Read Online Paint by Magic by Kathryn Reiss - Free Book Online Page B

falling, had to close my eyes against the strong, freezing wind that began to blow from, somewhere very close—and somewhere very far away.

PART TWO
The Model
He feeds upon her face by day and night...
    â€”C HRISTINA R OSSETTI,
"
In an Artist's Studio
"
    Padua, Italy. June 1479
    The Smiler sharpened his dagger with short, brisk rubs against the stone. He smiled as he worked, a smile most unpleasant. He was thinking of how he had used this dagger in the past, and how he might use it again. The sharpening stone was actually the foot of a statue of Zeus, chiseled off and stolen from an ancient temple during one of Lorenzo's trips to Greece.
    There came a gentle
tap-tap
on the heavy wooden door to his chamber. The Smiler slid the dagger back into its sheath strapped onto his leg and hidden by his cloak. "
Avanti!
" he called in his smooth, deep voice. The door opened to reveal a young woman. She slept—when he allowed her to sleep—in the small chamber above this tower room.
    "Ah, my dear," he said. "You are always punctual." He returned her curtsy with a low bow, then led her into the room. He watched her with his acute artist's eye, enjoying the look of awe that flitted each morning across her beautiful face as she entered his well-appointed studio.
    The studio was in the first room of the east tower, at the edge of the property he had inherited from his father. The stone walls of his studio were covered with fine tapestries worked in colors deep and bold. There were bowls of fresh fruits and urns of flowers, gathered each day by his servant, atop the round table. Shelves of canvases and paints lined the walls, and comfortable benches topped with brocade cushions waited by the fireplace. On this warm morning no fire was needed, so the grate was swept clean and filled with fragrant rosemary to scent the room.
    "Come," the Smiler said to his model. "We must work while the light is right. Resume your position. And please do remove your hat"—he deftly unpinned the young woman's feathered concoction and lifted it away from her rich, chestnut hair—"like so. Yes, you know there's no need for outdoor clothing. Yet you continue to dress each morning as if you might be going out. Get it into your head, my beloved! You will not be leaving this place until I give you permission. And we are not yet finished with our work."
    She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw the flash of—it would not
dare
be anger, would it?—some quickly veiled emotion. She knew by now to keep silent before him.
    He offered her a sip of ale, then arranged her as he wanted her. The pose was the same as it had been for months, but as much as she professed to want to please him, she still needed him to set the pose.
    Francesca. His family had known hers forever. He'd wanted her, as a boy, had asked for her hand in marriage—but she'd refused him. Refused the Smiler! And married someone else, and had a son. For years Lorenzo had not seen her, though he sent his spies out to keep watch over her and report back. Last year her husband had died and Lorenzo rejoiced—though it was too late to marry her himself. Lorenzo's father had pushed him into marriage years earlier with a paltry young girl of his father's own choosing. No matter. He rarely saw the girl. He lived to paint, and what he wanted to paint was the bride who had been denied him!
    The poor widowed Francesca needed money now for herself and her young son. When Lorenzo's servants arrived with word that he would pay well to paint her, she agreed. Leaving her baby behind in the care of a nursemaid (paid for by Lorenzo—an unfortunate expense, but he didn't want the brat around while he worked on the mother), Francesca traveled to Padua.
    Now she was finally
his.
The Smiler exulted every morning as he set her into the pose.
    "Now, you must sit very still as always," he instructed her, moving his easel to the correct position, close but not too close to his subject.