The Crimson Shard Read Free

not hurrying off, are you, Blaise?” Livia asked. “Do you have time to finish my portrait?”
    “Sure. We’re not in a hurry.”
    “We need to get to Tottenham Court Road,” Sunni said. “Your dad said he’d be finished early today.”
    “But not yet,” said Blaise. “We’ve got tons of time.”
    Throgmorton’s face brightened, as if an idea had just come to him. “In that case, perhaps you would be interested in . . .” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “Perhaps not.”
    “What, Father?” Livia held Blaise’s sketchbook close. “What were you going to say?”
    “Well, my dear, I was thinking of a visit to the Academy,” said Throgmorton.
    “Yes, yes, Blaise must see it! He wants to be an artist, and he will love the Academy.”
    Sunni jumped in to ask, “What is it?” but Livia ignored her.
    “Father,” Livia said, “I think Blaise should stay to see the Academy
and
finish my portrait.”
    “Should he?” Smiling, Throgmorton eased the sketchbook away from his daughter. “Then, of course, Blaise
will
stay.”

“I f you wish to see the Academy, that is,” Throgmorton said to Blaise, almost as an afterthought, handing back the sketchbook.
    “Uh, what’s the Academy?” Blaise finally found his voice.
    “An art school — but only for the best, the most talented pupils. The Academy teaches young people the secrets of the Old Masters. It is so exclusive, students are admitted by personal recommendation only.”
    “Really?”
    Sunni could see a familiar alertness come over Blaise, like a hunter sensing he was near an elusive treasure.
    “The Academy is not for everyone,” said Throgmorton. “It is only for those willing to work hard and learn from the Master.”
    “I’d love to go to a school like that,” Blaise said.
    “You are the sort of young man who would make an ideal student,” Throgmorton said. “The Master will be delighted to meet you.”
    “Right,” said Blaise, his eyes wide.
    “And we can discuss your drawings in depth,” Throgmorton said. “I have a number of thoughts about them, as will he.”
    “That would be so amazing.” Blaise beamed.
    Sunni waved her hand. “Hello? I’m here, too, you know, Blaise.”
    “Aw, sorry, Sunni,” he said quickly. “Sunni wants to be an artist, too. She’s excellent at drawing.”
    “Oh, yes?” said Throgmorton. “You have a sketchbook you can show us?”
    Sunni shook her head. “I didn’t bring it today.”
    “That is a pity.” Throgmorton shrugged and turned away.
    At that moment, Sunni wasn’t sure what made her more angry: this tour guide and his daughter treating her like she was smaller than Jeremiah Starling’s ladybugs or seeing Blaise’s soppy grin whenever Livia hurled herself at him in her flashy gown. Watching the way his eyes now followed Livia, with all her shining hair and slender grace, Sunni couldn’t blame him. But deep down inside, her feelings were buzzing around and around like an outraged wasp caught under a glass.
    As they left the grand sitting room, Sunni wanted to pull her slippers off and throw them. But she took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Throgmorton. Art means more to me than anything. I love to draw.”
    “But I think you only love to draw
sometimes.
” Throgmorton smiled. “When there is nothing more interesting to do.”
    “I know I don’t draw all the time, like Blaise does,” said Sunni, trying to keep her voice even. “He’s special that way. But it doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”
    “True,” Throgmorton said. “But why are you telling me this?”
    “Because I’d like to see the Academy, too.”
    Throgmorton glanced at Sunni and then at Blaise.
    “Of course,” he said after a moment. “You are welcome to.”
    He hurriedly guided them through the small sitting room and two bedrooms on the third floor. Blaise put away his sketchbook to save time and hunted for all the painted illusions in each room, like the combs on a dressing table and the