Olivia thanked her, then returned to her sketch once more. She thickened Nehemiah Smedley’s legs and boots, curled the tips of Eleanor’s fingers slightly, she was so young. Olivia debated placing a ring on her finger, but it felt like too much. There would be one the next time she had this done, for certain. Accuracy was essential to such portraits, if the record was to be kept straight. Though she had the sudden feeling that Pickett Randolph would not mind inaccuracies of a certain sort. History was full of them, after all.
She coughed out a tickle in the base of her throat, and put pencil to paper again.