When she reaches the bottom [of the butte], Folly looks up at the sunset sky. She can't tell quite how quickly the sun is setting, as if it's having trouble making up its mind, but she figures she should take advantage of the light while she still has some. Setting off in the direction of the cactus-with-ribs-and-ice-cream, she pulls out Martin's trump and tries to make contact as she walks.
It's extremely difficult for her to make the contact with Martin--she has to stop and concentrate to make it happen--but once the contact is there, it sharpens at once and Martin is fully there with her, without even inquiring as to her identity. The feel of his mind is frantic, but oddly distant, as if he's somehow done something to dull the panic that's bleeding through the connection.
He's standing on a city street in the rain somewhere. It's dark but the neon and flashers around him would provide plenty of light for him to see by. Folly notices his hair is freshly cut and the blond bangs that used to fall in his face are gone. He's dressed in a long, double-breasted indigo coat that could easily conceal a gun and a short blade.
"Folly?" he says, emotions all compressed into the single word, extending his hand as he speaks.
"I'm here, baby," she replies immediately, the quest for spareribs almost completely wiped from her mind by the urgency in her lover's voice. "I'm here. I'm all right."
And for all that she is dusty and barefoot and looks a little like she has been playing contact sports in her court clothes, she seems, through the contact, reassuringly strong and happy and *alive*.
She reaches out, takes Martin's hand firmly, and steps through the contact. She lets the momentum carry her forward one, two, three steps, wraps her arms around him, and kisses him deeply, oblivious to everything but Martin, his warmth, the scent of his rain-touched skin.
His arms are strong and fierce and he is shaking slightly, as if he'd been overwound and her sudden presence had snapped him. He makes a happy noise that might be a laugh if it were loud enough to find its way out of his mouth.
Under the jacket he has both a shoulder holster and a sword belt.
After a long moment, she draws back just enough to look into his eyes. "I... I missed the funeral, didn't I?" she asks with a rueful little smile. It sounds not so much like a question as an apology.
One hand lets go of her, and Martin wipes some errant rain from his eyes. He nods, once, slowly. "I tried to call you, but I couldn't reach you." The words tilt up slightly at the end of the sentence, not quite enough to make it a question. "I laid a stone on the cairn in your name."
Folly looks up at him with a soft smile of grateful affection. She frees up a hand by tucking his trump securely down her shirt and runs her fingers gently along his cheek and up through his spiky-damp hair. Her own hair is starting to stick to her face in wet purple tendrils.
Martin's grin grows wider as her fingertips travel up his face.
"I've got about a million things to tell you," she says, "and I hardly have any idea where to start, except... 'I love you' is always, always first, and today 'dinner' is a close second. I, uh, I think I managed to miss a few meals in a row, somehow, and I'm really starting to feel it. How about we grab about a dozen days' worth of takeout and go someplace quiet?"
He nods, once. "Yeah. Let's do that. We'll rent a hotel room, and get room service." He produces a rain poncho that probably wasn't there before from a pocket and drapes it over Folly so she doesn't get any wetter than she already is.
Martin finds a hotel for them a few streets away. It's a nice place, with lots of chrome and glass in the lobby. Nobody seems to notice that Folly is barefoot. They have to show travel documents to get in. Martin has his, and he produces some for Folly. The woman at the front desk oohs and aahs at the papers, offers her congratulations, and upgrades them to a honeymoon suite.
Folly glows like the newlywed she is supposed to be. She can't quite stop herself staring happily, adoringly sidelong at Martin.
Perhaps half an hour later, they're ensconced far above the neon streets, with the only sounds the rain against the window and the rattling and banging of room service dishes as Martin prepares the rather substantial meal (including a plate of asian-style spareribs) for its impending demise. "So," he says as he finishes up and hands Folly a plate, "Dad said you went off with Dworkin ..."
"Ymm-hmmm," Folly replies, her mouth already full of food before Martin even finishes the phrase. She grins sheepishly, but with a twinkle in her eye, as she rapidly chews and swallows. "I'd mentioned that if he were offering training, I'd be interested. When he invited me out in the hall to talk about it, I didn't quite realize he meant to start the training immediately...."
Martin nods, once, slowly. Folly gets the feeling he doesn't trust himself to say anything just yet, so instead he puts a won-ton to keep it busy.
She takes another bite, smaller this time, and chews thoughtfully. "He led me down under the castle and through the caves to... somewhere, where we sat and talked about theory for a while -- what is image, what is a trump, all that. And then we moved on to the practicum." Another bite, and then another, during which she seems to be sorting out her thoughts.
"I... ah... I didn't really mean to be gone so long," she says finally, her voice soft and apologetic. "I'm not even sure how long I was gone, even in objective me-time. We... we went... Dworkin drew a trump to illustrate a point, and we went through to someplace... far. A-little-past-Ygg far, I think, where time was a little screwy to start with, and then Dworkin did something -- some sorcery -- to give us more time to work without the pesky interruptions of eating or sleeping. That's probably why you couldn't reach me, and I am so, so sorry that I worried you." Under the table, Folly slides her feet toward Martin and grasps his trouser-leg with her bare toes as if to reassure him of her physical presence, or perhaps vice versa.
The leg moves closer to her as if drawn there by an irresistible force. It takes Martin a moment to speak, and he starts slowly, picking up the pace as he speaks. "Dad said you'd gone with Dworkin, and I knew you were safe with him, but then you didn't answer when I called, and I called and called, and I was so worried that something had happened to you, that it wasn't just that he was shielding you, that you were hurt somewhere or unconscious or, or worse, and--I thought you must be beyond Ygg--I'd checked some places I know this side that might block you--and I was coming for you, but--" By the end of the speech, when Martin clamps down on himself again, the words are tumbling out over each other.
Martin decides it's time for another bite of won-ton, which he chews on for a minute, along with his thoughts. Finally he says, "I love you, Folly. Please don't go away for a long time without telling me again."
"Oh, Martin, I---" Folly's muscles tense, and for a moment she seems ready to launch herself out of her seat and gather him into her arms, to offer apology and comfort and reassurance in the warmth of touch. But instead, after a moment's uncertainty she takes a deep breath and says, "I have something to show you."
Martin looks a little puzzled and perhaps a touch worried by Folly's response, but he doesn't say anything.
She sets her plate aside, rises from her seat, and comes to stand in front of him. Slowly, methodically, she slips her shirt off over her head and lets it flutter to the floor. Her skirt follows, and then her short underdress, until she stands before Martin clad only in gooseflesh, a jeweled bracelet, and her slightly rumpled lacy pink underthings.
While she undresses, Martin finishes consuming the wonton, and then sits very still, watching her doff various items of clothing. By the end, he's barely breathing.
She takes his hand and gently presses the palm to her belly, to the new half-inch stripe of bare flesh between camisole and panty. A casual observer might take the soft roundness as a sign of a recent hearty meal.
As she does so, he sits up, moving forward in his seat as she pulls his arm toward her.
"We're not going anywhere, love," she says, her voice soft but intense. "A growing girl needs her daddy. And I need you, too."
Martin looks quizzically at Folly, as if her words aren't quite making any sense. Then he parses, starts to say something, and decides against. Twice more he repeats the procedure; the floundering leaves him looking very fishlike.
Finally, he takes her other hand with his own free hand and asks incredulously, "Are you telling me we're having a baby? The little girl?" Not quite as an afterthought: "Now?"
Folly's fingers tighten reassuringly around Martin's, and she nods. "I'm only mostly certain it's her, but... yeah. Everything else, yeah."
"Oh." Martin gets very wide-eyed.
She takes a deep breath. "And that last bit -- the timing -- that's my fault, I'm afraid. I, ah, think I accidentally got us blessed by a fertility god." She looks at Martin and bites her lip, her expression apologetic but hopeful.
"No no no no no! This is great! Wonderful!" He sounds terrified but exhilarated. "Exactly what we said on the beach on the way to Texorami, right?" He pulls her close, half- falling back onto the couch and putting his arms around her. Folly can feel that he's shaking slightly.
But he's grinning like an idiot now.
As nerves and uncertainty melt away, Folly drops to her knees on the couch with Martin and sits straddling his lap, joyful sobs of laughter shaking her frame. She wraps her arms tightly around him and holds him close, her face buried in his shoulder and her fingers in his hair. "Yes," she breathes; and for several minutes she is too overwhelmed, too blissfully relieved, to say more.
If he held her any tighter, Martin would probably break something.
When the tide of emotion settles to a more gentle flow, Folly sits up straighter and wipes the shining dampness from cheeks aglow with happiness. "I-I'm not even sure how far along I am," she says, "but I can already feel her moving, though. It's wild." She smiles, a bit shyly, and traces a finger along Martin's jaw. "And absolutely beautiful."
He's still wide-eyed and grinning like an idiot. "Do you think I could feel her moving yet?" He starts to reach out and touch Folly's stomach, as if that would magically cause the baby to move somehow, but he hesitates and waits for her permission.
Folly returns the grin. "I'm not sure whether she's quite big enough yet, but...." She takes Martin's hand again, presses the palm to her belly, and slides it slowly downward to a spot a bit below her navel, as if showing him the path so he might find it again by touch alone. "Every so often I can feel her just here, fluttering like bubbles or butterflies. Maybe if I give her some ribs --- she's been craving them since we were talking with Dworkin...." She smiles, sparkle-eyed, and reaches over to retrieve her plate from the table, attacking the meat with a carefree enthusiasm that would scandalize the average Amber society lady. Though she's not so much sloppy with her food as supremely unconcerned that she might become so.
"I'll give her anything she wants. We need to get you two back to Amber where Gerard can look at you, or maybe Hannah. Or Conner. Whoever you like." Then Martin pauses and a shadow falls across his expression. "Or maybe we should go to Xanadu," he adds slowly and not very happily.
That last stops Folly mid-bite. She carefully swallows her mouthful, sets her plate aside again and looks into Martin's eyes. "I know, love," she says sadly, answering the underlying concern rather than the words spoken. "But we'll have to tell him eventually."
Martin scowls. "She's his granddaughter. He can at least pretend like he's happy for us."
Folly folds her hands protectively over Martin's, there on her belly. "Granddaughter or not," she says with soft intensity, "he believes she's bad for the universe. Maybe he's right. But I'm gonna spend the next hundred years, however long it takes, working out the maths to figure out how to make it all right." Her smile is gentle, but her conviction burns like fire behind her eyes.
She squeezes Martin's fingers, and her smile grows rueful. "We can only hope that'll help."
Martin looks he'd like to say something else, undoubtedly not very complimentary to his father, but he leaves it unspoken. He finally settles for, "Our child is not bad for the universe. And if my father wants me to sire heirs for him, he'd best come to terms with the idea that he doesn't get to pick their mothers."
At the mention of heirs, a brief stricken look, quickly quashed, flashes across Folly's face. Whatever that train of thought, she derails it with a tiny shake of her head.
"We lead two lives, don't we?" she says after a moment. "There's this, the quiet intimate space where we're just ourselves and we can say the things we mean and no one can touch us; and then there's that other, the wide cold political sphere that sometimes I wish would just go rut itself. But they're both a part of us, and we a part of them."
Her fingers gently stroke the back of Martin's hand as she continues, "I don't want those lives to be always in conflict. It is my intention to stand by you -- publicly as well as privately -- wherever this tangled path may lead us: throne or obscurity, gutter or stars. If you're ready to shuffle all our cards into a single deck, then so am I. I love you, Martin, and I---" She falters as a lump rises in her throat. As she pauses to regain her composure, she lifts her left hand to caress Martin's cheek.
"I think what I'm trying to say---" she begins again, almost shyly; but then she looks into his eyes and finds her way again.
"Aw, f*** it," she says, and smiles. "Marry me, Martin."
Martin's jaw drops and he stares at Folly. It takes him a moment to recover, and he smiles, the little smile, and takes her hand in his. He lifts it to his mouth and touches his lips to it. "I thought you'd never ask," he tells her, and moves her plate out of the way with his free hand before drawing her in for a kiss.
Folly makes a tiny happy-sound, muffled against Martin's mouth as she kisses him. And kisses him again, with heart-pounding enthusiasm.
After a moment she pulls back a few inches and says, a little breathlessly, "Just so you know, I don't so much care when. Now, years from now, whenever. As far as I'm concerned -- well, I and the front desk --" her eyes twinkle merrily, "we're already wed in all the ways that count. I love you, Martin, and I'm in. I'm all in."
She nuzzles Martin's cheek and adds with a sigh, "But then I suppose eloping is right out, huh?"
"If you want to elope, I'm in. Right now, if you want to, even. Before we go back to Amber or Xanadu or wherever." Martin's smile turns wistful. "It would have its advantages, presenting them all with a fait accompli. But they'll all be furious, and some of them will be hurt."
Folly nods and bites her lip. She'd like to avoid as much hurt as possible.
After a moment, he says, "We still have the baby, no matter what. And I'll marry you any time you say, you know that. I think of us as married, too. The ceremony would be nice, but what matters to me is here." He slips his hand between the two of them, touching his thumb to his own chest and his fingertips to hers.
Folly mirrors the gesture for a moment, then curls her fingers gently around Martin's. "Hearts and hands already joined," she says, and smiles....
Whatever she was going to say next is interrupted by a loud rumble from her stomach.
Martin rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
"--- but our faces still need to be stuffed, apparently," she concludes with a sheepish smile. "Well, my face and the wee'un's future belly button, if I understand how these things work...."
She blinks and looks at Martin with a wide-eyed grin, as if the thought of their daughter's future belly button is the most wondrous, beautiful thing that has ever occurred to her.
After a moment, she remembers what she was trying to say and continues, "Perhaps you can fill me in on what I've missed these last few however-long-it's-been-in-Amber while I eat -- or do you need to call someone? I've still got your---" Her free hand moves to her hip before she remembers that the skirt with the pocket with her trump case is lying in the middle of the floor. "...and then I'll tell you a thing or two I learned from Dworkin that I think you should know, and then we can move on to the contact sports...." She grins and runs a hand through Martin's hair, playfully rough.
"Are we allowed contact sports? Or am I benched for the season?" Martin can't quite hold the innocent poker face even as he asks the question.
"You kidding?" Folly replies with a wicked grin and a spark in her eyes. "You would not BELIEVE the hormones raging through my body right now..."
The leering smirk Martin is holding back turns into a sh!t-eating grin without conscious volition on Martin's part.
Then he sobers and continues: "I have no idea what's going on in Amber right now. I've only talked to Dad once, and he didn't have much to say, just to call him when I got hold of you." Something about that statement dissatisfies him; his smile fades and the corner of his mouth quirks down. "When I got back to Amber, Adonis was already dead by the time I got there. I quickly found myself Regenting, winning friends and influencing people, threatening uncles and cousins, the usual. Once we were sure it was safe and no more Dragon things were lurking, Dad came in."
Folly nods; most of that she either knew or could've guessed. She has taken up her plate again and is tucking into the ribs.
He frowns in his I'm-thinking way, and adds a couple of relevant details: "Brennan brought his little brother to the funeral. The one who was with Dara at the masquerade. And the twins--" he looks up at Folly. "Did Dad tell you about them? The Dragon aged them. They're teenagers now."
The sharp phrase Folly mutters is indecipherable through her mouthful of food -- but Martin still knows an interrogative obscenity when he hears one.
She swallows and repeats it. Her eyes are wide with surprise and concern. "And... have you talked to Paige?" she adds. "How is she?"
Martin shakes his head once. "I didn't get a chance to see her until the memorial, and I left right after that to come find you. The only person I've talked to since then is Dad."
Folly nods. "And, ah, how long has passed for you since the memorial?" she asks, curious but also apologetic.
Martin shrugs. "I don't know exactly. When you go to the sort of places that trumps don't work, time runs funny sometimes. A few weeks, maybe. Not more than three or four months. And I've been out of contact with Amber, so I don't know how long it's been there either."
Folly nods again and stares into her plate, mulling things over as she finishes off her dinner. "We should probably call them, you know, let them know I'm all right..." she says with a sigh as she sets her plate aside.
The rain beats a soft syncopated rhythm against the windows. Folly stares silently at the pile of her clothes next to the sofa but makes no move to retrieve her trump case.
Martin's trump case is probably in the overcoat lying on a nearby chair under his gun and sword. He glances at it, but with Folly on his lap, moving to go get it is too much effort. Instead, he pops the last piece of sushi from his dinner in his mouth, careful not to get any soy on his shirt, and sets the plate on a side table.
"On the other hand, I suppose waiting just a few hours more won't make a huge difference -- and anyway, we've already paid for the room...." She looks at Martin and grins. "C'mon, let's go run a bath and I'll tell you what I learned about the Jewel of Judgement."
Martin looks at Folly and shakes his head mock-incredulously. "Three months since I've seen you, and you sitting here in your lacy unmentionables talking, and you want to talk about the f**king Jewel of Judgement? I've got better things in mind. C'mere." With one arm, he pulls her in for a kiss, and with the other, he starts sliding her camisole up, towards off.
Folly is slow to wake. The night's exertions, following weeks of magically sleepless study, have pushed her past exhaustion. She is happy to stay curled sleeping for hours and hours in her lover's arms. Or she would be happy, anyway, if she were awake for it.
She sleeps the whole night facing Martin, one hand resting on his waist and the other cupped against her own belly.
As dawn's rays slant toward noon, her eyes finally blink open. She squints at Martin, squints at the messy hotel room, slowly recalls where they are and what they've been doing -- both last night and in the weeks leading up to it.
Grinning, she lifts the edge of the bedsheet and peers at the warm entwined flesh beneath. "Husband mine," she asks in teasing mock-innocence, "will you still love me when I'm spherical?"
It's a sign of Martin's own long-term bone-deep exhaustion that there's sleep in his eyes as he lies there looking at Folly. He says, "I will always love you, my darling wife," and his free hand moves up to touch the corner of his eyes. He blinks twice, and leans over to kiss Folly on the nose.
She accepts the kiss with an effortless smile and closes her own eyes again for a moment. When she opens them again, they are shining.
"So, do we go straight back to Xanadu--after we have our plans for dealing with everybody in at least sketchy order, anyway--or do we get you checked out medically? I have perfect confidence in Gerard, and we have midwives in Castle Amber after all the trouble with Solace, so I'm easy with going back straight and having the medical personnel shipped there. But if you want to have yourself checked out, I already know that this shadow has decent medical tech."
"Yes," Folly replies without hesitation. She props herself up on one elbow and lays her other hand on Martin's chest, just over his heart. "If at all possible, when we get back to Xanadu we need to talk to your father before we so much as wave at anyone else. And I wanna go into that conversation already knowing as much as I can about... our situation. How far along I am, all that."
She sticks her bottom lip out and blows her purple bangs out of her face in a long sigh. "Of course, he may instantly know all of it the moment he looks at me," she says, and shrugs. It's meant to look nonchalant, but Martin feels her fingers twitch against his chest.
Martin's free hand moves up to capture the twitchy fingers and still them in safe, strong warmth. "Considering that I have instructions to call him when I find you--instructions that I've ignored for the last 12 to 18 hours--I suspect he'll figure it out when I hand you through."
He frowns, and adds, "We know he's not going to like it, but we don't know how much not-liking he's going to do. It was pretty clear he didn't like me coming out here for you, but he didn't even mug with the sighs and the eye-rolling when he trumped me to find out where the hell I'd been. If he takes this well, we're OK. If he takes it badly, well, we have all of shadow to live in until he gets over it."
Martin sounds mostly confident Random will get over it.
Folly won't let herself even entertain the possibility that he wouldn't. She takes a deep breath and squeezes Martin's fingers. "Vows to make, and vows to keep, and miles to go before I sleep," she intones, and gives her beloved a fond little half-smile. "Whatever happens---"
She hesitates, her gaze fixed on Martin, and then completes the thought with a tender kiss.
Martin grins at her as she pulls away.
"C'mon," she says, "let's get dressed and call your father. If he answers, we'll go through and talk to him. If not, we'll go to a clinic to get me checked out and try his trump again when we're done."
"Bath first," he suggests, tossing the covers off the two of them and rolling to his feet. Then he assists Folly to hers solicitously and helps her into the shower.
It occurs to Folly as Martin is washing her back that it really has been three or four months since she bathed. Even in Chaos, that's a while. Martin takes it all in good-natured stride, singing as he scrubs her:
"Dworkin has only got one Jewel
Corwin has none and half a tool
Prince Caine
Is a Royal Pain
And the Queen is a fink and a fool!"
After a moment, he adds, "The Caine line doesn't scan right. I'll rewrite it before we cut that track."
Folly laughs. "I'm sure it'll be an underground smash. Or, if Caine gets his hands on a copy, a just-plain-smash."
When they get out, Martin finds their fresh dry cleaning and laundry: new, local-appropriate clothing for both of them. His are in shades of light blue and indigo; hers are in a rich, deep purple. The fabrics are some kind of high-tech fabric with a touch of stretch. There are even low black boots for Folly.
Martin tries Random's trump once they're dressed and frowns at the lack of response. "Must be asleep," he says in a tone that doesn't quite mask his worry. "Shall we have you inspected by number 23 or whatever they do to pregnant women?"
Folly rolls her eyes, but she's grinning. "Do I get a sticker, too? Then everyone really *will* know."
She looks down at her belly; it seems bulgier now, somehow. Perhaps it's the stretchy purple shirt. "Damn. Everyone's gonna know." She looks up again, still grinning.
"Yeah, c'mon," she says. "I'm ready."
"Let's go."
Martin leads Folly out of the hotel. It's raining again, or at least it is at street level. The elevator ride was pretty long; if it was a fast elevator they could have been above low clouds in their room. Fortunately, the cleaning thoughtfully included rain gear in her size.
There's public transport available to the hospital, and Martin uses it. But when they get to the hospital, he's clearly a big wheel again, and whatever he's doing with those identity documents gets them on a long elevator ride up to the sunny part of the world again.
Folly clutches Martin's hand tightly the whole way up. For all that she's glad of the high-tech medical facilities, they clearly make her nervous in a way that modern hotels, libraries, and recording studios do not.
Martin holds her hand in a firm but gentle grip, looking for all the world like he's interposed himself between her and the dangerous doctor's office.
The aide gives Folly a long questionnaire about her habits and the habits of her partner that's difficult to answer meaningfully. Martin helps her fill it out. In some cases, he glosses the truth and in others he flat-out lies on the form. It takes close to an hour to fill out the form on the digital tablet even with the aid of transcription for some of the longer answers.
Folly uses the exercise as a jumping-off point for a fanciful but medically useful narrative, one that doesn't involve shadow-shifting or sorcerously failing to eat or sleep for weeks, about their last few months: she'd gone off to a semester-long art program not realizing she was pregnant, and between the excitement of the intensive study and her own history of irregularity she hadn't totally figured it out 'til she came back for the wedding and the dress didn't fit anymore. Yeah, she likes that story, and it takes her mind off the too-bright whiteness of the reception area. She distracts herself further imagining the honeymoon they're not actually about to take.
After another interminably long wait, Folly is ushered into an examination room. They feel of her, poke her, prod her, and require her to produce blood and urine samples. (If she balks and asks for Martin's opinion, he approves it but is less than thrilled.)
She provides the samples, taking some small consolation in the knowledge that they won't be able to find her for a follow-up visit.
At the end of this process, they call Martin in. The doctor tries the stethoscope on Folly's abdomen, finds a spot, and then allows her to listen to the baby's heartbeat.
"Oh, my god," Folly says, wide eyes brimming with happy tears. "She - she's like a little bird...." She takes Martin's hand, squeezes it, and hands over the ear-pieces so he can listen, too.
The doctor looks on approvingly as Martin takes the stethoscope. A delighted grin lights up his face after a moment. "Our own little rhythm section," he says approvingly to Folly, and colors slightly, as if he's aware it's a dumb remark.
She doesn't seem to mind. She's grinning at him like a woman in love.
He colors a little more and grins back at her.
There's more examining after that, then it's time for the ultrasound.
In a private room, Folly gets to don a disposable robe while Martin stands guard for her. A technician asks her to lie down on the examining table next to the machine, and then they pull aside the robe to expose her belly. The ultrasound reminds her of concerts where the bass has hit the resonating frequency of her bones but without the music. The gel they use isn't bad but she knows she'll want a shower afterwards.
Martin is standing by the screen, asking the technician anxiously what he should be looking for, one hand gripping Folly's hand reassuringly. The technician points out the head, body, arms, and legs. The way the baby is positioned makes it impossible to tell its sex.
Folly alternates between staring in wonder at the little wiggling shape on the screen with all its tiny perfect bits exactly where they should be, and staring gratefully at Martin as he watches the screen. She has very nearly stopped being scared, though she's still glad of Martin's hand in hers. Eventually she works up the nerve to ask, "So, um, how far along do we think I am?"
"Fifteen to seventeen weeks. Not quite halfway through, I'd guess," the technician says.
Folly's eyes widen. She looks awed and a little overwhelmed, but very, very happy.
Martin squeezes her hand. "How long will it take the rest of the tests to come back?" he asks.
"About 24 hours."
"And she's done with everything else?"
The technician nods. "Unless you have any more questions, Ms.--" he refers to the chart "--Chance?"
Folly nods acknowledgement. Her cheeks are a little pink. "Yes, I could probably use some recommendations of what to eat or not eat. As long as I'm getting all my vitamins and not consuming anything toxic, is it okay to give in to all of my weird cravings? Because I have them kind of a lot, and right now I'd _really_ like an ice cream." She grins.
"And also---" Folly bites her bottom lip and carefully does not look at Martin. "Are there any, um, intimate acts that we should be careful of while I'm pregnant?"
The technician doesn't look particularly embarrassed by the question, but it is, of course, the kind of place Martin would go for medical care. "The doctor will have brochures about that, Ms. Chance. But whatever you're doing seems to be working for you."
The technician leaves after supplying Folly with wipes to clean the goo off her belly. Martin helps her with her clothes, not without an appreciative squeeze or two.
Then it's back to another room to wait for the doctor with any final questions.
[If Folly asks the doctor the same questions, she is indeed provided with brochures and information to read on her own time.]
Folly eagerly takes all the brochures she can get. The doctor may well suspect that she plans to devour all the information in them tonight so that she'll be ready with followup questions tomorrow.
There are pamphlets describing the hospital's birthing facilities mixed in among the brochures. Folly hands the one on water-birth wordlessly and with an almost-straight face to Martin.
Martin takes it and reads it, looking less than impressed as he gets the idea.
Once all that is settled, Martin arranges for a followup the next day, and he and Folly are free to depart.
As they get out of earshot of the receptionist, Folly declares, "I'm hungry. Maybe we should go get some---"
She sticks her finger into the brochure of suggested foods for pregnancy and flips it open at random.
"---collard greens?!" She makes a comically unpleasant face.
"I'm with the plan that says you should eat what you're hungry for. What are you hungry for?" Martin asks as he steers her into the elevator. "We can go back to the hotel or we can find someplace else if you've exhausted the possibilities of the room service menu."
Folly nods thoughtfully. "I want... hmmmm...." Her tongue prods the insides of her cheeks, as if she's trying to taste what's missing. "Bean salad, and raisins, and sunflower seeds and ice cream." She grins, a bit sheepishly.
As the elevator begins its rapid descent, Folly visibly relaxes. "And somewhere out, if you don't mind. Maybe one of those obnoxious all-you-can-eat places with the big salad bar and six kinds of bread and a sundae bar with sprinkles, if they've got those here." She squeezes Martin's hand, and her expression grows thoughtful. "After all that time off in the desert, just me and Dworkin--- It's not even that I especially wanna interact with anyone who's not you, it's just---"
She gazes out the glass of the elevator, toward a row of ambulances lined up on the wet asphalt below. "Well, it'd be nice to go someplace where I could see... people. Just, y'know... living."
Martin looks at the dank street as they settle below the cloudline and frowns. "This isn't a very good shadow for that, I'm afraid. I picked a place that I could blend in, that nobody would talk to me or ask any questions. The places you could go where there are a lot of people, but I'm not sure they're safe. It's going to be a crap place for people-watching." His shoulders slump a little.
"S'ok," Folly says, and squeezes Martin's hand again, reassuringly. "I think I saw a falafel stand just as we got off the train-- er, subway? Underground? Whatever they call it here. I'll bet they've got something pretty close to what I'm after. We'll get some takeaway and head back to the hotel for a little light reading." She pats her pocket full of medical brochures and smiles up at Martin.
"Sold Amberian," Martin says as the elevator comes to a halt at the lobby level.
They stop at the falafel stand on the way back to the hotel and Martin purchases a wide variety of food for them. A wad of plastic chips from Martin's coat pocket covers their tab.
He seems torn between allowing Folly to carry some of the takeaway and carrying it all himself; one option is more gentlemanly, but the other option leaves his hands free as they travel back. After a moment's indecision, he chooses politesse over paranoia and takes both of the bags of food. The return trip justifies his decision by being uneventful.
At the hotel, they lay out the food on the coffee table and Martin assembles a plate full of shawarma or the local equivalent for himself. "So," he says. "Water birth?"
"I had a friend who did it, back in Texorami," Folly says as she piles a piece of flatbread with falafel and an array of pickled vegetables that would probably cause debilitating heartburn in a mere mortal. "Supposedly the transition from water to water is meant to be more natural and comfortable even for little ones who aren't part mer-baby." She looks at Martin and grins. "---And also more pleasant for the mother than most of the flat-on-your-back-strapped-into-stirrups- and-screaming alternatives." She wrinkles her nose and takes a big bite of her sandwich, cocking an eyebrow at Martin to invite his opinion.
Martin makes a face at Folly's description of the torture landsmen inflict on their women as they give birth. "We had water births in Rebma, of course, but it's a lot easier when mother and baby both can breathe the water. But we have several months to research other options, depending on where we decide to have the baby."
Folly nods. She doesn't say "not Rebma", because she knows she doesn't have to, but she's thinking it pretty loudly.
He shrugs and takes a bite his shawarma. After a moment of chewing, he gives Folly a thumbs-up.
When he's swallowed that bite, he prompts, "So, you were going to tell me something about the Jewel of Judgement yesterday. Before I distracted you."
"Oh, right." Folly grins. She takes another big bite and chews thoughtfully while she figures out where she wants to start. When her mouth is free again, she says, "How many people do you know of who've ever been attuned to the Jewel?"
"Uh, for sure? Dad, obviously. Grandfather. Corwin, I gather from things I've heard from different sources. And the fact that he, like Dad, has a drawing in his basement." Martin makes a bit of a face. Then, "Cambina has said some things that make me wonder about Eric, too. Other than that, I don't know. Anyone I missed?" He watches Folly curiously as he continues to dig into the shawarma.
"Dworkin," Folly adds.
Martin nods, once, unsurprised.
"He says the unicorn gave him the Jewel in the first place so that he would make a Pattern to keep everyone safe. 'The Patterns and Shadows are like a pearl. They protect Chaos from the irritant of Order.' And vice-versa, one presumes." She contemplates her sandwich as if about to take another big bite, but after a moment sets it in her lap.
"And." She looks at Martin, her expression hard to read. "'It is the nature of being attuned to the Jewel that you will inscribe a pattern or die.' I just--- You know, if it ever falls to you, I want you to know what you're getting into. And also, y'know, not die." She blinks and takes another bite of her sandwich.
Now it's Martin who gets the inscrutable look. He slowly finishes chewing the last bite of his dinner and sets the remainder of the pita-wrapped delicacy on his plate. "That's very interesting. One of Grandfather's contingency orders, that he gave me just before he died, was that if I got word that Dad and the others had failed, I was to find the Jewel of Judgement and take it to Dworkin's Pattern. And walk."
The corner of Folly's mouth tightens, a melancholy look that isn't quite a smile. "He trusted you more than he trusted his own children," she says. She looks at Martin as if about to say more, but after a long moment of silence she sets her sandwich aside and wordlessly scoots closer to him.
"He trusted me to do--what was necessary." Martin's voice is very quiet.
After a moment, he sets his plate aside on the table. Then he does the same to Folly's plate and pulls her into his arms, holding on to her as if she's an anchor against the storm.
Folly holds him close. "I love you, Martin," she says quietly. "No matter what happens, I love you. Always."
"I know. Always." With the last word, he squeezes her tightly for a moment, then relaxes his grasp a little.
Together they settle back on the couch; Martin's reluctance to release her is clear. He kisses her forehead, the purple lock in her hair, murmuring against it, "I'm going to tell you a story about me and Grandfather. About the time I met Dad."
Folly nods. She remains curled warm against Martin's side as he begins his tale.
"Grandfather contacted me and told me Dad was looking for me, where he thought I was and where I should be. He said Dad wanted to get me back to Amber, that he'd had a change of heart. That I should go with him.
"I didn't think it was going to work and I told him so. He just laughed.
"So I was sitting in this dusty bar in a shadow near Heerat when Dad found me. I was playing blackjack. He bought me a drink and we went and sat in this booth. I was so--angry. Almost couldn't talk, I was so pissed at him.
"He asked me if I knew who he was, and I pulled out my trumps and tossed his card on the table. He nodded, that funny way he has, you know--" Martin mimics it, the gesture long familiar on him "--and I managed to get a few words out, ask him what he wanted from me. I had no idea how I was going to make going with him even vaguely believable.
"And he said he wanted to find out about 'this', and he pulled out his own trumps, and flipped one of me out on the table. The one with a big f**king cut through it." Martin shudders, half with bitter laughter.
Folly can't quite suppress a shudder of her own. She strokes Martin's knee soothingly.
"I broke. I mean, I didn't cry or anything--I don't think I did anyway--but it was the thing I hadn't seen coming. Grandfather knew he had that card, and he f**king sucker-punched me. Dad had no trouble gathering his frightened young son and taking him where it was safe. No trouble believing I couldn't take care of myself.
"And me, I knew--I *knew*--" Martin laughs again, low and bitter. "I was one of them. Grandfather had stopped treating me like a little boy. Stopped handing me the truth. Now he would lie and cheat and manipulate me just like his own sons. I'd graduated. I was a man."
One more laugh, and Martin's hand flexes against Folly, as if he's looking for something to do with it, or to hit with it. As if there's too much restless energy in it, in him, to keep still. "Christ, I hated that motherf**ker sometimes. Loved him, too, but what an evil f**king c**ksucker he was."
Folly slides her hand into Martin's, laces her fingers through his. "He created a universe. I suppose he thought it his job to keep it tuned to his will, even if...."
Her fingers tighten. "Here's hoping your father remains a more 'hands-off' ruler than your grandfather."
"Here's hoping he can," Martin says, the sudden grip of his fingers matching hers. He glances down at his plate and says, "I think I've lost my appetite. Anything else I need to hear from art lessons with Dworkin, or should I start in on my last couple of days in Amber while you finish your dinner?"
"Let's see...." Folly scrunches up her face as she mentally reviews the relevant bits of her lessons with Dworkin. "Art stuff... art stuff... art stuff... Oh! Did you know Dworkin is our great-grandfather? I didn't."
"Grandfather somehow neglected to mention it," Martin says, shifting slightly on the couch without relinquishing his grip on Folly, "but it didn't surprise me when Dad mentioned it later. He told you himself?"
"Well, his hands did," Folly replies. "They told me he was related, anyway, the way they---" She takes one of Martin's hands, holds it palm down in front of them, and with one of her fingers traces the curve between his thumb and forefinger, the shape of his knuckles. "You know? And then I remembered he'd been alive long enough to tutor all Oberon's children, and then some other stuff he said -- it all just sort of fell into place."
She rests her hand, still holding Martin's, on her knee. "I guess you know about the unicorn too, then?"
Martin nods once. "Merlin told me."
Matter-of-factly, Folly leans in close and whispers, "I've concluded that's why we're all so horny." She can't hold the straight face, though; her eyes twinkle and she cracks a big grin.
Martin snorts and returns the grin, his sober mood shattered.
"...But I suppose I'd best finish lunch before we rush ahead to dessert," Folly adds, still grinning, and reaches for the remains of her sandwich. "And anyway, I think that's all the good bits from the art lesson." Martin hears the thump of her ankle-boots hitting the floor, pried off by her toes. A moment later she's twisting sideways on the couch, settling with her plate in her lap and her legs draped comfortably over Martin's.
"Your turn," she prompts. "You told me last night that Paige's babies are no longer babies, and that Brennan brought his oh-I-guess-we're- trusting-him-now brother to the funeral. Did I miss anything else important? Or shall we move straight to obsessively covering our takeout napkins with long lists of possible names for our little lark?" She grins and takes a big bite of her sandwich.
"Lark. I like that. But it's not--I dunno. I like more formal names, too." Martin seems inclined to just launch into the listmaking, but something in Folly's look makes him change his mind.
"So when I left you, I trumped into the command center, not the fight. Brita, Conner, Solange, Paige, and Adonis had gone down there to deal with whatever was attacking the kids." Martin watches Folly to see whether she's following him or whether he needs to explain in more detail.
She nods. "Brennan gave us the executive summary of the attack." She looks a bit grim.
Martin nods once and continues, "Apparently there was some sort of psychic battle and Adonis decided he'd lost. He immolated himself in the fireplace. Meanwhile, the thing that was attacking the kids--presumably their grandmother--had aged them from infants to young teens. They went from teething to teenaged in a few minutes. Brita burned herself trying to save Adonis, but everyone else was ok, if in shock. Merlin and Fiona went down to inspect what was left of the place and Caine and Bleys took charge of castle defenses. About then Lucas showed up." Anger flashes across Martin's face.
"It was pretty f**king obvious that he beat up my brother to get that f**king card. Then he got all smooth with me, and when I explained to him that if he messed with my brother again he'd be messing with me, he had the balls to start in on me about how important his children were. As if the boy I raised from birth to manhood wasn't down in the middle of a battlefield poking at the magical traces of something whose will extended from Shadow hadn't just f**king _killed_ Adonis. He was lucky I didn't hit him." Martin scowls and starts to pick up his plate again, perhaps for the simple pleasure of stabbing the food with his fork.
Folly smirks and arches an eyebrow. "You know, if you were even slightly less capable of knocking his head clean off with a well-placed punch, I might even go so far as to suggest he deserved it." She touches Martin's shoulder soothingly. "I don't wish ill on Lucas, but I'm afraid I won't have much sympathy if he gets run over by his own karma."
"If he trifles with my brother, or with you, he'll get run over by mine," Martin growls. "Lucas was supposed to be looking into the stable business for me, too. I have no idea how that went, except I assume now everything is all f**ked up. I'll pick up the pieces and break them again when we get back to Amber."
"Let's hope," Folly offers with just a touch of discomfort, "that the move to Xanadu will be disruptive enough by itself that you won't have to resort to any more actual breaking...." She gives Martin a weak smile and pets his shoulder.
Martin relaxes slightly at Folly's touch. "I'm gonna have to unlearn that habit again," he mutters grumpily, but softens his tone as he looks at her and continues, "Anyway, my father Trumped me after that and sent Brennan through. We butted heads on planning with Cambina and Solange for a while, then Robin arrived. Solange told her about Adonis. Then she called in Julian and we told him, which was ugly. I had to sorta threaten to sit on him to keep him from doing something intemperate, I think. Or give him time to rethink it, anyway.
"Then we all went out in the hall, and Fiona and Caine--both of whom I'd called in, along with Bleys, to sit on Julian, had a snit at each other. Then I finally got all the children dispatched to their various tasks, and I was left alone with Solange." Something in his expression shifts, and he pauses there.
"Is everything okay?" Folly asks, concerned. Her fingers continue caressing his shoulder.
Martin nods, once, looking into Folly's eyes. "We sorted things out between the two of us. Things that she and I needed to discuss." He hesitates a second before adding, "Things I need to discuss with you. We agreed that whichever of us talked to you first would do it. I'd say I drew the short straw, but--" he smiles, the little smile, "--I don't see it that way."
Folly returns the smile, but her eyes are apologetic, her words tumble out in a rush: "I knew about--- that you were close, but I--- when I told her about us--- She didn't even mention anything, just said she was happy for me--- so I thought--- it must be old news, y'know? Oh, I'm sorry if I've gone and put my foot in it...." Her fingers have gone tense against his shoulder. "I really don't want to mess things up between my husband and my foster-sister."
Martin relaxes. "I should have known you already knew." He smiles ruefully and takes one hand to push his hair out of his face, ineffectually since it's now too short to fall into his eyes the way it used to. Then he smiles.
"It's very old news. If I had any ego invested in it, Solange would have put me in my place when we talked. I got the distinct impression that I was attractive because I reminded her of one of her exes." He sounds more amused than hurt by the idea.
Folly blinks. "Er, it wasn't---?" she begins, concerned, but cuts herself off with a hand-wave that to Martin's eyes clearly means 'none of my business'.
Martin gives her an inquiring look, but lets her change the subject.
"But yes," she continues in a milder tone, looking more relaxed herself, "I had noticed the look that crosses your face every time her name comes up in conversation." Her eyes twinkle with good-natured teasing, her fingers slide along his shoulder and up to stroke the short-shorn hair at the nape of his neck.
More seriously, she adds, "I hope it's all right I told her? I... sometimes I just can't hold it in, you know?" She regards Martin with a smile that lights up her whole face.
Martin shakes his head. "She's your sister. How could I ask you to keep us from her?" He pauses and parses the rest of what Folly said again. "She and I were very casual. She was looking for some discreet company. We were friends with benefits. Now we're friends without. That's all."
Folly nods. "'Discreet'," she repeats with a slight smirk. "I suppose it's just as well, then -- you're hardly as low-profile as you used to be...."
A wry twist of his mouth signals Martin's agreement.
Her smile grows a bit rueful. "And that's the other reason I wanted to go ahead and tell her. Even before I was carrying around so much obvious evidence" -- her eyes twinkle and she pats her belly -- "I'm sure half the castle staff know exactly what we've been doing. Only a matter of time before that sort of thing slips into the gossip stream...."
She trails off, looking a bit sad.
Martin leans in and kisses away her frown. When he disengages, he says seriously, "Gilt knew where to look for you. It's already out there. We are who and what we are. There will always be gossip and scandal where we're concerned. But you make me happy and what we have makes me happy, and I'm willing to fight for it."
"Me too, sweetie," Folly says, and her smile returns. "I just... I dunno, I almost feel like we should be hiring our own PR people or something...." She shrugs.
"Okay," she prompts, "we're up to you talking to Solange...."
"Really, that's it until the memorial. A couple of days with me as Regent, which were just a whirlwind of crap, and me running down to the trump booth to try to get hold of you every few hours. Then we did the memorial, ranger-style. There's some news from that. Um, Vere stood with Robin through the service. I put a stone on the cairn for you, and Gerard didn't say anything--there's your scandal--and, oh, Brennan's little brother showed up. Apparently we're accepting him into the bosom of the family." Martin sounds distinctly unimpressed.
"Vere was there!" Folly exclaims with a happiness that sounds like relief. "Do you know I didn't even realize he was off to a war 'til Brennan said something about it? I'm glad he's okay." She doesn't seem surprised by the mention of Vere and Robin.
Martin shakes his head in the negative in response to Folly's question, then continues: "After the memorial I finally had a chance to talk to my stupid little brother. There are times I think he'll never make it to walk the pattern. He gave me a f**king lecture about how none of my family was at risk during that whole thing. I did not enlighten him. But I think I may have pounded him verbally hard enough on the Lucas thing that some light broke through. Lucas yanked his chain and will do it again. I hope he understands how dangerous that can be."
Folly nods. "Poor Garrett," she says ruefully. "If he doesn't get it now, he will soon enough. He may be very young and VERY new at this, but he's not stupid. Except in the normal ways of nineteen-year-old boys, I suspect."
"He's going to have to grow up awful fast. We don't have time for nineteen-year-old stupidity and there are too many people who'll use it against him." Martin frowns. "After I got done with him, I rode out. I've checked in with Dad sporadically since then, but there's nothing else worthwhile to report on my end."
"...which brings us both up to now, and 'ohmygod we're going to have a baby', and what was that you were saying about liking formal names?" Folly grins at Martin, pops the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, and reaches for a hotel notepad.
Martin and Folly debate baby names, all of them female, but come to no conclusions.
Last modified: 3 March 2006