at subterfuge. “He can paint another, Aguo!”
“No,” he said. “He cannot.”
Of course he could not. Dead men painted nothing. But she clung to dissimulation. “Not another just like it, perhaps, but another to take its place.”
“No, Saavedra. Such things are painted only once. That is what gives them consequence.”
That, and whatever magic was in them. Saavedra bit into her lip. “Then I am to be exiled in my own home?”
“You are forbidden only Sario’s company. You will see him, of course—that can hardly be avoided within Palasso Grijalva—but you will not be permitted to speak to one another, or spend time together other than in the classes you take together. And, as to that—” He smiled briefly, “—it has been brought to my attention that you have much skill for a young woman, Saavedra. And you are of an age when those of us responsible for such things begin to consider which young men and women shall be matched according to talent.”
A wave of heat coursed through her flesh. Saavedra said nothing.
“He has led you astray, our little Neosso Irrado … do you believe we are blind? You are a good girl, Saavedra, but too trusting of Sario’s intentions. You permit him to lead you into improper compordotta, when he would do better to follow
your
example. Do not think we have no understanding that it was he who led you into the Crechetta—it is not in you to do that which is forbidden.”
This left her speechless, though her mind worked frantically.
“Poor company,” Raimon Grijalva said, “may mislead even the elect.”
She no longer thought of herself, of what she had done, only of what Sario might be. “But—he’s not truly bad, Aguo! He is Gifted, I know it!”
“Your loyalty does you credit, Saavedra.”
“It’s more than that, Aguo.” She surprised herself with her certainty, but it was so powerful she could not suppress it. “He’s different, Aguo Raimon. He’s
more
than everyone else.”
His expression now was curiously blank. “How do you know this?”
“I feel it,” she answered. “I just know it, Aguo. It’s here in my heart.” Saavedra touched her breast. “He never was like anyone else, right from the beginning. And they know it. It’s why they treathim so badly, why they taunt him, mock him, try to make him feel small … because they sense it in him, too, Aguo. He can be everything they long to be, but know in their souls they can’t be. It’s the true-talent, Aguo, but also the spirit.” She looked for understanding in the quiet eyes. “There are those of us who dream, who long to be the best ever; and those of us to whom it
isn’t
a dream, but something that will be attained. Something that must be.” Saavedra sighed a little. “They are jealous of him, Aguo. Even the moualimos, who know what he can be. You see—”
A lifted hand silenced her. “Indeed, we do know who is most likely to embody the talent we cherish. But discipline is vital, as is compordotta … a gift can only be honestly and effectively wielded for the good of the family when one understands that misuse of it can cause adverse consequences.”
Mutely, she nodded; Tomaz had certainly suffered such consequences.
“There are so few of us now, you see—we must safeguard those of us who are left. We dare not permit an angry young man to harm the ordering of the family.”
Now she shook her head.
“You will do better apart from him, Saavedra. Let your own talent blossom; rely not so much upon his Luza do’Orro when you claim your own.”
It shocked her; he knew of such things?
Raimon Grijalva smiled. “The moualimos are exacting and sometimes impossible to please, but they are also keen observers of talent, Saavedra. You have more than your share of it.”
“Not as much as
he
has.”
“Sario? Well—perhaps not … but without discipline, talent is nothing. If it cannot be controlled, of what use is it?”
They moved away from dangerous topics now and into
“No,” he said. “He cannot.”
Of course he could not. Dead men painted nothing. But she clung to dissimulation. “Not another just like it, perhaps, but another to take its place.”
“No, Saavedra. Such things are painted only once. That is what gives them consequence.”
That, and whatever magic was in them. Saavedra bit into her lip. “Then I am to be exiled in my own home?”
“You are forbidden only Sario’s company. You will see him, of course—that can hardly be avoided within Palasso Grijalva—but you will not be permitted to speak to one another, or spend time together other than in the classes you take together. And, as to that—” He smiled briefly, “—it has been brought to my attention that you have much skill for a young woman, Saavedra. And you are of an age when those of us responsible for such things begin to consider which young men and women shall be matched according to talent.”
A wave of heat coursed through her flesh. Saavedra said nothing.
“He has led you astray, our little Neosso Irrado … do you believe we are blind? You are a good girl, Saavedra, but too trusting of Sario’s intentions. You permit him to lead you into improper compordotta, when he would do better to follow
your
example. Do not think we have no understanding that it was he who led you into the Crechetta—it is not in you to do that which is forbidden.”
This left her speechless, though her mind worked frantically.
“Poor company,” Raimon Grijalva said, “may mislead even the elect.”
She no longer thought of herself, of what she had done, only of what Sario might be. “But—he’s not truly bad, Aguo! He is Gifted, I know it!”
“Your loyalty does you credit, Saavedra.”
“It’s more than that, Aguo.” She surprised herself with her certainty, but it was so powerful she could not suppress it. “He’s different, Aguo Raimon. He’s
more
than everyone else.”
His expression now was curiously blank. “How do you know this?”
“I feel it,” she answered. “I just know it, Aguo. It’s here in my heart.” Saavedra touched her breast. “He never was like anyone else, right from the beginning. And they know it. It’s why they treathim so badly, why they taunt him, mock him, try to make him feel small … because they sense it in him, too, Aguo. He can be everything they long to be, but know in their souls they can’t be. It’s the true-talent, Aguo, but also the spirit.” She looked for understanding in the quiet eyes. “There are those of us who dream, who long to be the best ever; and those of us to whom it
isn’t
a dream, but something that will be attained. Something that must be.” Saavedra sighed a little. “They are jealous of him, Aguo. Even the moualimos, who know what he can be. You see—”
A lifted hand silenced her. “Indeed, we do know who is most likely to embody the talent we cherish. But discipline is vital, as is compordotta … a gift can only be honestly and effectively wielded for the good of the family when one understands that misuse of it can cause adverse consequences.”
Mutely, she nodded; Tomaz had certainly suffered such consequences.
“There are so few of us now, you see—we must safeguard those of us who are left. We dare not permit an angry young man to harm the ordering of the family.”
Now she shook her head.
“You will do better apart from him, Saavedra. Let your own talent blossom; rely not so much upon his Luza do’Orro when you claim your own.”
It shocked her; he knew of such things?
Raimon Grijalva smiled. “The moualimos are exacting and sometimes impossible to please, but they are also keen observers of talent, Saavedra. You have more than your share of it.”
“Not as much as
he
has.”
“Sario? Well—perhaps not … but without discipline, talent is nothing. If it cannot be controlled, of what use is it?”
They moved away from dangerous topics now and into
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