Scritch Scratch

For this lunch, Conner has arranged a more cozy setting. Conner chose one of the many den like rooms in the castle: a place with overstuffed chairs, a fireplace, and a rather solid looking door that could be closed in the interest of privacy.

Nearby the chairs was a table with a meal of roast chicken, a bowl of spiced potatoes, and a broccoli-like vegetable Conner had always been partial to. Conner muses idly that he could make a good living as a caterer should this prince of the universe job not work out. Conner pours out two glasses of ice water and awaits his sister.

Conner hears Brita's boots in the corridor followed quickly by his sister. She is carrying a sketch pad (she doesn't seem to be far from one these days) and has a couple of pencils tucked into a front pocket of her red jacket.

"Brother," she says warmly as she comes and gives him a hug of greeting. "I hope your Yesterday was Productive. I have Acquired a Cause." With that she sits down and begins gathering food onto a plate.

"I have Delved into Mysteries." Conner chuckles. "But I have yet to decide on what cause to embrace." Conner tears off a chicken leg and pulls off the crispy skin to enjoy first. "So what cause are you championing?"

"Our newly Discovered Cousin Meg's Home Shadow Abford is under Attack by Elder Uncle Huon. Cousins Ossian and Ambrose and myself are going to Aid Cousin Meg in reSecuring her Home. Cousin Marius was going to Assist us, but has Gone After his Mother." Brita's brow furrows and she shakes her head. "Didn't his Mother Die?"

"Yes." Conner murmurs softly. "I do hope that is not what he meant. There has been enough death of late." Conner takes a bite out of his chicken leg and chews it thoughtfully. "Of course it would be more accurate to say that Deirdre fell into the Abyss and is presumed dead. Perhaps Marius knows something we do not. More likely he is speaking in riddles again. I'm convinced the Chaos sorceries he was struck has left him with an uneven keel." Conner lifts his glass and sips.

"So Huon is your target. That is the second time today I have heard that name." Conner admits. "Uncle Bleys referred to him as one he was pledged to protect the Pattern from, and one whose name was better off forgotten."

"Better off Forgotten? Why? And do you Know Why Uncle Bleys is Pledged against him?"

Conner shrugs eloquently. "I did not ask of him the details. All I do know is that when King Oberon bound Werewindle to Uncle Bleys, it was for the purpose of defending Amber's Pattern from Huon." Conner leans over and spears a piece of broccoli. "Bleys chided me for neglecting my maths. Right now I am concerned if Ossian plus Ambrose plus Meg plus Brita equals Bleys plus Werewindle." Conner pops the broccoli into his mouth. "Or at least are greater than Huon." He murmurs around the bite.

"So Uncle Huon was after Destroying the Pattern like Brand?" Brita ponders. "I would be Open to any Suggestions you might have on How to Approach this Issue with Uncle Huon."

"Carefully." Conner advises. "I know next to nothing about this Huon and neither do you. Scout the way carefully before you take any action you may not be able to withdraw from. Meg may be going to retake her homeland, but I suggest you go there as a scout for Amber not a liberator. Not until you know more."

Brita nods as Conner speaks, her look intense, but she says nothing to his advice. Rather, she switches gears and asks, "What are your plans, Brother. When will you leave for Shadow Gateway?"

"I will leave for Xanadu sometime this eve by Trump. From there perhaps a day or two to catch up on things before I am away again. Though I am not sure Gateway will be my only destination." Conner admits. "I have been speaking with Uncle Bleys on the subject of Pattern blades. Should I wish to seek out more on this subject I must find a man called Weyland the Smith. He was last known to be in the shadows around Asgard. Have you ever heard the name?" Conner inquires.

"Smith Weyland? I have Heard the Name. He Made Sword Balmung. I do Not Know Where he is Living, though," Brita says.

"He also made the Pattern blades." Conner informs her. "So it seems my travels may take me to your home or its environs should I persue this quest. Would I recieve a warm welcome there, my sister?" Conner asks. "Especially if I were to name drop."

"My Father is your Father," Brita says. "You will be Welcomed by Those Dear to Me - my Father, My Cousin Thrud, Uncle Thor. Do not Trust Uncle Loki or Modi. Uncle Loki is a Shape Shifter." She describes each of them to Conner and gives him sketches of the Asgard Parthenon [see the Wiki for Shadow Asgard people]. "I will lend you This as well," Brita says as she pulls out her Trump of Jutenheim. "This is on the Shore of the Lake of Memories. The Palace Idayoll used to be just behind and to the right. The Way to the Valley of the Gods is to the left. That is where my Father and the others were Building when I Left."

"Your Trump of home?" Conner's eyes widen and he does not take it immediately. Conner almost asked her if she was sure but of course she was sure. Brita would not have made the offer if she not trust him to keep it safe. Conner reaches out and gently takes the card. "Thank you." He does not make the usual assurances of keeping it safe. If she did not know that he would, he would not hold the card. In fact it goes swiftly into his own Trump case. "That will make things much simpler."

"And your Return much Faster," Brita's lip curves up slightly on one side. "Father is of Amber Blood, but not Fully. Trumping him causes him Pain, but perhaps you can Use that Fact...Gently, to Guide you to Him, if you Need it."

"Your Father is of the Blood?" Conner leans forward in interest. "Most interesting. Do you know from what line he descends?"

"The Silent God descends from God-Father Odin and the Giantess Grid. Granda Odin descends from Giant Bor and Giantess Bestla. I Believe it is Great-great Grandma Bestla who descends from Prince Finndo, although it is not Talked Of much in my Family. It is Rumored that she was Conceived Badly. Her Mother is not even Known."

[Meg receives] a return note from Bleys.

Niece,

The only thing faster than messages is rumor. I have heard that you were here and I'd be very interested to discuss my brother, Prince Huon of the Horn, he whose name is to be forgotten, with you. I will be in the armory this morning discussing defense with Venesch. Please come by at your convenience.

B

It is nearly midday by the time Meg makes it to the armory. She has walked here briskly, following the directions of servants, and takes a moment to smooth her skirts and check her headdress before walking up to the doorway.

When she reaches the guard [hell, I'd have a guard on the armory if I were King of (Most of) the Known Universe, and Random seems a moderately sensible chap], she stops and says "I was asked to meet Prince Bleys here this morning. Is he still here?"

The armorer nods. "Yes, Ma'am. The Prince said to expect you. He's in the practice room with the Captain. Through that door."

[Assuming Meg goes...]

Through the door is a wide room with a very high ceiling. Two men, one the redheaded prince, the other an older man with unusual features, are in the center of the room talking. Each one is holding a pike. The room is large enough that the 20 foot weapons can be maneuvered without hitting the ceiling. "Ah, you must be the famous Margrathea Carper! Captain Venesch, my niece, Margrathea."

The older man bows.

Meg smiles and curtseys back. "Captain Venesch, forgive my interruption. I have only been here a few days, but I have already heard how essential you are."

She turns to Bleys and her smile broadens. "Should I ask what I am famous for?"

His smile is broad and warm, and his manner is light. "Isn't it enough to be famous? Or to be my niece? Or the woman who asked Caine if she could borrow his Army?"

"Oh no, it's never enough," whips back Meg, eyes laughing. "And you forgot 'the woman who asked Ambrose if he'd been kidnapped, in front of the King.'"

Bleys smiles. "You weren't here when the King's bastard's mother asked the same question of him a few days ago. It's apparently all the rage."

Bleys stops and his tone changes. "But you are also here discussing The Prince who bears the Horn."

Meg nods.

He turns to Venesch. "Captain, you remember my brother Huon, he whose name shall be forgotten, do you not? My niece seems to have run across him."

Venesch looks uncomfortable. He nods slowly.

Bleys looks back. "I hope to hear more. My brother is likely quite cross with me. I executed father's sentence on him."

"Well, I am quite cross with him, so as long as you aren't particularly cross with me, we might be on the same side," Meg replies. "What did you do to him?"

"No more than he deserved, and less than my Father expected, I dare say. As my father commanded, I made sure that he was absent from felicity. I suspect that he freed himself in the Late Unpleasantness."

Venesch looks concerned, but Bleys continues. "Don't worry for the castle. He'll likely come for me first. I would, in his shoes."

"Then this could be a stroke of good fortune," Meg suggests. "He will come for you. He has an army, a ship and artillery. You will need to deal with him at some point. He was last heard of in a place we don't think he knows well, that he doesn't think you know, but which I can tell you about in great detail." Meg smiles hopefully. "Unless, of course, he's in Abford looking for you. Do you know the place at all?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Not by that name, at least. Pray enlighten me, and perhaps I shall recall it," Bleys says, and listens attentively to her answer.

So does Brennan, as it happens, who has quietly entered the room and is now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. It's not unlike the posture he had adopted the last time Meg saw him, but a hundredfold more relaxed. He's still got something of a coiled spring look about him, despite the lounging pose, but he's not looking for anyone to spring at.

Seen together and in the same light, Brennan's resemblance to Bleys is striking-- the hair, the body type, the body language in motion. Brennan could almost be Bleys' younger brother or son, rather than his nephew.

As Bleys, Meg and Venesch notice him by turns, he nods back, but does not interrupt. His green eyes are fixed on Meg-- he's obviously interested in her answer to Bleys' question.

When Meg senses Brennan's presence she turns to look at him and breaks into a smile.

"Ahh, it is the lurking one. Brennan, Brand's son, if I have my family tree right. We were discussing my home. Do you know it?"

Brennan nods a greeting, but does not smile. Although he's capable, Brennan doesn't seem to be the smiley type by nature.

Bleys waves him over. "Join us, nephew. I'm sure Mistress Carper's plight will be as interesting to you as it is to me. Have you heard of this 'Abford'?"

"Moreso, I expect," Brennan says. "My son has told me of his time there in the orphanage before Brand took him, but I haven't been able to determine if I knew it by another name. The longer recollections of an adult life may help."

Meg nods. "Abford lies on the river, at the point where the land trade routes from the East join the river road down to the coast. It is a city of traders, rather than scholars or warriors." Meg folds her hands. "But it is part of a federation of a dozen other trading cities. What would help distinguish Abford and if you know it?"

"The problem with fractal intershadow dimensionality is that people settle where they settle because it's a good place to settle. There are uncountable places that meet your description. Corwin's Paris was probably once that way, as are most cities on Rivers. The best distinguishers are arts, architecture, unique foodstuffs, and that still only gets one close. And even then, what we will notice will be haphazard: a fragrant blossom, the sweat on the walls of the seedy bar, the taste of the grass along the riverbank, the shadow of a crack'ed moon upon an oval pyramid..." He looks at Brennan.

"I don't know what you said, but if you mean that there are lots of trading cities on rivers, I suspected as much," Meg replies calmly, unflustered by the polysyllabic incomprehensibility. "But I'm not sure I'm any better able to give you an answer. How do I know what you notice? How do I know if the unique Abford almond cake is common as bread in the world next door? It's like trying to tell you the colour of the front door of a house when I've never stepped outside. But one of you must have been in this sort of situation before, so what should I tell you? Or do I just talk at random and hope something stirs a memory?"

Brennan ignores the comment about cracked moons over pyramids. "He said," Brennan says, "that to a degree, regions of Shadow are highly self-similar. And therefore, it's extremely difficult to pinpoint whether or not two people are talking about the exact same Shadow, or simply Shadows with very similar themes and motifs. Since Shadow is infinite, you might think the possibility that I've been there approaches zero, but it's not quite that simple. Not all Shadows are equally..." he hesitates, selecting a word, "attractive. We've already seen some of that, with you and Ossian and Brand and Huon all known to have been there, plus Marius this most recent time. If I know the place by a different name, and I stayed there for a long time, I might be the reason it's so attractive."

Meg raises an eyebrow as she listens to his explanation. He doesn't seem to be saying anything she hasn't heard before, but she appears to find it consistent.

He glances at Bleys and shrugs-- could be true.

"Let's start with the name. We're calling it Abford because you call it Abford. I gather that's the name of a particular settlement, a city of some sort? I tend to notice architecture, and I've already asked Ossian about that, but more detail won't hurt. I tend to notice not just architecture, but the function behind it, the way something was put together. The way something was designed to be put together, which is... difficult to express if you weren't already looking for it. What do you notice about it? What's the thing that most said 'Abford' to you, that you've only noticed since you've been away?"

"You don't have the Goddess here. But I can tell you about some architecture and that's easier to see. The city has walls of stone around as protection. Stone is also used in the churches, and other important building."

At the mention of the Goddess, Bennan's eyes narrow, but he lets her speak on without interruption. When she's finished, he gives no answer one way or the other, but instead asks her to tell more of this Goddess.

Meg wrinkles her nose. "She is the one who watches over us. Would you recognise a world by its god?"

"You might be very surprised," Brennan says, with a thin smile. A very thin smile.

Bleys says a few words in a foreign language, and if Meg understood Uxmali, she might wonder what "Smoking Mirror" meant.

Brennan clearly speaks the language that Bleys just used. He makes no comment, but throws an eyebrow at him somewhere betwen a question and a suspicious statement.

Insert description of styles of architecture here, which I'll try to fill in if I can find the links I was looking for.

[ooc: Damn I can't find the references for churches in Abford, but I won't hold things up further.]

Meg looks from Brennan to Bleys and taps her fingers against her leg. "I'm sure you know you look alike. And you are uncle and nephew, right? If Huon is looking for you" Meg nods towards Bleys, "with some notion of revenge, might he have ended up on your path," Meg nods to Brennan," instead, in the city where your son spent his first years?"

At the mention of their resemblance, Brennan glances over at Bleys, and shrugs. He's heard it from many sources, but doesn't worry about it overly much. "It seems rather roundabout," he says. "If he even knew of me, I'd be surprised. My presence hasn't exactly been public knowledge until rather recently, and if he were looking for revenge on Brand, coming after me would be a poor way of going about it."

Meg shakes her head. "I don't mean that he's coming after you intentionally. From what I understand he probably doesn't even know of your existence. I don't know how you follow a person's traces between worlds after such a long time as he's been imprisoned, but if you two are alike, he may think he's following your uncle, but really be following you. Mistaken identity, rather than anything about you."

"I've seen stranger things," Brennan says, "but not that much stranger. If I've been to Abford, I have not been there recently."

Addressing Bleys, he says, "Would Huon have been reachable via Trump in his prison?"

"Wouldn't have been much of a prison if he was. On the one hand, Corwin and your father taught me something about group efforts and piercing trump barriers. On the other hand, I don't see any grand alliance to reach Huon. He wasn't as well liked as my brother.

"What I don't understand is why he hasn't done anything about me yet. He's had years, and years to plan beforehand."

Bleys raises his eyebrows. "I'll wager he's overplanning."

[Meg]
"Would he expect you to know his prison has failed? How long is he likely to think he has to prepare? This may be an opportunity to catch him while he's still getting ready."

Brennan smiles faintly, and ventures to answer the question for Bleys. "Yes, yes I think he'd expect Bleys to know, all things considered." Turning to Bleys, "Of course, he might think you're dead, as a result. I certainly know where I'd look to verify that, though. Is he the sort to make assumptions like that and not verify them?"

"He was an inexpert chef; generally able to follow recipes, but unable to time the completion of the meal at once. Some dishes will be undercooked, and some overdone. I say was, because I don't know what he's grown into. If I was dead, he'd go after Father, and know that he was alive because the universe existed. He was very poor at math."

Meg folds her hands with deliberation. "So what does that mean? In practical terms? Do either of you know my home? And what do we do about Huon?"

"Hmm. I think the answer to the first non-rhetorical question is 'not yet', and the second is 'we have different agendas'. There's a real case for him having served his sentence and it being up to Random to decide, but I believe that there's a good chance he'll decide to try to kill me, so I'm not inclined to do nothing, even if it seems tempting. For you, what do you want to do about him? Assume he will at some point quit Abford. Charming as it sounds, I don't see it as his likely destination."

"If I know it, I don't know that I know it, and I probably wouldn't know either way unless I visit the place. And as for what we do..." Brennan looks at both and spreads his hands. "I'm not convinced I do anything, right now. So far as I know, he's not threatened me, threatened the realm, or threatened to eat his own children. There are those at large who have done all three. And while there may be an issue if he harms my son or my brother or my cousin, they're all big children now, stepping into someone else's plans. I can only trust they're not treating this as a lark.

"Tell Brita she should sketch me before she leaves, in case of trouble. It'll be the only one I know of. I'll be likely to answer it." Then he echos Bleys' question. "What are your goals in Abford, precisely?"

Meg purses her lips and seems to be collating thoughts before answering. "Get Huon out of there. See my family safe. Help Ossian find any clues that may lead him to who is mother is." Meg flashes Brennan a glance and then raises an eyebrow. "And find out if you're my father, or it's someone else from here."

"Rescuing your family is an order of magnitude easier than dislodging Huon and his cannon from wherever he wants to be. The good news is that he's unlikely to have invaded to stay. Three hundred years from now Abford may have a legend about the great General Huon, who discovered guns and united the continent, only to disappear at sea on his way to some great battle. It's too bad Huonia is such a lousy name for a country. Once you have your family out, you may want to just stay away for a bit. It could just sort itself out."

Meg sets her shoulders and holds her breath for a moment. Her body language clearly says 'but he's in my world.' She lets out her breath and refolds her hands.

"Be aware of the task you set yourself to. Removing me from Abford if I chose to take it," and Brennan's tone of voice conveys no doubt whatsoever, his ability to take it, "would be an order of magnitude more difficult than a rescue operation. Removing an Uncle?"

He shrugs, and glances at Bleys. "You've given a good impression what you think his weakness is. Does he had a strength that he'll play to?"

"He fancies himself a warrior and a general. He wasn't all he thought he was several hundred years ago, but given a few centuries, even old Amberites can learn new tricks." Bleys shrugs, appearing unconcerned, and turns his attention to Meg. "One of the things we could do if we had something from when you were a foundling, such as the basket in which you were left on the doorstep of the Orphanage, is to do a little Chronomancy and see if we could see who left it there."

"Well, that will all depend on how much of my home is still there. I may be able to rustle up a foundling basket of some sort." She smiles. "Though I wasn't a foundling in that sense. I was given to the orphanage and jewels left to pay for my upkeep. If they haven't been stolen, I may be able to find them."

This strikes Brennan as a bit odd. "If the jewelry was left to pay for your upkeep, why hasn't it been sold and converted into coin, and then into basic necessities long since?"

Meg shakes her head. "Getting a fair price was impossible, and the Sisters felt it would be an abuse of trust to sell if for less than it's true value. It has pearls beyond anything ever seen in Abford."

"Pearls, you say," says Brennan. "It's a poor gift to an orphanage that's so valuable it can't be properly sold," he looks over lazily to meet Bleys' gaze, "unless it came from a place where pearls were considerably more common.

"Could you sketch the piece, perhaps?"

"Hmm," says Bleys. "Pearls speak of Rebma, or a friend of Rebma's. Although Green skin tends to breed true, so you're probably not Moins' line. Yes, a sketch could prove quite valuable. Not so much as the piece, but nonetheless, could you?"

Meg eyes widen at the talk of green skin.

"Yes. I don't know how well, I'm not artist, but I'll try. Do you have something I can draw on?" she asks.

Brennan gives that expression that Family conjurers often wear when people ask them if they have something relatively trivial to procure. He then proceeds to pull out a smallish notebook which should nevertheless be sufficient for sketching a smallish piece of jewelry.

Having convinced himself that he has somethign to write on, convincing himself that he has something to write with is correspondingly simple.

He hands them over.

Bleys wipes his face, waiting to see what she produces.

Meg draws with care, forming the basic shape of the bracelet. Next to it she reproduces the patterns separately, instead of trying to draw them in place.

"There are pearls here," she points them out, "And this design around here."

She watches their reactions, one eyebrow raised and a faint smile on her lips.

Brennan shrugs. He doesn't recognize it.

Bleys looks at the drawings, cocking his head from side to side. After a few moments of study, he replies. "Rebman, I'd say. Which eliminates the King and almost no one else, since it's a day-trip from here. Do you mind if I keep your sketch? I can show it around and see if anyone recognizes the actual piece."

"Or better yet, draw two," Brennan says. He nodded when Bleys mentioned Rebma-- it'd obviously been his thought as well. "I'll be travelling to Paris shortly, where I can show it to King Corwin. And perhaps Jerod, if he's there. Paris has a stronger Rebman influence these days, anyway."

Meg shakes her head. "No, but thank you for the offers, I'll keep it for now. If anyone else goes haring off after seeing a picture of it, I want to know myself. Marius heard just a description, went off to investigate if there was a connection to his mother's jewellery, and now he can't be contacted. I don't want any more disappearances because of it." She smiles apologetically. "I've assumed that you're both able to deal with most things so I wasn't acting too recklessly in showing you."

"Oh, that's where he's gotten off to," Brennan mutters. "Suit yourself," he says. "But when and if the time comes, remember that Corwin is a good resource on things Rebman right now. As is Jerod."

Bleys nods, as if he's not paying perfect attention. "Mos--Many of our relatives aren't that flighty. I can promise you that neither Brennan nor I will hare off to parts unknown based on that sketch. You should try to recover the original. If you can't get answers here, taking the item down and slamming it on some jewelrymonger's counter in Rebma and demanding to know who it had been sold to would be much more effective than doing it with your sketchbook."

Meg nods her agreement. "That's what I'd prefer." She contemplates her sketch for a moment. "Why does this rule out the King?" she asks.

"He was banished from Rebma on pain of death for a number of centuries. After that lifted, he was in various jails with various levels of gilding until a few weeks before he became King. He didn't have time. I'm afraid you're not first in line to inherit and/or clean up whatever he's going to leave behind." Bleys' smile says there's more to the story, but he doesn't elaborate.

Meg laughs. "Thank-goodness I don't want to inherit anything."

There's been no sign of Lilly in the castle all day. Finally, Garrett has had enough of evasion. He stands outside her door silently, steeling himself for the argument to come. Whatever is eating her is going to get hashed out, once and for all. He knocks. And knocks again. "Lilly?" he calls through the closed door. Nothing.

He opens the door a crack and calls again, "Lilly? You here?" He stands like a statue and listens. Not that he'd be able to hear her if she didn't want to be heard. He knows that. But if she's sleeping or something... But nothing. There's no sound. No lamp lit against the late afternoon dimness. Nothing.

Garrett pushes the door open and enters. "Lil?" he calls one last time. He lights the nearest lamp and looks around. Empty. No swords. No clothing. Nothing personal. Garrett sighs and his shoulders sag deeply. She's gone.

As he looks around the room, he spies the note on the desk in Lilly's crisp handwriting. He reads it and frowns. The note is generic - basically "I'm not here. Won't be back." No elaboration. No "tell Garrett I'll see him later." No "I'm sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye, but that's how it goes." It's dry. Crisp. Efficient. Lilly.

For a split second, he considers running out, hunting down pages who might have seen where she went and grabbing a fast horse to follow her. But he immediately sees the futility of it. She can shift shadow. You can't. If she'd wanted you to know, she would've told you. Done is done.

Garrett pulls a piece of parchment from the small stack on the desk and begins to write.

Lilly:

Nice of you to tell me you were goi...

He crumples it up angrily. No. Too snide. He takes another piece and tries again.

Dear Lilly:

I don't know what I did to make you want to leave so badly, but if we could just...

He growls at himself as he crumples that sheet too. Princes of Amber don't beg. Another sheet comes off the diminishing pile of parchment.

Lilly:

I'd like to speak with you when you return.

He sighs. Too formal. He slowly crumples this one together with the others. Why is this so hard?

Garrett thinks for a moment, then slowly draws one more page from the pile and writes carefully.

Lilly,

Goodbye.

Garrett

He sets the quill down next to the page and walks away before he can change his mind. He carries the lamp to the empty hearth, removes the glass chimney and places one corner of the crumpled wad of parchment in the open flame. It catches - curling, singeing, finally burning bright. He tosses the flaming bundle into the fireplace, then in a sudden movement, snatches his final note off the desk. It follows its brothers into the fire.

Garrett squats at the hearth with his elbows on his knees, unmoving, the flame reflected in his reddening eyes. It burns fast and hot, then fades quickly into charred ash and smoke, disintegrating... gone.

"Goodbye, Lil," Garrett whispers as he rises from the hearth. He blows out the lamp, places it on the desk and closes the door behind him with a final thud.

Liam delivers a note to Edan's rooms in Amber. The paper is emerald green and sealed with gold wax and a unicorn head seal.

Edan,

I'm off to Xanadu most likely tomorrow and in the hustle and bustle haven't gotten a chance to see you as I would've liked. Are you free for dinner?

P

If Father had had a talk with the castle staff about coffee, Edan thinks, and had made the arrangements for the pillows and rugs I would sleep on, there would also be writing materials... and they would be right... here.

Edan's paper is a pure, unblemished white, and the sealing wax is a dark red. The included seal is that of a pouncing sand-tiger. Edan nods, content.

Paige,

I would be delighted. Say in perhaps an hour? I will meet you at your rooms.

Edan hesitates, smiles a little, and adds,

If I do not lose myself in this damnable castle.

E.

He asks for detailed directions from Liam, bids him to return his note, and begins to get ready.

A minute or two early, he arrives, dressed in white loose pants, tunic and turban, and a brown sash and boots. He knocks smartly on the door.

Paige answers herself, and kisses her brother on the cheek as he enters. "Come, sit down. I've fed the wild animal already and they're playing in the garden below. We can eat by the window, if that's alright, so I can keep an ear out for them. I think Van was going to try to introduce them to the blade."

Edan takes a moment to glance out the window, down to the garden. He is smiling, a little, when he turns back. "I imagine it must be difficult keeping up with them," he says.

She's dressed in green silk pants that ride low on her hips. Her top is a buttercream gold and while long sleeved, is down off her shoulders. Obvious at her neck is a golden pendant that matches the seal on the note he received earlier.

"I've so many questions to ask, and have little idea where to begin," she admits. "So, perhaps you would?"

"Of course," he says. "I must apologize, my sister. I have the advantage of you. I had been told of you, years ago. And considering what I have learned in just the last two days, the last thing you were expecting... or needed... was to have a brother suddenly appear."

He tilts his head. "Let us start with the easiest question, then. You wrote that you are going to Xanadu? Tomorrow? That is most interesting, for uncle Random has asked me to lead ships down that same path."

"Has he?" Paige asks rhetorically. "Hmm, I tried to get ahold of him and keep him abreast of my plans, but haven't heard back, yet."

She uncovers her plate of food and sets to pouring "When do you plan on sailing?"

Edan sighs in pleasure as the food is uncovered. "I am afraid that ships and sailing are not my area of expertise, my sister." He looks up at her. "I sent a letter of introduction to the Harbormaster, along with news of the king's desire. I have no doubt that a similar missive would find itself here from Xanadu. I planned to go early in the morning and check on the ships' readiness, and meet with whomever I need to meet. But I do not know how long that will take."

"I sent notes yesterday suggesting that I want to sail tomorrow, but the idea that more of the fleet might accompany us, I suppose I could wait and we might sail together."

"I should like that very much," Edan says. "That is, if the delay will not cause you too much trouble."

Edan pours a glass of water for himself. "I met with Uncle Random the very night of my arrival in Amber. Father Trumped me to Xanadu to present me to him. We played drums. I danced for him. It was a very informal meeting."

"Even when it's formal with the King, it's informal if you're family," she observes. "He's never asked me to dance for him, though."

A smile curls her red lips, a mischevious sparkle in her eye, "Although I'll have to admit that if your weren't my brother, I'be interested in watching you dance, too."

"And were I not your brother, I would have been smitten the moment I met you," Edan replies, with as much grace as he can muster. "I believe the term is, 'are there any more at home like you'... ahh, of course, you do not know. I have two half-brothers and a half-sister, still in the Western Cities. We look and act... very much alike."

Paige seems intrigued by half siblings, but leaves it for another conversation.

"So, you must be Father's favorite," she begins as she picks at the game hen. "He hid you years longer and saved you from the Picnic." Her tone is light and joking.

"A family picnic, I take it?" Edan smiles and inclines his head. "If I was saved from it, I think I know who was invited. No, I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Grandmother. And believe me, I could not be our father's favorite. Far from it. We have had serious disagreements, he and I."

"I'm sure they're nothing like those that he and I have had over the last few decades," she dismisses. "You aren't sleeping with any of your uncles, are you?

"If not, I'm sure that he'll forgive you anything." She spears a bit of the lamb on her plate and contemplates it before popping it in her mouth.

Edan stares at her, speechless.

Well, almost speechless. "No," he says. "I merely found religion. And then traded my soul to become a demon."

"Unless you sold it to family, I'm sure you got a wonderful price for it," Paige answers. "And religion? Well, that apparently is the downfall of our family. Witch-priestesses in the Isles, Paresh in Amber, young godlings determined to die for Arcadia."

She swallows another bite and turns her attention to the sounds outside her window. "My soul? I think I may have finally found," she admits.

"And you fear for them," Edan says. "I can hear it in your voice. And from the way you say they have grown... forgive me... I have assumed that their father is the one whose funeral was given the other night. Is this so?"

Paige nods, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. She closes them and gathers herself for a moment before answering. "Silly of me to cry over him. We truly weren't that close." She bites her bottom lip and dabs the moisture from her lashes with her napkin.

"I would like to hear the story, when you are ready to tell it," Edan says. He waits for Paige to compose herself.

"I'm sorry. So, a demon are you? Garden variety sorcerous demon or something interesting?" she asks.

"Anything that our father would involve himself in could automatically be branded the latter," Edan says. "My mother's true father was an afrit, a djinn of fire. They are strong, ruthless... their power is only eclipsed by their ego. Each considers themselves as royalty... a padishah, a sultan, an emir. It is hard to determine how they truly measure up against one another. But they can cross shadow, and their power over flame can be terrifying." He shifts in his seat.

"I am the first in my family to grasp that kind of power for myself. Given that Father's blood is also involved... I am something unique among the people of the Land of Peace."

"Ah, so no seducing your brothers into a role as allies against Arcadia, eh?" she chuckles. "Unique? We're all unique, and that's why we get the title, y'know."

Edan smiles slightly in return, but there is a troubled look in his eyes.

"So, do you know when you might be leading the fleet?" she asks, playing with her vegetables. "I might welcome the company. Well, not literally, but on the voyage. We could make our way together. I've been there before Xanadu was writ large, but not since.

"If we have enough time, I might even present you with a Sketch that we could keep in touch a bit more intimately than flags and lights. If not we can see if Troublemaker will part with his Card of me."

"Can you draw Trumps?" Edan asks, and his voice takes on a wondrous quality. "Yes. Yes. I would be honored." He leans forward and looks at Paige intently, his earlier mood forgotten. "I have no Trumps... if I had kept any, kept up with events, I would have done something... though our cousin Brennan thinks it would have made little difference.

"Be that as it may... I hope to set sail as soon as the ships can be made ready. Perhaps the day after tomorrow, or the next?" He rests his chin in his hand. "Will you be forging a path? It was discussed in Xanadu, I know how it is done, but have yet to bring it from the realm of mathematical probability to reality." He taps his lip with an index finger. "Barring outside interference, with a little effort and thought, I might be able to strengthen such a path. One with fewer stops. One with a longer duration."

"No, I won't be establishing a path, just planning on moving my ship there. Although, I don't know if it will ease your passage or creation of a... what's a precursor to a path... a trail, perhaps... if you're following me. Talking theory with Uncle Gerard and Jerod is much different than discussing it with Father or our Aunt, no math all feeling.

"But the general dynamics should suggest that there would be less resistance where I lead, since by extrapolation it is the same theory in which you're going to lead ships there. You open the way and they follow. If I'm opening the way, you can all follow and you can focus on giving some substance to the trail." She bites her bottom lip in thought for a moment. "I'm sure you're better with the numbers than I am, but it seems logical that there might be an intermediary step, like Sketches before Trumps."

"For a certainty, there are traces of our passage, traces that can be tracked and followed," Edan says. "A function of our will upon the stuff of Shadow. Yes. I will try to add some substance to our trail. It will give me the chance to experiment with the practical aspects of the mathematics. It can only help." He smiles. "And during our trip, I hope that you can help me catch up with the family and on recent events. Things that I missed since, say, Father's attempt on uncle Eric's reign. Between that and our trip and a little problem-solving in the higher math on cousin Brennan's behalf, I am thinking that my time will not be idle."

"Nor mine, with the twins and my household staff underfoot," she agrees. "But I'd be glad to bring you abreast of the recent history, and in turn learn more of the brother I never knew." She offers him a good natured wink as she dabs her napkin at the corners of her mouth.

"Household staff," Edan repeats. "Now, there is a concept of which I am not very familiar. I had a... how do you call it... a squire. Yes. A squire. I am long unused to castle servants. I take it that you do not have eunuchs in Amber or Xanadu..."

Rising slowly, she steps to the window after retreiving her wine glass. "I'd introduce you to the children, but I'm sure you'll get more then enough chance to meet them."

"I am sure that I will," Edan says. He stands, crosses to the window, and takes one of her hands in both of his.

"Thank you for dinner, my sister," he says. "I will see you sometime on the morrow, yes? After checking on the other ships to see who is ready to travel. We will, ah, 'keep in touch.' " He smiles, a flash of white teeth in a dark face.

Paige kisses him on the cheek. "Until then, brother," she says, her tongue tasting the word and seeming pleased.