As The Seasons Turn

The next morning, when Paige awakens in her chambers, she finds a scuttling spider-creature whose body is about the size of Gerard's fist beside her bed. In one of its dozen or so arms, it holds a note for her.

Dearest granddaughter,

When you awaken, pray dress and attend on me and your aunt. She and I have had the most interesting discussion about the course of your pregnancy, and I should like to examine you.

Eetu will know where your Aunt and I are.

Your grandmother,
Clarissa

Paige looks at the spider-creature in curiosity, asking, "I'm to assume that you're Eetu, hmmm?"

It makes a little chittering noise, but Paige has no idea what it's saying. The creature's forward legs bend in several places--not all the same in each leg, either--as it rises and falls in a way that might simulate a nod.

She tosses the coverlet from her and heads to the washboard, giving her face a good scrubbing, and deciding that she didn't feel like too much makeup. Pulling a dress from her chest and looking troubled at its tightness as she slips into it, she then sits at the vanity. A spare bit of eyeliner, the barest hint of color for her lips and cheeks. She decides to leave the voluminous red hair in the braid she had slept in.

If she was a bit awkward in rising, she wasn't going to admit it to herself.

"Lead on, Eetu," she addresses the spider-creature. "And remind me, not to ever bring Fathom to Clarissa. He might just try to eat you, Eetu."

Eetu makes a questioning chirp at Paige, and leads her out into the halls of Castle Clarissa. It proceeds down the corridor, taking turns that Paige tries to remember until she looks back and sees that the hall she's walking away from isn't the one she remembers having stepped out of.

After a little time, not so long as to tire Paige out, but long enough that she notices the awkwardness in her tread, Eetu stops before a door. It reaches up with one of its back legs, arching the leg over its body, and wraps it around the door handle as if it were a boneless tentacle. Eetu steps back, pulling the door open, and lets Paige enter the room.

Within, Clarissa and Fiona are sitting at the breakfast table. "Ah, granddaughter," says Clarissa. "Please, join us." She gestures to an empty place at the table.

Paige sits with as much grace as her growing stomach and stretching muscles allow. If there's food about, she eyes it hungrily, but doesn't presume to interrupt her aunt and grandmother, even though it feels like she hasn't eaten in days.

"Thank you, Grandmother," she greets them. "Your note suggested something 'interesting' about the twins," Paige says as her hand lays across the growing stomach. "For all my knowledge of Thari, I couldn't help but read your hand as 'worrisome'."

"What might I tell you that would ease all our concerns?" she asks hopefully.

"Oh, we can discuss matters medical after breakfast," Clarissa says brightly. "No point in putting a growing girl off her feed." She claps her hands and covered dishes begin to float in. Paige can see as they arrive at the table and are deposited that the creatures bearing them are single-stalk beings of some sort. Each has a different number of feet, and one of them rolls about on what look to be organic wheels.

Paige skirts the edge of her etiquette lessons, sure that Lady Vesper would have taken offense were she present, and eats with a relish that her cousins would better match to Martin or perhaps even Corwin. She chuckles at the thought of Harmony dealing with her grandmother's affines, picturing the expression of fear well enough that she might have to sketch it later if time allowed.

When she's sated for the moment, she looks to her elders and smiles hopefully. "I'm surprised with Merlin's scrying. He believed he was looking one year relative to Amber time and the twins were still but bundles," she explains pulling the sketch from her shoulderbag.

On looking at the sketch again, Paige realizes that she is well on the way to having the baby fat Merlin foresaw.

Clarissa takes the sketch and she and Fiona examine it. "How did he create the sketch? Do you know? Obviously, he used Time, but do you know the specific application?"

Fiona says, "Paige hasn't been trained that way--unless Brand taught you that, too." She looks at her niece, assessing Paige as she answers.

Paige shakes her head, "No. Uncle Brand saw my talent for the Fortunes, and decided I should learn Trump. We discussed sorcery, but I never studied.

"I've a habit of not staying with any one discipline too long, at least not learning one," she admits.

"You won't have that luxury any longer," Clarissa replies. "Your children will be your study now."

Fiona adds, "But you'll find them absorbing." She sounds a little wistful.

"I'm sure that there's as much to learn with them as there is through them. I'd like to think I've helped Father open his eyes to things," Paige says with a chuckle.

Fiona suppresses whatever reaction she has to that.

The sketch has again occupied Clarissa's attention. "I think I'd like to see what lies ahead for you myself. How would you feel about that, Paige dear?"

Paige looks thoughtful for a moment and nods once, abruptly. Aunt Fiona might recognize the adopted mannerism, or perhaps not.

Fiona does not appear to recognize it, although Paige suspects her father would.

"What do you need of me, Grandmother?" [Paige] answers.

"Let's go up to my workroom," Clarissa says. "Your aunt can help me. You don't need to do anything at all."

The three women walk through the castle, the ways bending willingly before their mistress, and before Paige expects--certainly with far less stair-climbing than she expected--they are in a room that Paige vaguely recognizes, having seen it in the smoke on the Sun.

Clarissa and Fiona begin gathering the components and props needed for the sorcery. They are different from the ones Merlin chose, Paige notices. No drawing materials are among them.

Paige takes a moment to sit and clear her mind. She banishes doubt and concern. Her twins are healthy and growing. She feels wonderful, a bit invigorated, albeit a bit hungry. Like Cambina helped her understand letting the Fortunes flow through her, not reflect off her, she considered that Grandmother's mysteries would benefit for what help she might give.

After a time, Clarissa and Fiona begin burning the ingredients they have gathered in a great brazier. The smoke is unpleasant--Paige has a strong desire to cough, and her exposed skin itches--but she suppresses those instincts and lets her grandmother and aunt proceed with their work.

Fiona has a lovely singing voice, it turns out.

After an hour or so of work, Fiona's song trails off, and she and Clarissa peer into the smoke. When Paige starts to move to look at it, Fiona shakes her head.

"That's odd," says Clarissa. One long finger stabs out at something in the smoke that Paige can't see.

"It is," Fiona agrees. "I don't think it's time-associated at all, Mother." She turns to Paige. "Paige, may I see the sketch again?"

When Paige hands her the sketch, she and Clarissa look at it. "Mother, those children wouldn't be newborns a year after Paige became pregnant. There's already a time distortion in the sketch. She'd have to pregnant for a year for them to be newborns."

Clarissa looks at her daughter. "Or a full turning of the seasons. That's what Merlin saw. He's simply not experienced enough with Amber time to know the difference. What season was it when you left Amber, Paige?"

Paige thinks for a moment, "Spring of course, we had just blessed the fleet. But it was summer in the Lands of Peace." Slowly lights dawn as they must've for her Aunt. "Fall at Ygg and winter here," she finishes.

"Shit." She fights herself. She can't loose it in front of Grandmother.

"What the hell did he do to me?" She won't loose it, not now.

"What did I..." She can't meet Fiona's gaze, or Clarissa's. They'd see right through her.

Fiona's hand is on her shoulder. "Perhaps you should sit down, Paige," she suggests gently.

Paige nods and takes a seat looking around, her surroundings dancing away from her sight. What had brought her here? When did the surreal become the norm? Why can't I just go back to Heerat and hide again? Why isn't he here?

The voice that answers, //Why should he?// seems real enough that Paige even searches the room for an uncle in green.

"It's all right if you want to cry," Clarissa says. "Breeding women are allowed that, dear. Perhaps I should summon up some ice cream for you?"

Paige feels a rumbling in her stomach. That actually sounds pretty good--maybe not the ice cream, but something more to eat. Constant hunger and extra meals have become a way of life for her of late.

"Something to eat would be good," Paige says, nodding. She's still not meeting anyone's gaze.

The Queen considers things and says to Paige, "You know, if I just turned the seasons to spring, I bet those children would pop right out. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Having babies you could hold?"

And that doesn't sound like such a terrible idea either, on first hearing.

Paige's eyes go wide, clear for the first time since the scrying. She makes deliberate eye contact with Clarissa. "Grandmother. I've made some poor decisions, but was convinced that I had the leisure to come to terms with them. I'm in no hurry, nor should the twins be so. I have no idea what this sorcery or whatever Daeon's aspect has done to this pregnancy, but I didn't hear of any other of his dalliances coming to term in such a manner.

"I'd like things to happen of their own accord, and like anything else, I will rise to the occasion as any of your children or grandchildren invariably do," Paige apologizes.

"Perhaps I'll feel differently tomorrow, but..."

"Well, never mind then." Clarissa sounds a bit disappointed. "I think they're very curious about coming out, dear, but you mustn't spoil them...."

"Let's go downstairs, mother, and see what we can find for Paige," Fiona suggests. Her hand has not left Paige's shoulder. If she heard the echoing voice in the room, or Paige's mind, she has shown no sign of it. But then, she wouldn't.

"Thank-you," Paige says rising and affording Aunt Fiona a suddenly tired smile, genuine none the less. "I'm just glad I wasn't this hungry during the Regency, else the city folk would've wanted to lynch me as a glutton."

She follows them down, hoping for something more substantial than the promised ice cream, at least for the moment. Chocolate ice cream did sound good for later. A little chocolate syrup and... hmm... She idly wondered if Clarissa stocked malt.

When Brita and Reid rise the next morning, they find notes in their chambers inviting them to lunch with Fiona.

Hm. Six hours. Brita dresses and makes her way out to an outer courtyard to spend some time practicing with her blade under a purple sky. After some warm-up exercises, she begins fencing with the shrubbery, using her blade to express some artistic agression. When she is done three and a half hours later, the medium-sized orange bushes bear a striking array of forms: panda, Thor's Hammer, a wolf howling at the moon-less sky, an odd bird with one wing extended.

Finally, she stands before the last bush, calming her breath while she stares at the likeness of her father, his face uplifted and his hair loose and streaming back in the wind as if he stands looking up at the mountains of Jutenheim. How many times did she see him thus? He espoused the quiet of Idayoll, shunning too much contact with his more boisterous family members; but sometimes, he stood at the edge of the Frost Lake looking up at Jutenheim and she wondered what or who he thought of with such longing.

Brita shakes herself out of her reverie and moves back into the castle to clean up. She spends the next hour or so quietly on her bed, sketching various family members. While working on a sketch of Ambrose and Brennan shaking hands, she pauses and, taking deep breaths, pushes her Berserker firmly back down. Once It is chained again, she glances back at the sketch, impassively noting the wariness and longing in the faces. _family can be so much trouble_ she thinks. _If a Will could be imposed for peace..._ She restarts the sketch and consiously modifies expressions she had seen before of laughter and a wry grin. _Better._ she notes. _Unlikely now, but maybe someday._

She restows her supplies and, as her stomach reminds her of the time, heads off to find her Mother.

Hmm. Fifteen minutes. Reid splashes some water on his face and falls into some semi-presentable clothes. Sleep still filling his eyes, he gropes through the non-Euclidian passages in what he hopes is the right direction.

Brita finds herself at the luncheon room where she and Ambrose have shared many a midday meal. Her mother is waiting for her.

"Brita." Fiona rises from her chair, smiling, and comes to embrace her daughter. She escorts Brita to the table, and when they are seated, continues, "I've asked Master Reid to join us. I hope that's all right."

"Of course, Mother. I would have a couple of questions for Master Reid. Some of my Artistic endeavors have not faired so well here at Castle Clarissa."

"Really?" says Fiona. "Different laws apply beyond Ygg, so I am not entirely surprised. Reid may have some insights."

And with that, the named worthy enters, having found his way to them by sheer application of will. "Good afternoon, Reid," says Fiona. "I hope the day finds you well."

"I am, if nothing else, well found." He smiles and takes a seat.

"Wherever you are, there you are," Brita quotes her teacher with a wry grin. "It is good to have all my important people here at Castle Clarissa."

Fiona gives her daughter an indulgent look.

"Well, it isn't necessarily the first shadow I'd choose for a vacation. Nor even among my top 100 choices... But there was this matter of abductions... I'm still not certain I know all the details." Reid prompts.

Brita heaves a self-recriminating sigh at the ceiling. "I couldn't - even with my Berserker - overcome that..." Brita's eyes close and she breathes deeply. "It toyed with me, like a cat with a ball of yarn. Nothing I did made a dent. I don't remember much after _Cleph_ Parted the Veil - since they pretty much beat me unconscious - until I woke up in Uxmal under the care of Ambrose and his mother." Brita turns to her mother. "I hated being that helpless, like a little kitten. That is why I asked Nanna Clarissa to help me gain alternate means of battle or flight for the next time I'm up against _Cleph_." Brita turns back to Reid. "I no longer had my Trumps, so I attempted to make one - of you, actually, but Ambrose figured out what I was doing and warned me that there were wards against Trump use. We talked some, he introduced me to his mother - interesting if somewhat morbid Priestess. I decided to trust that Ambrose was telling me the truth about his falling out with _Cleph_ and _Dara_. Once I was able, he brought me here to Nanna Clarissa. I've spent some time under their tutelage learning sorcery and waiting for the Calvary to arrive." They can probably both sense her frustration that she was unable to do more.

Fiona listens to the tale with interest.

"Brand had his tower--his pyramid--warded against Trump and other intrusions. Do you think that he taught Ambrose the art of Trump?"

Brita starts to shake her head and then pauses. "I do not know for sure, Mother. He knows what they are, what they do, but I do not know if he can make one."

The table is laden with a heavy luncheon: a hearty stew of the sort Brita prefers with bread and some fruit. Fiona also has a salad of some sort. Reid has a little salad but mostly the same sort of food as Brita. Obviously the locals haven't figured out his tastes yet.

Brita digs in.

Fiona takes a forkful of her salad. "What do you make of all this, Reid? One of the reasons I wanted you along was that you predate our current knowledge of Chaos. I'm interested in your take on all this: Dara, Cleph, Ambrose, my mother."

Reid breaks bread and dips some in the stew. "Well, in order: I'm not certain that Dara isn't her own granddaughter... stranger things have happened this far out; I can't begin to guess Cleph's particular motives without more information; I never encountered Brand, so I'm not likely to begrudge either of his sons without merit; and Clarissa? Well I didn't count on her being Benedict's granddaughter. It explains her penchant for Chaos, her coming down the Dara line. As grand dames go, I can't help but wonder what Nana Cymnea would think of the whole mess." He takes a bite, thoughtfully and raises his eyebrows in appreciation (or apprehension, if he suspects the nature of the contents of his bowl...)

To Fiona, he continues, "I suppose that means that my grandmother is your," he pauses to count on his fingers, "great, great grandmother? I wonder if her shadow has faded completely..."

The redheaded sorceress nods at Reid's estimation of her descent. "Sometime we shall have to discuss it. Much has changed from when I was a girl; shadows have come and gone. As have kinsmen," she adds with a smile.

"The 'Family Tumbleweed', as the cousins are so found of saying," Brita shakes her head in amusement. "It boggles the mind, but then makes sense given the longevity of our line and the draw we have to those of Reality.

"Speaking of Reality," Brita continues. "I was working on trumps here, but nothing seemed to work. I even tried to draw my newly learned chaotic abilities into the creative process, but that didn't seem to work either." She puts down her spoon. "I Need to arm myself against another intrusion. I can do little to protect what I hold dear if I am constantly being drug hither and yon. The sorceries may give me some edge, but my skill is not strong. I was hoping to draw from both sides of the spectrum to make something stronger. Any thoughts?" She includes her mother in the question.

Fiona looks to Reid to answer the question.

"I don't mix disciplines very much, mainly because my trump skills far overshadow my abilities manipulating Pattern. My understanding is that pattern skills stem from Dworkin's line, insomuch as the first Pattern was his creation. The ability to use trumps also seems to be limited to those of our blood, but I can't help but suspect that they may be a factor of the Unicorn's blood as anything else, if that legend is to be believed. It is possible that in realms where the Unicorn has less sway, the ability to manipulate trumps is dampened. I could attempt some tests myself, if you'd like. Sorcery, while being more common in chaos, also carries over into shadows of the Golden Circle. It's not a discipline I've studied, but I don't believe there are restrictions of lineage, whereas, I believe shapeshifting to be a natural ability of those with stronger Chaos blood. The family's got some shot at it, Dworkin having come from the Courts, but those of Dara's line should be able to gain it's use more freely, I would think." Reid wonders if he's left anything out.

[Reid's had a thousand years more to think about this than Chuck has, so the discrepancy above is explained away...] "Oh, you're saying, 'But Dworkin didn't have Unicorn blood, and he was the master of the Trumps.' True, but I still maintain that the ability was a gift from the Unicorn to Dworkin. It's the only way I can explain that other Chaosians don't share the gift."

"If my brother were alive, we could ask him. He went deeper into those mysteries than anyone living other than the Master of the Line himself," Fiona says quietly. Then she shakes off her solemnity and smiles at her daughter.

"I've never learned to create Trumps, and cannot speak to its strengths or weaknesses in combination with other disciplines. As a component in sorcery, Trumps have their uses, but that's a sorcery lesson for another day. And I doubt Cleph will stand still long enough for you to use anything other than the swiftest of sorceries, Brita. Some of the magics of the Golden Circle are faster, but many of them are restricted, and will only work in their own shadows or those nearby."

To Reid, she adds, "True sorcery is a function of order and chaos. I've never met a true sorcerer who was not somehow related to our blood. But to an untrained eye, many magics look alike."

"Fascinating. I would be most interested to learn the distinction some time. Even barring the acquisition of skills myself, knowledge about the subject would be good to have for future encounters." He turns back to Brita. "And what have you learned of the matter in your brief studies?"

Fiona turns to her daughter; her catlike gaze betrays her interest in the answer to Reid's question.

"I've learned that I can't mix the two - Chaos and Order - with any success. That is my problem. I Can't give free rein to my Berserker and Order isn't enough to battle Cleph. Mother, will you explain how Order fits into Sorcery? Maybe if I was half way between - in Ygg - I could make Trumps with a mix of both elements..." Brita shakes her head as if to loosen a thought and turns back to Fiona. "I thought that for those that are more strongly Chaos, a Trump would need to be part of Chaos to represent them. Nanna Clarissa did not like my first sketches of her. They were based on an Artist that Master Reid had once showed me in our travels - Picassa, ?" Brita raises an eyebrow in question at Reid. "My ability to mimic the Artist was not great then and it apparently hasn't improved much with time. I find it difficult to be Abstract."

Fiona looks across the table, not finding anything more she wants to eat. "It doesn't fit in well at all, dear. Depending on your perspective, Sorcery is either about defying Order or else Order is irrelevant to it. It's like mixing lava and water, and dangerous in the worst cases. At Ygg, it may be easier, or it may depend on the season. Brand was always experimenting like that. It's a pity that he's not here to ask."

"I am confused, Mother. You said True Sorcery is a function of Order and Chaos. Is it only a function of Order by defying Order?"

Reid seems amused by this possibility...

"Something like that. You do violate principles, after all. The relationship between Order and Chaos isn't clear to any but advanced initiates; they're very closely intertwined in many ways. Some say Sorcery is a localized weakening of Order. Others say a localized weakening of Chaos. Dworkin used to say it was a violation of the Principle of Logic."

Fiona inclines her head. "Most people don't worry about that. Few people understand Order, much less Chaos. It's easier for most of us to work on practical effect and ignore abstruse theory."

"I need to understand the 'Why', but I can see how the answer may not be as straightforward with Chaos in the mix." Brita lets the subject drop for now.

Fiona nods, and looks pleased.

"How was your trip and how fares Amber?" Brita turns to Reid with this question.

"My end of the journey was pretty uneventful. Amber has had a handful of things, starting with the night of your departure... amid the havoc at the masquerade, there was a murder... And now Aisling's gone missing. Probably unrelated, but there's been a high tension, to be sure." Reid offers.

"Even if it's not related, it's very bad news. Brennan is most displeased," Fiona says.

"Who was murdered and by whom?" Brita asks first.

Fiona fills Brita in: "Demond Harga'rel, who helped your brother escape from Rebma. We don't know who did it yet, but Reid tells me he's been asked to investigate by the Crown."

Reid gives a "I'm giving it my best but really haven't been able to make heads-nor-tales of it" shrug... one that she might recognize from some of his early teaching experiences.

Once satisfied that Reid is on the case, Brita asks, "When did Cousin Aisling disappear? Could _Cleph_ have taken her after Cousin Ambrose...," Brita cocks her head to one side, searching for a less humiliating way of putting this, "..relieved him of his first trophy?"

Fiona frowns and cocks her head. "It would be very bad if that were the case. Let us hope it is not."

"We don't think it was coming from that front. She was... liberated... from Caine's interrogation..." Reid offers with little sign of being able to elaborate.

[Brita]
"Liberated? I guess if Uncle Caine was interrogating me, I might want to be liberated, too, but it just doesn't seem like something Cousing Aisling would do given her work for Amber during the Battle."

Fiona tilts her head and examines her daughter for a moment. "The kind of being that Aisling is may have motivations that appear nonsensical to you or me. Beware the obvious path even more than usual when dealing with my mother's side of the family, Brita. What if she was attempting to worm her way into someone's good graces to obtain some favor or some particular bit of knowledge, and she obtained it?"

A look at Reid invites him to suggest his own answer.

Reid shrugs and smiles. "I just think of it as probability. The chances of a new family member showing up aren't particularly high, yet it seems to happen quite a bit. I'd wager the likelihood of them disappearing would be about the same, so the fact that it may happen from time to time doesn't surprise me much."

"If family members exist, they tend to come together. That's the nature of Ordered Reality." The capital letters in the last two words are clear in Fiona's voice. "Occasional departures are to be expected also, but not like this. Someone will find out what happened to her in the end, however. We always do."

That sounds like a threat, or an unpleasant memory, rather than a happy promise.

When he rises, [Brennan] finds stationery, a quill and some ink, and sits down to write:

Dear Cambina,

I hope this letter-- or its eldritch delivery system-- causes no undue disruptions, but thinking of Madoc's communications with Aisling, I asked Grandmother if she could send a message back without a Trump. She agreed.

We arrived safely in Clarissa's Court yesterday. All things considered, this could have gone worse. No hostilities, rudeness, or even unpleasantries, yet.

We have found Brita recovering quickly from the wounds she took at Cleph's hands. At present, I see no reason she won't return home with us. I'm sure Bleys and Fi have sent news back to our aunts and uncles, but please inform anyone you deem appropriate.

I have met my brother Ambrose, now, but only briefly. I expect to have a long talk with him before we depart. A very long talk. I plan to return as soon as possible, but judging timeflows from here to there would probably give even Jovian fits.

I've missed our dinners overlooking the Sea, by moonlight.

I remain yours,
Brennan

After he gives it to Clarissa (unless that requires a thread of its own) he then proceeds into the thread with Brita, and gearing up for the fun and joy of the picnic.

Nope, it will go safely and silently off, presumably to Cambina.

Paige sits in a study, nibbling at the fruit basket Grandmother had sent up. While she didn't recognize all the items, she had made her way through a good bit of the gift already. A bit more fruit and fibre in her diet right now couldn't hurt, and it seemed like she was always hungry.

Licking the last of the starfruit juice from her fingers, she wiped them on a towel from her satchel and returned to the table she had covered in silk scarves. Her Fortunes were central on the table. She chose a representation for herself and then rolled the cards, asking, "Should the twins be born in Clarissa?"

Bottom row: The Satyr / The Lion (reversed) / Merlin

Middle row: Law / The Creator

Top row: Drowning in Armor

She read the cards and attempted to discern the meaning, wondering if it held any truth here in Chaos or any meaning beyond that which Grandmother wished in Clarissa.

Paige nods and gathers the cards, whispering as she wraps them, "You're no, help. I asked you, remember?"

She slides them back into her satchel and whispers, "Pattern, my strength, Grandmother, my weakness. But what future?"

She humms to her self a soulful tune, eventually finding the lyrics,

"Everything must change/Nothing stays the same, Everyone will change/No one, no one stays the same.

The young become the old/And mysteries do unfold, For that's the way of time/Nno one, and nothing goes unchanged.

There are not many things in life one can be sure of/except rain comes from the clouds, Sun lights up the sky/hummingbirds fly"

The humming fills another verse or two as she examines the study's books and another verse rings true.

"Winter turns to spring/a wounded heart will heal, Oh but never much too soon/no one, and nothing goes unchanged."

She raises her voice on the choruses to end in a whisper,

"Everything must change."

There's clapping behind her, and when Paige turns, she sees that Ambrose has joined her. When, exactly, and how much he saw and heard, Paige doesn't know. "Brava!" he says. It was something his father was particular about--he obsessed about small things like the correct declension of shouts of approbation at the opera.

Paige's surprise is replaced by a smile that warms ever her eyes. She bows as best as her rounded middle allows. "If you're making a joke about the fat lady singing, well then I'll have to put you on the list along with your brother," she laughs.

She sits on a convenient sofa and indicates her cousin can join her if he wishes. "So how are you?" she asks.

"I've been so busy since we arrived that I feel the awful friend for not finding time for you," she apologizes. "Is Brennan what you expected?" Her eyes trace the curve of his smile, remembering another time, another smile.

"We haven't had a chance to talk yet. Mostly, I think, he's being questioned by Grandmother. And I've undergone the third degree from more than one of our relatives. Keeps you busy, you know." Ambrose looks thoughtful. "I suppose we'll have a chance to talk at the picnic, even though that won't be conducive to discussing certain family issues."

"I promise to go easy on you," Paige says with a smile. "Anything I can help with? We are to be allies of sorts, it's the least I can do." She sets a hand lightly on his.

Ambrose accepts the gesture. "I think Brennan and I will just have to work things out between the two of us. But thank you for offering."

"I think the twins will be with us soon," she comments. "Mysteries are all well and fine, but I can't read Grandmother yet. I fear Merlin's vision will come to pass... Of course. Merlin as my future!" Paige shakes her head, her loose braid flopping over her shoulder. "I tell you Ambrose, children apparently don't take nourishment but also your ability to think."

"Nobody can read our Grandmother. She's a Queen of Chaos and Amber, with all the paradox that implies. Her sorcerous technique isn't the best, but it's good, and what she lacks in technique she makes up in raw power. If she wants you to bear your children soon, you will."

"I don't think it's as much want as it is whim," Paige explains. "The twins will come by Spring, and it would be unlikely that we would picnic in the Winter, eh? I hadn't thought about it when she first made her offer to speed the seasons, but..." She shrugs and looks about hopefully for a snack. Nothing immediately catching her eye she shakes her head.

Ambrose looks at Paige's swelling form. "Fiona can midwife you, I suppose?"

"Yes, and while I haven't tried it before, I've enough experience to handle much of it myself," she answers. "Of course everything about twins is more difficult. I just hope that I'm up to it." Her eyes sparkle a bit more as she fights to not lose control.

"I'm sure you will be." Ambrose says. He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. He's obviously making some effort to sound reassuring, but Paige is certain he has no idea what he's talking about.

Paige's eyes smile even if her lips don't. She doesn't relenquish her grip on him, grateful for the offer even more because he tried. "Of course, because we've all had such wonderful parental relationships to learn from," she agrees sarcasticly, but it's a humorous edge, not spiteful.

"So, have any of the others offered to find you a Pattern to walk?" she asks, changing the topic bluntly.

"Should they have?" Ambrose asks, amused.

"Well, it's why you came to town, wasn't it?" Paige asks. "I was somewhat disappointed that you didn't stay long enough to ask me to dance, but..." Her lips quirk into a smile again.

"One would think it would be productive to make sure your next visit for similar purposes was less eventful," she decides. "Of course, I'll expect a dance then, too."

She offers, "If you like I'll speak with Prince Corwin myself, or King Random if he resolves the problem you noticed when you were last in Amber."

"I'll be glad to give you the dance, but I understand that dancing is best done well before or well after the exercise on which I thought to embark," Ambrose says with an arch smile of his own.

Paige nods, "Then perhaps I'll just hold your promise and collect at an appropriate time."

"I doubt the King will be inclined to assist me, however. I can't stay in Amber, you understand; I'm needed in Uxmal to prevent a series of unfortunate events with potentially dire results for my mother. But perhaps Prince Corwin will be able to accommodate me. Where should I look for him?"

"Paris, of course, with cousin Merlin, last I knew," Paige answers. "Did your father leave a Trump of him in the deck you have? Corwin that is, I'd doubt he had one of Merlin."

At the mention of Merlin, Ambrose's face falls.

"In fact, did he leave one of you that you might offer me?" she asks hopefully. "Or am I going to have to use my dance time to get you to sit for sketches?"

"I'm sorry to say I have none to hand. I'll sit for you, though, if you like--if there's time."

"I'd like that," Paige says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I fear my hands will be too full, too soon, but I'll find time.

"I doubt Merlin will hold a grudge, especially once I can make him understand what occurred, Ambrose." Her tone is gentle and full of promise.

Ambrose says to that only, "I hope you're right."

"I know Merle about as well as anyone except Martin," Paige explains. "Is there something specific that bothers you?"

"The situation is one many people would have a hard time regarding sympathetically. I'm sure you're right about your friend, and he will forgive and forget in due time." Ambrose smiles at Paige, but it takes some effort for him to find it.

He rises from the couch. "Other business calls me; perhaps I will see you before the picnic. If not, I shall certainly see you then."

Paige rises and kisses him on the cheek. "Cousins, allies, friends," she promises.

Some time the morning after every arrives at Clarissa, Brennan arrives at Brita's door. Assuming she answers the knocking at the door, Brennan greets her. "Morning, cousin. I thought I'd let Fi and Conner take their turns before crowding you and asking about your health and treatment."

Brita is dressed in her typical red jacket with the white fur trim and a soft brown pair of pants. When she answers the door, there is a pencil tucked behind one ear.

Sartorial creatures of habit, we.

He looks around conspicuously, then: "Tell me... what do they do for breakfast, around these parts?"

Brita opens the door wider, "In Castle Clarissa, I am convinced they typically conjure their food, but today you just have to follow your nose." Behind Brita, Brennan can see an array of food laid out on the dresser across from the door - cheeses, some cold cuts, rolls, etc.

And doubtless, if Clarissa was involved in sending it up, it will have an assortment of sharp and spicy condiments that probably only Clarissa and Brennan would consider appropriate for the breakfast hour.

On the bed is an array of drawing pads and pencils. A quick glance can ascertain that Brita was sketching the meeting at the pier. "Come join me," Brita says as she moves back to towards the bed and reaches for the pad of paper. "I decided to eat in this morning after all the activity yesterday. I needed to catch up on some of my more Ordered lessons." A small table rests in one corner, bracketed by two chairs.

"Not interrupting, I hope." Brennan takes the invitation to breakfast as an invitation to look over the sketches, as well.

"No," Brita glances back as she begins straightening the room. "I have given this a good three hours of effort and was just about ready to go find the others."

Brennan can see several different pages. One is just of the Sun [that was the name of the ship, right] coming up to the pier with a brilliant halo of a sunrise behind the ship. One page has several sketches of Conner and Fiona with various expressions and poses. Each has a soft halo around their figures. One has several sketches of Brennan, Ambrose, and Paige, drawn at various angles as if the viewer was looking over the shoulder of one of the group at the other two. The ones in which Brennan is facing the viewer show what might be suspicion or hesitancy on Brennan's face. He is always facing away from Ambrose towards Paige, but he is obviously aware and potentially wary. The ones with Ambrose facing front show Ambrose mostly impassive but with a little bit of hope. Ambrose is always looking at Brennan.

Brennan surveys them carefully. "Huh," he grunts. "Did I look like that when I greeted him, too?"

Brita glances at the picture. "I don't know." She shakes her head. "What I mean is, my sketches are of my memories of the moment. And memories aren't always reliable." She examines the picture more closely. "Given my discussions with Cousin Ambrose over the past weeks, this may be colored with his concerns over the first meeting with his Brother."

"You mean the one that ended up with flying knives?" he says.

"I understand at some point you visited Uxmal?"

"If you call recovering in a room under polite house arrest, visiting, then, yes." Brita smiles. "I did get to see a little bit and meet your Mother."

Brennan gives a small grunt. "Yes, Ambrose mentioned that Tayanna was still alive. I'm... a little surprised, but not shocked. How did she seem? I'd ask how Uxmal seemed, but it sounds as though you did see much of it."

"High Priestess Tayanna was...disturbed by the recent turn of events. She was concerned about the religious fate of her people and who they will worship next. Ambrose mentioned a legend of rival brother gods and expressed a desire to avoid a deathmatch with you," Brita notes with a small smile.

Brennan almost grins at the avoidance of ritual combat with his brother, but it's the front part of Brita's statement to which he responds. "I'm not surprised, really. In my memories, Brand ran the local pantheon like... well, he rode them hard. If he conceived of a day when he no longer presided there, I'm sure he didn't bother to plan for it. Tayanna's right to be concerned, for herself as much as her people. All those loose godlings, jockeying for power, now."

"There are others besides you and your Brother?" Brita asks. "It sounds almost like Asgard, except in Asgard the 'jockeying' is expected, eternal, and heartily enjoyed." Brita is shaking her head ruefully as she remembers the antics of her paternal relatives.

"There were local powers," he says. "I never really considered myself a god, although that far from Amber, I suppose I could make a pretty credible--" Brennan breaks that thought off suddenly and when he continues a moment later it's on a different rail. "You know, I never got an answer from Daeon that I respected, and hadn't had the chance to ask you: What's your criteria for godhead? What separates it from Chaos Lord, Amberite, or typical Shadow? Or is it just a catch-all?"

"My criteria for godhead," Brita echoes as she muses. "Being a god to me means that you are worshipped by someone and that you provide something or have some kind of responsibility to those who worship you. I suppose I am still a 'godling', to use your word. I was waiting in the wings, a potential, while the older generation of gods - my father, uncles, and grandfather - ruled. I still had some responsibilities - I was to ensure that the waters that flowed to Midgard were pure and clear - but I was a mere pebble on the mountain of Asgard. We were worshipped by a noble warrior people and the responsibilities of the gods reflected that warrior spirit. Uncle Thor made lightning and thunder to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, Uncle Loki worked his tricks to confuse the enemy - although that sometimes confused our people as well, my Father kept the forests stocked with hearty game, each god has his or her own tasks.

"As to what separates the gods from Chaos Lord, Amberite, or typical Shadow, I would have to say that it is the ownership of a worshipping people. No one I have seen reveres the Lords of Amber as Lords of Amber. A Prince may go off to shadow and establish himself as a god there, but he is not revered as a Prince of Amber, but as a god of that shadow. He has a responsibility to that shadow and must work in the rules of that shadow to be revered."

"Hmm," Brennan says, considering this. "And what about when they're brought to somewhere outside their Shadow base?" he muses. "Artemis seemed to bring her own Shadow with her, when she came."

"Yes." Brita muses," I suppose when gods decide to branch out to other lands they must make that land ameniable to their power. Artemis seems to have an interestingly unique ability to push her power through Shadow, almost like one of Pattern...or Chaos."

"Hence the growing interest," says Brennan. "Is that just Artemis? If so, why? If not, why not?"

He shakes his head, "A stray thought, really, that's been nagging at me for a while, given the number of gods we're coming into contact with. Not really what I came to talk about. I know you've been poked and prodded about this at length, but: Ambrose. Cleph. Dara. Ambrose. What happened?"

"You know the beginning at the party - I assume Robin filled all of you in. _Cleph_ managed to fell me and take me through the veil to...actually, I'm not sure where _cleph_ took me." Brita cocks her head to one side as she sifts through memories. "That period is a blank - they pretty much beat me unconcious, _Dara and Cleph_ - and my mind was focused on defense more than scouting." a pause "When I awoke next, I was in one of the rooms in the Temple at Uxmal, not that I knew that initially. My leg was the worst of my injuries, but it had been nicely tended. I tried to use what was available to sketch a Trump, but was interrupted by the arrival of Cousin Ambrose. He explained that he had convinced the other two to give me over to him - potentially as compensation for his not getting to walk the Pattern." A slight smile. "He explained that he had only joined forces with the others to get to his Amber heritage. His story rang true to me even if he did warn me against trying to escape with the Trumps. He asked about some of the Trumps which he had - Cousin Paige, Cousin Lucas, and Cousin Ossian.

"Anyways, I recovered and Cousin Ambrose introduced me to your mother and then brought me here to Castle Clarissa."

Brennan listens to this with careful attention, munching on some of the breakfast that Clarissa sent up, then responds.

"Something about this doesn't make sense. Ambrose wants to claim his heritage, so rather than getting Clarissa to help, he hitchhikes with Dara and Cleph, whoes stated intention is to destroy Amber? This is just a festival of doublecrosses waiting to happen. Dara wants to destroy Amber, and there is Ambrose willing to put himself right on the Pattern in range of her knives. But presumeably Cleph wants to walk the Pattern, too-- I'm making the rashly optimistic assumption that he hasn't already done so-- so Ambrose has to get on it first and trust Cleph's self-interest to keep Dara from bleeding him."

While Brennan is discussing the matrix of doublecrosses that pivots around the premeditated murder of his brother, his voice remains even, but his free hand clenches hard enough to crack his knuckles.

"But Dara, while quite possibly psychotic, is not stupid, and she and Cleph could probably yank him bloodlessy off the Pattern with Sorcery, killing him in the process, but probably leaving enough blood for the job. Perhaps all concerned figured that the Pattern's proximity would prevent that, but again, Dara and Cleph could just overpower him before he got to it, so what the Hell was he doing there in the first place, unless there was a stronger reason for this alliance than the short term goal of bleeding. Or maybe someone is an idiot in this story.

"And then," he shakes his head, "after gawking stupidly at the scene in the basement for a few minutes, as I'm sure they did, lamenting their failed opportunities to stab each other in the back, they... come upstairs, crash the party and declare war? I have yet to figure out the purpose behind that manuever, unless it was to baptize Ambrose publicly and burn his bridges behind him. Seems a gaudy way to do that, but then, this is PsychoDara.

"Handing you off, at least, makes sense. If kidnapping you wasn't part of the plan-- and it doesn't sound like it was-- then all of a sudden Dara found that Cleph just made it personal with Fi, Bleys, Conner, Paige and my humble self. As opposed to the professional level, where she just shows up, screeches for a little bit, and tries to murder the party-goers, I guess. At any rate, you're hot property, and in order to keep Fi from setting her on fire, I'm sure Dara was all too willing to send you off with Ambrose. Only question is whether Ambrose was trying to undo that baptism, or if he's still in league and just trying to gain confidence."

Brennan sighs. "And right now, Brita, until we get to know him better, you're the one who knows him best. Does that story still ring true after I've poured cold water on it?"