For all its splendors, Paris is built on bones and ashes. Its glittering streets rest upon the backs of the long Dead. Refined towers held high by tombs and charnel pits. A grand city rising ever-upward from a foundation of its discarded lives. Plenty upon loss. Music upon silence. Light upon darkness.
But even here, in the moldering shadows, beauty persists - albeit of a more macabre nature. Yellowing skulls decorate the walls, fleshless bones cut and shaped into form and function. Generations upon generations crafted into exquisite tableaus, stories within stories, memories within memories. The forgotten history of Paris, waiting to be rediscovered.
Here, a phoenix walks amongst ghosts. Sun-touched fingers caress polished skulls as she drifts through the gloom. Silhouette can almost hear the whispers behind the silent mouths, see the souls behind the empty eyes. There are ghoulish wonders here, calling to her, urging her deeper into Paris's dead heart. Tantalizing treats hidden around every corner, waiting behind every iron door.
They remind her that she is more comfortable with the Dead. They are stripped bare of their secrets, and offer only Truth. And, at this moment, Truth she what she desires most.
She pauses before a grotto shrine - devoted to a blinded maiden. Small devotional candles burn, offering peaceful repose and contemplation, casting the shadowy world in orange light. Painted words at the statute's porcelain feet are long since faded, yet offer peace.
Silhouette continues her silent reflection, even when she hears the soft footsteps on bone-dust behind her.
The tread on the floor of stone and bone is heavy enough that it must be Paris' king; a woman's foot, particularly her mother's, would step more lightly. He comes to a halt behind and well away from her, giving her enough time to compose herself and/or be aware that he's no footpad to attack her.
"Welcome to Paris, again," says King Corwin. "I trust your journey was uneventful."
Silhouette curtsies; a hand flourishing her dress. "My King." A thankful smile colors her features. "An enjoyable trip, to be sure. I am glad to be above the waves once again. Thank you again for your invitation.
"I pray it hasn't been too costly for you. All your limbs are intact, at the very least," she chuckles.
"I am still the King," Corwin points out mildly. He doesn't add that Flora knows which side her bread is buttered on, but he hardly has to. "I've arranged for a meeting between you and my sister. I suggest very strongly that you keep in mind that she sincerely believes her daughter to be dead. If she's wrong, and she may be, she's a victim here as much as you: her consort murdered and as far as she knows, her child too. Someone lied to her and you. You should keep that in mind."
"Of course," Silhouette says. "I can fully appreciate the difficulty in casting off firm beliefs. It is a lesson I've been learning a great deal of late." A deep breath to calm her, "Thank you for this opportunity. I shall not squander it."
She slides her hand through the candle flames, back and forth, collecting a thin layer of oily soot. After dipping her finger into the shadowy pool, she draws two arching lines on her cheek, interconnected. Corwin might recognize it as a Herakleotikon hamma - a symbol of peace and healing.
With a nod, she joins him. "And you, my King. How do you fare?"
Whatever comment Corwin has about Silhouette's symbolism goes unspoken. Instead he answers her question. "I'm keeping up with the Joneses, or at least with Random and Caine, and probably staying ahead of the latter. There are some royal decrees in the works that may make for bad blood, though. Not family blood," Corwin adds, "just discontent in the city. The occasional unpopular measure is necessary to keep the city going, as Dad always used to say."
Silhouette smiles faintly as she walks beside him, "One must always have enemies, and stirring up the waters is the easiest way to find them. Might I ask what decrees you are instating? Of the Kingdoms, I find this one of particular interest." Her words are genuine, as if a pupil seeking a mentor.
"I find it necessary to trace the origins of the religious houses of the city. Some of them may have to be banned."
Corwin seems to be aware that this sort of law may require explanation. "Enemies of the realm are using one or more of the religious houses to get a foothold in Paris. Reid is dead, and an attempt was made on his life here before he left. I want to know who made it, and why."
Silhouette nods solemnly, "Ah yes. Reid. Very sad. I'd hoped to join Ossian in the search for him, but matters in Rebma took longer than expected." She sighs deeply. Although having trucked in Death for so long, it has become... wearying to her. "Do you suspect the monks of St. Ninian are being used as a front for this incursion?
"And would Lady Dara be involved?" The name poisons her tongue.
Corwin looks askance at Silhouette's tone, but doesn't question it. What he says is, "Not to my knowledge, though Dara has fingers in more pies than even I originally suspected. If she had some peripheral involvement in this, I wouldn't be surprised. I don't think she's the prime mover behind whatever scheme Reid stumbled onto before he died, though. I still can't get a good read on how tightly the Ninian monks here are really tied into the Klybesians, not to mention the lot in Abford--and how tightly those are tied to the Klybesians. Or the bunch that left Amber and went out to Asir Island. But I'm beginning to understand why Dad simply banished the lot."
"You may wish to attack their coin-purses. Removal of tax exemptions may allow you to better see where their true support is coming from," Silhouette says. "A slow process, but effective. Also subtle, thus distancing you from reprisals of the Citizenry.
"Is there any possible connection between Reid's death and my brother's?" Silhouette inquires. "Both were killed while investigating possible threats to our Family's interests. Possibly a coincidence, but those are few and far between, yes?"
Corwin waves his hand and shakes his head in the negative. "There's no reason to suspect Lucas' murder was anything other than what it appears to have been, which has no connection to any of the religious at all. And they have no exemptions, and never have. Charity proper here is distributed through the Crown and the Church, such as it is, of the Holy Unicorn, Notre Dame de Paris. The operations of other faiths is questionable at best as it is. But if they're Klybesians, they're not here for the money, and finding their money will tell us nothing. They have it, but their ambitions lie somewhere else."
Silhouette nods, taking this in. "Forgive me. I am unaware Paris's political structure. What power could they hope to obtain, should they infiltrate religious society? Does the Church hold more power than the Crown? Indeed, are they separate entities? And could you turn the houses against one another? Doctrine against doctrine, as it were?"
Corwin looks at her quizzically in a way that suggests to Silhouette that she's asked the wrong question. "How much do you know about the Klybesians? If you've kicked around the Shadow trade routes, you ought to know them. If you've sold weapons, you've probably even traded with them, or one of their fronts."
Silhouette shakes her head ruefully, "Unfortunately, if I've encountered them, it was through another agency. My travels through Shadow were random, quite literally at the whim of the tides. This inhibited my service to the Grand Design tremendously." As they turn a corner in the tunnel, she nods. "If you might Illuminate me to their Ways, I might recall a similar encounter."
Corwin shrugs. "I'm sure you've dealt with them in one form or another. They're involved in many of the different faiths of Shadow. Conflicting doctrine isn't a particular concern of theirs." His smile is wry as he gestures Silhouette through an arch. "One way or another, all the chapter houses of the various religions they’ve commandeered report to their central command, and they use the information to--do some things that we don't entirely understand. Part of it is keeping track of us and our descendants."
Silhouette mulls this over for a moment. She worries her lip, "Blood magick, perhaps? One technique for utilizing powerful blood - such as ours - would be to keep tabs on its source. Huon displayed an amazing ability with his blood, for example. Those abilities would be desirable. Or a study in eugenics? Manipulating our bloodline towards a certain end. I'm not familiar with their cross-Shadow capabilities, but placing certain genetics strains - as it were - in our path couldn't be too difficult.
"Considering the number of bastards amongst us, such encounters could be more common than not."
As Silhouette considers her answer, Corwin watches her. "Magic or technology--and in some places there's hardly any difference--is doubly dangerous with our blood. As far as I know, nobody has broken any shadows over that kind of interference with us, yet." The caveat is important, if Corwin's tone is any indication. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if they did manipulate our bloodlines to produce children. But I expect they also stir the pot with any children of our bloodline left unprotected." He leaves that item hanging.
"Although, it strikes me as odd that they'd simply murder Reid, rather than utilize him in another way," Silhouette muses. "Unless whatever he stumbled across endangered them far too gravely to risk his escape."
"We know he died. We don't know for certain that they killed him; there are other things out there that can kill even one of us. But if they're doing blood magic, or blood technology, they don't necessarily need a live bleeder. In the shadow where I lived for a few centuries--one of Flora's, but not, I think, one you know--they had developed basic blood transfusions. I learned better than to donate even when I couldn't remember who I was." Corwin's expression isn't quite a nostalgic smile. Then his thoughts return to the present, and it fades. "There are shadows with 'advanced' technology. You can imagine what they'd do with unusual blood like ours."
Silhouette nods to this, barely containing the smile. Indeed, she can imagine it. So many possibilities. "The bioweapons potential alone is most..." Delicious, she thinks. "...interesting.
"Pity we do not know if exsanguination was involved, as that might add credence to their involvement," she says. "Exactly how long have they been observing the Family? Is this a recent development?"
If it bothers Corwin that Silhouette's first response is to think of bioweapons, he doesn't say so. Instead he seems to be stuck on her second question, pondering it for a moment. "Dad threw them out of Amber about, oh, a thousand years ago or so." He says it with the carelessness of a Prince of Amber who's lived that thousand or so years. "It would have taken Dad a while to get his fill of whatever they were doing before that. So fifteen hundred years, give or take? Not that they're all the same monks, obviously, but there's a continuity of structure and organization across time and Shadow."
Silhouette gives a faint nod, troubled by the glacial time-frame. "I'm surprised they've been allowed to persist for this long. I'm assuming they've been more annoyance than threat." She brushes against him as they pass through a narrow archway. "Do you intend to place someone within their ranks to learn their true Purpose? It seems the wiser choice than disposing of them, lest they retreat and regroup."
The glacial time frame seems normal to Corwin, clearly.
"I'm surprised they're even still around. Fifteen hundred years in Amber can be a very long time in Shadow. Normally things that last that long have something of Reality to them." Corwin shrugs, and dodges a low bit of the ceiling. "Trying to put someone in has its appeal. I understand we have a rebel from their order now. It may be easier to get what we want out of him, to the extent that he knows it.”
He’s not exactly ignoring the fact that she’s brushing up against him, but he is certainly the archetype of the perfect gentleman.
Silhouette remains equally polite, despite the cramped quarters of the tunnel. "Would it be possible to allow or arrange for his escape, once any information has been gleaned from him? Perhaps through the aid of one of the Youngers. They cannot possess information on all of us, surely. We seem a scattered generation."
Corwin shakes his head. "If they're large enough and determined enough to stay intact in Shadow for fifteen hundred years, I'm not so sure." He pauses to let Silhouette proceed him through another narrow spot; he doesn't seem to expect any danger. "And it's a well-known family lore that we attract each other. Meg and Ossian ended up in the same orphanage in Shadow. I'm surprised you didn't end up there as well, given the sort of gravity we exert on each other, even by accident. And in any case, they don't have to have everyone, just most of us, to make trouble. Or, just enough of us."
Silhouette shrugs, "The Principia states distance and mass affect gravitational pull. I suspect my distant placement in Shadow extended the time period before one of the Elders drew me into their influence." She smiles, "Your sister was most kind, in that regard."
She laces her fingers behind her, strolling at a careful pace. "Their propensity for survival reminds me of the hydra. Strike one head and two more shall grow. Only through completely annihilation of the body might one achieve victory. But where is the body?" She asks this rhetorically, but regards Corwin as if he might actually know.
Corwin finds a door, which he opens. There's a stairwell behind it. This is not the route Silhouette took into this place, but apparently it's her exit, because Corwin gestures her up it. "Random seems to think he's found a potential location. If nothing else, it's a big chapter house. It's where Reid's body ended up. Several of your cousins are retrieving the body, and possibly dealing with the monks, with prejudice. We'll see what we get from them, and whether we can prove that they've actually murdered one of us this time. That we can't allow."
"Of course not," she replies with some finality. "Whatever assistance I may provide, it is yours. My King."
She bows her head and follows his given direction.
Corwin mounts the stairs behind her. "Be careful what you offer, niece. You'll find that I'll take you up on that." He casts a smile in her direction, even though she probably can't see it in the dim light of the stairwell. "But it's a princely offer. It's something my sister might have said, under the circumstances."
Silhouette instinctively turns her head to return the smile. "High praise, indeed, sire. Thank you."
She climbs the stairs, falling quiet for a moment, weighing the next words. "Someday, might you tell me of her?"
"Someday." Corwin falls quiet at that for a bit, and all Silhouette can hear for a moment is the clank of their feet on the spiral stair up to wherever they're going.
Silhouette maintains the silence, allowing Corwin his privacy and peace. She is all too familiar with pain. And some cannot be shared.
By the time Corwin and Silhouette get back to the Louvre, there is a room arranged for her by Corwin's chatelaine, Lady Alice, a superficially friendly but no-nonsense woman. Waiting inside is an invitation from the Princess Florimel, in her own hand, to tea. There is about enough time for Silhouette to refresh herself and possibly change into something more formal, if she wishes.
Given the opportunity to change, Silhouette does so - if only to remove the fine layer of bone-dust from her tanned skin. She wears one of her own designs; a sensuous obsidian dress with princess-seamed bodice and overlapping, lettuce-edged tiers. A burgundy ribbon accents her throat, while long, black opera gloves cover her lower arms - the proper etiquette for sleeveless dresses. When she moves, the fabric shimmers, like heat rising from cooling magma.
When Silhouette arrives at the appointed place, she finds that Florimel has set out afternoon tea in what must be the Parisian style: a very full service with a variety of potential additives or adulterants, depending on your point of view, like milk, tea, and lemon, and a generous service of pastries, both of the sweet variety and the less sweet (madeleines and financiers).
Florimel does not rise to her feet when Silhouette is shown into the room.
Silhouette approaches the table, offering Florimel a polite curtsey. "Princess. My deepest thanks for speaking with me." She raises her head, studying her mother for a moment. It has been so many years and a life-time ago. It's decidedly odd to her, seeing this woman eye-to-eye, rather than gazing up at her through a child's worship. She waits to be fully acknowledged, and invited to sit.
Florimel is wearing a tea gown in the Parisian style, in a shimmering pale fabric with an overlay of sea green that sets off her eyes and blonde hair.
"Silhouette. Please join me. My brother says that you wished to speak with me on an important matter." She gestures to a chair next to the settee on which she herself is seated. The situation is so elegant and civilized that it's almost easy to forget the woman is a Princess of Amber and possibly more dangerous than Corwin.
Silhouette sits, smoothing out her dress to clean, perfect lines. She feels Flora's eyes upon her, and immediately she is a child again - the armor of pain and hatred stripped away with a single gaze.
She dips her head respectfully, "Efharistó polí, Princess. Firstly, I wish to apologize for my vulgarity at our last encounter. For thirty odd years, I've been under the false belief that you had abandoned me and my family. This erroneous belief poisoned my words, as much as it did my heart. Even so, this does not excuse my actions. Me sygkhoryte." She bows her head again.
"However, I've recently discovered that outside factions contributed to the harm done to myself and - more importantly - to you, Princess," she continues. "I understand you have strong doubts as to my identity. I understand, more than most, how painful this part of your past is. But, with your permission, I wish to speak with you about that dark time. And, together, uncover the truth of what happened. I ask this boon of you, as I wish to confirm that the threat against us does not persist." She gathered a shaky breath, knitting her hands together.
"We need not discuss recent events," replies the Princess, "but instead focus on the past." She looks Silhouette up and down. "I have, upon consideration, decided that I have a duty to perform. I see three possibliities. The first is that you are my child and I must determine how you were taken and respond appropriately to that. The second is that you believe you are my child and are, in fact, the child of another, and we must know how that happened if it did. The third is that you are not and you are attempting to deceive me for your ends.
"There is no one among the living and nearly no one amongst the dead who would have a reason to attempt to trick me for anything I have or know, so we must assume that the hand that moved against me did so for reasons that were meaningful during the war.
"Given that, and my, as you say, 'strong doubts', it is important to know what you know of yourself.
"Please, begin at the beginning. I shall not interrupt."
Florimel pulls a pair of glasses from a case at her side and places them across her nose. She dips a quill in ink, ready to take notes, and indicates that Silhouette should speak.
Silhouette sips some tea, and nods to the request. "According to Father, Cadmilus, you met during the Posidea Festival in Delos. He was a demiourgos and merchant of some influence, and had travelled there to seek blessings of fair winds for the coming year. However, he found the crowds and festivities suffocating, for he suffered a deep melancholy at losing his wife some years before. He wandered away from the temples and markets, following the beach to a place where the rocks hide the town from sight. And there, he discovered you.
"At first, he thought you were the goddess Cytherea, watching the sun setting while the tide curled around your bare ankles. You wore a sea-green dress and headdress of golden laurels, which caught the light. 'The goddess of love draped in fire and foam.' His words, not mine. He always wished he could have been a poet, rather than a politician." She smiles wistfully.
"Believing you were divine, he fell to his knees in the surf and asked for your blessings - for himself and his young daughters. He asked that you could mend his heart and provide his children with the mother they deserved, for he knew not the secrets of women that his daughters required. You were so taken with his impassioned prayer that you favored him with a kiss. And then again each night after that for the rest of the festival; you waiting for him at that very spot on the beach. On the last night, I was conceived - or so Father liked to believe. Again, the poet in him.
"You accepted his family, and they welcomed you in turn. As I mentioned, Aigle, my sister's mother, had died while they were babes. A wasting illness that beset her after child-birth, if I am not mistaken. Too young to remember their mother, Erato and Parthenope were overjoyed by your presence in their lives. And, even after I was born, you continued to treat them as if they were your own daughters."
She pauses for a moment, cocking her head. "Truth be told, I do not know if you ever married my father. You were always our mother, Antheia, the goddess of flowers. I would like to believe I am not a bastard, but such matters weren't a child's concerns. And events took you from me before it could be a consideration, let alone the truth be revealed to me. Either way, Father loved you with every fiber of his soul. You saved him, I think. Made him believe that he could live again.
"And live we did. You named me Kabeiro after the dolphins that frequented the bay beneath our domus. You and Father would walk along the shore each evening while I was still in your belly, and the dolphins would always sing to you. I do not know if this is truth or Father's poetic license again." A chuckle escapes her lips. "I believe that was where you were happiest, though. Never a night passed that you did not walk along that beach, and always with Father - except the rare night the forum stole him from you. We weren't allowed to join you, no matter how hard we begged. And you always knew when we tried to follow. Ha, how angry you got some nights, especially those you and Father wished for the privacy our domus did not provide."
The words are flowing like rain now, pouring out of Silhouette. Tears shimmer in her eyes, of sadness, of joy.
"You raised all of us to be Ladies - not women. You told us that we would not be merely wives, shadows to our husbands' wishes, like so many other girls of Magna Graecia before us. No. Like the Moirai, we would rule our own fates and shape the world to our choosing. You paid for the finest scholars to teach us, making certain we were well-versed in the Philosophia et Septem Artes Liberales. I think you tested me, pushed me, more than you did Erato and Parthenope. As if you expected more from me. Being the youngest, I found this decidedly unfair, yet always struggled to please you. But I thank you for that, as my studies of the Quadrivium - particularly geometry - saved my life some years later."
After another sip of tea, she continues, "At some expense, you also constructed a sizable library for the domus, filling it with scrolls and tomes from every corner of Magna Graecia. And many from other Shadows, I now realize. I believe you were both pleased and frustrated by the amount of time I spent there, sometimes missing meals or important engagements in favor of my reading. Many a night you would come to collect me, usually finding me on the sill of the western window. It was painted blue, I remember, and overlooked our herb garden. The winds off the Mesogeios Ocean were coolest there, lemon myrtle thick in the air. I'd spend hours watching the stars come out, studying the constellations so I could tell you about them during the morning lessons. You'd come collect me, and carry me to bed. I pretended to still be asleep when you tucked me in, listening to you softly sing and stroke my hair. Some nights, you'd whisper to me about other worlds, other places. And how someday you'd show them to me. You smelled of olives and jasmine, and I'd cling to my pillow after you'd gone - drinking in that scent. It made me feel safe."
A frown passes over her face and she pauses... the next words coming slowly. "Then the letter came. Just after my eleventh birthday. It arrived, carried by a man in strange clothes, riding a horse unlike I'd ever seen before. White as chalk and massively built. You seemed equally perplexed by the arrival, but whatever the letter contained troubled you more. You went down to the bay for much of that afternoon. And, after Father went to retrieve you, I could tell both of you were upset upon your return.
"You called me to the south balcony, just as midday was slipping into evening. You wore sea-green chiton. Your smile had lost its softness. It was like looking across the ocean and seeing grey clouds, the warning of a coming storm. The letter was crushed in your hand, fingers white with the tension of it. It frightened me. But the words to come frightened me more. You said, 'I must leave you, Little Meliai. But only for a time. I shall return to you, I promise.'" The voice eerily mimics Flora's, as if a ghost speaking for beyond the Veil.
She breathes out, pained. "You did not return, of course."
Silhouette glances up, staring into those blue eyes. "Do you have any questions before I tell you how... How I died?"
Flora looks up from her pad and shakes her head. "Just be as thorough as you can. What happened after I left?"
Silhouette nods politely, continuing. "Not long after your departure, Father grew increasingly involved at the Forum. I could tell he was hiding something from us, some facet of life and politics he believed us too young to understand. But he could not protect us from idle talk at the markets. We learned that the flames of war had begun to smolder, as the Hydran City State threatened Magna Graecia once again. When we confronted Father, he assured us that the conflict would never reach our shores." She pauses, fighting to get the next words out. "He promised that no matter what happened, he would protect us."
Another pained pause, "It was a promise he could not keep. In the second month after you left, our home came under attack. I found myself pulled from my bed by some man dressed in peculiar armor. Not bronze and leather, but light mail. Bearded, brown-eyes, and bad teeth. His hair was long, matted and not oiled, as most men do. When I resisted, he punched me in the stomach, stealing my breath.
"He dragged me into the portico, where his companions had tied Father up. Not after some resistance, I might add. Father bore the injuries of his struggle, as did some of the men. But for all his promises and training, he could not stand against so many." She stares outward, darkness falling over her features - her jaw tightening to the point of breaking.
"They were taking turns with..." She stops, choking on the words. "They ravaged my sisters. Father screamed and thrashed, but his bindings were too strong. Erato and Parthenope refused them the satisfaction of crying out. That angered them the most, I believe. The men beat them. Hurt them in so many ways. And, in the end, cut their throats.
"Perhaps, I was too young. They did not steal my maidenhead. Instead, they bound me to Father. They bludgeoned him into unconsciousness, then covered us in oil. Smiling. Yammering on in that strange language of theirs. Laughing as they lit the comus on fire.
"The flames reached us like lightning, consuming us. Father. Crisped, screaming, clutching me even as the flesh sloughed from his bones. He took so long to die. Too long. I felt his pain. But none of my own. Only the sting of smoke in my eyes and lungs, smothering me. Until I finally, blessedly, fell into darkness."
She glances over at Flora, searching for anything in that face of hers. Anything the might read as human.
Florimel listens impassively, her expression still, as if she has heard such stories before to the point where she no longer has to react to them. Silhouette can hear the quill scratch as Florimel notes the details of the attack, or whatever else she may be adding.
At the end, she says, "You know that there are magics and technologies that alter memories, even of those of the blood of Amber. Have you ever encountered any of these?"
"Encountered and utilized," Silhouette replies guilelessly. "However, I do not believe any of the methods I've encountered could withstand the Pattern's restorative effects. As my Uncle can attest to, I'm certain."
She nods again, as if answering an unspoken question. "I know now that some of my memories were affected. Clouded by shock from the physical and mental traumas, no doubt. From my 'death' and the trials of slavery to follow. Many returned to me while on the Rebman Pattern." A low sigh, "Several troubling Enlightenments, to say the least. Many that I am still coming to grip with. But I do know that my blood, or something in it, is the only reason I survived the flames." Another sigh, "Indeed, it has made me question whether or not my Father truly was my father."
Florimel ignores the jibe about her presumed daughter's paternity.
"There are methods that cause organic memory loss, even beyond what the Pattern can repair," she says, "but that doesn't seem to be your problem. Though the detail that you _died_: clearly you didn't. We survive things that others would not, it's true; and since it seems you are of the royal blood at some remove, you may well have lived through a fire that would have killed a shadow dweller.
"The way you speak of it, assuming you are speaking truthfully--" a caveat that Florimel issues with a cool smile, not hiding the concern but not making too much of a point of it "--tells me that you're more concerned about your feelings about what you think I did or did not do, and not about those who attacked you and murdered your family, and presumably left you to whatever terrible fate you suffered afterwards."
"Then, Princess, my apologies. I misrepresent myself," Silhouette says, straightening her back. "True. Once, I did blame you for abandoning me, but such feelings were ill-placed and foolish. You left because of Duty, be it to your Father or King Eric. There is no fault in that, nor could there ever be. I understand and respect Duty more than most. The fault lies with two other family members."
Her face remains impassive, "I believe King Eric ordered the attack. His motive being to eliminate your outside ties, and thus bind you to his service during the Interregnum. I do not know how you learned of our deaths, but I can only assume it came from him.
"However, I believe that neither you nor Eric realized, another Family member likely intervened on my behalf. Your sister, Deirdre. She, through direct means or agents, rescued me following the attack and transported me into Shadow. You mentioned the inability to find me, so the location must have been hidden. I suspect Deirdre wished to use me as a tool. Leverage against you, as you were involved in Corwin's incarceration. Revealing my fate would also have likely turned you against the King."
She leans back, "Unfortunately, Deirdre's subsequent capture prevented her from carrying out her plans. And, when she did not return, her agents sold me into slavery, likely to alleviate their expenses. This, in time, led to my arrival in Vanderyahr - a Shadow that perpetually moves through Creation - further compounding my misplacement."
Florimel's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Have you told His Majesty, my brother, of this theory?"
Silhouette nods lightly, "Yes. We discussed Deirdre's involvement, and is the reason he agreed to be our go-between, I believe." She pauses, weighing the next words. "Initially, I thought I'd offended him at the suggestion, but, in the end, he was very diplomatic. I did not wish to press him on the subject. His love for her is deep."
She meets his mother's gaze. "Only you, myself, King Corwin, Queen Celina, and Princess Llewella know of this. It might be best it remain that way."
"I daresay this is not a suspicion I would be inclined to carry further." If there's any way to disturb the unflappable Princess, this is not it.
"But your guess as to how I learned of the murders of my family is incorrect. I heard of matters through my own agents. While I would hardly be surprised if my father, or my siblings, for that matter, had agents in Magna Graecia or the Hydran City State, I do keep an eye on things that are mine. How does that fit with your theory, or does it change it in any way?"
Silhouette shakes her head, "No, madame, it does not alter my hypothesis. If anything, it helps strength it. The bearer of ill news, in this case, would have been immediately suspect."
She taps her chin, considering. "May I ask who led Amber at that time? Your Father or Eric? Due to Time Distillation, I still do not even know where these events fell into Amber's Time Frame."
"It was after my father disappeared, but before Eric took over. No one thought anything of my father's absence at that point; he had a history of leaving and returning at will. Sometimes he brought home a new wife." Florimel smiles thinly there, as if she finds something about that amusing, but not very. "There was no reason to suspect the jockeying for power in Amber was going to grow more deadly, much less turn out as it did.
"Attacks by strange creatures in Shadow were starting even then. To the extent that I believed that my family's loss was a strike against me, I later concluded it was intended as a blow against Amber from that angle."
"I see," Silhouette says, nodding. "I'd once believed the attack to be random, but my subsequent 'misplacement' in Shadow remains highly suspect. Also, Llewella is convinced someone purposefully moved against you specifically."
She leans slightly forward, "What convinced you otherwise?"
"I am not convinced otherwise now." Florimel arches her eyebrows slightly, for a moment. As she continues, they descend to their usual place. "At the time, I wasn't considered a major player by the factions jockeying for the throne." A slight quirk of her mouth follows that statement.
"Nobody had any reason to strike at me then. The picture appears different in retrospect, of course, with more knowledge of the factions and their choices. And Llewella has every reason not to like Eric, even more than she has to dislike the redheads. Family history plays into one's judgement of one's relations." Another slightly quirked smile, this one more indulgent.
Silhouette nods to this, folding her hands together. "I've offered my perception and memories of the events. You may take them as truth, or dismiss them as falsehood. But the question remains. Do you believe a threat still exists? Someone went to considerable lengths to harm you. And myself. Someone of Power. I have only hearsay of the Family's intentions and personalities from which to draw conclusions. You possess the superior knowledge and perception of who that may have been."
A expression touches her face; perhaps a hopeful smile, perhaps a grimace. "I do not know if you desire a reconciliation between us, as I do. Or if the gulf of time and doubt will forever keep us apart. But we share a common adversary. Be they alive or dead. I seek your wisdom, so we might dispel or destroy their influence on our lives."
Florimel leans forward just slightly as she replies to Silhouette's question. "If the threat is from Deirdre and Eric, how can it continue? They died in the war. Do you think Jerod prosecutes a secret vendetta against me or you? Or perhaps Marius and Signy? That there was someone out there who prosecuted a grudge against me, on my child, is entirely possible. But your history of the war is incomplete, and if matters are as you suggest, then there is no justice to be had and no threat that continues. As opposed to--" and here her voice grows more fierce "--the murderer of my son Lucas, who is still at large and a threat to the family."
Silhouette nods, "If the Guilty are dead, then justice is no longer required. And I am glad for it. As to Lucas..."
Her expression hardens, a steely cruelness darkening her forest-shadow eyes. "Tradition requires I avenge my brother's death. However, the Right of Vendetta belongs to you, Mother. I cannot - and will not - act without your permission, lest I insult you further." She straightens her back, "Particularly, as my parentage remains in question.
"One cannot avenge a brother they cannot claim as theirs."
"There are many people who claim a right of vendetta against Moire, King Random not least among them." Florimel's accustomed serenity has returned to the extent that anything said so far in this conversation could have been said to even slightly disrupt it. Her green eyes rest on Silhouette, assessing her. "If you would claim vendetta, there are other, nearer targets for your wrath. Tell me how you avenged yourself on Magna Graecia, or how you plan to if you haven't yet."
Silhouette nods; her voice genteel, almost innocent. And certainly not the voice one would use to express the words to follow. "Lack of opportunity and the Precepts of the Grand Design inhibited swift retribution. However, once I escaped my enslavement, all those directly involved were disposed of. As well as those who profited from my suffering. In most cases, they died at the hands of their families or enemies - so they understood the true agony of betrayal. It is amazing what harm a single word whispered into the right ear can inflict. The wrath of a jilted wife or an avaricious son are more deadly than any blade.
"Their leader, Ireneus, had a weakness for wine and the dice. In the end, I bought his all markers through an intermediary. Then called them in at the same time. He was forced to sell all his property. His wife and children were forced into the streets, scrounging like animals. Through my agents, I made certain that they were allowed no respite, no charity. Shunned, spat upon, reviled. Suffering every indignity I endured, and more. Their resentment of him, growing, festering. Then one day, I made certain Ireneus gained a jug of wine by 'happenstance.' He took to it like a ravenous beast, drinking himself into a stupor. Unconscious, he was easily moved to a katalyma (inn) and put to bed.
"I appeared before his family as one of the Erinyes, told them of his crimes, of his many sins, and how they'd come to be in their personal hell. Half-mad with hunger and hatred, they were easily convinced of my divinity. Then I told them that he'd come into money, but had spent those coins to sate his own thirst. I led them to the katalyma, and allowed them to witness the 'truth' of my words. Ireneus, lying their, his belly full of food and wine, his body wrapped in soft sheets.
"It is fascinating how much damage teeth and nails can do to the human body. Even in their weakened state, they ripped Ireneus apart like wild dogs. His son beat him with the wine jug. Then cut him to ribbons with the broken shards. He was too drunk to fight them off, but remained deliciously aware through his death. He saw me in the doorway, recognized me. Realized the Fate he'd unleashed upon himself." A wistful smile. "Even as his wife tore the remnants of his manhood from him."
She turns her gaze to Flora, "True enemies are beyond reconciliation. They must be exterminated. Crushed. Utterly denied the opportunity to turn back on you like a half-dead viper. This is the Fifteenth Law. But, sometimes, even enforcing a Law can bring a modicum of satisfaction."
Through the narrative of revenge, murder, and dismemberment, Florimel consumes tea and a small pastry.
"Random has forbidden the murder of family members, even if it were otherwise safe to do so." She puts her teacup down. "And because she is his son's grandmother, and mother to Corwin's daughter, Moire almost certainly counts under that dictate. And Random's law carries more weight than any other system you might care to consider." Her smile is bright and hard. "If you were to avenge Lucas on Moire, how would you do it?"
Silhouette refills her tea-cup, "Hypothetically speaking, if Moire is responsible for Lucas's death, Vendetta involves several considerations. In particular, her affiliation with King Corwin and Queen Celina intensifies her role in the Grand Design. The repercussions will affect many levels of Creation." She sips her tea, thinking. "Without further Enlightenment, I believe two approaches could achieve our end and promote the Greater Good.
"One: bolster Moire's position and power. Embolden her desire to retake Rebma from her daughter. Provide her with the opportunity to attack, and even triumph in such a conflict. This would force Corwin, Random, and Celina to retaliate, lest Rebma be destroyed in a civil war. Then, during the ensuing conflict, kill her. Be it through assassination or by 'chance,' as it were. War allows for many such opportunities. This would adhere to the Grand Design, as Rebma would be renewed by the conflict - and expose and eliminate traitors within their midst.
"Two: drive Moire's force and supporters to desperation. Place enough force upon them that they will turn on her, killing or capturing her for us, as an act of self-preservation. If captured, it shouldn't be too difficult to enlist an assassin to remove her while she is in custody. Indeed, they might believe it is for the betterment of Rebma. The woman effectively abandoned her people - a sign of weakness. I sense a... predatory nature to them, just beneath their regal surface. One that can be encouraged and honed."
She sets the cup aside, "The key, however, is to assure my involvement remains undetectable."
"Yes," Florimel agrees, "keeping your involvement silent would be key, because if you were to be caught in fomenting family trouble of this sort, particularly the sort that involves causing a civil war in Rebma, Random would not deal lightly with you--nor would Celina, nor, likely, Corwin for her sake.
"But this is a moot point, as nobody knows where Moire is to enable her to do such a thing, nor to force her former supporters to turn on her. She has no supporters now, of course, if only as a matter of practicality." Florimel smiles again, in a way that suggests quite the opposite of her words' plain meaning.
Silhouette returns the smile, "Such a pity then that the Queen employed me to locate and befriend Moire's supporters in Rebma. My feted venality tends to attract the worst sort of individuals, after all. But an unsavory reputation can have its benefits."
She tops up their cups, "Celina is the key to your desires. She is young, malleable, and eager. These weaknesses are compounded by her mother's ill-treatment and the death of her lover. Fill these gaps, and she is yours. Then, she will provide you with the opportunity you seek. As well as serve as the perfect buttress against reprisals from the Two Kings."
She samples some of the fare before adding, "Maybe it is time for you to come to Rebma? If only to visit your sister. She is most concerned for you."
"Then you're well positioned to take advantage of whichever supporters might turn up. As for me--I'm needed here for the next while. If you wish to pursue the matter through the Rebman court, within the family rules--we will see then if you have the nature of Lucas' sister." Florimel smiles coolly and raises her teacup to Silhouette.
Silhouette raises her cup, bowing her head. "Indeed."
After a quick sip, "Might I ask one favor of you, Princess? A Trump of you. The ability to circumvent others in our communication would be highly beneficial."
"Unfortunately I don't." Florimel is already shaking her head in the negative before she begins to speak. "Trumps aren't simple to obtain even now, and they were less so before. Those who can make them are in high demand, and some even conceal their knowledge of the art. Lucas kept that knowledge mostly to himself until his death. It was Brand who taught him, you see, and that's not an affiliation many wish to admit to."
"Very well," Silhouette says, bowing her head. "Then, with your permission, I would return to Paris regularly for my business. We can speak of this matter further, under the pretense of discussing fashion trends to be brought back to Rebma. Few would doubt my consulting with you, as your refined aesthetic is legendary."
Florimel nods at the idea of regular visits. "I am certain you can come up with some excuse that will bring you to Paris, to keep me apprised of the situation."
Last modified: 12 October 2014