The Painted World
Stories Vol. I
Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic Fantasy, Romance, Historical
| Author: | Tara Maya | ISBN: | 1230000012125 |
| Publisher: | Misque Press | Publication: | August 17, 2012 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Tara Maya |
| ISBN: | 1230000012125 |
| Publisher: | Misque Press |
| Publication: | August 17, 2012 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Two short stories set in a world where portraits can enslave and paintings can come to life:
"Portrait of a Pretender" - The king has been murdered, the heir is missing, and Othmordian's path to the throne seems clear. Only three women stand in his way: His powerful sister, who suspects him; the Queen, who hides a secret that could destroy him; and the woman who once loved him.
"Drawn to the Brink" - Sajiana's job is to hunt down monsters brought alive from paintings. She never expected to meet one so handsome... or to need his help.
EXCERPT:
He wiped the blood from his hands before he left the atelier.
He dined alone, on real food--plain, hard bread. The servants, as he’d instructed earlier, had a bath drawn for him when he reached his quarters. Steam rose like smoke from the big wooden tub and the water had been scented with mint. He scrubbed his bare skin until it reddened like boiled lobster. Dark, guilty thoughts made it impossible for him to relax. The memories were visceral: a metallic taste in his mouth, the sound of Tulthy’s sobbing. He wished his dogs were here, but he had promised. He had made so many promises, hadn’t he, and he was finding them harder than ever to keep. Dawn seemed far away.
The water cooled. The once clean water was now gritty with dead skin and it no longer felt good, but he did not leave the bath until he heard a soft knock on the door. Startled, he tossed on a robe.
Lyadra entered.
He stared at her.
"Midnight, you commanded me." She still wore lace and gold.
"Yes." He felt like an idiot. "I’m to paint you. Yes."
"Here? No servants answered my knock at the main door, so I just..."
"No, not here, in my studio. Come."
It was a typical studio, large, empty, with one bay window, which during the day provided excellent light. All it provided now was a backdrop of stars under a sliver moon. A pedestal, which usually held baskets of fruit, or other objects, such as knives, useful to glamour, stood in front of the window. He lit a dozen sconces one by one.
"No couch?" she asked. "No chains? Where do all the other slave girls pose for you?"
"You’re the first."
"What honor you do me." Her voice was rich with sarcasm.
Without asking, she removed her clothes.
HEAT LEVEL: Sweet
Two short stories set in a world where portraits can enslave and paintings can come to life:
"Portrait of a Pretender" - The king has been murdered, the heir is missing, and Othmordian's path to the throne seems clear. Only three women stand in his way: His powerful sister, who suspects him; the Queen, who hides a secret that could destroy him; and the woman who once loved him.
"Drawn to the Brink" - Sajiana's job is to hunt down monsters brought alive from paintings. She never expected to meet one so handsome... or to need his help.
EXCERPT:
He wiped the blood from his hands before he left the atelier.
He dined alone, on real food--plain, hard bread. The servants, as he’d instructed earlier, had a bath drawn for him when he reached his quarters. Steam rose like smoke from the big wooden tub and the water had been scented with mint. He scrubbed his bare skin until it reddened like boiled lobster. Dark, guilty thoughts made it impossible for him to relax. The memories were visceral: a metallic taste in his mouth, the sound of Tulthy’s sobbing. He wished his dogs were here, but he had promised. He had made so many promises, hadn’t he, and he was finding them harder than ever to keep. Dawn seemed far away.
The water cooled. The once clean water was now gritty with dead skin and it no longer felt good, but he did not leave the bath until he heard a soft knock on the door. Startled, he tossed on a robe.
Lyadra entered.
He stared at her.
"Midnight, you commanded me." She still wore lace and gold.
"Yes." He felt like an idiot. "I’m to paint you. Yes."
"Here? No servants answered my knock at the main door, so I just..."
"No, not here, in my studio. Come."
It was a typical studio, large, empty, with one bay window, which during the day provided excellent light. All it provided now was a backdrop of stars under a sliver moon. A pedestal, which usually held baskets of fruit, or other objects, such as knives, useful to glamour, stood in front of the window. He lit a dozen sconces one by one.
"No couch?" she asked. "No chains? Where do all the other slave girls pose for you?"
"You’re the first."
"What honor you do me." Her voice was rich with sarcasm.
Without asking, she removed her clothes.
HEAT LEVEL: Sweet
