The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 5 (beta test) (Patreon)

I’m giving myself six months before I say screw it and run out of here. Adam may have had a plan, but he wasn’t married to it. He was absolutely not going to stay there for twenty years. He was, however, willing to spend six months there to learn more about the world…and to test out a theory.

To do that, he had to find out more about Aspreay. What made the man tick? Why was he the way he was?

Adam’s next few days were more comfortable than anticipated. He expected to be little more than a prisoner, but was instead quickly moved to an isolated room in the back of the castle. Sure, the place wasn’t really much better than his cell, but at least it was more dignified.

The day after that, Lord Aspreay called upon him. “Observe and paint,” he said, in a dry voice. “I want you in the Great Hall with me. Find a quiet corner and stay quiet. Your job is to capture what you see. Paint me as I respond to petitioners, meet with foreign lords, and conduct my business. Capture me rightly, yes? Do not commit to the canvas any imperfections. Are you capable of it?”

“Yes, my lord,” Adam responded, bowing gracefully. “It will be my honor.” Posh bastard.

“Will you capture my image beautifully and accurately?”

Adam smiled. “I will capture it beautifully.”

The lord nodded. “Wonderful.” This appeared to satisfy him. “Go set yourself up then.”

Adam quickly found a corner. The castle’s servants set him up with canvases, tarps, and other supplies. It was an odd place to work, but he could make do.

There were worse things to endure.

“My lord, I – I have come here to…” The hunchback trailed off, aiming eyes low and hat crumbling between shaky hands. He was quiet, but his mouth was hung open and his lips quivered faster than the sweat dripping from his forehead. “I…I have…come…to….”

“Speak.” Lord Aspreay’s voice cut like an icy knife. “Let us not pretend we do not understand what our roles are. A petitioner petitions, and a ruler rules. I cannot fulfill my role until you fulfill yours.”

The hunchback took this as encouragement. Adam wasn’t sure he should have. “My lord, thank you! I…” He shook his head and appeared to gain some confidence. “Winter will be harsh this year, you see, and…and my family will starve. W–we can barely afford to pay for our house, let alone our food!”

Lord Aspreay’s voice remained unchanged from its businesslike tone. “Why?”

“My lord?” The man looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Why will your family starve? I would not call you young, so this is clearly not your first winter. Your family did not starve last winter. What differs?” Lord Aspreay leaned forward on his throne. “Have you gambled away your Orbs?”

“No!” the petitioner cried out. “My lord, I used to be a blacksmith. Every year until the last, I used to work day and night to provide for my family. The fire from my forge kept us warm, and the weapons I sold kept us fed. But the incident with those foreigners…”

“Ah.” Aspreay relaxed into his throne, leaning back and resting the side of his head on three outstretched fingers. When he spoke again, the lord’s tone was solemn. “You have been a hunchback ever since?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How much do you need to live through winter?”

“Five – five thousand orbs, my lord. We are a family of five.”

Lord Aspreay nodded at his cloaked servant. “Roland, give this man and his family six thousand Orbs.” Before the petitioner could react, Aspreay added, “You will not receive this boon again. Make sure your sons are trained to take over your job come spring.”

Adam’s hands joined the applause that followed, even if his heart did not. There were plenty of cheers and boisterous claims that their lord was just, kind, but how many of them actually meant it? Probably not too many. Anyone standing in this hall knew that kissing the lord’s ass was probably the best way to stay alive.

Then again…I didn’t expect that, Adam considered as he watched on. Aspreay handed the purse of Orbs to the man, then waved him off. I saw him launch an innocent woman through the goddamn walls just because she went to a different city first. How come he’s behaving like this? Is he kind to his citizens, just not to foreigners?

It sounded like a good hypothesis, but it was disproven only two days later, when another petitioner knelt before the throne. This one announced himself as Conde, a once-farmer.

“Our farmhouse burned down, milord, nothin’ left but ashes,” he pleaded. “We don’t have the Orbs to build it again, not even close. It’s been a good season, milord but if we don’t have somewhere to store it…”

Aspreay held a hand to silence him. The lord studied a piece of parchment Roland had brought him, and nobody dared speak. The farmer remained kneeling on the ground, visibly trembling as he waited. Throughout it all the lord would occasionally sigh, look up at the petitioner, then glanced back at the parchment.

“We have need of this farmhouse,” Aspreay muttered. “Our city cannot afford to waste valuable grain come winter. Roland, see to it that the storage house is rebuilt—”

“Thank you milord,” the farmer cried out, bowing on his knees, “you are the kindest, most wise—”

“—and then start the process of handing the farm to someone else,” he finished, in a bored tone. “Hand me a list of candidates with a farming adjacent Talent. Give me their background, family history, everything our archives have on them. We need that list done in a few days, you hear me?”

Roland nodded at once. The farmer stood up, mouth hanging open and eyes so wide his eyelids appeared hidden. “Milord, have mercy! My family…it was an accident! It couldn’t be avoided!”

“It hardly matters why the infernal thing burnt down,” Lord Aspreay fired back. “If by accident, then you should have been more careful. If by victim of some lowlife, then you should have protected it better. What matters is that Penumbria cannot afford to lose our crops. As for your punishment–”

What the hell, Adam thought, forcing himself to focus on his canvas, are your priorities? Why did you punish this man and not the last? Are you just hardcore set into protecting the city even at the cost of its citizens? Is that it?

Adam was hesitant to describe Lord Aspreay as having a set of principles. In truth, he was hesitant to describe him at all. There was something weird about him.

Maybe…he’s just a utilitarian psycho who justifies sacrifices by telling himself that it’s for the greater good…or something. It was the only theory that didn’t conflict with anything else so far. It would explain why he let Adam live, why he banished that woman, why he helped the hunchback blacksmith, and why he hadn’t helped that last man.

Well, mostly. There was nothing about the injured blacksmith that really benefited the city. Maybe Aspreay needed the man to pass down his skills to his sons? It was a bit odd, but Adam still felt like it was a valid theory.

When he’d finally set himself on accepting that as the likely truth, Lord Aspreay disproved it the very next day.

“…that is why I was wondering if maybe, maybe you could give me aid, milord?” the petitioner begged. This one had the Talent of carpentry. He’d worked as a builder up until the day he fell from a two-story building and broke his back. Adam paid careful attention to his story, noting that there was nothing the man had done wrong. “I–I do not ask it for free. If there is anything a man with a broken back can do for you, milord, please tell me. My life is yours.”

Aspreay remained silent for longer than usual. He set his wine glass on the throne’s arm. His face turned dark, his brows furrowed, and his eyes shifted over the parchment multiple times. Twice he opened his mouth before closing it again without saying anything. At one point he called Roland over, gestured at the parchment, then sent him away. When the cloaked servant returned with a different roll of sheets and a shake of his head, the lord let his head hang low for a moment before speaking.

“We cannot help you,” Aspreay said, without looking up. “Penumbria suffers. We can only offer our prayers.”

“Milord, I beg of you, my family–”

“Guards,” Aspreay said, in a tired tone, “take him away.” Then, hesitantly, added, “Be gentle. Do not hurt him further. This is a good man.”

“MILORD—!”

Only the carpenter’s desperate screams echoed throughout the Great Hall. The tables full of nobles and royal guards didn’t dare to move a muscle. No one even sipped their drink. Long after the double-doors had shut and sealed the petitioner away, the silence remained, growing thicker, denser by the second.

Then, without warning, Aspreay shattered his wine glass against the wall and shouted, “DAMNED BE THE EMPEROR!”

No one dared to even look in his direction. No one but Adam, who studied him from behind his canvas with a burning curiosity. What exactly are your morals, Aspreay?

“That bastard – our people are suffering! Does he have no heart? Someone should kill–”

Roland put a hand to his arm. “My lord, those are dangerous words to utter.”

Aspreay shook the hand off, but did not finish the threat. Instead, he grit his teeth and said, “We cannot help them. There’s not enough bloody Orbs for the amount of people we…we need more!”

The lord lifted his gaze and aimed it at his courtiers. None dared to look at him, and Adam felt all too relieved that Aspreay appeared to have forgotten of his existence. The painter thought that maybe the lord planned on laying some of the blame at his courtiers’ feet. Reason prevailed, and instead he merely stood from his throne and stormed out of the Great Hall.

He only came back an hour later, appeased by a theater troupe brought on to perform for him, and by the Great Hall being converted into a stage. After the second fight scene, he cracked a smile, and by the time the juggler performed their soliloquy he nearly appeared back to normal.

Once he called forth a lavish dinner and was greeted by a particularly indulgent display of meat, it was as if the incident had never happened.

--

Aspreay was serious about not allowing Adam to speak a single word. If not for Tenver, Adam was pretty certain he’d have forgotten the sound of his own voice. Not that it would be the first time that happened. Between part-time jobs and his school workload, he was pretty used to being alone.

Both he and Tenver were lacking in friends and found themselves drinking a nightly cup of tea. Adam was neither allowed to speak in the Great Hall nor leave the castle at all, so his room was where they met.

“Okay, I’m gonna be honest – I really don’t get this guy,” Adam grumbled. “He’s always ready to send someone flying. Banishment, execution, he’s down with everything. But sometimes he seems like…he genuinely wants to help. Like he’s frustrated when he can’t.”

Tenver laughed. It looked genuine, but Adam detected a note of bitterness. “Aspreay is…difficult. There’s good in him, yet I can’t deny his good actions anymore than I can deny his atrocities.”

Well, at least the lord seemed as odd to everyone else as he did to Adam. If everyone in this world was that weird, he might have just given up.

“I need to understand that bastard,” Adam muttered. “Need to find out what exactly drives him.”

Tenver leaned forward. “That’s good. Don’t lose that spirit.” He stared straight at Adam, his gaze turning more serious. “Everyone around here likes to consider him insane. They assume he can’t be reasoned with.”

“You disagree?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Not quite. But we need to reason with him regardless, so who cares if he’s mad? Things have to change. The city…”

Adam remembered the tumor growing from the side of decayed houses. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Things can’t stay like this. They have to change, and only Aspreay has a Lord Talent. No one else does.”

“I take it…that’s a rare talent?”

Tenver stared at him blankly before realization dawned on him. “Sometimes I forget that you forgot,” he joked. “Yeah. It’s one of the rarest Talents there are. It’s not one you can just learn. You have to be born with the aptitude for it.”

There was another brief note of bitterness on Tenver’s face. He’s a nobleman, but his Talent is Swordsmanship, not Lordship. Maybe his parents had it and he didn’t? “I guess that means you can’t just request the Emperor to send a replacement, huh.”

“No, because first of all that would be treason,” Tenver laughed. “But second of all, yeah, the Empire doesn’t always have enough lords laying around waiting to be used. And even if they do, they wouldn’t be in a hurry to send someone here. We are at the edge of the Empire, way too close to the Rot.”

Adam considered asking more about the Rot. It felt like he could ask more about it, and yet…something kept his words from leaving his throat. He didn’t know why. Yes, it might be dangerous if people found out he was from another world…but surely he could trust Tenver at least a little bit, right?

Trust doesn’t come easy, Adam thought, bitterly.

Better to be safe. People here were paranoid about the Rot – they’d nearly executed him just because he mentioned fighting a monster that had been affected by it. What if they thought he was a weird death cultist or something? No reason to risk it. He could find out more about it through osmosis, just by remaining on the court.

“I don’t get that guy….” Adam muttered. “Wish he made a bit more sense. Guess I gotta keep trying ’til I figure him out.”

Tenver widened his grin. “That’s right. Don’t give up that attitude. Things aren’t perfect, but we have to approach it properly. Using force alone won’t solve anything – we need to have a dialogue with him. Aspreay isn’t a good ruler, but I don’t think he’s beyond salvation. There is good in there, somewhere.”

Adam sighed and said nothing. He peered into his wine glass, contemplating his immediate plans. There was much he didn’t know about this world, but he was learning more and more every day. It would be easy to get complacent, to stay in the city for too long…and that was why he wanted to make sure his plans were moving forward.

Six months. I won’t allow myself to stay here any longer. Before that date, I have to understand Aspreay as much as I can. What makes him tick? Is there really ‘good’ in him like Tenver says?

--

One month in, and Adam was nowhere closer to understanding the man.

Aspreay’s judgment remained as passionate as it was unpredictable. At times he would show surprising kindness, and at others he would disdainfully – if not sadistically – enjoy dishing out punishment. Strangest of all, sometimes he expressed regret at the same decisions that, in the moment, he would make without batting an eye.

It was easy to think of him just as a madman, but there had to be more to it.

What was the pattern? There had to be one!

“Send him to the dungeons – he will remain there for twenty days, then be escorted in the next royal trading caravan to his home city,” Aspreay declared, to a man who entered Penumbria illegally.

“For your crimes, you will be banished,” Aspreay declared later that same day, to a man guilty of the same crime, from the same city as the one before. He flicked his wrist, and the man was sent flying through the dividing wall.

Occasionally he would grant Orbs to those begging for help, and sometimes he would banish them. Though he would wax poetry about their faults and favors regarding the city, there didn’t seem to be a noticeable difference between them.

The only common factor Adam noticed was that Aspreay tended to be less judgemental in the morning. BUT WHY?

It was during one such morning, when his mood was considerably better, that he seemed to remember Adam existed. For the first time since he’d welcomed him into the court, Aspreay walked up behind the canvases to see how his paintings were turning out.

“Remarkable,” he said, his mouth hanging open. “Utterly breathtaking.” He gestured at the set of canvases laid side by side. “Those are of the petitioners?”

Adam nodded. “My lord doesn’t usually see them for very long, so they aren’t very detailed for the most part.” Truthfully, Adam mostly sketched out an outline during the petitions and did the full painting later in his cell. He had nothing if not free time. Maybe the result wasn’t always completely accurate to what they looked like, but it was close enough.

“These are not very detailed?” the lord asked incredulously. “They look nearly like pictures!”

The lord stretched out his fingers toward one, when Adam cried out angrily, “Don’t!” He hadn’t meant to shout. It wasn’t until he saw the lord’s expression that he realized his mistake. Ah. Crap. Aspreay didn’t even look angry. His face was blank, his brow furrowed, as though Adam had spoken in a foreign language. Have to fix this somehow. What do I say? Ah—Ahh—

“The paint isn’t dry, my lord,” Adam told him. “It would be my….” How would someone from this world phrase this? He closed his eyes and drew a deep, if quick breath. “A stain on your fine clothes would be a stain on my honor, my lord.”

Slowly, surprise gave way to a satisfied smile. “Ah, of course. Your caution is appreciated, painter.” His eyes shifted back to the painting Adam was working on. “Still, I must say, your work is impressive. You have forgotten your life, but not your purpose. Good.”

Adam had to fight himself to not like the man a little.

He despised Aspreay’s abuse of power, his callousness towards matters of life and death. But the lord praised his art, and Adam hated how much it made him want to excuse the man’s other crimes.

“Marvelous,” the lord repeated. He remained in that awkward position, standing behind Adam with a hand to his shoulder in silence. Come on. What now? No shot you expect me to keep working like this. After a long pause, Aspreay said, “You will paint the city’s treasures at night.”

Adam noticed that he wasn’t given a choice on whether he would want to do that or not. He could understand the subtext well enough. “It will be my honor, my lord.”

“I will have a guard walk you to the treasure room and wait for you there,” Aspreay said. When Adam eyed him curiously, he said with a smirk, “Those are important treasures. Would you have me trust someone to be in the treasure room alone?”


His tone made it clear that the lord worried for both Adam and any of his guards attempting to do something with those treasures. “I would never ask you to trust anyone other than yourself, my lord.”

It was a callous response, and Adam nearly regretted it before he saw a smile creep into the noble’s face. “See, Adam, I knew I liked you for a reason. At times you understand things with greater deftness of wit than my advisors.”

In response, Adam smiled politely and nodded along. He’d amused the man, somehow, and didn’t mean to waste the chance. Gotta keep him happy. What should I say? He’ll probably smell out my bullshit if I’m not half-honest. What would he want to hear that I also would like to say?

Slowly, Adam opened his mouth, a bitter smile coming to his face. “I understand little, my lord, but I know the perils of trust.”

“Maybe I should banish Roland and have you become my advisor instead,” Aspreay laughed.

For that lone moment Adam imagined it all too clearly. With the position of advisor, he would slowly lead Aspreay toward slowly becoming less cruel, more practical. Maybe make him use his Orbs more wisely, in a way that benefited the common people of Penumbria more. In that vision, the reckless lord slowly saw the error of his ways and became a wiser, kinder version of himself. He even helped Adam find out why he had been sent to another world, purely out of the goodness in his heart.

Never gonna happen, Adam reminded himself. It wasn’t a distressing thought; just a realistic one. Dreams didn’t come true that easily. Someone like Aspreay could joke about it, but he would never elevate someone he saw as a ‘commoner’ to a high-ranking position in his court.

--

When that fateful night came, Adam allowed himself a moment to steady his nerves. Keep to the plan. Be nice. Find out more about Aspreay. The thoughts in his head were firm, but he still swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. He took one last deep breath before pushing the imposing doors open and stepping into the treasure room.

Immediately after stepping into the room, he felt the door close behind him. This probably should have concerned him, but instead he found himself captivated by the beauty of the room around him.

Every window was shut, but what little light that filtered in through their stained glass exteriors was hazy and beautiful. Even the flickering torches appeared to emit a soft, fading light that gave the whole room a sort of dream-like feeling. From the beautiful, red carpet on the floor, to the finely woven tapestries draped over each wall that depicted the town's former lords, there was not one direction Adam could aim his eyes at without finding something beautiful.

He would have moved on to admiring the ancient weapons and artifacts if not for the smell that proceeded to invade his nostrils.

Damp stone and stale wine told the story to his nose before his eyes learned it from the sight of Lord Aspreay, slouched on a stained chair. The lord glared at Adam in silence, his eyes bloodshot and his hand holding a goblet still half-full with wine. “What the devil are you doing here, painter?”

I can smell the drunkness from here. He looks worse than someone after finals week. “You requested me to paint your treasures, my lord,” Adam said, politely.

“Wha—ah!” Realization seemed to dawn on Aspreay mid-sentence. The lord raised the goblet to his face in a long, if unsteady gulp. Some wine dripped down his chin and he didn't appear to care. “Well, get on with it then!”

“Of course, my lord.”

Adam moved his painting materials to the furthest corner from the lord and tried to make himself look like less of a target. He had never seen the man look like this before. Even after work for the day was done and his courtiers took pleasure in their opulent feasts, Aspreay always kept himself sober. Not so now.

What sorrow was he drowning?

Adam didn’t plan on finding out. He was just going to stay in a corner, say nothing, and leave to his room as soon as–

He felt a sudden gust of wind shooting beside his head as something brushed against his skin.

A moment later, he heard the clang of metal striking against the stone walls, followed by a splash of liquid that nearly stained the tapestries. The goblet had narrowly missed his face. Adam touched the side of his cheeks, feeling where the metal had grazed him. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Lord Aspreay staring at him.

Was he going to say anything? He’d thrown a fucking goblet at him without any reason whatsoever. He couldn’t just stay silent and glare at Adam to move on with his life, could he?

The ensuing silence said that yes, he could. Rich bastard. What the hell was he thinking? What if he’d damaged those works of art? Did he think he could just buy more?! Those tapestries looked ancient – they were clearly irreplaceable!

Maybe that was his way of saying he didn’t want Adam to paint anymore. Testing that theory, he cast a glance at the closed doors.

“Stay,” Aspreay barked out in a low voice. “Stay, Painter.”

The lord’s eyes flashed a glint of danger. His right hand flickered, and a familiar sensation that reality was shifting overcame Adam all at once. He didn’t need his tablet to know what was happening – the Lord Talent was active now.

A visible blue wind swirled in a loop before touching the wall. Even without attempting, Adam knew the exit door wouldn’t open anymore.

His hand leaped to his throat at the sudden pressure he felt there. A painful, invisible force was squeezing tight, lifting him to where his feet no longer touched the ground. Is he going to send me flying or just strangle me to death? Both ways would end in death. As his consciousness began to fade, Adam desperately tried to think of a way to free himself – yet it was another thought that spoke louder.

Maybe he should just let it happen.

Nothing had felt real since he had come to this world. And even before then, it wasn’t like there’d been a hell of a lot to live for, anyway. Would it really be so bad to die right there?

A part of him hoped that the thought would spark an intense outrage inside of him, a burning desire to live that would bloom into a fiery explosion.

No such thing happened.

Ah, well. Had a good run. Might as well–

It was here that Adam caught sight of Aspreay’s face. He saw much in that expression. Anger, entitlement, pride, arrogance. Everything that came with being someone like him. And it was here that yet another thought screamed inside his head, louder than the desire to live, louder even than the desire to die: I REFUSE TO LET THAT BASTARD LAUGH AT MY CORPSE.

Adam turned his body around. It did nothing to free himself from the invisible hand strangling him, but it would hide his hands from the lord at least. Stained Ink, Adam called in his mind. The corrupted, tumorous growth spawned from within his palm, slithering around his wrist and moving toward the invisible hand. It did nothing to stop the force.

Maybe it didn’t even realize it was being touched.

There was no way a Viscount Talent could be undone by an Apprentice Talent. Adam understood that much.

That’s fine. Surviving is optional – ruining his life is mandatory.

Aspreay was terrified of the Rot, the tumor, the Stained Monsters. Adam wanted to cover the invisible hand with as much of the Stained Vines as he could, then turn around at once to horrify the man. Even if–

Without warning, the invisible force dropped him to the ground.

“What the hell am I doing?” Lord Aspreay angrily cursed. Adam looked over his shoulder and saw the drunken lord staring at the floor. “Just keep painting, you hear me?”

I could escape right now, he thought. It might be his only chance. The lord was drunk to the point of unsteadiness, and Adam could probably break down the door and run out of the castle, run out of the city even.

And then what?

He’d tried surviving outside the city. It hadn’t really worked out too well. There was a reason why Lords ruled; their power was one of the few things that could keep people safe from monsters.

No…he had a plan, and he was going to stick to it. Slowly, Adam recalled the Stained Ink into his being and drew a deep breath. With a fake smile, he stood up like nothing ever happened, and walked toward his canvas.

THREE MORE MONTHS, he shouted inside his head. After that I’m done putting up with this. That’s my limit. At least tonight tells me that–

“Son of a whore!” Aspreay shouted. Adam turned around and was surprised to see the lord wasn’t talking about him. He was looking at the floor, whipping his hand toward it as if throwing another, nonexistent goblet. “How dare he?”

After that last experience, even Adam knew it would’ve been smarter to stay quiet. Still, there was no point in remaining in the castle if he wasn’t going to get more information out of it.

“Who dares, my lord?” he asked. It was hard to sound casual when his throat hurt so much.

“Vasco! The whoreson refused every single request! Why did he even come here? Just to look at me with that damned smug face of his!” Aspreay let out a visceral scream, searching for a surface to break. Suddenly, his rage gave way to maniacal laughter. “You should’ve seen him back at the capital, when we were being trained for our Talent. Back then he was so polite to me – always calling me ‘my lord.’ Can you guess why?”

So he was in a meeting with another lord. That’s why he was late in calling me to this room. Adam bit his lip. He knew he shouldn’t engage in this conversation, but the words refused to stay inside his mouth. “He thought that he had to. That his station was beneath yours.”

“Correct!” Aspreay’s laughter grew louder. He seemed almost pleased. “Ah, you are smart. Yes…the treacherous little weasel used to follow me around, ask for favors – and I gave him everything he asked! You’d think that kind of thing would have made us sworn brothers. Instead, it just gave him the chance to backstab me and get assigned the city I wanted. That’s why I’m stuck with this shithole.”

Adam considered what to say next. Cautiously, he said, “And he refused your requests?”

The lord let out an indignant laugh, then grunted in affirmation. “Our closest neighbor – and he refuses to assist, even though we’re saddled with refugees from fallen cities. Bastard. Just came here in person to mock me. The way he looked at me…pretended to be sorry…damn him to hell. May the Rot take him!”

Adam remained in silence as Aspreay breathed heavily, his angry outbursts so intense he found himself out of breath. “My lord, if there is anything I can help–”

“There is.” Aspreay turned to him with a manic expression. “Painters like you are rare. Vasco’s city is rich, but not enough to afford someone like you.”

“I will paint as much as you request, my–”

“DAMN RIGHT YOU WILL!” Aspreay’s voice echoed. “Vasco will return in 92 days. When he gets back, I want him to be surrounded by masterwork paintings from every corner. They must be so detailed as to seem like photographs at first glance. Do you understand, Painter? You have 92 days to finish 92 of the greatest paintings your brush will ever create!”

“You want WHAT?”

That number was absurd. Adam wasn’t particularly skilled in oil paintings, and even just considering the time it would take for everything to dry…

Maybe if the paintings themselves were simple enough, but Aspreay’s demented tone made it clear: the man wouldn’t be satisfied unless each painting looked breathtaking. Beauty and complexity were not always siblings, but very often at least cousins. His request is impossible.

“Why, my lord?” Adam muttered. “Wouldn’t it better to focus my skills on a small number of–”

“I want him to cower when he comes in and realizes how insignificant his luxuries are compared to mine! Not a single piece that he could steal, trade for, or think myself lucky to have obtained. I want him to feel as insignificant as he did when we first met. You hear me, Painter? You will paint me 92 masterpieces!”

Adam considered taking his chances with the drunken lord. Still, despite his desire to punch the man in the face, another louder thought burst inside his head. I have another clue about how Aspreay thinks.

92 days…that would fit with the internal deadline he’d set to have everything sorted. Although it would be absolute insanity to go along with this at all.

You’re on. “Of course, my lord.”

--

At court the next day, Aspreay behaved as regally arrogant as always. He appeared so normal Adam nearly thought the night before had been a dream.

Until the lord approached him to inspect his paintings of courtly procedures and whispered, “That looks passable for a recording of today’s procedures, but that won’t be enough for your other work. Make sure the 92 paintings are better, however. They need to be beautiful.”

It was then that Adam realized that not only did Aspreay still expect him to do those paintings, he expected him to create them on top of his regular courtly work. That was so unreasonable it bordered on hilarious.

There was nothing funny, however, about what his life became after.

92 days of madness that felt worse than fighting any monster.

Adam slept only when he dropped from exhaustion. He ate only when Tenver forced him to at night. During the day, he skipped lunch to have more time to work on his paintings. He studied, painted, fretted, despaired, celebrated. He should have escaped earlier; even the outside world was less dangerous than here.

Some days were hard enough to make him wish for death. During others, he would think of a new way to accelerate the painting process and feel like the greatest genius to ever bless both Earth and this world. The next day he would be the sun itself: he should never leave the castle, this was too easy.

And then, inevitably, burnout settled in. Sometimes he would only realize he was weeping when Tenver found him on the floor.

“Adam – what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I’m still alive. That’s what’s wrong. Tenver, do me a favor and kill me.”

“I shall not. How about you sleep instead?”

“Still got too much crap to finish. Failures don’t get sleep, we stay up to finish projects.”

“Come on. Just a little bit. As a favor to me.”

“Fine. Just a little.”

Some days Tenver would find him smirking, admiring his own skill and feeling so proud he wondered why he had ever considered himself untalented.

“You’re accepting food today without being forced. Things are going well?”

“Better than well! I’m ahead of schedule!”

Then, the very next day, Adam would be despairing on the floor when Tenver found him.

“It’s hopeless. This is impossible.”

It was 92 days of that cycle of suffering, like an endless rush to finishing the longest college paper ever assigned. Many times Adam considered just letting the lord kill him. Sometimes he considered taking his chances with the monsters outside. At the end of the third month, he was surprised to wake up and find Tenver standing beside him with a concerned expression.

“Is it morning yet?” Adam asked, praying he was wrong.

“No.”

“Ah. Let me sleep then.”

Tenver shook his head. “I’d rather let you escape. There’s this merchant – he’ll accept a bribe to smuggle you out of here. It will be a rough start, but with your painting Talent, I’m sure you’ll be able to make a new life for yourself there.”

Wait, what? Adam sat up, now feeling wide awake. “Are you serious? What happened to wanting to do things the right way, encouraging me to listen to Aspreay? You’re really telling me to escape even though I’m supposedly indebted to the city?”

“This is going to kill you, one way or another. Be it through overwork or execution.”

Adam shrugged. “Man, this is my life we’re talking about. Let me die.”

“I gave you my word I wouldn’t.”

“What’s the difference between me and the other people Aspreay banishes or executes?”

Tenver shook his head and looked down shamefully. “Call me a coward,” he muttered. “It may be deserved. But I didn’t get to know them. I have been talking to you for three months now. You are my friend. And you know how few of those I have.”

“About as many as I do,” Adam replied. They both smiled.

Adam wasn’t overly desperate to keep living, but after that talk…he didn’t feel fine with the idea of just dropping dead anymore. Tenver would definitely blame himself if it came to that. Betrayal is the lowest of the low. I won’t betray him by dying like that. “I can’t run right now. I’m this close to figuring the goddamn egomaniac out.”

“Figuring him out? Adam, he’s going to kill you!”

“And even if I escape, it’s not going to stop him from being a terrible lord. You were the one who said it, right? I have to figure him out. Understand him. Then we can change things.”

“Yes, but…” Tenver hesitated. His prior optimism appeared shaken. “Adam, I don’t know how many more chances I will have to help you escape.”

“I won’t resent you if you can’t save me in the future.”

“You’re really not gonna budge on this, huh?”

“Not even a little.”

“In that case, I want you to keep this in mind.” Tenver drew his sword out. “I solemnly swear this oath, upon my name, and my father’s blood: if Lord Aspreay declares for your execution or if you die from overwork…I will use this very sword to fight against him.”

Adam nearly fell from his bed. “What the hell? Why would you say that?”

They had known each other for only a few months now. It was an absurd vow to make to someone who you’d met a short while ago. Adam recalled Tenver’s explanation for serving as a guard – it explained things, in a way.

But not enough.

What’s your damage?

“Look, Tenver, I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But, Aspreay’s Talent is ranked higher than yours. That’s not even risking your life, it’s just…throwing it away. For nothing.”

Tenver laughed. “No. There’s a point. I know your type. You are fine entrusting your life to gambling, because you no longer care how the dice rolls. But you won’t raise that bet with someone else’s chips.”

“Are you seriously saying that–”

“–Get yourself killed and you kill me too. So if you aren’t confident you can survive this…leave the city now.”

Annoying bastard. Despite wanting to, Adam didn’t – couldn’t feel angry at him. “Fine. I’ll stay – and I’ll survive.”

Much as he wanted to be annoyed at Tenver for refusing to leave him be, Adam was pretty sure he couldn’t have survived those months without him. Despite the insane schedule, it somehow didn’t feel as bad as some much lighter college assignments had been. Yeah, he was overworked, sleep deprived, and begging for death, but at least he had someone to complain to at the end of the day.

He truly appreciated that. Although he still had to remind himself he didn’t know anything about Tenver’s background. You’re willing to risk your life for me, but you won’t tell me your past. Then again…I’m willing to risk living for you, and I still won’t tell you my past, either.

It was an odd friendship that only two outcasts in that strange castle could have forged.

And it saw Adam through those last hellish paintings.

--

At the end of the 92 days, Adam still had only one painting to finish. Just one. He told Aspreay of this, who ‘magnanimously’ agreed to allow him to finish the painting while the other lord visited. Every judgment and petition was canceled that day; the lord insisted that his meeting with Lord Vasco would take place in the Great Hall instead of his more formal quarters.

Even Adam, unaccustomed to this world’s culture as he was, understood that it was basically an insult to meet with a foreign lord in the same place where you saw petitioners and criminals. There were no equals in that room where Aspreay watched from his raised throne – he looked down on all who dared enter that domain of his. If this is how he negotiates, no wonder he gets no help from this other lord, Adam mused.

That was fine. These past 92 days had allowed him to confirm his suspicions.

Adam understood Aspreay now.

Truly understood him.

And thus, he was happy to give his final painting some finishing touches while awaiting the new lord’s arrival. He did allow himself a break to take in the lord’s reaction, however.

Lord Vasco was a tall, imposing man with a brown mane of a beard and long flowing matching hair. Annoyance was writ across his features, yet it soon gave way to shock that bordered on disbelief. His eyes shifted from painting to painting, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be more surprised by the sheer amount or their otherworldly quality. Adam was far from a perfect painter, but his knowledge of perspective and shading alone let him create what must have looked like near mirrors to these men.

Then, sitting arrogantly on his throne and sporting a grin, Aspreay said, “Ah, my lord – you have come here to discuss a trade agreement with the Lord of Penumbria, have you not? I’m right here. Let’s get on with it.”

“The trade – Aspreay!” Vasco cried out. “Where did you get all of those? How have you managed…you don’t have the Orbs for even a quarter of this! Are you still wasting Orbs meant for your people?”

“Do you accuse me, Vasco?”

“One accuses another of the unproven. I’m stating a fucking fact.”

It was then that Adam decided to, for the first time since his trial, clear his throat and speak loudly. “Aspreay, you are a difficult man. Took me six months to finally understand you.”

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to face the lone Painter. Nearly all of them appeared confused, almost like they had misheard the source of the noise. Tenver seemed outright horrified, his mouth hanging open and his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Only Aspreay looked insulted that the court Painter dared to speak in a meeting between lords, his face contorted in a rage so great that he was left momentarily speechless.

“People often speak of good and evil as if they’re black and white,” Adam mused aloud, sweeping his digital brush across the canvas. “They also speak of shades of gray, like people are just mixtures of two extremes. I don’t think that’s how I’d paint a person, honestly.”

Adam glanced at his painting. Yes…this was going to turn out really well. “There’s more to a person than good and evil. Sometimes, they just have things they value highly. Promises they made.” He thought of Tenver. “Passions they have.” He thought of his own art. “And the experiences that lead them to develop a moral code. If black and white are good and evil, what color would a passion be? Enjoying my art isn’t good or evil, but it’s certainly a huge part of me. I don’t think you could paint a good portrait of me with just black and white. There’s more colors to me. So…what about Aspreay?”

The Painter drew a deep, contemplative breath. “Let me paint you a picture. Lord Aspreay is not an evil person. He started out, perhaps, like a young guy who wanted to make a difference in the world. He was proud of his abilities, but never forgot the common people. One day, he promised himself, he would be a good lord to them. And he sincerely believed it. Do you know what happened then?”

Vasco made an uncomfortable sound. Without looking up from his work, Adam agreed and said, “Yes, he had an incident with a close friend of his, and was sent to a nearly forsaken town, so close to the abominable Rot – and with a terrible economy to boot. His pride and dreams were shattered. So what did he do? Turn to evil? No. People are rarely that simple.”

Even if it’s easier to believe that. “He found comfort in luxuries. Even though there weren’t enough Orbs to take care of his people to begin with, he drowned his sorrow with extravagance. And yet, he still wanted to be a good lord. So he started finding justifications for the people he couldn’t help. It made it easier. It made it bearable.”

That was why Adam couldn’t find a link between the people Aspreay helped and the ones he didn’t. There wasn’t one. It was just whoever they could help or not at any given moment, depending on how much of the daily budget had been used up.

“Those he couldn’t save, Aspreay blamed. He would justify to himself that they were traitors, at fault, or whatever let him sleep at night. Because he still wanted to help people. Even now, he legitimately wants to make a difference.” Adam lifted his eyes from his art to look at Aspreay. The lord still appeared insulted, but his brows were furrowed now.

“Only…he doesn’t want to help people enough to give up on his luxuries. He’ll feel angry at his powerlessness, but still have feasts every day. He’ll curse the Emperor for not allowing him to save his people, but bring foreign theater troupes for private shows. And he justifies it all to himself. He was betrayed by his friend, sent to this desolate place…he deserves a little reward, surely? He feels some shame about it, but deep down he assures himself he is still a good person, with good intentions. He’s not perfect right now, but maybe he will change in the future.”

He paused. “There is good inside of him. Maybe he will become a better person in the future. Except…”

Adam finished his work and smiled as he started to name it. He looked Aspreay dead in the eye, then said, “Except you don’t get a gold star for MAYBE not being an asshole someday. People are dying while you figure out your emotions. They can’t wait for your crisis of conscience. Their lives aren’t just props for your story.”

His gesture looked and felt like an attack.

Adam kicked the stand to flip it around, displaying his work to the entire room. The final of the 92 paintings, his masterful portrait of Aspreay. It featured the lord laying on the ground, dressed in ill-fitting white clothes, stained with Rot that grew from the ground and pulled him into a dark void. Beneath it was the title:

The Miserable Lord

I understand your core, as I understood the monster that attacked me back then. Deep inside, all it wanted was food, and all it feared was that I wouldn’t bow. This is you – this is who you are!

“You don’t even deserve death,” Adam muttered, “when you give it out so freely to those you think beneath you.”

Aspreay began to say, “Guards, kill—” but he would never finish the order.

A blinding flash of green light shot out from within Aspreay's body. The larger beams came from his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils, his ears. Smaller, more smoke-like lines of light flowed from within the pores of his skin, pulling the lord up and toward the painting, until he was leaning so forward none of him touched the throne anymore. They flew slowly at first, then launched themselves aggressively at Adam – at his tablet.

And then the lord fell on the floor, his head resting on the lower steps leading up to the throne.

Adam glanced at his screen.

Name: Adam
Talents and Rank:
Painter [Novice]
Stained Vines [Apprentice]
Lord [Viscount]

Without another word, Adam started walking toward Aspreay. He walked right past Lord Vasco, who made no motion to stop him, only gaping open-mouthed and stuttering out some sound of surprise. Slowly, he climbed up the steps. When he caught up to the still breathing, but soulless husk that was Aspreay’s body, Adam kicked it away. Then, his foot still raised from the kick, he whirled around, and let his body fall backwards.

Adam sat on the throne.

He threw his left leg over his right, placed his elbow on the armrest, and let his head rest on a closed fist.

After a long silence, he looked at Vasco and said, “Ah, my lord – you have come here to discuss a trade agreement with the Lord of Penumbria, have you not? I’m right here. Let’s get on with it.”

--

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