The painting has indeed formed a more violent-looking pattern. The texture has shifted to something spiky as opposed to the smooth, sweeping strokes that it started with. It looks like a colorful exploding star.
The impulse to run is so strong that I take a step toward the door. The last thing I need is a room full of art that will reveal to Henry everything that’s tucked safely in my heart.
Henry seems content in here. Normally, there is a controlled rigidnessto his body. His movements are purposeful and swift, and when he’s at rest, he’s always preternaturally still.
As I relax, the painting starts to morph again. Henry brushes his fingers over my hip. The silk is so thin, I can feel the heat of his skin.
“Who painted them?” I ask, watching the painting shift again.
“My sister.”
I stop breathing for a second and crane my neck to look at him. “How did she make these if her magic was protection?”
Henry hesitates, but there’s pride in his eyes as he watches the paintings in front of us shift. “Holly was twice-blessed. Once by Vardek and once by Polm.”
My mouth falls open from the sheer shock. I’ve witnessed years of Divine baptisms, but never once have I seen someone blessed by more than one Divine. I know it’s possible, because my parents drilled into us to be very vigilant that we didn’t miss any more subtle blessings. But if the well here is more powerful, perhaps it bestows more frequent double blessings—ones that we have no records of.
He hums low. “Holly had an incredibly inventive mind. She understood how to blend her magics in very creative ways. The way she described it was that she wanted to turn her art into protection, and what could protect my family better than having art around the house that would let us know if our allies were still our allies? That would give us insights into how they are feeling. She channeled the gift of reading emotions—the base of manipulation magic—into each piece so that it would display a feeling.”
I’m stunned. My magic has always been a burden, and while I found a way to transform it into something useful, I’ve never been able to imagine uses beyond just varying the different types of poisons based on plants I learned about.
This art is brilliant not just in its practicality, but in the tremendous skill and creativity that it requires to learn to channel the Divine’s gifts in a new way. Most blessed by Polm think only about how to use it to manipulate other people, but that manipulation comes from a deep understanding of someone’s emotions and how to read them. She would have had to weave half of that magic into the painting at the same time she channeled in the protection magic.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
The pride on Henry’s face is endearing. Much as I loathe him, I respect this sincerity. He loved his sister, but that love means the kind of grief that endures. That grief might be the thing that gets me killed. I need to be careful. If he brought me here, it’s because he wants a glimpse at how I’m feeling.
I watched Aidia learn to go from small glamours and appearance changes to freestanding illusions as large as changing the entire facade of our family estate. It’s difficult to learn to use that skill in new ways—only the most Divine-blessed can do it—and that was just for one type of blessing.
Looking at Holly Havenwood’s art leaves me breathless.
“It interprets all feelings?” I ask.
“They all show different aspects of a person. This one is the strongest emotion at the moment.” He nudges me to the right, in front of a narrow rectangular piece. “This one shows desires.”
The painting looks vaguely like a sunset over the mountains. It has a pulsing energy that brushes against my skin when I step closer. A beat thrums through me, and suddenly I feel like I’m back in the ceremony room, Henry looming over me, the ache of pleasure beating through my blood and?—
I step back, out of reach of the painting. All the colors have bled away from the center, leaving a black abyss and a set of dark blue eyes looking back at me. Henry’s eyes.
“Bleeding woods,” I grumble.
Henry chuckles in my ear. “Glad to know I made enough of an impression that you associate me with desire, lovely.”
If I react, it will just give him more satisfaction, so I hold perfectly still, trying to will my desire into anything else.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
His question snaps me back to the present moment.
I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s too close. This intimacy isn’t a performance like last night. That was meant to convince everyone else. This performance is meant to convince me, but I’m not that easy.
“I told you, everything you did was fine. I’m a little sore, but not in a bad way.”
His gaze heats, and he licks his lips. “I healed all of your bruises while you slept.” He slides his hand up higher so his knuckles brush theunderside of my breast. “I told you that you’d still feel me today, but I meant how is your head?”
Warmth creeps through my blood, but I refuse to let him ruffle me. “It’s fine.”
“No pain since the well?” he asks.
