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The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 73 (Book 3 Chapter 12)
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 03:05:28 +0000 UTC"King Adam knows how to be relied on," Vasco said, "but not how to rely."
It was the lecture Aspreay had expected. Once this infernal man considers something to be righteous, he never shuts up. That didn't make dealing with his grandstanding any less frustrating. "I know! You can stop badgering me about it! Dragons burn me, I know."
"Not the whole story, you don't. Solara mentioned it to me before. You have no idea that Adam's father–"
"Was a vile, loathsome man, yes." Aspreay sighed, resting his gaze upon the crucified elven corpse half-eaten by a tree. "One hardly needs to read the book to summarize its contents. I could strike the Painter with the palm of my hand, and he'd think I was acting the part of a loving father – merely because I left no bruises."
Vasco sighed and shifted in his seat, the elven wind blowing against his ashened beard. "And that troubles you not?"
"Of course it does." Aspreay laughed in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to annoy the brat when he mistakes your barbs for kindness?"
From Vasco's grunt, it appeared that he did, yet cared little for Aspreay's plight. "Quit with your jests," he growled. "King Adam needs our support, not our mockery – he already has too much weighing on his shoulders."
Hearing the Painter be named King by his lover's tongue made Aspreay feel mildly ill. Only mildly, however.
Strange. Why am I not repulsed to the point of vomit, or at least righteous fury?
"Fantastic," he grumbled. "Apparently, we are in service to a child, one that needs milk and bedtime stories. What a most glorious life we have!"
"Many kings throughout history have been children. And Adam is a man grown."
"He's an infant compared to us!" Aspreay screeched in bafflement. "Why should I serve a man who cannot handle the stress of leadership?" He shook his head. "Better yet! Enlighten me, my dear – what do you think would happen if he weren't given the support you say he needs so badly?"
Vasco responded instantly. "Alone, talent and good intentions are not enough. He might break beneath the weight of it all, dull his brilliance to bitterness, forget what he once stood for."
"Quite imaginative."
"Hardly." Vasco locked eyes with him. "I've seen it happen before."
That was different! It wasn't just that my parents had perished, I didn't have anyone with me after you left! Not a single person! Adam has the Puppet and your daughter and–burn me, the brat has friends like the Swordsman and the Detective and–it's not remotely the same!
Speaking any of those objections would have won him the argument. They also would have hurt Vasco.
Thus, Aspreay willingly chose a losing counter. "Well, why me? Why can't you help him?"
"Because you two are more alike." Vasco leaned forward. "We have precious little time. Stop avoiding the heart of the matter."
Oh, I can play this game. Aspreay sat up. "If you insist, I shall not." He crossed his arms. "By the by...how are you handling our visit to a village of elves?"
Vasco recoiled as though struck by a violent blow, then cast his eyes to the ground. "My feelings are irrelevant. It is a price I pay willingly for my guilt."
"Guilt of what?" Aspreay's indignant disbelief made his voice sound angrier than he meant to. "Pray tell, what guilt should befall a man who dedicates his life to atoning for the crimes of others?"
"They were not others. They were my own kin and blood."
Aspreay, arms still crossed, lifted up his boot and lightly kicked at the battleaxe strapped to the man's waist. "Blood that you shed yourself."
"And that is a sin I'll pay in the life after, should the Dragons prove kind enough to allow my soul a resting place, however damned it may be."
"Doubtful." Aspreay sneered. "I'd sooner forgive you for abandoning me before the Dragons show any mercy towards us."
That made Vasco laugh a little. "Patricide is a separate sin of mine, and one I would readily commit again. It doesn't erase my failure to save more of the elves."
"Do they see it that way?"
Vasco hesitated, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. "Most...some," he reluctantly admitted. "I've been met with the occasional glare, but more often than not...they have expressed gratitude. While you were dragging the inebriated Gaspar to his bed, one of the older elves approached me – hesitantly, but with a smile."
An imperceptible emotion flashed within his gaze. "They were starting to introduce themself when I said it wasn't necessary. Remembered him from Greenisle; he was about to be cut down before I sank my axe into a soldier's neck."
Aspreay chuckled. "You remember a singular elf from that chaotic battlefield?"
"I also remember the face of the soldier I killed," Vasco muttered. "He was one of my father's most trusted men. I saw him often while growing up. Most of the men I killed that day were no strangers to me."
He closed his eyes, his voice growing strained. "I don't regret slaying them, and yet–!"
Aspreay put a hand on his shoulder. "It needs not be easy," he whispered. "You did what you could. And fewer elves wish you dead than you thought – isn't that good news?"
His forthright tone made Vasco look up in confusion, the man's grief momentarily leaving him. You can't be haunted by self-loathing thoughts if I make you focus on me instead, Aspreay mused.
And if that meant Vasco believing he was insensitive...well, what else was new? "So!" the former Lord proclaimed. "The elf you saved. Was he thankful?"
It was a question of dual purposes. Should the answer be 'Yes', then all would be all. Otherwise, Aspreay would make a note to potentially ruin the elf later.
Fortunately, such an undiplomatic action was proven needless as Vasco nodded. "He...he did. Thanked me for saving him and his son." Not his wife, said the void. "The elf even invited me – us – to have dinner at his house later."
"Take Solara," Aspready fired back, in a deadpan. "Truthfully, I'd rather be eaten by the local foliage." He turned his chin at the crucified corpse merged with a tree nearby. "Anyhow, was the elf happy, then?"
"Aye. Told me many others – most, even – were grateful for what I did. Very few blamed me for the incident...and those who did have suffered too much to be blamed for their blame."
Aspreay raised an eyebrow. "Burn me, Vasco, you seem surprised. Did you think that making a villain out of you, the man who led the charge to save their lives, would be a common opinion?"
"I thought that since they refused to come to Gama, it meant that they regarded me with suspicion."
"You assumed that the options were either bending the knee to you, or naming you a monster? My, my."
Aspreay raised his chin and sneered. "How positively arrogant, Vasco. The elves wanting to be led by one of their own scarcely means they hate you."
Vasco stared hard at him, then looked at the ground and cursed. "How pitiful must I be," he grunted, "to be lectured in empathy by you?"
–
The Elven Village's only tavern had been emptied and reserved for Adam's group. An extravagant gesture to exhibit the elves' good will, Elder Lorival insisted. To keep them from interacting with civilians, Valeria argued.
Whatever the case, Adam wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It had been a long trip from Penumbria. He couldn't wait to sit back and relax in a place that wasn't a cramped, bouncing carriage.
Tenver, of course, had other plans.
"Let our men take care of stabling the horses," he said. "Come now, we have a tavern just for us – and one with outdoor seating on top of that! Fill me in on what happened with the Elder as we drink."
Adam lifted an eyebrow. "I usually don't prefer to make life-or-death decisions while drunk."
"I do," Tenver said seriously. "It's the only way I can sleep at night."
And so they agreed on at least one drink. They downed their cups as Adam summarized his meeting with Elder Lorival, leaving no details unexplained.
Over time, however, the Painter found himself becoming increasingly distracted by their surroundings.
The tavern was modest, yet bore an air of quiet dignity beneath the wide branches of an elder oak. Dappled sunlight patterned the table, hinting at ancient elven magic long faded into mere memory. Their chosen table sat beneath the majestic limbs of a tree that might have lived through better days. Falling leaves whispered petty village gossip whilst shadows played political games across weathered wood.
I want to paint this, Adam realized. He immediately started sketching, offering little explanation – and feeling pleased that Tenver requested none.
"I must say," the Knight began. "Our accommodations are as lovely as they are surveilled."
Adam peered up from his tablet, pen dancing between his fingers. "That could have two entirely different meanings. Do you mean that this tavern is terrible, or–"
"Oh no, we're definitely being watched." Tenver grinned and waved at a nearby bush. "Dear spy, would you like to have a drink with us? It's on me!"
"Noooo thank you sir!" the tree yelled back.
A heavy pause fell thereafter. "Please pretend I didn't respond? The Elder would be upset. Very upset."
"Of course! We never saw you!" Tenver shouted. He turned around to face Adam with a smile. "Anyhow, I believe we were talking about the arduous task you have ahead of you, my dear king of a best friend. Duty matters much, but forget not to care for–"
"Tenver?" Adam cut in. "I already finished catching you up on the Elder. We were talking about your mission now."
The Puppet Prince's smile didn't fade. It never did. The closest he ever came to that was when he would sometimes pause for a moment, donning the corpse of his murdered happiness like a suit of armor – anything to avoid admitting weakness.
Curious, that a man who would give up so much for so many, refused to allow even a fragment of that sympathy for himself.
Curious...and fucking infuriating. Adam drew a deep breath. Fine. Refuse to take care of yourself. Make more work for me if you insist. But I'm not slacking off on this. "You have to meet the leader of the Western Hangmen soon, don't you?"
The King and the Prince met each other's eyes, inviting the Duke of Silence to join their royal meeting, if only for a bit. They allowed this nobleman to conduct the conversation in that heavy, oppressive voice of his, whilst the pair's gazes never wandered from one another.
It must have been a minute before Tenver reluctantly ordered Silence banished from the council. His wary eyes said he wanted the man to remain, yet he knew another more troublesome guest, the Duke of Time, would approach them soon. Far too soon. "Aye, Your Majesty."
"Have you noticed?" Adam inquired. "When you try to hide how much something is bothering you – that's when you never call me by my name."
Tenver gave a low laugh. "Mayhaps you ought not to tell me that, my king. It only teaches me how to better fool you."
"Nah, that won't help you at all." Adam held his interlocked fingers above his head in a lazy stretch. "Go ahead and pretend you're okay. Smile and nod like you always do if it suits you. Tell me some bullshit, that's fine too. "
His expression remained serene – even as his voice dropped lower. "But I'm your friend. I know when you're not doing well."
"Is that so?" Tenver asked, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Truly?"
Adam nodded. "I swear."
The Puppet Prince's face made an odd expression. No, that wasn't quite right – it made two expressions. First a frown, and next a smile. The latter came a second later, yet it wrestled the former away, reigning supreme over the Prince's emotions.
"I wish I could say I was frustrated about that," he began. "Your attentiveness makes it difficult to rid you of the burden that is my past. Yet I must confess...it rather brightens my day to know I cannot hide much from you. Is that selfish of me, Adam? To wish to inflict a dear friend with concern over myself."
"Oh, I hope so," said the Painter. "Because the more selfish you are, the less I have to worry that you'll get yourself killed with some stupid noble sacrifice."
The Duke of Silence approached the table once more, hesitant, wondering if his duties were required again–
And then dissipated before he could take a seat.
"I am scared of seeing Knox," Tenver admitted. His voice sounded shockingly fragile. "He was among the ones who most supported my claim for the throne, after my father's death. He...was a dear friend to me."
The Knight shook his head at his own words. "I betrayed him, Adam. I betrayed them all when I bent the knee and relinquished my claim to my uncle."
"That wasn't your fault!" Adam's tone was sharp and urgent. "You didn't have a choice. What the Emperor made you watch, that – goddamnit, that would've broken anyone!"
Tenver had only mentioned it once before. After his little rebellion was smothered in its crib, he'd met with one of his loyal supporters, now imprisoned in a dark cell.
Ciro had tortured the man nearly to death...if not to a point beyond death. Life was a curse to him at that point. Eyelids removed, tongue cut out, skin flayed, and other terrors that the Prince's lips had trembled just short of explaining.
Back then, Tenver had been given a choice. Either willingly move to Penumbria, and cease fighting Ciro for the title of Emperor – or watch every one of his supporters be reduced to misshapen shells of their former selves.
"The man that Ciro tortured was Knox's brother," the Knight muttered. "I betrayed him once by letting that happen, and twice for not swearing vengeance as he desired!"
Adam held out a hand to stop him. "You would have died," he pointed out. "All of you. Even now, with my Talent, my city, and the entire Frontier sworn to us, a war against Ciro could still end in crushing defeat. Had you tried to rebel at that time–"
"I know," Tenver answered, in a whisper. "I...I know. But even so...he was furious with me. Understandably so. Called me craven. A traitor. Many things. I deserved them all."
Adam hesitated. "Maybe we should have someone else speak to him instead. I could–"
"You have your own hands full with Elder Lorival," Tenver interjected. "And besides. It should be me that talks to him, that makes him side with us, rather than try and take the throne for himself – or worse, side with the man who drove his brother to insanity."
The Prince attempted to rise from his seat and leave, only for the Painter to grab his wrist mid-motion and keep him in place. "Don't you dare torture yourself out of a misplaced sense of duty."
Tenver matched the king's fiery gaze, smirked...then abruptly pulled his trapped arm with all of his strength, yanking Adam up from his seat. Despite this, the Painter refused to let go of his grip on the other man. He would've fallen onto the floor if the Prince hadn't placed his other arm around Adam's back and pulled him closer to safety – closer to him.
His face was close enough for the Painter to feel his breath. "It's not duty," the Knight promised. "I want to do this. I want to take care of what I was too cowardly to face head on in the past."
"Is that so?" Adam murmured quietly, his brow pressing tiredly against the cold, unyielding steel of Tenver's armor. "Then I suppose I ought to support that decision."
"Aye. One might claim as such."
Adam's frustration melted as he shifted carefully, turning the gesture into an awkward embrace. "Fine, Prince of Idiots – but on one condition! You aren't allowed to die. That's a direct order. I need you alive, you hear me?"
"Why, perish the thought! Do you think me so foolish as to leave you without a member of the Imperial bloodline? Cleaning up after the war would be incredibly tricky without someone to placate the loyalists who–"
Adam tightened the hug, unsure whether his goal was to show concern or inflict pain. "I need you alive because you're Tenver," he practically snarled. "Not because of what you can do, and not because of how useful you are. I need you because...I don't know what I'd do without you. I–"
He shrugged angrily, pushing the other man off. "I would miss you, you fucking asshole."
Tenver's eyes widened, surprise breaking his mask through like glass shattered by an errant bolt of an Imperial crossbow. Genuine shock followed swiftly after. He stared at Adam with the look of someone who'd eaten sugar for the first time. His unfamiliarity was plain, the Prince cycling through many distinct emotions...
Before settling on a warm, sincere smile.
"Ah, my king, you know me better than to think I'd die so easily," he said. "I'm a Puppet – I can survive getting my head cut off!"
Adam let go off the hug and playfully pretended the punch at the man's armor. "Good. Because if you die, I'm gonna kill you."
"Oh?" Tenver feigned offense. "You think you could kill me, Painter? I'm much stronger, and trained in the arts of war!"
The bushes shifted, then made a sudden sound.
"Noooo! Please don't fight!" the Elf spy shouted. "YOU LOOK LIKE GOOD FRIENDS! DON'T GET VIOLENT! THE ELDER FEEDS VIOLENT ELVES TO THE TREE! DIDN'T YOU SEE?!"
Adam and Tenver exchanged flat, unblinking stares, quietly questioning their reality without uttering a sound.
"Okay. So – so maybe you weren't fighting. Maybe I can't quite hear what you're saying. And I can't really see that well either. Don't blame me, i–it's your fault for standing so far away! I'm the best spy in the village, this is just hard, understand?!"
The two men remained perfectly still, eyes glazed with confusion, processing the absurdity at their own leisurely pace.
"FINE! YOU'VE SEEN THROUGH MY CLEVER FACADE! MAYBE I'M THE ONLY SPY IN THE VILLAGE, WHAT OF IT? THE REST WERE SLAUGHTERED AT GREENISLE! DOES MOCKING ME MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOURSELVES, HUMANS?"
They exchanged blank stares, silently confirming that both of them were witnesses to their mutual fever dream.
"I...I'll be quiet now."
With the same slow, ticking motion of a clock's hands, Adam's and Tenver's heads rotated to face each other. They wore mirror-image expressions of pure, exhausted perplexion. The Duke of Silence visited them again here – and frankly, even he was confused.
"So," Tenver said, a smile plastered onto his face. "Want to grab another drink and pretend we never heard any of that?"
"Holy shit yes."
--
Thanks for reading!
Comments
Nathan Linder
"Called me a craven." The "a" here is incorrect. Craven is an adjective, not a noun.
