The Golden Key Read Online Free PDF Page B

true?”
    Baltran do’Verrada lingered at the window. The thick glazing was wavy and warped, distorting the view beyond: the meticulously-groomed courtyard and gardens outside the ducal apartments of the Palasso Verrada. In high summer the grass was verdant, the lush vegetation in full bloom, the citrus trees weighted with rich, succulent bounty that graced his table each morning; but his spirits were not so moved as to be seduced away from a more serious concern.
    Matra ei Filho, grant that the child be born safely, and my Duchess recover swiftly.
Fingertips to mouth, to heart. It was good he had summoned Zaragosa; he needed the distraction.
    The Duke swallowed wine from the gem-studded silver cup— chilled by snow brought down from the Montes Astrappas, the mountain border between beloved Tira Virte and naughty Ghillas—and turned slightly to admit the slender limner into his awareness. A quiet glance over a shoulder earned him the full panoply: riotous color of every fabric and texture, and—Matra Dolcha!—a
thing
perched on young Serrano’s head.
    He did not look directly at Zaragosa Serrano—he would not favor him so highly, not immediately—lest the man gain even more arrogance. “Is that a new hat?”
    Thus reminded of his neglect, Serrano snatched the feather-bedeckedscrap of crimson velvet from his head. “Your Grace, a trifle, no more.”
    Do’Verrada grunted. “An expensive trifle, no?”
And ostentatious, as always.
He sipped more wine: pale spring-hued vinho bianco, Lacta do’Matra, of course; his favorite summer vintage, and the most favored of all Tira Virteian wine exports.
I must have the Master Vintner in to see how the season fares.
    “Your Grace, I am honored by your generous reception of my talent. And, Your Grace, speaking of talent—”
    Do’Verrada cut across the circuitous circumnavigation of the topic; he spent entirely too many hours of his life listening to the like from Courtfolk. “You believe I should revoke the Ducal Protection of the Grijalva family.”
    Serrano spoke with an impassioned zeal that betrayed his insecurity. “Oh, Your Grace, I do believe it justified, Your Grace! … in view of what they are.”
    “Mere copyists? You would not give them the benefit of true artistic talent, I know, but they have served Tira Virte and her Dukes very well for many years, Zaragosa, which is precisely why my great-grandfather issued the Protection. And even the Serranos should be grateful; without the Grijalva paper, canvas, and materials such as paints, where would your folk be? Still scrawling graffiti frescoes on new walls wet with peasant urine?” He permitted himself a smile as Zaragosa went white as the Matra’s Blessed Milk; the current Lord Limner’s talent had indeed first been discovered in the back alleys of Meya Suerta. “They have served art equally as well as the duchy, Zaragosa. They have—and know— their place.”
    “They wish to climb too high, Your Grace—and they will use dark magics to do so.”
    Do’Verrada turned now to face him fully. “I have spoken with several of the Courtfolk—it need not be said who they are, of course, so do not ask me with those eloquent eyes!—in order to learn more of this power you speak of. There are those who speak instead of your jealousy, Zaragosa, those who say you bear the Grijalvas ill will for no sound reason beyond fear you will lose your place.”
    Zaragosa Serrano colored. The splotchy flush clashed horrendously with his red-and-purple doublet and particolored hosen. “Your grace, the Serrano family has held the confidence of the do’Verradas for decades—”
    “Yes, of course, but do you fear you will be dismissed as Lord Limner? You personally, Zaragosa?”
    “Your Grace, I—”
    “Do you fear your talent is threatened by that of the Grijalvas?”
Or perhaps your color choice ? Perhaps I should look again at your most recent paintings, yes
?
    “Your Grace, they are the next thing to half-breeds,