When that fateful night came, Adam allowed himself a moment to steady his nerves. Stick 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 Baron 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 Ink 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 as detailed and vivid as my face seems to you in this very moment. 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, a second, 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.
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“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 Ink [Apprentice]
Lord [Baron]
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.”