TWENTY-FOUR YEARS EARLIER.
"HURRY IT UP, will you?" Tevenot Rangelov snapped, fidgeting with the ring on his index finger. As he twisted it from side to side, the ruby encrusted in it caught the light. "I do not have all day."
Outside, cold winds howled and battered against the castle. Winter had breathed death into the village—stealing the leaves from trees, making flowers wither and die, sinking teeth of frost into skin. Icicles hung from branches like upside down cathedral spires and gusts of wind conducted the chaotic dance of snowflakes as they drifted down from the sky.
Haelan Arundel stood facing Tevenot's throne, an easel between them. He did not so much as lift his head to acknowledge Tevenot's words.
Tevenot pursed his lips. "He's pretending he can't hear me."
"He is deaf, Tevenot," said an exasperated voice.
Tevenot casted a sidelong glance at Tyndarios, who was scraping the dirt from beneath his nails with the tip of a dagger.
"He's also blind, apparently, yet he seems perfectly capable of painting portraits nonetheless," Tevenot reasoned with narrowed eyes. "No—the bastard sees and hears what he chooses to. I don't trust him."
Tevenot would never admit it aloud, but Haelan Arundel made him uneasy. With skin like worn leather and irises a blue so pale they blended in with the whites of his eyes, he appeared more reptilian than human. Beyond his physical appearance, however, it was his aura that made the hair on the back of Tevenot's neck stand on end. The way his unseeing eyes darted around the room suggested that though he did not have his vision, he was seeing far more than everyone else.
"Might I remind you that it was your choice to commission him, not mine. I suppose it makes sense," Tyndarios mused.
"How so?"
"You are so displeasing to the eye that only a blind man could make your portrait any good," he replied, looking pleased with himself. He tossed his dagger into the air and it hovered there, spinning madly. Hanging above their heads, it looked like a star.
The persistent jealousy that ate away at Tevenot the way maggots ate away at decaying flesh flared angrily. He should've been accustomed to the feeling by now—he buried it, put the maggots back in the ground where they belonged. "Oh shut up," he replied, rolling his eyes.
Tyndarios flashed Tevenot a toothy grin. He allowed the dagger to fall into his hand and caught it by the hilt. Spinning around on his heel, he made his way over to the thrones and sat on the arm of the queen's vacant one. Together, the two men surveyed the painter, watching as he guided his brush across the canvas in front of him.
"How old is it, anyway?" Tyndarios sneered, gesturing in Haelan's direction.
"Two thousand," Tevenot deadpanned. "I don't know. I cannot exactly ask it. It is also mute."
"By God, Tevenot, why did you commission such a degenerate?"
"He is said to be the greatest painter in all of Bonvalet," the king explained. He regarded the dirty rags that Haelan was wearing with disdain and added, "I'll have to have the servants scrub every inch of this place clean after allowing such filth to ent—"
Tevenot was interrupted by a gurgling sound. He watched in horror as Haelan's eyes rolled back in their sockets and a stream of blood poured from the corner of his mouth. He thought that the man must have been dying—but then Haelan began to paint faster, as if in a trance.
He snapped his fingers, and the canvas split in three. Then, without a word, he began striding towards the exit.
Tevenot rose from his throne and rushed over to see Haelan's work. There were three paintings, but none were the portrait he had commissioned.
"HAELAN ARUNDEL! What is this nonsense? You have not done what was asked of you. GUARDS! STOP HIM!" Tevenot boomed.
Guards began to swarm around him, but before they could grab him, a dagger went sailing through the air and pierced through the back of Haelan's neck. The man fell to the floor, dead.
Tevenot whirled around to look at Tyndarios, who frowned.
"My aim is usually much better than that," Tyndarios sighed. He reached into his pocket and produced another dagger. He chewed on his bottom lip in concentration as he threw the dagger; it met its mark, right through the heart of one of the guards. A smug smile tugged at Tyndarios's lips. "Much better."
In all honesty, Tevenot was more relieved than irritated at Haelan Arundel's passing, but he had spent months building up his guards' trust. He couldn't have Tyndarios tear it down within seconds.
"This is precisely why you cannot rule a country," Tevenot said through gritted teeth. "Killing for sport is not the way of kings."
"Why do you kill then, O Wise One?"
"Disobedience," Tevenot stated. "Misconduct. Hazard. Vengeance. You cannot simply kill whomever you please. You must have something to hold over the heads of your subordinates."
"My dear brother," Tyndarios crooned, "where's the fun in that?"
