Portrait
Disclaimer: Daine and Numair, as well as the world of Tortall are the property of Tamora Pierce. Volney Rain is her character as well, but this interpretation of him is all my own.
It was rather difficult to ask someone to stand still and look straight ahead when they didn't even know you were watching them. The frustrated artist learned this the hard way. Though he knew the vision he was painting could not hear him, several times he had to restrain himself from snapping at her, when she moved.
She certainly was an active lass. Half a day he spent watching her, hunting again for the precise angle he was painting every time he lost it when she moved. She seemed not to stand still for a breath. Well, at least there was something to paint of her. He was growing so tired of the portraits that were commissioned of him. They stood along the walls of his studio in rows.
Panel after panel, canvas covered in paint. Nine out of ten depicted a powdered face, an elegantly embroidered gown, lips painted a rich red and pouted in a well-practiced way, hair made up in glossy curls all falling identically to those of the other eight alongside her. The court ladies were almost all so bland. And those who were interesting were too impatient to sit a portrait, or two busy.
As was this one. Her eyes, bright with intelligence and concentration, flitted from one task to another. Her arms, tanned from the sun, were in constant motion. Her face was never still -- always smiling, frowning, quirking this way and that. Painting her was more than a commission to court artist Volney Rain; it was a challenge.
Not that the smallness of his requested canvas wasn't just as hard. He'd had to pluck hairs out of no less than a dozen brushes, reducing one of them to a twig with a few hairs at the end. He'd had to mix diminutive amounts of paint for her lips, her eyes, the highlights of her cheek and nose, the green collar of her shirt and the ribbon in her hair. It was the most exhilarating project he'd had since coming to court.
After hours of slaving away at tiny details, his palm-sized masterpiece was nearly done. Volney dabbed tiny drops of red and white into the remnants of the color he used for the lass's face, watching the globe hovering over his worktable intently. The ball showed the face in his portrait, following it about as its owner went about her business. Only one thing was missing on the canvas, one detail to tip the scales. For him to get it just right, to make the portrait of a lifetime as perfect as it could be, he had to catch his model at just the right moment.
Volney's eyes never left the magic globe. His brow was furrowed; his fingers gripped the minute brush like a sword. Ready to run a race, or win a battle, the artist was waiting for that one crucial moment, ready to grab it when it came. He was hunting after the perfect portrait, and it would not elude him. Not this one chance, the chance he'd likely never get again.
The moment came, and he was ready. Something stirred in the globe showing the image of his model. Perhaps a lanky wizard said something typically obscure, or an ornery pony made a snippy comment. After the day's work that made his entire life worth living, Volney Rein knew his portrait as well as the best of her friends. He had a good idea of what would make her laugh.
But that wasn't important. His golden moment had come and gone, but he had caught it, in joyous rose on canvas, for posterity. More than ever before, he knew with a certainty that an artist does the work of the holy.