A mist of fine violet droplets splattered across the canvas, accentuating the blossoming jade and citrine pigments, radiating outwards in intricate patterns. Luminous trails captured against a star-studded backdrop, casting an ethereal glow on the faces of the three onlookers sprawled on a grassy knoll.

“Looking good.”

Kethryll the Brushmaster pulled his attention from the canvas to acknowledge Alaric leaning against the doorframe. The warm morning sun filters through the large window, casting a golden glow that dances across the room, illuminating dust motes and bringing a soft warmth to the cluttered space.

Alaric drew in a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of creativity. A sly smile grew on his face.

“What are you going to call this one?” Alaric approached the artist.

Kethryll took a step back and paused.

“The Essence of Twilight,” Kethryll waved his hands. “The fleeting moments that follow. It’s a dance between light and shadow, between reality and the dreams we chase.”

Alaric leaned in close and squinted. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Of course, my friend,” Kethryll chuckled. “You see, art is about seeing the world differently. As only an artist can. To find beauty where others see nothing.”

There was a cough at the door and both Alaric and Kethryll turned. The morose Chamberlain filled the doorway, his pristine robe ripped despite the lack of a breeze. Twisting between his ring-covered fingers was a silver coin. The Controller’s sweaty, bulbous head peeked from the edge of the doorway. A chunky finger pressed the spectacles to the top of the bridge of the nose.

“Ahh,” the Chamberlain strode into the studio. “I’m glad I found you two.”

Alaric rubbed his forehead to cover his rolling eyes.

The Controller ambled into the studio in the shadow of the Chamberlain. The Chamberlain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, the silver coin twisting ominously in his fingers. The Controller shuffled in behind him, his sweaty face glistening in the morning light.

“Do come in, Chamberlain,” Kethryll bowed. “Controller.”

“I do hope I’m not interrupting another one of your... creative endeavors.” The Chamberlain walked up to the canvas, leaned in and examined Kethryll’s latest masterwork. Eyebrows rose as the Chamberlain rolled his eyes. He then paced the studio, casting a sideways glance at incomplete works.

The Controller found a lifelike sketch of the female form on an easel in a corner. He raised it closer to his face with both hands. His eyes bulged to the point where they were going to knock the spectacles from his nose. The Controller flinched as the Chamberlain walked past with a disapproving growl. The Controller fumbled placing the canvas back on the easel. With a sharp clatter, it crashed to the ground, sending a cascade of echoing thuds as it knocked over several other works.

“Something we can help you with, Chamberlain?” Alaric said.

The Controller collected a handful of canvases and knocked over the easel. The canvases slipped from his grasp as he tried to catch the easel. He winched while waiting for the cacophony of disaster to die down.

The coin in the hand of the Chamberlain stopped. He turned and glared at the Controller. The plump man retrieved a handkerchief from the sleeves of his official robe and wiped the glistening shine from his pate. The Controller waved the moisture from the cloth, folded it neatly and returned it inside his sleeve, oblivious to the Chamberlain's death stare.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“It’s been two weeks since you’ve both returned,” the Chamberlain turned his glare on Alaric. “And you’ve yet to give me an official report.”

“Was it an officially sanctioned mission?” Alaric raised an eyebrow.

Creases formed on the edge of the Chamberlain’s eyes. The skin on his cheekbones pulled taught as he maintained a thin smile. “Even so.”

Alaric shrugged.

For the next thirty minutes, Alaric recounted to the Chamberlain the intricate details of his quest to find and rescue the Brushmaster, all while the Controller yawned in the background. He described how he had followed a trail of clues, skilfully uncovering and thwarting the duke's nefarious plans, all the while downplaying Elara’s…Marcia’s role in the affair. The Chamberlain, however, scrutinized every detail, every decision and conclusion Alaric made.

As Alaric finished recounting his tale, the Chamberlain’s expression darkened. The room fell silent. The Controller snapped his attention away from a small statue in his hand. The artist scurried across the room.

“After all that,” the Chamberlain said. “You didn’t arrest the duke?”

“Well,” Alaric folded his arms. “Seeing as all his property was destroyed. I didn’t see the point. Are you going to let the duke go?”

“Oh gods, no,” the Chamberlain’s hard façade switched a mix of confusion and bemusement. “He’ll be hunted down and executed.”

“Is that really necessary?” Kethryll stanched the statue from the Controller's hands.

The Chamberlain laughed as turned to Kethryll. The Controller let out a chuckle. Alaric frowned. The Chamberlain wiped a tear from the side of his eye as the laughter died down. After a moment the Chamberlain tossed the silver coin in his hand to Alaric.

Alaric caught it. He looked down at the coin in his hand and noticed that it had the visage of the duke on one face. He turned it over to see the word ‘Republic’ embossed on the face.

“He was minting his own coins?” Alaric glanced at Kethryll.

“Oh, right,” Kethryll slapped his forehead. “I forgot I made those dies.”

“Could you imagine,” the Controller picked up an artist's palette, looked through the thumb hole, then returned it to the bench he found it on. “Commoners voting for their leaders?”

They shuddered in unison.

“Besides,” the Chamberlain waved a dismissive hand. “There is the matter of all the counterfeit coins in circulation.”

“And the deeds of transfer that have been executed,” the Controller cleaned the paint off his fingers with the bottom of his robe.

“Yes, there’s that.”

“And the Magenta Hand.”

“Yes. They need to be dealt with.”

“And the Purple Shadow.”

“Yes,” the Chamberlain snapped. “That will do, Controller.”

The Controller shrunk into his robe like a turtle in it shell.

“Alaric,” the Chamberlain rubbed his temples. “What are you going to do about that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Unblinking. Alaric blinked.

“Chamberlain,” Alaric sighed. “Life isn’t a book that needs all the plot holes tied up.”

“Is that right?”

“If I’m going to have to right all the wrongs done,” Alaric rubbed his chin. “That would mean that both you and the Controller would have to return the land you bought to the rightful owner.”

“We would?” the Controller blubbered.

Alaric watched as the Chamberlain’s throat undulated. He raised an eyebrow. Tension thickened in the air. For several heartbeats, silence hung between them, and he noted the Chamberlain’s face flush a deep crimson. With a swift turn on his heels, the Chamberlain growled at the Controller, barking an order for him to follow.

As the Chamberlain stormed off, Alaric turned to Kethryll, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, that was entertaining. Who knew the Chamberlain had such a flair for drama?”

“I thought he might burst a vein!” Kethryll chuckled, shaking his head. “But really, Alaric, what will you do about Marcia?”

Alaric shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “Honestly? I think I’ll let her be for now. She’s always been good at disappearing when she wants to.”

Kethryll raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You’re not going to track her down? After all that? She’s not the woman you thought she was, Alaric.”

“No,” Alaric replied. “Besides, you still owe me a portrait.”

“A portrait? Of you?” Kethryll bit his bottom lip. “I suppose I could manage that, but only if you promise to pose looking out the window. It’ll add a touch of mystery.”

“Looking out the window?”

“Yes, and close your eyes,” Kethryll set a blank canvas on an easel. “The light right now is perfect to mask some, imperfections.”

“How poetic,” Alaric laughed. “Fine, I’ll humour you.”

As Alaric moved to the window, Kethryll grabbed his brushes and palette, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Just hold that pose, will you?”

Alaric closed his eyes and heard the soft padding of Kethryll slipping out of the room, leaving him standing there, half-amused and half-exasperated.

He muttered to himself, “Artists,” as he opened his eyes to gaze out the window.

END