[Lucas] focuses on the courtyard (and hopefully Martin has chosen a relatively innocuous spot for sudden arrivals and departures) and then steps through, looking around to see what is happening.
If things seem relatively calm and he is not grabbed immediately by half a dozen people seeking advice*, information**, or reassurance***, he will be heading straight for his own suite. But he will seize any guard who looks as if he might know what's happening on the way (lightly wounded for preference), and snap out, "What's been happening? How many injured? What of my children?"
(* Those shoes definitely don't go with that hose
** Green won't be the new black this season
***No, your btm does not look big in your guard uniform)
The card doesn't show a courtyard. It shows one of the gatehouses from the outside.
[OOC note: This is the standard Castle trump: the same one Solange used, the one Benedict brought Lilly through, etc. etc.]
When Lucas steps through, he finds the gate is closed and the tocsin is ringing. A voice calls from above, "Halt! Who goes here?"
"Lucas, son of Flora!" Lucas responds, loud and clear. With a slight toss of his head, he flicks his dark hair away to reveal the identifying mark, his mutliated ear*. "Let me pass, in the Name of the King!"
All the considerable force of his will is in his voice.
(*OOC - and, by one of those weird co-incidences where life imitates art, my distinguishing feature on my passport is that my upper left ear has a chunk missing out of it. No, I don't think any of you saw it, although perhaps you should have done, as it's probably my ONE physical resemblance to Lucas - although I imagine his is a bit more prominent).
There is a long pause during which Lucas is sure that the guards are weighing his considerable force of will against their training and the possibility of being hung for treason if they raise the portcullis during an attack on Amber.
The guard calls down, "We've sent to the Queen!"
Lucas draws a breath, prepared to curse long and loud. But even as he inhales, his mind is turning over the possibilities. Cursing will not help, may even serve to alienate the guards. And they stand between him and his children. Berating them might assuage his own anger; but it will do nothing to help Hope and Phillippe. His son is too young to respond to the noise of the tocsin but Hope ... Hope, bright as a new penny, she will understand something is wrong and be afraid without Maman and Papa, however valiantly she will try to hide it. His people ... they will protect her, reassure her, won't they? Nanny Starch, Lucas' bete noire, will hold Hope in her arms, unyielding to all but Solace, her nursling, and her nursling's children. Solace ...
Lucas slams his hand against the sturdy wooden support of the gate in frustration.
"Send to my quarters too!" he yells up at the guards. "My children - see that they are safe!"
Safe ... a relative term. He should have taken them away before this. He should have done as his mother did - as most of that generation did - taken the children and hidden them deep in Shadow, allowed them a chance of life where the dangers would be normal ... or controllable or ...
He slams his open hand on the wooden support again, and walks away a little distance, so that he can absorb something of the perspective of the Castle and the walls.
No sounds of generalized battle within the walls. If this is an attack on the scale of Corwin and Bleys' attempted invasion, there would be sounds to hear even this side of the walls. The clash of armour, the hoarse shouts of command, the screams of the wounded and dying. But nothing. The tocsin - a few shouted orders as people ... do whatever is needed.
A raid then, and not an invasion. Yes, this makes more sense. Like Dara's attack, our enemies come now not in battalions, but as single spies. Or small groups of spies.
But who? Who? Dara? Her Chaosians? His hand lifts and touches the mutilation that he bears as a sign of the lady's last visit. Is this her work again? And Ambrose ... what if he deceived Brennan? It's possible - Brennan is shrewd, but he has shown a degree of recklessness in trusting Ambrose ... with Lucas' trump, no less.
"Nom de Dieu," he murmurs, his eyes sliding closed in exasperation at the memory. And if Ambrose is false ... is Dara to have an easy way into Lucas' very brain? More to the point - is she now in the castle, eyes gleaming, prowling the corridors in search of prey. And Hope and Phillippe, such little morsels, such sweet little morsels for a panther in her rage ...
He can stay still no longer. He begins to pace along side the walls. Perhaps there is a way in. Perhaps, after the Sundering, there is some jutty, frieze or coign of vantage that he can use to climb in. Admittedly, he's no mountaineer but what of that? He has common competence - he has scaled a few mountains in his time; a noted Alpinist in those far off days before he became involved in the Year of Revolutions on Shadow Earth - and that was all thanks to that little witch, Lola Montez - ah, Dieu, are women always to be the ruin of him?
Not now. Not like then. The lady who holds his heart in her hands now scarce has fingers long enough to encompass it.
"Papa ... "
He shakes his head. The wall, the wall. Concentrate on that. He scans it with the eyes of some experience - for he's climbed enough walls in his time - well, he's climbed down them. Usually with irate husbands or deceived lovers of either gender shouting imprecations after him as he scrambles down, no artistry but sheer exhilarating flight, with the blood pounding and the adrenalin racing ...
What was the name of that oaf with the elephant gun and the handlebar moustache. Eh bien, Lucas had been laughing so hard that ...
There! A place he could manage, perhaps ...
No. A cloud crosses the sun - and he sees the shadows shift. Perhaps, if he had crampons, mattocks, a wealth of those tools with strange names some cumbersome and heavy on the tongue. But he has nothing. A rapier. A dagger in his boot. And no authority here to demand admittance - no power to save his children.
Hope ...
How her face glowed with pride as she recited her poem at the Children's Concert! And Solace's long slender fingers, tightening on his hand - he had not noticed till that night, it seemed, how slender those fingers were, how very fragile. And how slight her form under the silken shawl he had spread across her. Scarcely more substantial than Hope when he lifted her and set her on the sofa ...
Perhaps he should have demanded another trump from Garrett. But which? Fiona ... she must be at the heart of this. Trumping her would be tantamount to tapping her on the shoulder as she fights and craving a moment of her time. Benedict ... he would have the skill to fight and bring one through, perhaps, but was he even still in Amber?
Caine?
No - this way madness lies. He made his choice. He chose the best trump he could. He gambled, and the cards have fallen against him.
The cards ...
He is against the wall, both hands lifted above his head, pressing, palms flat against the wall, his forehead resting on it, as though he would force his way through.
Phillippe ... his son knows him now. The vagueness of those early months has gone; those yes - so like his own - have intelligence and focus. And there is a special smile for Lucas, a special look which Lucas fancies he can read as intelligence, a questing intellect that is groping to stack the building blocks of this strange new world.
Why didn't he realize he would care for them? Why did no-one tell him this simple, basic truth - that they would wind into his heart like greedy little vines, that they would twist his way into his very soul ...
He straightens and paces back down towards the gate impatiently. Mon Dieu, what are they doing? Have they decided to crawl to find the Queen like penitents of some harsh religious sect? Or have they encountered resistance within the castle itself? Is Vialle under attack - or worse, dead? Dam' it, they got word to Xanadu - couldn't they have got the Queen there too?
And then he realizes, and turns, his back against the wall. Yes, yes. Of course they did. Open a trump, and bundle the Queen through, out of harm's way. The guards will search all day and never find her. The irony of it holds him for a moment. If he had stayed in Xanadu - if he had sought out the King, or Martin ...
Martin ... He holds Martin's trump of the Castle still. Will Martin understand?
He has no children.
Bleakest of all words.
The trump - he forced Garrett to give it to him. There will be a price to pay for that. But ... what of it? At that moment, at this moment, it seems supremely unimportant. If his children are alive, he will pay what he must. And if his children are ...
He will pay the price.
His face is still, almost like a carving. A death mask. Death. There are fates worse than death, he knows. There are things that could be done to Hope and Phillippe that would make death seem merciful. He knows this. He has seen it. Even, he has ...
"Let my children be spared," he whispers.
Spared ... but who from? Like a wolf circling wounded prey, his mind comes back to this again and again.
Who?
Who?
If not Dara, if not Chaos ... the Rebmans?
If it is the Rebmans, and they harm his children, he will dine upon their hearts. He has held his hand back - has passed the responsibility to Martin. If he was wrong, if this is now a vicious blow aimed at him ... but why? Why?
He has passed the gate, he realizes. He is moving down the far side of the wall ... towards the town. He can look over the roofs from here, as he has done so many times before. If he walks briskly, he can be at the Red Mill within ... what ... forty minutes? And Silken's arms ... her purring voice, soothing him. Her dark eyes gleaming in the firelight as they lie together and he traces his fingers over her impossibly smooth skin ...
Solace's eyes ...
Solace, looking at him. That expression of trust. The unconditional adoration ...
How can he look at her and tell her that ...
Another room. Rich and ornate. Heavier than the rooms he knew, the wood unpainted, the furniture massive. In time he'd come to know it as comfortable, familiar, but now, at first, his soul revolted. He wanted the delicacy, the elegance of the things he loved, even in this alien land.
"You should wait," the major domo. "You should change ... you cannot come before her like this!"
"I cannot wait," he said. "My news ... cannot wait."
The major domo was shocked - an appalling, pompous little man - what had his name been? Clairveaux, that was it. He was used to the ways of the aristos, but this was beyond his ken - the Marquis' own son, his hair unpowdered, loose, the dust of the roads on his boots, his riding coat stained with mud - and worse, did Clairveaux but know it, standing in the Great Hall of this strange new manor, and demanding to speaking with his mother.
And then she was there, gliding down the staircase, as lovely and remote as ever, each golden curl perfectly positioned, her silken dress swaying as she moved. A world, a universe away from the madhouse Lucas had left, with the blood matting the straw they threw down in the Place de la Concorde. At the time he thought he would never have the stench out of his nostrils. But now ... now it was his mother's perfume that sickened his stomach.
When he told her, before he had told her, she had turned her head. He never saw her face as she heard his stumbling words, his account of what he had done - too little! And what he had seen.
Too much.
Too much, at seventeen. Too much, perhaps, at any age. And the helplessness as he stood in the crowd and heard the creaking of the heavy tumbrel wheels, nearly drowned out by the fetid roar of the mob, the sans culottes. And the creak and swish of the guillotine ...
He had wanted to convey all that. But her head was turned - her face was hidden. Afterwards it tormented him that he never knew how she looked - whether there was pain, regret, bored indifference, or even that little half smile of satisfaction.
Had she cared that his father was dead?
He is before the gate again now, facing it. Stern, unrelenting, challenging him. And he stands before it, helpless, insignificant. Powerless, as he promised himself he would never be powerless again. But his children are in danger, and he can do nothing. All the horror of those long lost years is rising up again to choke him, to smother him. His eyes should be burning the gate - it should set it on fire ...
Lessons learned, over the centuries. Lessons learned with anger, with pain. They told a story of the young Catherine de Medici on Shadow Earth. A ruler of vast power and cruelty, she had nevertheless once been a child, had once loved her pet dogs. And when one of them had died, she had wept and cried until her stern guardian, knowing what she must one day become, must one day face, had sat her down on a cushion and made her watch as her remaining pet had been fed poison and had died, after half an hour, in hideous pain. And Catherine was allowed to show not one sign of grief, not one flicker of emotion.
Lessons learned.
Lucas closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Slowly. Each beat of his heart he is aware of. He seems to feel the blood throb in his veins. Somewhere in the Castle close at hand, his children are in danger. Somewhere, in a castle far away, his sick wife sleeps, unaware that he might bring her waking news that will be her death blow.
So.
Then he turns from the castle and wakes away. A few yards, and then he slides his hand into his jacket and withdraws a long, slim golden case. His thin fingers work for a second of the catch, and then he flicks it open and stares down at the contents.
So.
From the right side he withdraws one of his favourite cigarettes - black, tipped with gold. As he lights it, some distant part of Lucas, some part that watches and jeers at everything and everyone, is quietly amused by how very steady his hands are.
Solange sets a smart pace for Venesch's guard to follow. Although she looks neither left nor right, her eyes flit about as she marches through the castle, her strides long and purposeful, her chin lowered and mouth frowning.
She barely maintains reigning in her frustration and impatience as the guards outside the audience chamber once again challenge her, but Venesch's guard helps by vouching for her and the process is faster than last time.
Solange steps into the audience chamber, immediately looking around for Vialle.
But Vialle is not there. Fiona and Merlin are, the latter obviously being involved in a trump contact. And Bleys, shirtless and bare-bladed, stands guard by the two of them. There's another guard who appears to be waiting for an answer from the redheads and their companion. He seems disconcerted by the Queen's absence.
She stops up short at the sight of Bleys, then narrows her eyes. "Where...?"
Fiona says to Solange, "We sent Vialle to Random for safety. Merlin is bringing Martin back to take command of the castle." And indeed, after a moment, Martin is standing with Merlin, blade and boots in hand. From the wet hair and the white shirt semi-plastered to his form, he must have been in the bath when he got the word. "What's happening?" he asks, taking in the demeanor of the group, and staring at Solange's armored form.
Solange stares back at his wet, plastered form.
"The attack is over," Fiona says. "Someone claiming to be Lucas is at the gate, though. And Solange has come to tell you about the battle."
"Have Lucas admitted. Stop sounding the alarm." Martin drops his boots and sits down hard, the crushing weight of responsibility clearly heavy on his shoulders. "Solange, are you OK? What's happening?"
She blinks, bringing herself back to the matter-at-hand. "Immediately after I trumped in, a guard rushed by with the news that a ranger had attacked Julian and then run into the castle. The tocsin was sounded and the castle gates closed. I ran to the aid of the queen, who then sent me on to help Brita and Conner, who were tracking the ranger.
"When I arrived on the scene I saw five people possessed: two people attacking Brita, another ranger and a teenaged boy standing nearby, and a teenaged girl that Paige was restraining. The boy and girl were Paige's children."
Martin starts to say something, pauses, and lets it go as Solange continues.
"Adonis spoke and named the possessing entity 'grandmother.' This entity then left the five and tried to enter and control him. A mental battle ensued. It appeared that Adonis won and the entity left.
"I trumped my father, intending to send everyone in the room over to him to be examined. Before I could act, Adonis poured brandy over himself and stepped into the fire."
Bleys winces and Fiona looks away. Martin blanches. Merlin murmurs something that Solange doesn't understand.
Solange pauses, then continues, "He burned. Very quickly and very completely. I believe...it was my perception that Adonis did this of his own free will.
"Paige, her two children, Brita, and Conner went through the trump to Father. I then tried to trump Uncle Julian to tell him what had happened to Adonis, but could not get through. I instructed the castle guard to shroud the two dead bodies and notify their families, andto inter Adonis's ashes in a burial urn."
Solange turns to Fiona and Bleys. "Conner asked me to tell you that he will call you when there is news."
"Thank you," Fiona says quietly.
Solange nods.
Martin is still stunned. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but sits looking at Solange, processing her story. Bleys comes to stand by him and places a hand lightly on Martin's arm. "We have secured the castle, but the cost was great. What shall we do now?"
A second or two later, Martin snaps back into focus. He starts quietly, but his voice gathers strength as he speaks. "We can't run the castle like we used to. It's no longer safe. We're going to have to start treating it like a military holding subject to incursion: reduce the number of people with access, get the civilians out. That kind of thing. But that will take some time. Now ... we have to get hold of Julian. I'll try him again in a while--Solange, I'll need you to speak with him when I tell him. He'll want details I don't have."
She nods again.
"I'll need to speak to Venesch; there has to be a protocol for what to do when the alarm has been sounded and stopped that I just don't know. I need to finish getting dressed because going off half-cocked will only alarm people."
Between the sentences, Merlin interjects, "I will fetch you a change of clothes from your suite, Martin." Martin nods once, and Merlin departs on that errand.
Then Martin looks at Solange again. "Solange, if you're up to it, I have an errand for you. Go to Lucas' quarters. Once he's seen to his children, bring him to speak to me."
"As you wish," Solange replies, nodding a third time. She tells the castle guard who followed her to stay in case Martin has need of him, then departs and makes her way to Lucas's suite.
Lucas waits, long. It seems like it's far too long. Eventually, the alarm bell stops and the portcullis begins to rise, with loud complaints from the chains and mechanisms inside. One of the guards calls down, "Prince Martin says to admit you, Lord Lucas."
Lucas grinds out his current cigarette with his boot heel and strolls into the castle, as calm and as relaxed as though returning from an evening constitutional. It would take high water on the scale of a tsunami to see any inward perturbabtion.
"And my children?" he asks. "You sent to my suite? Just what is happening here, eh?"
But even as he calls these questions up, he is moving smoothly through, and in the direction of his suite, seemingly unhurried - but most who attempt to match his pace would find themselves breaking into a little run.
"Madman loose in the castle, sir. Prince Martin says it's over," the guard calls down as Lucas passes by. No guards follow him, and there's no answer to his other question--but he's moving out of the guards' view quickly enough that they'd have to leave their post to answer.
Lucas privately resolves on having a little chat with the guards on the efficacy of answering questions in the order they are given, but decides now is not the time and place. Well, now is definitely not the place - he is already well beyond the gatehouse and moving through into the castle itself.
Lucas makes his way through a disturbed castle easily enough. There are guards in the family quarter, and they eye him a bit suspiciously, but he's able to establish bona fides and get through without significant argument. The strongest concentration is near his suite but not outside it. If he had to guess, it was Paige's suite that underwent the attack.
Lucas absorbs all this. It doesn't make him deviate one iota from his chosen destination, however Homing pigeons would jotting down envious notes for later study if they were to witness the directness of Lucas' passage to his suite.
Then he is at the door of his own suite, which is closed. Probably barred.
Lucas raps loudly to get attention - and then he whistles a few bars of music, before breaking off into speech - a code, perhaps, to establish his identity. "Le jour de gloire est arrivi! C'est moi, Gaston! Ouvres le porte!"
He knocks again, imperiously.
"Lucas, they're safe."
Turning around, he sees Solange standing several feet behind him, dressed in castle guard armor. Her face softens when she sees his eyes. "The attack appears to have been directed at Paige's children," she explains. "Your rooms were not beset."
He releases a long breath that he has not visibly been holding. Then he smiles, a little crookedly. "I hear your words - but I'll only believe it when I have my arms around them."
Then he blinks. "Paige's children? Where? How? What happened? Are they all right?"
"They were fine, last I saw them. Paige took them through to be examined by Father in Xanadu."
Solange pauses, looking as if she might say more, but then gestures at the door.
"Why don't you go ahead and make sure Hope and Philippe are fine? Afterwards, I'll give you the news and then Martin wished me to escort you to see him--he wants to talk to you."
From inside Lucas' suite, the sound of creaking wood can be heard - it seems Gaston is setting about unbarring the door. Lucas nods towards it.
"It will take Gaston a few minutes to open it. You may as well tell me now - there may not be much left of me once Martin is finished with me - I purloined one of his trumps to get here. We can sit on the window seat ..." For the first time he pays attention to her face, to her expression. "Hey," he says, and his voice loses some of its usual bitchy drawl as he speaks with unaccustomed gentleness. "Hey ... what's wrong, cos? What happened to you?"
Gently he draws her to the window opposite the door to his suite, where there is a cushioned seat in the full light.
Solange lets him lead her to the window, but she shakes her head at the proffered seat. "I'm all right, Lucas. Only a...a bit out of sorts."
He nods without speaking, but his eyes are intent upon her now.
She runs a hand over her face, glances out the window briefly as if to take comfort in the scene of normalcy it offers, then looks back at Lucas and smiles wryly. "I should have this whole recitation well memorized before I'm finished relating it to people, tone and pace and dynamic. You'll be the third."
Her eyes slip to look through the window again. It's the upcoming recitation she's dreading, the one where she reports to Julian in the exacting detail she learned as a ranger the events leading to Adonis's death. Will he react, the uncle who always has such a tight control? Or will he stare at her with those fathomless eyes and show no emotion? She's unsure which outcome will be worse to her.
Solange snaps her attention back to Lucas. "Sorry," she sighs, "got distracted there for a moment. It appears we only have a few minutes so I'll give you the brief version. If you want more details, you're going to have to provide me with either brandy or whiskey. Preferably whiskey. And a comfortable chair."
Lucas lifts a hand in an eloquent gesture. Such things can be arranged, the gesture says, and will be hers to command when the time comes. But for the moment ...
She runs a hand over her face again.
"A ranger went insane--hindsight suggests he was possessed at the time--and attacked Julian and ran into the castle, destination unknown. The tocsin sounded, the gates closed, and I shrugged into guard's armor and ran to attend the queen. She sent me to aid Brita and Conner, who were tracking the ranger to Paige's quarters. When I arrived...wow, there was blood everywhere. Five people in the room were possessed--two servants, the ranger, and Paige's two children. Adonis named the possessing entity as 'grandmother.' It then left the five and tried to possess him. It was my perception that he held the entity at bay and it then left the room. I trumped Father at that point to send everyone through to be examined and treated. Before I could act, Adonis walked over to the fireplace, poured perfectly good brandy over himself, and then stepped into the flame."
Lucas' eyes seem to flare briefly with shock, but then he is controlled, intent once more on Solange.
Solange pauses, her eyes wide. "He burned, Lucas. Like dry kindling. He was gone before Brita could stop him, burned completely to ash. Why would he do that?"
Lucas is silent for a moment, perhaps visualising the terror and horror of the scene that Solange describes. Then he shakes his head slowly, like one putting such visions aside.
"To burn like that ... when does wood burn so, Solange? Not when it is young and green, I think."
Solange spreads her hands. "Was he so very old, his life nearly over and his usefulness gone? He smiled, you know, right before he stepped into the fire. He smiled."
She looks back out the window and folds her arms across her chest, her expression troubled. "I just don't get it. I hope to hell he had a good reason for committing suicide, that there's something I'm missing."
A particularly loud creak of wood, followed by the thud! of something being lowered makes Lucas look up, but as the creaks start again, he returns his attention to Solange.
"I know it's lamentably easy for me to talk - that I didn't actually witness it. But there are some species, you know, that die once they have reproduced themselves - a trait which, I am happy to say, most of us share only to the extent of making extraordinary sacrifices when our children are in danger - or if we believe them to be in danger."
Solange turns her head back to look at Lucas. "You've changed," she states quietly, barely audible, as if to herself.
Lucas does not appear to have heard her, for he continues smoothly.
"Nevertheless, for us there may be a life to be lived. I suppose it is possible that Adonis' belief system was such that he saw Paige's twins as his successors in a way that no other of his children were. Poor babes! One must hope they are too young to remember the whole thing. If they were Hope's age, of course ... "
"Hope's age?" Solange asks, bemused. "Paige's children are teenagers. I didn't even know she'd had children at all, let alone that they're that old. That must've been one helluva fast time shadow. Either that, or I've been gone longer than I thought."
Lucas blinks. "Teenagers? I knew they were growing fast but ...
"Solange, only the other night, Paige's 'teenagers' performed in the Children's Concert we held here in the Castle. They played maracas and tambourine, being too young for instruments more complex. They appeared to be healthy one year olds ... older than Phillippe, but considerably younger than Hope."
Solange narrows her eyes at Lucas and shakes her head slowly.
"As far as I know, Paige hasn't left Amber between the Concert and now. Neither have her children."
"Then how...? Oh, great Unicorn, I just want that drink."
"You shall have it," Lucas promises. "I need to make sure all is well here, before I face Martin. And before we go to him ... I need to set things in train."
He looks at Solange. "I'm getting my family out of Amber - as soon as possible."
"It certainly sounds like a reasonable precaution, considering what happened today. I plan to stick around long enough to see the Hardwind estate settled, then I'm gone, too."
Solange shrugs.
"If you need any help, I'm at loose ends after the Hardwind affair. Just let me know."
"Thanks," says Lucas. "I may take you up on that. Actually, I looked out some material I had on the Paresh for you, but I took it across to Xanadu. If we get the chance - we should talk again. Today is liable to be a little .. disrupted."
It is at this point that the door to Lucas' suite cracks and Gaston's lugubrious face appears. "Would M'sieur prefer my letter of resignation now or later?" he asks, opening the door wider once he confirms that Solange and Lucas are alone in the hall.
Solange swallows a smile.
"Later," says Lucas firmly. "Masterpiece of the epistolatory genre though I am sure it is, my perusal of it must wait upon events. For the moment, please bring my cousin here a tumbler of the best - do you mark that? - the best brandy. And the staff who've held - as it were - the fort here - may also allow themselves a modest glass - or, in the case of Nanny Starch, a modest shot in her tea."
Solange raises a hand to protest, but Lucas continues on. She thinks better of it and drops the hand. She would prefer not to imbibe until things are more settled, but she also doesn't want to offend her cousin who is trying to help. And he did say "best" brandy. Who could turn that down? It would be impolite.
"I'll wait out here," she tells Lucas. "When you're ready to talk to Martin, I'll escort you back."
Lucas nods, and moves into his suite. "Hope!" he calls. "Phillippe!" He heads for the nursery.
When he arrives there, he finds Nanny Starch armed with a broom, ready to fend off any attack on her charges. Philippe and Hope are nowhere in sight. "My lord," Nanny Starch begins, but before she can finish, Hope has burst out from her hiding place under the crib and is running to her father. "Papa!" she cries.
Lucas promptly drops to one knee and opens his arms so that Hope can run into them. Then he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight against his heart, inhaling the warm, fresh scent of her, and feeling her small hands cling to him tightly. "My brave girl," he whispers in French. "Did you do as you were told and stay safe and snug with Phillippe?"
"Oui, Papa. Until you came."
He rises to his feet, still holding her against him as she clings to him like a little monkey. He nods at Nanny Starch to produce his son too - he is anxious to see Phillippe, but aware that his small son will have been less affected by what has happened than his daughter. So he holds Hope steady with one hand while the other stretches down to caress his son's head gently, and he continues to speak soothingly to Hope, praising her bravery in this great adventure she has had.
Philippe seems to have slept through the entire business. He wakes up and looks at his father sleepily.
Satisfied that all is well, and his people have acted just as he would have wished, he moves through the apartment, checking and praising the arrangements that were made by Gaston, Gouter and Nanny Starch - probably more handicapped than aided by Pert. Lucas' approbation is not given easily or often to his staff - but it is given now.
But as he does this, he is resting his cheek against Hope's, and wondering at the power of the emotion that has brought him here. A useful tool - he appreciates as never before how this emotion can be used as a tool for manipulation.
The unfortunate downside of this is that it has, rather glaringly, exposed his own weakness.
He is really going to have to do something about that.
No wonder so many of his mother's generation abandoned their children with their other parents. Maman, of course, showed her steel by keeping him around till he was old enough to fend for himself.
But was it steel against her siblings in that she chose to keep her rather indolent cub? Or was it the steel of indifference against him? Hidden in plain sight, because it really didn't matter if the vultures took him? Interesting. Something to think about - later.
Now he has the interview with Martin - and other responsibilities he has taken on.
"This was excellent," he says to his staff (presuming that Gaston has returned by now from serving Solace). "We will, however, be moving shortly to somewhere safer, I believe. I would therefore like you all to start packing the essentials, and the treasures. Pert - in addition to =not= handling anything fragile - I would like you to run an errand to the stables. You will discreetly convey the news to Cheval, and have him ready our horses. You will also find the Master of Horse, Donavon, and tell him that I would speak with him - and hope to be with him shortly. Another message to be delivered discreetly."
And that, for the moment, must do, Lucas suspects.
The servants all accept their assignments, and Pert slips out to run his errands.
Hope by now should be growing weary with all the excitement - Lucas will, with a last kiss, hand her back to Nanny Starch, and then set off to find Solange.
Solange can hear Lucas calling for his children as he dashes into the suite. Gaston looks at Solange and asks, "Would madam care to come in, or shall I bring the brandy to you here? I'm afraid you will find the parlor a trifle disarranged."
From the sound of things, they had all the furniture shoved up against the door, so that wouldn't surprise Solange.
"I'll take it out here, thanks. And only two-finger's worth please, not a tumbler-full," Solange adds.
She removes her sword belt, places it on the window seat within easy reach, then sits down beside it. She rests her hands palm-down on her knees to keep them from shaking, physical reactions settling in now that the danger has passed.
Solange watches the corridor while listening to the familial voices within Lucas's rooms, lost in her own thoughts of family, duty and responsibility, life and death.
After a moment, Gaston returns with the brandy, which he presents with a bow.
She accepts the drink. "Thank you."
Solange holds the tumbler up to the window, fascinated with the play of sunlight through the amber liquid, then downs it in one gulp. She sets the empty glass on the floor and sits back.
It was, indeed, fine brandy.
Some time later, after a period Solange hasn't kept track of, Pert comes out the door. He stops and looks at her, surprised, and bobs a bow at her before dashing off down one of the hallways.
And soon Lucas comes out of the suite to rejoin her. He seems his usual relaxed, urbane self.
"Shall we go?" he asks.
Solange nods and stands. "Solace and Hope and Phillippe are fine, I take it?" she asks while buckling the sword belt back on.
He nods. "I don't think Phillippe woke at all," he says wryly. "After all, he sleeps through Hope's bugle practice. Hope, however ... " He is silent for a moment. "She was glad to see me," he says finally.
"Where did you say Martin was when you last saw him?"
"In the receiving room with Bleys, Fiona and Merlin," Solange replies. She starts down the hallway, glancing over her should to make sure Lucas is following.
And nearly bangs into him, so close behind is he.
"Sorry," he says, allowing her to move forward slightly, but she has the feeling that he is preoccupied by something now.
When she moves again, he will follow, allowing her slightly more room.
Solange accommodates him easily, picking up her pace as well. She remains quiet, keeping her own counsel, and escorts Lucas back to Martin.
As he walks, Lucas withdraws something from his pocket to hold in his hand. Solange can see it is a trump of the castle.
"Martin's," says Lucas briefly. "The one I purloined."
"Is that what he wants to talk to you about?" Solange asks, after glancing at the trump.
"It could be why I get an armed cousin as an escort," agrees Lucas with a faint smile. "Rather than a friendly note dispatched by a footman asking me to drop in for a chat when I have a minute to spare."
Solange chuckles. "Or it could be that I was just handy and your paranoia is for naught."
"Or it might be that he guessed I'd ply you with some decent brandy after hearing your experiences."
She smiles and looks straight ahead. "It was very decent brandy. Thank you."
"But nor should one discount the possibility that he wants to draw together as many of the Order of the Card as he can lay his hands on in Amber to utilise their experience in dealing with another fine mess. Perhaps he's hoping that one of us will come up with a cunning plan."
"Perhaps." She looks at him sideways. "Do you have a cunning plan other than just evacuating everyone to Xanadu?"
"Xanadu?" Lucas looks slightly off balance - and then shrugs. "I can think of a few people Random would prefer not to see in Xanadu. Martin too."
"Who?"
Lucas smiles. "My belle mere for one." Then he looks more serious. "There are certain others. Judgements will need to be made - is it better to have certain personalties in plain sight ... or should we make the most of the opportunities to be rid of them? For the safety of the realm ... "
"Remind me not to get on your bad side."
"Avoid wearing bright pink and that shouldn't arise," says Lucas. "And capri pants, for that matter - a fashion error that the inhabitants of that luscious little isle would never be guilty of. In fact, if you ever appear before me in bright pink capri pants, expect to be shot, strangled, throttled or immersed in boiling oil on sight."
Solange smiles pleasantly at him, and Lucas can imagine that she's committing his comments to memory for future reference.
"So what has your mother-in-law been doing these days? Does she know that we are relocating to Xanadu?"
Lucas shakes his head. "She's not on the Need To Know list. I suspect that list might be lengthening but not - I devoutly hope - as far as Lady Vesper."
"How is Solace? I...saw her at the Children's Concert." Solange stops there, letting Lucas either broach the topic or change it, as he chooses.
"She's not well," says Lucas briefly. "She hasn't been strong since Phillippe was born - but it's getting worse. I'm hoping that relocating her to a centre of reality will help. If not ... I don't know how long she can survive of her trace on Amberite blood, and her love for all of us ... "
Solange looks at him sharply.
His face is very still as he continues to walk forward rapidly. "I've watched mortal lovers age and die before now. I've even seen them die before they aged. None of them had borne me children, though."
"Amberite blood? Who's, may I ask?"
"I don't know," says Lucas. "One set of rumours favours Eric. But if she's his daughter, why is she so vulnerable - not like Jerod or Cambina? It's possibly the blood might show more distantly, which would explain several things.
"But Solace's bloodline is perhaps not an immediate priority."
Solange looks forward to see that they have indeed arrived at the receiving room where she left Martin. "Shall we?"
Lucas, ever the gentleman, bows her in.
Last modified: 30 May 2005