Mess 153
by Cristae153.
“As you’ve seen, his works are truly bizarre. Yet their themes are unmistakably clear: they satirize the vices of our times.”
“Satire…”
Seraphie recalled the painting from earlier.
The image of human figures with beastly heads, clad in a priest’s vestments and suffering gruesome torments beneath a demon’s feet, was still vivid in her mind.
“As you might expect, these are not the kind of pictures one can brazenly exhibit in public. Open activity must be difficult for him.”
“Then how did the Duke purchase one of his works?”
“Through an auction, it seems.”
“But how could he have submitted it to auction…?”
Did Aydal have such connections already?
Though the question arose, she let it pass for now. More important was the fact that Aydal’s artwork had found a following among noble patrons of considerable renown.
And among those nobles was the Duke of Felikia.
Such a noble, she thought, was perhaps always a kindred spirit to subversives in power.
“The title ‘Painter of Darkness’ was apparently coined by borrowing from the nickname of the artist Via Provi. Unlike her radiant depictions, he paints the world’s darkness and absurdities.”
Orkis’s explanation was helpful, but Seraphie still had one unresolved doubt.
“…Yet the painting was on public display.”
A work said to sell only via auction had been sitting out beneath the sun itself.
Despite all its exposed corruption, the temple was still a house of the divine. To hang such a satirical painting in a crowded place was a feat of uncommon daring.
Indira had said they themselves were notified only this morning and had hurried to recover it at once.
“…”
After a brief silence, Seraphie decided.
“It’s about time I paid him a visit.”
“To that painter?”
“As it happens, my term as sponsor is ending this spring.”
Impressions of Aydal aside, life had been busy enough of late that she had nearly forgotten him.
Even so, to neglect a sponsored artist altogether wouldn’t do.
Since she was bedridden anyway, Seraphie allowed herself several days of genuine rest.
Of course, work was never entirely set aside. She managed urgent matters from her bedchamber and continued to attend her regular progress meetings—a habit begun to boost efficiency.
Still, compared to the busy days of late, it was rest enough to rejuvenate her.
And then, a few days later—
On the day she was to meet Aydal, Orkis arrived at the house bearing a bouquet.
“Why don’t you just settle down here and be done with it?”
Loony called out mockingly as they passed. Orkis accepted the jest with good humor.
“Oh my, what is that?”
Seraphie was waiting in the drawing room as he entered.
“Lily of the valley.”
After a light kiss, Orkis spread the bouquet—delicate, bell-shaped white blossoms clustering on their slender stems—on the drawing room table.
He had arrived early for the express purpose of arranging the flowers himself.
“Are you feeling better?”
Snip—a stray leaf fell from the stem.
“Of course. I was never really ill. But after a little rest I feel light as air.”
“Hm, let’s not have you flying off just yet.”
“Look at you, telling jokes now?”
Seraphie giggled, but soon her gaze was drawn to Orkis’s hands.
They were large, rough hands—a swordsman’s hands—but the way they handled the pruning shears was deft and gentle.
When, after smoothing the stem with gloved fingers, he inspected the result, she found herself unconsciously swallowing.
“What are you staring at?”
Sensing her gaze, the corners of Orkis’s mouth turned up in a sly smile.
“I’ve thought so before—watching you arrange flowers is something special.”
“Nice to see my training wasn’t wasted.”
Again, snip—the sound of a trimmed twig falling.
“Was it the Duke who taught you?”
“He said any man worthy of love ought to know how to care for flowers.”
Grumbling about his past ordeal, Orkis nonetheless looked endearing to Seraphie.
He finished arranging the flowers, and made ready to have the vase delivered to Seraphie’s office.
“I saw the article in the papers,” he remarked, pulling off his gloves after he finished.
“‘The Painter of Darkness Steps Into the World at Last,’ the headline read.”
“It surprised me, too.”
“But the article didn’t mention that you’re his sponsor.”
Orkis draped a pale pink coat over her shoulders, ensuring she stayed comfortably warm.
“Our beginning wasn’t exactly a good one,” Seraphie said, smiling wryly at the memory of her first meeting with Aydal.
“Was the sponsorship just to buy his silence?” Orkis asked.
Though the result had been worthwhile, her decision at the time had been quite puzzling—a noblewoman conned by a commoner, yet she had covered for him and sponsored his career.
Had it been any other noble, they would have crushed such insolence without a second thought.
But Seraphie’s answer caught Orkis utterly off guard.
“I wanted to bury him too, to be honest. But at the time, I was little more than a crumb of a noble, practically powerless.”
She had been little more than the subject of idle gossip among the commoners, with even her fellow nobles doubting her abilities. More often than not, she’d attracted opportunists with malicious intent.
‘Like that Catio, who sent me such a presumptuous proposal.’
She already owned a province abandoned by the gods—what would one more scandal have done to her?
“What realistic action could I have taken?”
“…”
Orkis said nothing. She truly had had no recourse at the time.
“Suppose I’d reported him for insulting a noble. I’d have made a spectacle of stripping his father’s rank, only for my own esteemed peers to ridicule me: ‘Lost your family title and can’t even spot a swindler—how noble, indeed.’”
Such a report would have offered only the briefest satisfaction, but for Seraphie—whose honor was in ruins already—it could only have been poison.
“And had I not sponsored him, who knows what might have happened to the accomplice who tried to swindle me? No doubt Aydal would have retaliated in some unsavory way.”
She shuddered to think of ever being drawn into that kind of violence.
“Money was the one thing I had in abundance. So I thought, why not waste some on an act of sponsorship.”
And as it happened, she’d profited.
Indira, out of gratitude for having covered up a scandal at his gallery, had offered Seraphie every favor at his disposal.
He’d loaned the whole gallery for Via’s first exhibition, and fed her with the latest news of up-and-coming artists whose works were rising in value.
Indira had done much to elevate Seraphie’s reputation.
“And look at the result.”
Seraphie grinned.
“Aydal’s famous now, in any case.”
“You stumbled backward and discovered gold.”
“Say what you like.”
But gold was gold all the same.
With that, the two boarded the carriage. Passing through the once-troubled square, they pressed on further inward.
Their destination was Aydal’s home.
“Seraphie,” Orkis said, “it’s not even been a full year since you stepped out into the world.”
The most impressive thing about Validus’s accomplishments wasn’t their number, but the breathtaking pace at which they’d been achieved. In less than a year—only a handful of months—Validus had climbed to such heights, casting its shadow wide.
All because of one person.
“For Validus, this is but the first step.”
And what tremors that single step had already wrought.
“You will go even further.”
Validus would tower over the empire as a peerless, legendary house; Seraphie’s name would be remembered for generations.
“…”
The unexpected praise made Seraphie blink.
But soon, she smiled.
“Of course.”
In the past, she would have been seized by doubt—could I really do this? Now, it was, Why shouldn’t I do this?
‘…Because if not, I’ll die.’
If she failed, the crown prince would have her killed—she must succeed, if only to preserve her own life.
Whatever the reason, her resolve was now unbreakable.
“We’re here.”
With renewed confidence, they found themselves in a district where commoners lived.
They passed block after block of near-identical buildings, finally arriving at a small tenement house.
Children playing in front stared in awe at the handsome coach and the elegant pair descending from it.
“Which floor did he say?”
“Second.”
After climbing just one flight, they came to a door. It seemed each floor contained only a single dwelling.
Orkis knocked.
“Is no one home?”
At a second, firmer knock, the door opened. A woman peered out through the small gap.
“Who are you?”
Her wary voice made Seraphie stare at her with intense curiosity.
She looked quite familiar. Familiar, and not in a pleasant way.
“Countess?”
Yet the woman recognized Seraphie first.
“Good heavens, what brings you here? Are you here to see him?”
“Hm? Don’t I know—?”
“It’s me! From the gallery!”
“What? The gallery?”
But Seraphie had never been particularly close with any of the gallery staff.
She frowned in confusion—until, at last, realization dawned.
“No—you, you…!”
Only then did she recognize the woman.
“Darling, who’s at the door?”
And the man’s voice that called from behind her struck Seraphie another blow of utter disbelief.
‘Darling?’
Did he say darling?
As yet another familiar man appeared behind the woman, Seraphie went weak and collapsed against Orkis.
It wasn’t a point of pride, but in less than a year, Seraphie had experienced things most would not in an entire lifetime.
She’d nearly been killed, committed acts of filial impiety, lost and won back her titles, been conned, threatened by murderers, and even seen a corpse in a moonlit winter field.
In short, Seraphie fancied herself unshakable, immune to most forms of surprise.
Yet the world was vast, and it had still found a way to astonish her.
“Why on earth are you two living together?!”
Coming to her senses in Orkis’s embrace after fainting for five seconds, Seraphie immediately jabbed an accusatory finger at them and shouted.
“And what’s so strange about that?”
Orkis, clueless as ever, asked.
“That woman tried to scam me—and that man tried to punch his girlfriend out in front of me for my sake. And he’s that painter!”
And his personality—utterly insufferable!
“…”
Orkis wisely held his tongue.