falling into curtseys beside their embroidery frames as he passed, his sword swinging at his side.
The Queen's chin receded in a smile as he kissed her hand, something he'd not shrunk from doing after doctor Hernandez had pronounced her free of contagion. "I was going to say 'laughter,' " she said in French.
He smiled as if not quite certain what she said. His Majesty knows little French, so the Queen must always converse with him in Spanish. Although the King is a renowned scholar in many other fields, he is not gifted in tongues, and being King, others must accommodate him, not he make allowances for them. It was a surprise, therefore, when he said in halting French, "Are you comfortable, My Lady?"
The Queen's face lit Up. In rapid French, she launched into a young girl's complaint of being restrained indoors due to her illness as the King looked on helplessly.
"I am sorry, My Lord," said the Queen, switching to Spanish when she saw his incomprehension. She laughed. "It was a rambling best Unheard. As my mother says, 'If you cannot say anything good, then say nothing at all.' "
"A wise woman," the King said in his own tongue. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, as if waiting for her to continue.
The Queen gripped together her hands in thought. She wore the Great Pearl pinned to her day robes, giving her the air of a child playing dress-Up in her mother's clothes. "And how fares your son the Prince Don Carlos? I hear he has taken ill. I hope he is better now."
"Yes," said the King, and nothing more. He cast his gaze about the chamber. Madame de Clermont smiled at him from behind her embroidery frame; the condesa nodded. I myself made a show of drawing, though I was only adding crosshatching to a shadow.
"Dona Sofonisba."
I nearly jumped from my skin. I put down my pen to curtsey.
"No, don't stop," he said.
I hesitated, then resumed my appearance of drawing.
He stood over me, close enough that I could catch his scent of cinnamon and hair pomade. "I see you are keeping company with the Queen, as I had hoped. Have you taught her to draw?"
"Doctor Hernandez wishes the Queen to regain her strength before she takes on a new endeavor, Your Majesty."
"I see."
He glanced at the Queen as if he wished to speak with her. A lady coughed quietly into her hand; my pen scratched against the rough paper.
The King drew in a silent breath, then looked down again at me. "I Understand that you were a great favorite of the artist Michelangelo."
My heart missed a beat. "He allowed me to study with him briefly. Very briefly." I tried to keep drawing. In my side vision I could see madame de Clermont slowly edging her way over to My Lady in a tortoise's race with the condesa de Uruena.
"He must be an interesting individual," said the King, still watching me, "so favored by God with an otherworldly talent. I would say he is the most revered artist alive."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The condesa spoke Up, having reached the Queen first. "Your Majesty," she said to the King, "they say in Michelangelo's painting of the Last Judgment, he outstripped even himself in portraying the punishment for those who have not lived well. The demons he imagines pulling the sinners into Hell are quite horrific."
"I have seen copies of the painting." I could feel the King's cool gaze move from me to the condesa. "I would say the true terror comes from how well Michelangelo Understands the sinners' agony. He captures their fear of having to pay for what they have done." Behind me I heard the rustle of the King's voluminous sleeves as he crossed his arms. "I am pleased that my wife should receive instruction--when she is well--from someone who has learned at his feet."
The Queen swallowed. "Sofi," she said in the shrill voice of a child trying to please, "show the King your other drawings."
I got Up to retrieve the other papers on the table across the room, my scalp prickling with the awareness that he was watching me.
"Do you like art, My Lady?"
The Queen's chin receded in a smile as he kissed her hand, something he'd not shrunk from doing after doctor Hernandez had pronounced her free of contagion. "I was going to say 'laughter,' " she said in French.
He smiled as if not quite certain what she said. His Majesty knows little French, so the Queen must always converse with him in Spanish. Although the King is a renowned scholar in many other fields, he is not gifted in tongues, and being King, others must accommodate him, not he make allowances for them. It was a surprise, therefore, when he said in halting French, "Are you comfortable, My Lady?"
The Queen's face lit Up. In rapid French, she launched into a young girl's complaint of being restrained indoors due to her illness as the King looked on helplessly.
"I am sorry, My Lord," said the Queen, switching to Spanish when she saw his incomprehension. She laughed. "It was a rambling best Unheard. As my mother says, 'If you cannot say anything good, then say nothing at all.' "
"A wise woman," the King said in his own tongue. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, as if waiting for her to continue.
The Queen gripped together her hands in thought. She wore the Great Pearl pinned to her day robes, giving her the air of a child playing dress-Up in her mother's clothes. "And how fares your son the Prince Don Carlos? I hear he has taken ill. I hope he is better now."
"Yes," said the King, and nothing more. He cast his gaze about the chamber. Madame de Clermont smiled at him from behind her embroidery frame; the condesa nodded. I myself made a show of drawing, though I was only adding crosshatching to a shadow.
"Dona Sofonisba."
I nearly jumped from my skin. I put down my pen to curtsey.
"No, don't stop," he said.
I hesitated, then resumed my appearance of drawing.
He stood over me, close enough that I could catch his scent of cinnamon and hair pomade. "I see you are keeping company with the Queen, as I had hoped. Have you taught her to draw?"
"Doctor Hernandez wishes the Queen to regain her strength before she takes on a new endeavor, Your Majesty."
"I see."
He glanced at the Queen as if he wished to speak with her. A lady coughed quietly into her hand; my pen scratched against the rough paper.
The King drew in a silent breath, then looked down again at me. "I Understand that you were a great favorite of the artist Michelangelo."
My heart missed a beat. "He allowed me to study with him briefly. Very briefly." I tried to keep drawing. In my side vision I could see madame de Clermont slowly edging her way over to My Lady in a tortoise's race with the condesa de Uruena.
"He must be an interesting individual," said the King, still watching me, "so favored by God with an otherworldly talent. I would say he is the most revered artist alive."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The condesa spoke Up, having reached the Queen first. "Your Majesty," she said to the King, "they say in Michelangelo's painting of the Last Judgment, he outstripped even himself in portraying the punishment for those who have not lived well. The demons he imagines pulling the sinners into Hell are quite horrific."
"I have seen copies of the painting." I could feel the King's cool gaze move from me to the condesa. "I would say the true terror comes from how well Michelangelo Understands the sinners' agony. He captures their fear of having to pay for what they have done." Behind me I heard the rustle of the King's voluminous sleeves as he crossed his arms. "I am pleased that my wife should receive instruction--when she is well--from someone who has learned at his feet."
The Queen swallowed. "Sofi," she said in the shrill voice of a child trying to please, "show the King your other drawings."
I got Up to retrieve the other papers on the table across the room, my scalp prickling with the awareness that he was watching me.
"Do you like art, My Lady?"
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