Settling In

Turning the mood on its proverbial ear, "Speaking of your siblings, what of my Uncle?" Paige asks.

Bleys' expression is momentarily nonplussed. He says, "Brand was given every chance to choose another path, Paige, but he didn't." And he merely looks at her for a long moment.

It's at about this point when Paige and Bleys catch sight of Julian, who is coming their way.

"Uncle," Paige greets him, "How is Daeon's recovery going? I haven't had a chance to look in on him again."

Julian, unflappable as ever, says "He has improved enough to depart the camp." To Bleys, "If I might speak with your daughter alone for a few moments?"

Paige looks concerned at that, but leaves the talking to her Elders.

Bleys considers this, looks at Paige, decides, and nods. "Certainly, brother, but she and I must return to the castle to prepare for dinner in a moment."

Julian says, "I only require a moment of her time. And, since my son may return, I must wait on him here. Unfortunately, I must miss this particular command performance."

"We'll send you a doggy bag, if Corwin doesn't eat everything. Paige, I shall be with the knights when you are finished." Bleys gives Paige a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and is gone among the crowds.

Paige watches him go, a soft smile on her face.

Julian offers his arm to Paige. "Shall we walk, niece?"

Paige slides her hand through his arm and falls into step beside him, "Of course, Uncle.

"How can I help you?" she asks.

Julian doesn't answer immediately, but leads her to the command tent. The crowd parts before him; the walk is easier than it would have been for Paige alone.

Once they are alone inside the tent, Julian says, "I do not come to you to ask your aid, but to offer mine." He pauses, as if aware that the next bit is going to be awkward.

Well, if nothing else, Paige can take solace in seeing hesitation in her Uncle's patter. Of course an imposing doom now looms over Paige's mind, as if it's enough to give Jules pause, well...

"Since you have had a ... liaison ... with my son Adonis, there are some things you should be aware of. Adonis is a god in his home shadow, and one of the aspects he wears is that of fertility. He dallies with women quite often, and even those who believe themselves barren, or too old or too young, often find themselves with child after the dalliance."

He pauses again, to let that bit sink in.

Paige looks thoughtful, //But this is Shadow, even if it's Amber, and I've never, NEVER, conceived in almost two centuries! Hell, I don't know if I can. I'm prety sure I can, but...// Her reverie is broken by Julian's continuance.

"My son is not mature enough to be a responsible father." It sounds less like a condemnation than a statement of fact. "If you are with child, and cannot face the responsibility of raising the child alone, I will arrange suitable fosterage. A child of your union with Adonis would be my grandchild as well; I will not abandon my descendants, or their mothers."

It occurs to Paige that this may not be the first time Julian has given this speech.

"I appreciate your candor, Uncle. Thank you," Paige smiles, if a bit forced, it's there none the less. "Should there be any cause to worry, I promise you'll be one of the first to know."

"As to the care and raising of a child, well, fortunately if it's going to happen, I'll have some months to consider it," she chuckles. "It may be some weeks until I can answer your question any more appropriately. I do have access to Shadows that would help me with determining such."

"I will await news from you, then," says Julian. While it's not a dismissal, Paige has the sense Julian is done.

Paige smiles, because when you've got nothing else, you can always smile. It'll make them think you've got more than you have or know more than you do. She turns and finds the tent flap and resisting all urges to run screaming, finds her father among the knights.

"Father, I do need to make the Castle if I'm to be presentable for dinner tonight? Should I go along without you, or are you ready also?" She asks.

Father can probably sense that she doesn't want to speak on whatever she discussed with Julian, at least not with him right now.

"I need to go to town. Any clothes I left behind when last I visited have probably had a broad arrow painted on the back. If you've the trumps for it, why not drop me at The Prince and I'll call you when I'm ready to arrive?"

Paige produces a Trump from her green silk wrapped bundle and offering her other hand to Father concentrates intently on making the room come alive, adding the missing details from memory... the robe hanging on that poster of the bed, the property law notes Lorring had brought her on the nightstand. As the imaged sharpened to clarity, she stepped forward drawing Father along with her.

Leading him to the door to the hall, she jests, "I assume you can find your way from here?"

"Since I'm here, I think I'll make use of the quiet to ready myself here. Martin's expecting my Trump, so when I'm ready, I'll call him. Once I'm at the Castle, I'll look in on you." A small kiss on the cheek and she shushes her father away. Stripping off her bodice she walks back through the sitting room to the bed and tosses it haphazardly over the legal documents.

Paige stood in front of the mirror, stripping away the once ivory blouse, now covered with sweat and dirt, and even blood. "So much hurt, so much pain on a day that should be rejoicing," she thought. Stepping out of her green skirts and untying the pockets about her waist, she finally looked at herself in the mirror.

Was she any different from the woman who came here six years ago? Except for the piece of art Ossian had added to her bikini line, there were no visible signs. She ran a soft hand over her hip and touched the small unicorn's head, smiling in remembrance of that day. "Ossian, I fear you're too much like Maestro, and others have seen it, too. Be careful my sweet heart," she thought.

Perhaps some nights there were rings under the eyes, but the Shadows would lie for her, and even in Amber there was makeup. Wrinkles? More likely laugh lines from Fathom's antics as she and Folly shared cocoa over relating the day's trials and tribulations or another dose of Conner's scathing wit.

Her hand stopped over her smooth stomach as she turned and regarded her profile, irrationally looking for any sort of hint of truth to Julian's earlier statement. "Fool," she called herself. Shaking her head, she walked into the bath chamber and strode into the bath. Not worrying about washing off first, just submerging herself... losing herself in the warmth of the water, but ever mindful that she was on a timetable and father wouldn't wish to be more than fashionably late.

Folly makes her way -- slowly, carefully, dodging people at every turn -- to the medical tent, slips inside, and finds Marius. She kneels by his cot with one hand resting lightly on his chest; with the other, she holds his hand.

"Marius?" she says softly, "My name is Folly. I'm your cousin, as I understand it. You're safe, now, love -- in Arden. Won't you please come back to us?"

Then she focuses on the steady rise and fall of his chest and begins to sing, a song of the sea in which the rhythm of the ocean reflects the beating of his heart. All the while, she watches his face for any trace of awareness.

At one point, Folly thinks she hears Marius mutter something like "mmf", but he does not seem aware of her, or come to consciousness. He seems to be resting more peacefully, though.

Folly finishes her song and watches him for a few more moments, wondering what it feels like to be trapped in one's own mind. She concludes that it probably depends in large part on the mind in question. The thought makes her shiver.

She rises, then, and lays a gentle, motherly kiss on Marius's forehead before retiring to an out-of-the-way corner of the tent.

Reaching into an inner pocket of her jacket, she pulls out a plain but sturdy case with three cards rattling around inside. She thumbs it open, withdraws the top card, and focuses on the image, wishing it real.

"Martin?"

The contact is tenuous at first, but strengthens after a moment, as if Martin were deciding whether to accept the call. "Folly?"

"Yeah, sweetie, it's me. I'm ready to come up to...."

Folly trails off, brow furrowed, regarding the image.

He's sitting crosslegged on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, tightening a string on a guitar.

"Uh, where are you?"

"My new chambers," says Martin. "Vialle packed up my stuff and moved it while I was gone."

Folly greets this news with the most indignant look Martin has ever seen from her.

He stands up, puts down the guitar and offers his hand. "Come up."

Folly takes his hand in a firm grip -- her last Trump with him may have been over five years ago, but the images are still burned into her mind's eye -- and steps through.

The transit is as if she had merely taken a step forward.

As she steps into the room, she's scowling, now well on her way from indignant to downright angry. "What the f*** was she thinking? Is she trying to piss you off?"

Merlin, who was sitting on the bed out of view of the Trump, is taken a bit aback by her vehemence. He says, "I do not know all of your words, cousin, but if you mean was she trying to make Martin angry, she has certainly succeeded." He looks glum.

Folly turns, surprised and a little embarrassed, and looks at Merlin. "Oh, Merlin, sweetheart, forgive me. We're not always so grumpy, I promise. We're just all a little on-edge this week." She gives him a small, sympathetic smile, and her anger seems to dissipate.

Martin relinquishes Folly's hand, sits down, picks up his guitar again and starts twiddling with the tuning. "If I'm going to get moved every time I spend a week away from the castle, I'll have to learn to put my instruments in their cases. It'll take me another week to get this baby back in tune again." He scowls.

Folly's anger rushes back with full force as she thinks of Martin's beautiful guitar carelessly manhandled, without his consent, and at the behest of someone who almost certainly knew better -- how could she not, after years of marriage to a musician? Folly would hardly have considered it a greater violation had Martin told her he'd been pinned to the wall and tongue-kissed by a vile sweaty drunk man twice his size.

She can't even find the words to express her horror. She just stands there, looking at Martin, incredulous.

"Since she and Dad are down here now, it makes sense, and I'm happy enough to be near him. But it would have been nice if she'd asked," Martin finishes.

"I guess that's the difference between etiquette and actually giving a shit about people," Folly states bitterly. She regrets it a second later, though -- this is hardly the sort of introduction to Amber that her new-met cousin deserves; and anyhow, venting like this just seems to be getting her more riled up.

Folly can tell that Merlin senses her distress and wants to ease it, but really has no idea of how to go about it. He seems worried that he'll do or say the wrong thing and make it worse, perhaps.

She balls her hands into fists, shuts her eyes tight, and takes a deep breath, releasing it -- along with much of her tension -- in a long, slow exhale.

By the time she opens her eyes again, she has returned to a state of relative calm. She holds her hands out toward Martin, offering to have a crack at tuning his guitar, if he'd like.

It probably occurs to Martin that it has not yet occurred to Folly that her own things might have been moved, too.

[If it does, he doesn't think it's the right time to mention it yet.]

Martin sets the guitar aside and pulls Folly into his lap, putting his arms around her and stroking her hair with one hand.

Merlin has watched the entire business with fascination.

Folly buries her face in Martin's shoulder and -- to her own surprise -- starts to cry, as much from relief at the unsought display of tenderness as from the confusion and frustration of the week that preceded it.

Martin's arms tighten around Folly when she starts crying.

Behind her, she hears Merlin say, "Martin?"

"It's OK, Merle."

"I'm sorry, baby," she manages to murmur between sniffles. "This is a lot harder than I was expecting."

But she's suddenly feeling a lot stronger, a lot more hopeful; and when, a few moments later, she has cried herself out, she slides her arms around him in what she hopes is a comforting, we're-in-this-together return embrace.

Folly feels Martin's sigh as much as hears it. "I know, babe. It's hard, and Vialle's fighting dirty, trying to rattle us. She had you and Paige moved too; Liam told me when he led me up here. Also Brita and Conner, and Robin's things have been packed away. Just enough so she can't be accused of playing favorites."

He shows no sign of letting go of Folly.

On the surface, Folly seems to take this news reasonably calmly, but Martin can feel her fingers digging into his back, almost like she's afraid of falling off a very high place; and when she raises her head from his shoulder to look at him, she is ashen.

"Y'know, last time someone invaded my privacy like that, I moved out," she says.

Martin nods, but doesn't say anything; he does give her a reassuring squeeze.

Suddenly, though, she begins to laugh. "I wonder if it occurred to anyone to swap the door out? Because if not, dear Fathom has probably gone through the cat-flap and started marking all the lovely new possessions that someone has so thoughtfully brought to his room."

Martin snorts, amused.

[Folly can't really see Merlin, but he is looking very confused.]

She wipes at her damp cheeks with the edge of her sleeve and then looks at Merlin with a bright smile. "Ever tried to get cat pee smell out of anything?"

It doesn't especially matter that he won't know what she's talking about; she's mostly just trying to reassure him that she really will be OK.

Merlin looks relieved, still confused, and genuinely curious. He settles on the last one. "Cousin Folly, what is a cat?"

Folly's smile widens in genuine good humor. "A cat is a small furry animal" -- she holds up her hands to give an indication of size -- "that some people like to keep as pets -- as companions. At least, that was the case where I grew up. Here in Amber, they're kept mostly as worker animals -- they hunt small pests that eat up the foodstores and carry disease -- but if they're around people from a very young age, they can become quite companionable and affectionate. Fathom -- my cat -- is still quite young, but already he likes to sit in my lap and get me to pet him. If you like, you can come by my room later and see for yourself."

Martin elaborates: "Think of Fathom as a sort of semi-intelligent affine," and the light bulb goes on over Merlin's head, as it were.

"I would like to meet Fathom, yes," says Merlin, and he looks genuinely pleased. Whether that's because he understood something out of this confusing business or is just happy that Folly's no longer so upset isn't clear.

Folly affords Merlin another smile before continuing, "Speaking of my room, I should probably go figure out where the hell it is, and whether my entire wardrobe has gone missing just in time for cocktail hour, and whether anyone dropped a bookcase on my lute, and..."

She trails off and goes ashen again. She looks at Martin. "And whether anybody messed with my journal." She curses under her breath, then shakes her head. "Not much I can do about it now, I guess," she says glumly.

"Well, it's not like she can read it," Martin says reassuringly.

She stares at Martin for a long moment -- he gets the impression that Merlin's presence is keeping her from saying something -- and then kisses his cheek tenderly. "We'll get through this."

Martin nods.

When -- if -- he's ready to release her, she stands and prepares to depart for her new quarters, wherever the hell they are.

Martin lets go of Folly with some reluctance, and kisses the top of her head before sending her on her way.

Merlin bids her goodbye more formally: "Good afternoon, Folly. I will see you this evening."

"I look forward to it," she says, and smiles. Then she's on her way.

Brita comes up at this point. "Are you ready to return to the Castle, Mother, Conner?"

"Ready when you are, my sister." He smiles.

Fiona says "Yes, I believe we are. It wouldn't do to be late to dinner."

With the affirmative responses, Brita pulls out her sketch of the castle courtyard by the servant's entrance. "This is all I have to access the castle quickly. We may have to wait a bit for any activity to die down there although it would potentially appear as if we just came around the corner. Do you have any castle trumps, Mother?"

"My only other thought is to try Master Reid who may have returned to the castle by now."

"I have my own deck," says Fiona. She draws out a card that shows a courtyard in front of the castle. "They are probably expecting us there. Shall we?"

Fiona brings Conner and Brita through the Trump to the castle courtyard. They are greeted as Lilly and Benedict were before, but with the additional news that Conner and Brita's chambers have been moved.

Pages guide each of you to your new rooms (Conner, yours has a fireplace) and you agree to meet in the library.

Lilly has to remind herself to remain still. She really wants to have a good look around, to drink in her first taste of this mythical city. Her pulse races ever so slightly as her breath seems to catch in her chest. The nervousness catching her a bit off guard. Some how though she manages to heed her father's words and remains ever so still and silent.

The area is a small alcove, guarded by a number of men in green and white livery. Behind them rises the stone wall of Castle Amber. Lilly cannot get a good look at this angle, but the castle is very large, and its stone is very old.

"Prince Benedict!" says one of the guardsmen. "Welcome home!"

"Thank you," says Benedict. "This is my daughter Lilly. The King is expecting us for dinner this evening."

Lilly offers a silent nod as she is introduced.

A boy steps forward from among the guards and say, "Prince Benedict, Lady Lilly, I've been asked to show you to your quarters."

"Dame Lilly please." Her tone was friendly but firm. The King himself had used the term Dame when he knighted her and that was what she intended to be known by.

"Yes, Dame Lilly," says the page.

He leads Lilly and Benedict into the castle. Lilly has the impression of a place that has been built over many years, with many different styles of architecture and furnishings, rambling and easy to get lost in.

After some time, the page opens a chamber door and says, "This is your chamber, Dame Lilly." It's a simple two-room suite, with a sitting room and a bedroom behind. While the furnishings are all clean and very nice, there is a certain air of shabby gentility about them, as if whoever decorated the place had to get some things out of the attic to have enough to go around.

"Thank you." (Assuming he is still with them...) Lilly then turns to her father. "Shall we meet before dinner and arrive together or simply meet there?"

"We shall meet there, I think. I have business beforehand."

Benedict hands Lilly the package containing her dress and slippers before he goes. (Anything else will be brought up later by a servant.)

The page instructs Lilly on how to summon one of the squadron of pages who run errands for the household when she requires assistance before leading Benedict on to his new chambers.

Once alone Lilly takes a few moments to quiet her mind and relax. This mostly involves doing preventetive maintenance on her sword once again.

After just a few minutes she sheethes the sword and places the belt on her bed. With a sigh she goes about getting herself prepared for dinner. Her goal is to be neither the first to arrive nor the last. There is a difference between fashionably late and just plain old late. Once prepared she summons a page and heads off feeling a bit naked without her blade at her side.

(I'll continue on in the library without the sword... )

Assuming that no one disturbs him in his room during the late afternoon, Vere will go to Gerard's room about an hour before dinner and suggest that Gerard and his two children enter the dining room together. If Gerard agrees to this, and Solange is not in their Father's room when Vere arrives, he will have a page sent to find her and ask her if the plan meets with her approval.

As mentioned on the other thread, Solange will be joining Gerard to go down to dinner anyway.

Vere will leave it to their Father to decide exactly when the three of them should go to the dining room.

Aisling hears the bells for Vespers from her back room, where, had someone been scrying, they would have been treated to visions of a perhaps confusing, disgusting, and fascinating session with Ce'e, which had been winding down as the hour approached. She makes a nervous little closing gesture with her hand at the sound, and changes back to Aisling-form. She spends a bit more time wrapping things up and giving her affine instructions for the evening. On one hand, she's impatient to be gone; on the other, she doesn't want to arrive early. Or with a mass of others. Maybe not at all... No, though Random had "excruciating" righter than he might have known.

She pauses at the mirror by the door (bless the Amberites for mirrors by the door, it doesn't do anything but help her out, dear things) to look herself over. She shakes her head to make all the hair fall nicely. The black Flora-clothes are still smart. No time for others, anyway, if they still exist. How is she going to get more clothes? Her mind happily hares off down the distracting trail. There's the jewelry... Of course, there are problems with turning it into cash (she glances at the hand), but still, it would be fun to buy some stuff tailored to her real form, though making it was ok, too... There's the question of whether the jewelry survived the five years-- she didn't stash it to withstand an earthquake, and he might have been through and found it... She'd have liked to checked that out this afternoon, but after dinner, hopefully.

What this outfit needs, Aisling thinks, is a kind of trim aura of shifty peacock flames about the head and shoulders. Her smile at the thought quickly vanishes, her last time in Chaos for maybe decades, and she didn't get to really cut loose... She twitches a bit. No, shifty peacock flames are a project for a long sit.

Oh, hell. She glances at the violety sky and heads out.

She could enter the library by some non-door-route, she thinks, but as quickly discards the idea.

Dressed and coifed in a manner more befitting a Prince's daughter, Paige located her Trumps, slid them within a pocket after palming the bottom card, she knew by touch it was his... The coolness came to her, a refreshing feeling after so many years. To see his roguish smile, his fierce eyes come alive, it was like seeing him for the first time again...

"Martin? I'm ready now to come up, if I can..."

Martin is in an unfamiliar room, mostly dressed for dinner. He's wearing a pair of nice jeans and was buttoning up his white oxford when Paige contacted him. He has a sort of preppy privileged-and-careless vibe going. "Sure," says Martin, and pulls her through.

"Well," he says admiringly. "The biddies will talk.

Paige blushes gently. "About what?" she asks quietly and rhetorically.

"What do you think of my new chambers? Vialle was kind enough to move me down the hall from Dad while I was gone. My sources tell me that you and Folly were also among the lucky shufflees, so you'll want to ask for directions if you left anything you want in your chambers. Not that I think you need to add anything to perfection, mind you."

The color flushes across her breast, "Flatterer."

Changing the subject, "Fiddle-de-dee. I'll think about the room tonight. Just remind me that I can't stumble back to my room too drunk tonight, since it's someone else's now." Paige chuckles. "I've decided that she's not going to get to me tonight, no matter what. Tonight's a night to celebrate, not fight."

"You look good yourself," she says. "It's you." She runs her fingers through his hair, fixing it. "For the record, I'm glad you're OK. Silly, isn't it? That after all these years I still worry when you go off on dangerous expeditions."

"That was a milk run," says Martin. "There was no danger, just big hurry. Did your father tell you about Brennan?"

"Yeah, and that's what you used to say no matter whether it was, or if I spent the better part of a week afterward nursing you back to health." She absent-mindedly brushed some lint from his shoulder, enjoying the seemingly tension free moment and just remembering the smell of him.

"Brennan? No I don't think so, oh wait... Your dad mentioned him over migos, I think. Uncle Brand's son, no?"

Martin doesn't flinch at the name, but his eyes narrow a little and something in his expression flattens. "He'll be there tonight. I don't think he was close to his father, based on what little I've seen and heard from him." It's a warning, but a gentle one.

Paige smiles, _Thanks._

"I'd forgotten that Dad mentioned him, myself. He looks a lot like Bleys, so much so I thought he was your brother when I first saw him. Bleys was happy enough to correct the misapprehension, though. I like your father, but he has a mean sense of humor.

"You're telling me?" Paige sighs and sits on the edge of his bed as he finishes his primping, just watching him.

"Speaking of your father, he's got a new room too, since his old one was in the tower. You'll need to ask for directions to find him."

"Last I knew Dad was still in town, rustling up clothing." Paige produces his Trump from her small gold clutch, "And really, we must've gotten too used to being without these."

Paige concentrates on the image of her father, focusing on the smile and the devil-may-care glint in his eyes, watching it come alive, "You ready, Troublemaker?

"I'm in Martin's room, as I have no idea where my new room, nor yours is yet. I'm sure I can get Liam to show me later," she says.

"You want to come through here or up at the library?" she asks.

"I shall join you and Martin. Bring me to you." In a rainbow prism effect, Bleys enters the suite, looking around briefly. He looks appraisingly at Martin and his chosen attire and nods, approvingly.

"You are, you know, much like your father. But not in the ways anyone thinks, Possibly not even you. I hope we can speak, privately, later."

"We'll have to do that, Bleys, we have a lot to discuss." Martin smiles at his uncle, who seems pleased by this response.

It occurs to Paige that entire conversations have gone on in those two sentences, but that while she is aware of them, she is not sure what they meant.

Paige files it away for thought, later... much later. Tonight she wanted to enjoy, not scheme.

"You two go ahead, I need a few more minutes."

"Very well, then. If you are ready, daughter?" and Bleys extends his arm.

Paige procures her clutch from the bed, arranges her wrap and kills her impulse to give Martin a quick kiss on the cheek. She smiles, "We'll see you there. Remember, he said it was mandatory," and winks at him.

Sliding her arm through her father's with only a moment's glance at her appearance in Martin's mirror, she beams with excitement. "Ready? It seems like I've been waiting my whole life for this evening..."

They walk out into the hallway, and she continues, "A family dinner, Father. It's where this kingdom is won and lost. It's the battlefield that matters under the family law, and while the Regency Council was good exercise... Someday I hope to win my spurs and to do that, well... I've got to at least survive tonight. Yes, I'm ready."

"Don't go overboard, tiger. It's not like it's a poker game. The biggest mistake your cousins will make is to overvalue little wins and losses. They'll worry overmuch about the waves and not notice if the tide is advancing or retreating."

"You seemed content with Martin's appearance, but you've not said a word about mine," Paige pouts just a bit to accent her jest.

"Martin is making a point and staking a position. It needed acknowledgement. You are a stunning beauty who will make my sisters jealous. Given the number of new young women in the family, I suspect we will see more excitement in that corner than we have since Rilga arrived at court."

Paige blushes warmly at his flattery, even if it may just be a father's place to give such praise. "You'd be surprised, father. We Powers of the castle don't have much infighting."

"We'll see. You may be surprised when your Aunts get started." He smiles.

Folly finds a page who can direct her to her new quarters. They turn out to be tucked in an out-of-the-way corner, at the end of a hall, near the servant's stairs.

She smiles. She can't help it. All she can think is, "Yeah, this will be much better for discreet trysts."

She thanks the page for his help, dismisses him, and enters, wandering slowly around the small sitting room and into the attached bedroom.

They are smaller than her old quarters, with narrower windows, and both rooms are oddly shaped; in particular, one end of the bedroom turns out to be tucked under the stairs, giving that part of the room a low, sloped ceiling. Folly wonders idly whether this didn't used to be a storeroom.

And yet it pleases her; with only a little work, it could have a quirky charm.

It occurs to her that it is possible, however unlikely, that there really were just enough rooms to go around, in which case she certainly would be the best choice to occupy this particular space. A taller person would be terribly uncomfortable with the low ceiling.

Folly cocks her head and considers the short end of the bedroom. Yes, a nice beanbag chair would be just the thing -- although the servants really would think she'd gone 'round the bend if she started making furniture out of uncooked food. Fathom would love it, though.

Fathom.

She walks back through the sitting room and pokes her head out the door. "Kit-TY?" she calls, not loudly, but in a high pitch that carries down the hall. Sure enough, a few moments later, she hears the pad of little kitten feet and a tentative mew.

"Welcome to your new room," she says. Fathom makes his way in, cautiously sniffing at everything he encounters, looking baffled by the strange mix of "mine" and "not mine" that he smells.

"I know how you feel," Folly says, "but let's make a deal: I won't pee on any of it if you don't."

"Miao?"

Just to be on the safe side, though, Folly finds his litterbox and gently sets him next to it, so he'll at least know where it is. He responds in the traditional way. Then he leaps out and onto the sofa and gleefully sharpens his claws on its arm.

Satisfied that Fathom is settling in, Folly continues her examination of the room, opening drawers and peeking into the closet to figure out where her belongings ended up. Everything seems to be in the wrong place: desk things in the dresser, closet things in the desk, shelf things arranged neatly but grouped in entirely the wrong way. Worst of all, she find that her huge collection of little scraps of paper with snippets of lyrics scribbled on them -- which, when spread all over the desk in her old room, looked like a big mess but wasn't -- has been stacked neatly in the corner of a drawer, where it doesn't look like a big mess but is.

She does at least find her journal, though. She thumbs through it carefully, counting every fading photograph and painted pasteboard reproduction tucked within its pages to make sure none of them slipped out in transit. Then, just to be on the safe side, she counts them again, lingering longest on a black-and-white photo snapped by one of her best friends over a decade ago.

She really should burn them all, she knows. But even that wouldn't be enough, as long as the memories still burn in her blood. She wonders how many of her cousins have figured it out.

Folly tucks her journal into the dark recesses of a desk drawer and turns her attention to her instruments. She returns the mandolin she took with her to Arden to its stand, picks up the beautiful lute Paige gave her, and strums a chord.

Dreadful.

She winces, plops down onto the couch with a sigh, and starts tuning.

Minutes pass, and more minutes. Fathom, now napping on the back of the couch, twitches as he dreams of victory over a particularly pernicious rodent; and Folly continues to twist pegs and pluck strings and curse.

She has just gotten the instrument back in tune and is about halfway through a test run of "Dance of the Dipsy Diver" when the Vesper bell rings.

"Dammit, kitty, why didn't you tell me how late it was getting?" she demands of the ball of grey fluff behind her head. Fathom regards her through blinky catnap eyes, yawns, and goes right back to sleep.

Folly sets the lute gently on a cushion, launches herself off the couch, and digs through the closet in a frantic search for somewhat-suitable attire ("Too boring... too boring... way too not-boring..."), finally settling on a simple, sleeveless, long black dress with deep purple violets and dark green vines embroidered along the hem.

She strips out of the jacket, leather pants, and shirt she wore to Heather Vale -- and realizes she could really use a bath. Only there isn't time. She rummages hastily through her things, finally locating her basin and pitcher on a high shelf of the closet.

They are both empty, of course.

Folly curses under her breath, pulls on a green silk robe a couple sizes too big for her, and sets off in search of a page who can fetch her some water.

As she steps into the hall, though, she pauses and looks back at Fathom, wondering whether he'd prefer to roam the halls while she's away. No sense in both of them feeling trapped, after all....

But no, he seems quite content napping on the sofa. Still, she makes a mental note to get the doors swapped right after dinner.

Then she's off down the hall, pitcher in hand.