Martin waits until the door has closed behind Paige to head over to the sidebar and pour himself a stiff one. "I'm going to lock myself in the bathroom and soak for an hour, and then I'm going to come out and you're going to tell me that this was all a bad dream."
He pauses, then looks at Merlin and Folly. "No. I guess not." He smiles, a bit wanly, and adds, "I only need to start this early when I have breakfast here." Then he hands the drink to Folly and starts to head towards the bathroom with the decanter. At Merlin's shocked look, he says, "Kidding," puts the decanter back down, and takes his drink back from Folly.
"Smartass," Folly says half under her breath. She punches Martin playfully on the arm.
Merlin gives Martin a rather cold eye. "What do you plan to do about Paige?"
"Do?" says Martin. "There's not much I can do. She wants to get married, and even if I were willing to marry--anyone, not just Paige--my marriage is a matter of state. She'll have my advice--which is to brazen it out and not marry at all--if she wants it, but I don't think she does. The truth is, she probably should have married Alan LeClaire years ago. But he's not free to marry her now, and I think if she rushes into something, it'll be something she regrets. Or maybe not; she might be happy with a man she had no expectations of."
A pause, then he adds, "I'll advise my father that he needs to countenance her, enough to keep her from being ostracized too openly, but I'd have done that anyway. I think that's what Dad will do regardless of what I tell him."
Merlin looks at Folly, as if expecting some follow-up comment from her.
"Really, the best thing we can do," Folly offers, "is exactly what we'd be doing under any circumstances: we'll be supportive, we'll be her friends. I agree with Martin - I don't think she should rush into marriage with anyone - but Paige will do what Paige will do. She's a strong-willed woman."
Folly hesitates just a moment before continuing, "I've seen Paige go through some pretty rough times, and I'd say last night counts among them. But for all that she's making hasty decisions about what needs to be done, she actually seems pretty level-headed about the whole thing. She's gonna be OK." This last is said with some relief.
Martin nods. Merlin merely purses his lips, as if he is less certain of Folly's judgement.
Martin says, "I think I really will take advantage of that offer of a soak in the tub. Merle, do you think you can keep Folly amused until I get cleaned up?"
Merlin considers for a moment, then says, "I am sure I will think of something to pass the time."
Martin favors him with a return smile and, unless Folly says something to stop him, takes his whiskey into the bath chamber and closes the door behind him.
Folly watches Martin's departure until the door closes and then some, her eyes focused for a moment on some far distant point. "Conveniently, I'm easily amused," she says quietly, almost to herself. When she turns back to face Merlin, she's smiling - an easy, friendly smile.
"Hey, Merlin," she says, "I don't think I got a chance to say this last night, but - thanks. What you did for Paige - I mean, not just the sorcery, but the... the looking after her - I'm glad you're here, and I know she is, too."
Merlin may sense that Folly's manner toward him seems more open, less formal, than it did last night.
Merlin has relaxed a little as well. "It was nothing. Paige has done so much for me; I am pleased to be able to return the favor in some small measure."
He, too, has watched Martin, and now steps into Paige's bedroom, with a pensive expression. "I think we may have an opportunity to finish the discussion that Paige interrupted last night," he says to Folly, obviously expecting her to follow him.
Folly nods and follows, settling herself cross-legged on the foot of Paige's bed. She waits in companionable silence for him to make himself comfortable, letting him resume the conversation whenever and however he pleases.
Merlin seems somewhat distracted. He begins making the bed; he's oddly fussy, playing with the rich hangings and the scarves Paige has left hanging from the bedposts.
"I had thought that Paige and Martin might reconcile, but I can see that such a thing will not be easily effected. Will you tell me how things came to this pass, that he keeps this other woman and she has other lovers, but they are no longer close?" Merlin asks.
Folly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "To be honest, Merlin, I'm not sure I really have a good answer to that question. The story most people would tell you is that they had some sort of argument a few years ago that caused Paige to... to get very upset and behave rashly; and after that she had a hard time talking to or even about Martin for a long time. If there is a moment when they stopped being close, that's it."
Folly pauses, and when she speaks again, she seems to be choosing her words with some care: "Things had been building toward that point for a long time, though, since before I met them. They were already arguing; I think they both already had other lovers. There were a lot of little things, and a couple of big ones, that pushed them apart; but perhaps the best answer to your question is that they had very different ideas about what they ought to be to one another."
Merlin looks nonplussed and a little sad as he continues to tidy the bed and its hangings. Finally, he says, "They quarreled over me, before."
"I imagine they quarrelled over other things besides," Folly responds gently. She's watching Merlin closely, wondering whether he's in some way blaming himself for the breakup.
"No, they never quarreled until they quarreled over me," Merlin disagrees.
Folly sits up a little straighter, as if to improve her view. "What was it that they were quarreling about, exactly, if you don't mind my asking?"
"My teaching," Merlin says quietly. He stops for a moment, almost as if he is regathering his concentration. "Paige wanted to have her teacher instruct me in the deeper mysteries of Trump, things she felt she could not teach me. Martin disagreed. They quarreled, and he left, and she followed him. When they returned, all was different. Now they are apart, and unhappy."
He continues the business with the hangings.
Folly shifts her position so that she is within reach of Merlin and lays a gentle hand on his arm.
"Merlin, you didn't cause them grief," she says softly but firmly. "It was Paige's teacher. That's what they were arguing about."
Merlin finishes whatever he's doing, straightens the hangings for a final time, and picks up a candle before sitting down next to Folly. He starts carving tiny shavings out of it with the nail of the little finger of his right hand.
"It is very strange that they should be lovers for years and not ever quarrel until such time as she taught me."
Folly is silent for the space of several breaths, watching Merlin's hands as he fidgets with the candle. Finally she asks, "Do you know why Martin didn't trust Paige's teacher?"
"I know it has something to do with why Martin was working with my mother and our grandfather," Merlin says. "And that Martin hated--hates--Paige's teacher."
He looks up at Folly. "But you do not understand. They were lovers for all the years of my youth. Decades. If this thing were so important, they would have quarreled about it long since. Instead they waited."
"I don't know why this quarrel didn't arise sooner," Folly says. "Though I've gotten to know both Paige and Martin in these last few years, I really don't know that much of their history. Perhaps Martin's hatred of Paige's teacher did not grow until near the time they started arguing. Or perhaps... perhaps they'd been intentionally ignoring their difference of opinion on the subject, hoping it would never come up. But it would have, sooner or later."
From the bathroom, Folly hears what can only be the sound of Martin singing.
"We seen the last of Good King Richard
Ring out the past his name lives on
Roll out the bones and raise up your pitcher
Raise up your glass to Good King John"
Folly smiles.
Merlin glances in the direction of the bathroom as well.
"They loved each other," he says, finally.
And he whispers a word to the candle, setting it alight, then extinguishes the flame between his thumb and finger.
Folly watches the business with the candle in fascination. "Butterflies and zebras, and moonbeams and fairy tales," she intones quietly, almost a benediction to the light. "But it rarely stays that way."
She looks at Merlin; there's a crease between her brows. "I'm sorry," she says. "I don't think I've done a very good job answering your question."
"Maybe there is no answer," he replies. And Folly suspects that he means to the question that he didn't exactly ask.
Changing the subject, Merlin says, "Who is Syd?"
Folly glances down at her hands, folded in her lap, and smiles. There seems to be a little more color in her cheeks now than there was a moment ago.
"Paige was talking about Random," she says.
Merlin thinks about this for a moment, then asks "Then why did she not call him that?"
Folly laughs, a short, nervous laugh. "I'm not really sure why she chose to refer to him that way," she says.
Merlin frowns, and starts to say something, but is interrupted by the emergence of a rather damp Martin from the bathroom. "'Scuse me. Forgot my clothes," he says, starting to walk through the bedroom to the other room where he left his bundle.
Merlin stands up and moves to meet Martin, with one hand outstretched to touch Martin's forehead. Martin's eyes widen and he says "No, Merlin!", but he's too slow to dodge the touch.
Merlin's index finger leaves a smudge on Martin's forehead about where the third eye would be, and Martin's eyes roll back in his head. He slumps, and Merlin catches him.
Merlin turns to Folly and says, "If you will please stand up now."
She doesn't. She can't -- not right away, anyway. She's shaking, and her breath comes in short, hard bursts.
It takes her only the barest moment to find her voice, though. "What the F*** did you do to him?"
Her hands are balled into tight fists.
Merlin looks distressed. "He is asleep only. He rode himself ill yesterday, and has not rested sufficiently. He will not take care of himself, so he must be forced."
He picks Martin up as if Martin were feather-light; there's something reminiscent in the gesture of Martin himself.
Folly lets that sink in for a few moments while she wipes at her cheeks with the hem of her sleeve. She stands, slowly, but she still looks wary.
"I suppose it's the thought that counts," she says, "but -- Christ, Merlin, that scared the shit out of me. You might wanna warn me before you go knocking your friends unconscious."
She reaches out to touch Martin's arm, to make sure he's really OK.
Martin shifts slightly under her touch, but does not waken.
"How long will it last?" she asks. "He's supposed to be talking with his father this morning, I think."
There's the slightest touch of irritation in his response. "A day, unless I close the spell on the bed to make the time pass more quickly for him. If you will stand up and let me put him to bed, I will close the spell."
Folly moves out of the way. She doesn't take her eyes off Martin and Merlin.
Merlin sets Martin gently on Paige's bed, removes the half-fallen-off towel from around his midsection, and tucks him in like he's a sleepy four-year-old. Then he proceeds to tie knots in several of the scarves in a pattern that makes no sense to Folly, if there is a pattern to it at all. Finally, he relights the candle with a single word.
Merlin looks a bit drained. He picks up the candle and shows it to Folly. "When it burns down to here, he will waken. A day will have passed for him and he will have slept through it."
Folly can see that there's something of a shimmer in the air around the bed, and inside Martin is tossing and turning too fast.
Folly nods. She, too, looks a little drained, but it's emotional rather than physical or mental.
"I'm sorry, Merlin," she says quietly. "I'm sorry that I yelled, that I... I distrusted your intentions."
She manages to tear her eyes away from the bed and to face Merlin. "I'm extremely protective of my friends," she says, "even when that means protecting them from each other. I suppose you are, too -- you're just protecting him from himself." She smiles wanly.
Merlin considers this and nods.
"We should stay by him," Merlin adds. "The spell is good, I think, but it is safer if I am here. Just in case."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," Folly says, a touch less lightly and more vehemently than she'd intended.
Merlin tries not to look too miffed, and mostly succeeds.
He decides it's time to change the subject. "You have answered my questions, but have asked none of me."
Folly smiles. "Well, I did ask you, last night, whether you'd ever been in love.... But perhaps that's a question for another time."
She considers a moment, and then asks, "How did you meet Paige and Martin?"
"Martin introduced me to Paige. But I have known Martin all my life."
Folly looks puzzled. "He was in Chaos during your boyhood? Or did you live elsewhere?"
"I grew up in Borel," says Merlin. "Martin was there almost all the time. Sometimes he would have other business that drew him away, though."
"He was... working with your mother during that time, then?" Folly asks, trying to make all the pieces fit together.
"I suppose he must have been," says Merlin. "I do not think they get along very well, though.
"Got," he corrects himself.
Folly nods. Her look suggests she's filing several things away for further consideration later.
After some more meandering but less serious discussion, Merlin fetches some art supplies from his room and begins to sketch Folly. He does not say that the sketches are preparations for a Trump, but Folly suspects that they are.
Meanwhile, Martin continues to toss and turn in what appears to be a very restless fashion on Paige's bed. It's difficult, if not impossible, to tell whether his slumber is disturbed or it's merely a reflection of the shimmering spell that holds him out of time.
Folly mostly manages to sit still while Merlin sketches, but she glances frequently in Martin's direction. She keeps herself from asking Merlin whether it's supposed to look like that, though.
But she looks concerned.
Merlin occasionally glances at Martin, but he does not seem disturbed. He is also keeping an eye on the length of the candle as it burns down toward the point at which the spell will end. Folly notices that he pays more attention to the candle as the moment of Martin's awakening approaches.
Folly watches the candle for a while, too; then she says, "You, uh, might want to be careful of doing this kind of magic in front of some of our other cousins, without warning them first. Some of them are inclined to strike first and ask questions later."
Merlin nods, seemingly sanguine about the prospect. "I am generally careful about where I practice sorcery. Martin told me that there are not very many sorcerers in Amber, and that they would be much mistrusted." He pauses, then adds, "But Martin trusts you."
Folly nods slightly, but she looks troubled.
"Martin trusts Jerod, too; but Jerod might've run you through if he misunderstood what you were doing."
"You are not Jerod," Merlin replies.
Folly smiles slightly, but it's a sad smile. "Lucky for both of us," she says.
"Why do you assume it is luck?" Merlin asks.
Folly starts to say something, stops, and looks down at her hands. "Because you never really know how people are going to react to things, no matter how well you think you know them."
When she looks up again, there are tears in her eyes.
Merlin puts down his charcoal, looking concerned. "What is wrong, Folly? How have I upset you?"
Folly shakes her head but waits a few moments before she speaks so she can regain her composure.
"It's not you, Merlin," she says at last. "I just realized something about myself that scares me."
She looks down at her hands again, no longer able to meet his eyes.
"Maybe I'm not so different from Jerod after all."
Merlin looks quite worried now, not so much for himself as for her, Folly thinks. "That you would defend your kinsman with arms? There is nothing wrong with that," says Merlin.
"If it is something to be ashamed of, then I also share the shame," he adds, not sounding very bothered by it.
Folly smiles at that, and she does seem to take some comfort in it. "Maybe you're right," she says. She looks up again. "Thanks, Merlin."
"You're welcome." He starts to pick up the charcoal again, then notices that the candle has almost burnt down.
Folly glances at Martin again.
"I believe that Martin will wake up in the next few minutes," says Merlin. "It would be best if I were elsewhere when this happens. He complains that the spell makes him irritable afterwards, but his irritation always seems to be focused on me. If I were to depart, do you think that you could wait for him to awaken? He has never suffered any ill effect before, and if he seems to, he has a Trump by which you can summon me."
Folly nods, and smiles. "Yeah, no problem. Conveniently, I've got some practice being around Martin when he's grumpy."
She pauses, then asks, "Do I need to do anything in particular?"
Merlin looks relieved. "Tell him where he is if he is disoriented immediately on awakening, summon some food for him, perhaps."
"Sure," Folly says. "I can do that."
She regards Merlin a moment, then asks, "Where will you be?"
Merlin nods, and as he does so, the candle winks out. The shimmer around the bed pops like a soap bubble, and Martin's rapid movements slow to those of a normal sleeper. Merlin looks vaguely alarmed, and pulls out his Trump deck. "With my father," he says, shuffling out a card.
"Say 'hi' to him for me," Folly says. She suddenly looks very amused, possibly at several things at once.
"I will do that," Merlin says, and concentrates on the card. After a moment, he says, "Father? Will you bring me through?" After a moment, he waves at Folly in farewell, and then he is gone. In his haste to depart, he has forgotten his sketches of her, Folly notices, and left something of a mess in Paige's chamber.
Folly stands, stretches, and moves to tidy the room a bit. Almost immediately, her curiosity gets the better of her and she picks up one of the sketches.
There's something different about the perspective of the sketch. Folly can't quite describe what it is, but the proportions are a little off, perhaps. Otherwise, it is recognizably her.
Folly smiles and continues tidying up, keeping an eye on Martin.
Martin is still moving restlessly, as if he's dreaming, and from something about his movements, Folly suspects it's not a pleasant dream.
Folly sets aside the things she's picked up and walks toward the bed, stopping just outside the place where the air starts looking shimmery. "Martin, sweetheart," she says quietly, "It's OK -- it's just a dream...."
[the shimmer is gone]
In that case, she eases herself onto the bed carefully, trying not to startle him.
Perhaps instinctively, Martin turns towards the sound of Folly's voice, but his eyes do not open.
Folly sits very still, watching. After a moment, she starts singing quietly, a soothing, pleasant, wordless melody.
For once, her tune seems to have little effect on Martin. Perhaps it is the influence of the sorcery, but for whatever reason, the music does not calm him. Instead, his movements grow more jerky, then after another moment, he sits up, violently, and shivers.
"You're OK," Folly says, almost reflexively.
He opens one eye, looking extremely cross, and says, slowly, "Merlin?" The r is almost rolling, it's so long.
"He left already," Folly says.
"I'll bet," says Martin. He opens the other eye and looks around, as if orienting himself. "How long?"
"You've been out for a couple of hours," Folly says, "although I think he worked it so it'd feel like more to you."
"That's something," Martin says, and there's a bit less growl in his tone than there was before. "He knows how much I hate it when he does that."
"I can't say I was especially thrilled with it, either," Folly says. "He didn't warn me before he did it, and I kind of freaked a little."
"He didn't warn you?" Martin says, and all the growl is back in his voice. "He and I are going to have to have another discussion about the appropriate uses of sorcery. He ought to know better." He makes a face. "Probably thought you'd warn me."
"Probably," Folly agrees. "And he was probably right. But he meant well."
She glances away for a moment. When she turns back toward him, she smiles and says, "I'm glad you're OK."
Martin shakes his head once as if to clear it. "Yeah, I am too." He glances towards the sitting room. "Is there any of that breakfast left? Or did they clear it while I was asleep?"
"I'll send for some more." Folly smiles. "And can I get you anything else while I'm up? Glass of water? Underwear?"
Martin flushes slightly; if he weren't so fair, she wouldn't notice it. "I'm going to want another bath, so maybe it better be a towel. And the water would be great too. Thanks."
Folly nods. She slides off the bed, retrieves a fresh towel, and tosses it to him. Then she's off to send for more food and to fetch a glass of water. She takes a little longer than necessary, to make sure Martin has plenty of time to make himself decent; and she knocks before returning to the bedroom.
Martin is dressed by the time she returns, although his hair is wet. He takes the glass from her and drinks it all, as if he's a little dehydrated."Thanks," he says again, setting the glass down on Paige's bedside table.
He pushes his wet hair back, although it hasn't fallen forward.
Folly nods. She studies his features for a moment, and then asks, "How are you feeling? Besides hungry, I mean...." She herself seems unusually subdued.
Martin shrugs in response, suddenly awkward, "Fine, I guess. How are you? We didn't get a chance to talk last night, and then this morning--I thought that must have been something I dreamed when I first woke up, but it's real, isn't it? She's pregnant. Everybody dumping shit on you, when you have enough on your own. And you wanted to talk to me yesterday," he pauses, thinking, but doesn't pick up the line of thought again.
"Yes, it's real," Folly says, "although it almost seems like a dream to me, too."
She crosses to the bed and sits at the foot again, much as she did when talking to Merlin, only this time she's got her knees drawn up under her chin. "And I don't mind other people's shit so much, really," she says. "I sorta feel like I've got a better handle on it than I do on my own."
Martin comes to sit down by her, looking a little sad, lips pressed together as if he's trying to keep from saying something. He settles for pulling her half into his lap, settling her head against his chest, in silence.
Folly wraps her arms around him and gets very still, listening to his heartbeat. After several long moments, she whispers, so quietly it's almost inaudible: "I love you."
The slightly uneven rhythm of Martin's breath stops completely for a moment when she speaks. He lets it out slowly, and whispers back into her hair, "And I love you, Folly. Always have, always will."
She lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and her arms tighten around him, holding him close. After a moment she speaks again:
"So what do we do about it?" she asks quietly.
"I don't know," Martin says, low and quiet himself.
"I thought--I thought I was gonna tell you that I was giving up any hope of us being together, that I wasn't going to wait. And maybe I still should. I saw the look in your eyes when I told you Dad had come home, and I know what it would do to Paige to see us like this, especially now. How can we be lovers when it hurts everyone we care about? But loving you is like breathing; I'm not sure I can give it up either.
"So I don't know," he finishes.
"Well, at least we're on the same page," Folly says, and laughs, bitterly.
"Yes, I love your father. But he's not the one I was thinking of yesterday when I declined Adonis' invitation. He's not the one I almost... I almost hurt Merlin to protect. You're in my blood, and I can't ignore that.
"But on the other hand, what kind of a shit would I be if I were to say to your father, 'Hey, sorry about that destiny thing biting you on the ass, I'll just be over here with your son....'" She trails off and shakes her head.
Martin lets out a long breath that he probably wasn't aware he was holding. He strokes Folly's back for a little while, turning over possible responses in his mind. "I'm not real keen on 'Welcome home, Dad, and by the way, I stole your girlfriend' either," he says.
Martin continues: "I can only control what I do. It's a code I've learned to live by; it's kept me sane when I lived in madness. But when my decisions affect you, rob you of your choices--I don't know what to do about that."
He touches the black silk cord at the back of Folly's neck, and his chest moves as if he is drawing in a breath to speak, but he remains silent.
"It's only been a week," Folly says, as much to herself as to Martin. "A world-turned-upside-down, fucked-beyond-recognition week, but only just one. We can wait a little longer, wait for things to settle down...."
Folly pulls away just far enough that she can look Martin in the eye. "Remind me again how we're gonna live forever? Remind me that the waiting isn't gonna kill me...."
"It's not," Martin says. "It just seems like it is sometime. But Folly, just because we're gonna live forever doesn't mean Vialle will."
Folly lets that sink in for a minute. She looks a little flushed. She nods, slowly, but doesn't say anything.
"I won't lie to you," Martin says. There are layers and layers and layers in the words.
"I know," Folly says in the barest whisper.
She seems almost afraid to say anything more.
Martin starts to lean forward a little, then sits up straight again, and smiles, tight-lipped and bitter. "But I do," he says. "There are things I don't tell you, didn't tell you, things you don't know to ask. Vialle--" and he pauses to gather his thoughts.
"I didn't want to make you hate her," he says, then stops abruptly.
"I don't," Folly says quickly. "I'm just...."
Then she stops, too. "What is it?"
"I should have told you," Martin says. "When we talked about her before, I didn't tell you everything about our quarrel." He shakes his head regretfully. "Stupid."
He continues: "When I said she was ambitious and clingy, I didn't tell you how I knew. She was a friend to one of my grandmother's ladies-in-waiting. She had access to the key to the Pattern Chamber in Rebma. Grandmother didn't want me to walk it. I figured out a way to get the key, with Vialle's help. And she turned me in."
Folly turns this over in her mind, then asks, "Were the two of you still... together... until she turned you in?"
"I'm not sure we were ever--together--not in any sense you'd mean. 'I used her/She used me/Neither one cared/We were gettin' our share'," Martin quotes, then shrugs. "I wasn't worth much, not then. If Brand had killed me, but otherwise failed, I'm not sure how much of a loss to the universe I'd have been."
Folly doesn't say anything to that last comment; she just gives Martin a melancholy smile and reaches up to stroke his still-damp hair.
After a moment, she says, "I'm just trying to understand her motivations. If you'd had a big breakup or something, I'd think it was all just spite. But if not...." She pauses, brow furrowed. "Did she think she was protecting you? Or did she just want to make sure you'd never be able to leave her? Or was it not about you at all, and all about making herself look good?"
She falls silent again, thinking, and then lets out a long sigh. "I could believe any one of those, or all of them. None of them bode especially well, though of course some seem worse than others."
She looks a little pale all of a sudden.
Martin nods once abruptly, then draws Folly close again in a not-quite bonecrushing embrace, as is his wont. "Go nowhere alone. Stay with friends: your docksiders, preferably in groups. In the castle, too: Merlin, Paige, Solange, myself. Gerard is safe. So's Jerod; he asked about you last night. I told him as little as I could, but he knows Vialle's kind. He was raised in Rebma, too. Do you understand?"
Not quite as an afterthought, Martin adds, "Vialle was rewarded for protecting me from the danger of walking the Pattern by the gift of a post at court."
Against his shoulder, Martin feels Folly nod. He can also feel her trembling.
"I'm glad you talked to Jerod," she says. "I was afraid.... Well, I know he's friends with Vialle, too, and I'd worried that...." She doesn't bother even completing the thought.
"I promise I'll be careful," she says instead.
"And Fathom. Bring him down here if Paige will have him," says Martin.
"Oh, shit," Folly murmurs; the idea of someone messing with her cat is in some ways more deeply troubling to her than any threat to her own safety.
"Perhaps I should also ask Paige to save me a room in this new household she wants to set up," she adds.
"It would be safer, if Dad will allow it. But I don't know if he will; it may be more trouble than it's worth for him to allow it, not knowing what we know."
Martin shakes his head, then adds by way of explanation, "You're a royal ward; your keeping is in Dad's disposition. Normally in the case of a female ward, the King would sell off the wardship to somebody who'd marry the girl for whatever she had that made her worth being a royal ward. Somehow I don't see that in your case. If he didn't, normally the Queen would be responsible for a female ward in the royal household. Somehow I don't see that either."
"And I guess 'do whatever I want' never enters into it," Folly says, looking disgruntled and also a little freaked out.
"Oh, Folly, it's not that simple. It's not like Rebma, where a disobedient prince might find himself with minders and guards, not to protect him, but to keep him from running away. Look how much you've done to make life easier for Gerard. How much more will you put up with for Dad?" Martin strokes her hair. "The chains that bind us best aren't made of iron."
Folly tilts her head, catlike, into Martin's hand as it runs along her hair. "I know," she says softly. "But I hate feeling so trapped, even if the cage is of my own design."
"I know," Martin agrees, echoing her own words. "The worst part is knowing you could be free. That you could get a horse and ride into shadow and block any Trump that came your way, and be alone with the music and the woman you love." His finger slides down Folly's cheek and under her chin, bringing her face up towards his. He smiles, wistfully.
Folly smiles, too, her eyes full of joy and sadness and longing, and slowly, tentatively, brings her fingertips up to touch his lower lip.
Martin kisses them, once, then draws back enough to speak. "All it costs you is--your soul."
"Even the caged bird remembers her song," Folly says quietly. "Nothing can take that away."
And she leans forward and kisses the corner of Martin's mouth, as he once did for her.
Martin closes his eyes and smiles, unmoving, as her lips touch his.
When she draws back again, he says, "I won't betray his trust either. I won't go behind his back." He reaches down along the side of her neck and touches the silk cord of her necklace.
Folly smiles at that, genuinely glad to hear it. But her face clouds an instant later.
"What are you going to tell him about Vialle?"
Martin frowns, but doesn't look away. "Nothing, right now. Later, when I've earned his trust, and when I have something more than suspicion to bring him, then I'll tell him everything. But he doesn't trust me yet."
He continues: "I had to play dumb about some things, particularly things having to do with Merlin and Dara, when I first came to Amber. I had to let Dara tell Corwin about Merle, because Grandfather wanted them to marry and he thought it would all come better from her. Instead she used it to put a knife in Corwin's gut, as it were, and it may drive a wedge between me and Dad. It's pretty obvious now that I knew a lot more than I let on at the time. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't trust me.
"Besides," he adds, "I need it as a hole card against Vialle."
Folly nods, slowly. "I just wish there were some way to... I don't know, caution him in the meantime, or something. I can't exactly say, 'Hey, by the way, I don't trust your wife,' without sounding like a petty, vindictive psychobitch ex-girlfriend -- and even if I could, it's not really my story to tell," she says, and frowns.
"It's just one more back I have to watch," says Martin.
"I'm glad you're on his side -- and mine," Folly says.
"Speaking of which -- aren't you supposed to be up there watching his front sometime soon?" She grins.
"He said to Trump him when I was ready. I guess I wasn't ready," Martin says. He sounds like he still isn't quite ready after all that heavy talk, but is putting his best face on it.
Folly smiles and wraps her arms around him again in a comfortable -- and comforting -- embrace, remaining there until Martin is ready to be released.
Last modified: 2 November 2002