As the morning sun emerged from the horizon, two figures strode between the vibrant slashes of light and shadow. Shoes surrendered long ago, they allowed the lagoon's warm caress wash over their feet and erase signs of their passage from the white sand. Over a fortnight, this had become their ritual, their escape. A chance for conversation. A chance for silence. A chance to heal wounds, both physical and mental.
As she stares across the glimmering water, Silhouette feels an uncommon twinge of ruefulness. Of all things wondrous in Xanadu, she will miss these morning strolls with her Queen the most.
She lightly touches Vialle's arm, an instinctive, calming gesture now; although for whose comfort, she has yet to decide.
"Did you ever intend to tell me that you were abducted, my Queen?" she says, the hurt tone in her voice genuine - much to her own surprise. "I find myself... worrying for you. Perhaps more than I should."
"Do not worry. I am as safe as Random can make me, here." Vialle's feet are sure for a woman whose eyes can't find purchase for them. Perhaps Silhouette's light touch on her arm is enough to help her find her way, or perhaps she's merely confident that there are no rocks on this beach after a fortnight of walking here. "I didn't think to mention it. It's well enough known that I assumed you had heard it, I suppose. But in any case it is done with, and we don't speak much of it."
"Understandable. Then let us hope it has ended, my Queen," Silhouette says, her fingers lightly squeezing the woman's arm. "Before I left my home, I discovered a prophesy that involved the Ghost City. That a Third Doom approaches. And although I do not believe in the words of prophets or soothsayers, I do possess a certain trepidation that something wicked this way comes.
"So, know now, that should such a harrowing come, I am your faithful servant, milady."
"Are you?" Vialle says, cocking her head as if to listen more closely to Silhouette. "It's very kind of you to offer, but after having lived through the Sundering, I prefer never to have to call on that promise. But tell me, what prophecy did you hear about Tir? I pay attention to omens when I know the diviner has a record of saying sooth."
From the way she says the last sentence, Silhouette can imagine that Vialle has met someone whose soothsaying was, in fact, effective.
The low timbre of Silhouette's voice reveals the seriousness of her expression, "And yet you may call upon that promise, milady. Oaths are sacred to me and not made lightly. I believe you are an Agent of the Grand Design and will serve you faithfully. And there is another reason best left unspoken..." Her silken fingertip brushes over Vialle's inner wrist, like the kiss of a hummingbird's wing across her pulse.
If there is a slight shiver, or a break in the rhythm of Vialle's steps, Vialle does not acknowledge that it happened.
She turns her head away, her voice becoming someone else's - mechanical and unbroken. "The Land of Youth was a mirror image of Amber, a city floating in the clouds as the sea kingdom mirrored Amber beneath the sea. The Queen, whose name none know in these times, desired eternal youth and bargained with evil powers for the power, betrayed her husband and bore a son by his chief knight, who was also her kinsman. Her wish was granted, but the city was severed from the lands of mortal men. It became the Ghost City, the city of moonlight, and all those who could not change with it fell from the city into the Great Bay. It is said that the bodies were thick enough that day that a man could walk across the harbor on their backs.
"That was the first doom of Tir-Na N'ogth, and none in Amber remember it that will say aught of it.
"Those who remained, the Youth, grew strange, almost non-human. They worshipped their Queen, making her into a Goddess. They came to blame Amber for their downfall and swore to destroy her. It was ill-fated, and they were driven out and captured, but not until they had burned and looted much of the city. Those who were captured were exiled, and have been wanderers for centuries, separated from their Goddess-Queen and knowing only the burning desire to attack those who so hurt them. That was the second doom of Tir-Na N'ogth, and Amber remembers the Riders of Ganesha as the worst foes who ever menaced them. Children in Amber are still threatened with them.
"They, and Amber, await the third doom of Tir-Na N'ogth with equal trepidation and anticipation."
She pauses and then falls back into her own steely smooth voice, "Three other Dooms will mark its Coming. A Doom for the city of Amber, which was the anchor of the sky-bound city. A Doom for the city of Ur, first-home, which many say is not just a myth but a heresy. And a Doom for the city of Rebma, mirror of Ghosts and People alike.
"The Prophet spoke - as their ilk do - with vagaries, but I believe there are certain aspects worth investigating. Particularly, the resting place of Prince Medrawt; the Queen's bastard son."
"I've never heard of Medrawt," Vialle says, carefully pronouncing the name, as if she could taste it. "We'll have to ask Nestor. Or have you already done that?" Without really waiting for an answer, she continues, "It's not the first time I've missed Cambina's presence, but it's the first time I've felt the want of her expertise. She studied the city for many years."
"I wish I could have known her," Silhouette says, genuinely wistful.
Vialle tilts her head toward Silhouette. "Be careful in your dealings with Tir. Cambina loved it, and it destroyed her, even if we don't know exactly how."
Silhouette squeezes the woman's hand, "Do not fear for me, my Queen. Draig'Talamh teaches us that we cannot love that which we study. Knowledge is inherently dangerous. Love clouds our judgment and objectivity. And blinds us to potential threats. I shall not repeat Cambina's mistake."
She guides them farther down the beach, "Nestor? The name has not been mentioned to me. Will he assist us? And do you have access to Cambina's research on Tir? Unless Jerod has already laid claim to them. Perhaps there are further clues to be found."
Vialle is moving a bit more slowly and carefully now. "Nestor is the librarian. He was Cambina's good friend for many years, and will have access to many of her works. I don't know what the disposition of her estate was; Random handled that. He'll know who her literary executor was. Nestor will help you if asked kindly, for Cambina's sake.
"As for Cambina's unpublished research on Tir, that's likely in Brennan's hands now." Perhaps because she was paying attention during dinner the other night, Vialle does not elaborate on that point.
"I am sure I shall burn that particular bridge once I come to it," Silhouette says, slowing to match Vialle's careful pace. "With any luck, I shall return from Amber expediently. I would most like to make Nestor's acquaintance, for many reasons - gaining further Insight into Tir not the least of which. I did not encounter him on my last foray to the library. But, then again, I was in search of Rebman love poems to read to you and not information on the Ghost City." She shrugs.
"May I ask, which do you believe is the greatest threat at this time? The civil war brewing in Rebma. The coming war with Gateway? Or the Ghost Riders and their mad Queen?"
Vialle stops and swivels her head toward Silhouette, almost as if she could see Silhouette's expression. There is, Silhouette realizes on examining the gesture, a tilt to the head, just so, that indicates the pose is more for listening than for seeing with sightless eyes, if one has learned what to look for. "The greatest threat in what way?"
Silhouette turns to properly address the Queen, recognizing this gesture. "With the Fall of Amber, Xanadu will likely become the new center of Creation. And, like any glimmering jewel, it will attract avaricious intent. But I believe it is ill-prepared to rebuke such attentions at this time, as it would be with any new nation.
"A protracted war with Gateway could drain valuable resources better used buttressing the city. Siding with the losing faction in Rebma could cause political strife and possibly invite further conflict. I doubt the Queen and her minions will see a difference between their ancient enemy and this new kingdom. And even though Huon shall soon be neutralized as a threat, his allies still remain in the shadows. These issues must be addressed. But I would have your opinion on which will likely cause Xanadu the most strife at this time? And how I may assist in addressing it."
Vialle shakes her head, a slight smile forming on the edges of her mouth. "If Xanadu is to rebuke Gateway and it comes to protracted war, Random will send Bleys. The troops he has raised in Shadow are legendary." The smile fades as she continues, "As for Rebma, I don't foresee Random interfering in either way; he has personal interests that militate against deeper involvement and interference. Huon's allies are a concern, but I will be surprised if a full accounting of them is not a condition of the peace he seeks with his family.
"The Moonriders--" and here Vialle pauses to consider the question. It takes her a moment to conclude: "I don't think they're an immediate threat. But Random said that they appeared at his father's wake, and that means something. Of course, I'm also told that Rebmans appeared there, and many other people and beings. Not all of them were his enemies, I'm sure.
"None of this makes for immediate enemies. And in any case Random has allies in case of war with Gateway or the Moonriders. So," Vialle finishes quietly, "I account none of them a great threat at the moment. But I'm aware that could change in a heartbeat."
"At his father's funeral?" Silhouette repeats. "Intriguing."
They reach the turnaround portion of their walk, where lagoon meets ocean. Silhouette pauses there, so they might enjoy the sounds of surf and shore. "Can you tell me of Bleys? My patron would have undone your world for his hate of the man. That, in of itself, says something of my uncle. But I wish to hear your thoughts on him. I may be forced to negotiate a reconciliation between the two brothers, as part of my duties to Lord Huon. And for the betterment of your kingdom."
Vialle nods, slowly. "Bleys is hard to describe. His voice is larger than the room he's in, and I suspect, based on what others have said of him, so is he. He's not the swordsman Benedict is, he's not the sorcerer Fiona is, and he's not as lucky as Corwin, and he's not as strong as Gerard--was." A slight shadow falls over her expression at that last word. But she shakes it off and continues," But he's second or third among his siblings in all those things. His speech is full of laughter and light and fine words. He is the model of a prince; it's no surprise he had his father's blessing in the form of his blade. And yet he's the man who could turn his back on that and challenge Eric and fight his way up the stair of Kolvir.
"Underestimate him at your peril, Silhouette, as Huon did."
"I underestimate no one," Silhouette says, her voice like freezing mist. A sly curl rises on her lips, "In many ways, he sounds not unlike your husband, my Queen. One must always fear the jester above all others. Their painted smile invariably obscures dark truths."
Reluctantly, she begins the trek back - retracing the path of wave-dulled footprints. "Will there be a true place for me here when I return, Vialle? Or am I simply burning my fingers for a mightier king?"
Vialle seems to be feeling her way over the sand with her toes as they turn back the way they came.
"Random won't hold Florimel's anger against you," she says, perhaps by way of answering her question. "She lives in Paris now, and I doubt she'd return to Xanadu permanently even if you had never come. Once you prove your blood, the rest will accept you, more or less. Even Florimel, if she cannot bring herself to believe you are her child, will know that you are her kinswoman.
"I've only observed this family for a decade, but I've known others who arrived with heavy burdens to be accepted, treated as a kinsman, over time. Why would it be any different for you?" Vialle says, as if the negative answer is obvious.
Silhouette gives a faint sound of acknowledgement - like a tea pot bubbling. "While familial bonds are important to me, what I truly require is Purpose. An artificer is naught, if not utilized to fulfill the Grand Design. I see great potential here and would lend my expertise, as allowed. I may not possess the ability to raise armies like my uncle, but I can provide them with the tools required to complete their sacred duties. Would the King require such a servant? Or would I do best to return to Shadow, once I have claimed my birthright?"
"Someone will put you to work, if that's what you mean," Vialle says, and not unkindly. "There is always work to be done. I would say Random works to a design, but it's not evident to anyone, except perhaps Corwin, what it is. So I can't tell you whether his purpose, his design, is your Grand Design or not.
"What do you know of ships, Silhouette?"
"Although I experience slight distress upon them, I recognize their incontrovertible importance in martial and mercantile endeavors," Silhouette replies. "As such, I have studied their design for some years now; always familiarizing myself with the latest naval developments. I once oversaw the construction of an armed merchantman; a sail-powered vessel with enough armament, speed, and maneuverability to survive most commercial raiding. During that intriguing experience, I also drafted several steam-powered vessels, but other projects prevented me from expounding beyond preliminary schematics.
"Why do you ask, my Queen?"
Vialle listens to the recitation, tilting her head slightly toward Silhouette near the end.
"Amber always needed men--mostly men, under Random's father, but Random is not so narrow as Oberon was, or even Corwin--to sail, and shipwrights to build ships. Amber has, still, a navy as well as its merchant marine. Xanadu will undoubtedly need the same. Perhaps this would be a suitable occupation for you, one that respects your beliefs and would have use for Random's endeavors.
"And if you get seasick," Vialle says with a teasing smile, "you will have to stay ashore with me."
Silhouette savor the smile, chuckling warmly. "Indeed. Remaining at your side would be most comforting. You are my island in this unfamiliar sea, in truth." She allows the silence to carry them for a moment. Her gaze drifts back toward the city and main harbor.
"Your suggestion appeals to me on many levels, my Queen. Overseeing a shipyard - and its numerous facets - would serve the Grand Design on many levels. Already, I can see the potential in Xanadu and where she might be improved, thusly. My skills would serve the Crown and, in return, I shall have Purpose. Yes. If the King would accept me in this role, I shall undertake this great duty, my Queen."
She lifts the woman's hand to her lips, gracing it with a soft kiss. "You are refreshingly wise, Vialle." She virtually purrs the name, as if its utterance brings her pleasure.
Vialle accepts the gesture, and the praise, with a delicate flush of her cheeks. "You're very kind to say so. I try to make things easier for everyone, and occasionally I do succeed at that, or so I like to think." Her smile fades a little as she continues. "I just wish I were able to solve all the family's problems--all your problems--so easily."
"That you endeavor to do so, Vialle, is what matters in this life," Silhouette replies, still holding the woman's hand. "But do not forget yourself in the process, no matter how great the need of others may appear to be. No matter how your heart yearns to soothe their woes. You have burdens weighing upon your shoulders; this I know. Allow me to carry them for a time. Just as you have carried mine. You have but to ask and I am yours, my Queen."
"When I have need of that aid, you will be the first I ask," Vialle says. She does not withdraw her fingers from Silhouette's grasp.
Silhouette smiles, tenderly squeezing Vialle's fingers. She leans forward, closing the distance between them - heat radiating from her like a stone hearth. Her perfume - citrus and dark, earthy undercurrents - curls around the Queen like a lover's embrace, filling her head with unspoken promises. She whispers in a husky tone, wanting, yearning; lips hovering so close to Vialle's that she can feel her warm breath. "You honor me, my Queen."
She presses forward, kissing Vialle's lips, the embrace as soft as smoke and shadow. "My beautiful Vialle."
Reluctantly, she drifts away, resuming her place at the woman's side. Poised and proper. The picture of reserved decorum.
But as they continue on their path, her hand remains entwined with Vialle's. An unvoiced pledge, a silent vow - this is where I belong and this is where I shall stay.
In the upcoming week(s?) Ossian will stay in Xanadu, working on his trump gateway. He builds walls and floors and ceiling by hand, sturdy enough to stand the passage of thousands of people, but not very fancy. The floor will be simple stone paving, while the walls and ceiling will be sturdy planks, painted white, with some odd designs on the walls.
When he starts to get a feeling for the room he will start on a sketch of it (a small one), working parallell on the sketch and the room.
In his spare time Ossian will start to explore Xanadu, especially its intellectual circles, looking for possible teachers for Jasmine.
Many of the early arrivals in Xanadu are people that Ossian already knows from [Amber]: members of the Thrush Pack and other eccentrics like them. Those who lived on the margins during the Regency, especially those not associated too closely with Eric's regime, were the first to leave Amber and many of them arrived in Random's new city. On inquiring with some of them, Ossian learns that others from the artistic circles he knew have gone on to Paris, Lord Rein chief among them.
The new, improved Thrush Pack, such as it is, has staked out one of the city's makeshift taverns for their own. Ossian has a standing invitation to join them. If Ossian opens up to them about his foster daughter, he senses they would seek out possible tutors for her. Of course, their idea of suitable and his might not match any more than his idea matches his Aunt Florimel's.
[What characteristics is he looking for in a teacher?]
Given that Jasmine is rather young (three, four?), Ossian will go
slowly at first, looking for two to three teachers. He wants them to
be good teachers, but also playful and compassionate. He looks for
people who can teach:
*arts (although there are plenty of in-family competence here, Ossian
is looking for more continuity than that)
*reading and writing (and I guess, math)
Tutoring in actual subjects is going to be hard to find in Xanadu. Lucas had tutors for his children, but of course they're in Paris. Since there aren't much in the way of noble children in Xanadu yet, it's not as if anyone has a governess they can loan him, if they even do that.
He might also want to engages someone to teach fighting skills, but slowly and in a fun manner. Possibly Venesch, but Ossian wants to discuss that with certain people before asking Venesch in person.
Ossian will join the Thush pack some evenings, and breach the question of an arts teacher for Jasmine with them.
Ossian's old friend Adreano tells him that most of the old-fashioned artists like Maunder were planning to go to Paris: no surprise in that particular case, given Maunder's affiliation with Corwin's favorite Rein. The visual arts are not well represented in Xanadu at all, yet. What Ossian can find in spades in Xanadu is musicians, although they're different to the ones in Amber.
While neither Ossian nor Adreano would use these terms, Adreano effectively describes them as lo-fi indie acoustic garage rockers. If Ossian wants to have Jasmine taught guitar, he'll have no trouble finding a tutor.
This is not exactly what Ossian has in mind, although he is not looking for a traditional education either. Ossian will wait until he has spoken with Folly to decide on this.
Of course Adreano has no idea of how to find a tutor for math or reading, or a governess for that matter.
I guess these have to be fetched in shadow. Ossian is in no hurry, he has other things that needs to be done first.
The note that the page hands to Ossian is neatly written, precise in the flow of the cursive script that one would expect to see from the writer. The wax seal impression on the note appears to be of a man's ring, an intricately carved stone with a trillion cut configuration, in a setting with runic markings around the edge.
Ossian...
Opportunity presents itself once more and I believe it to be time that we have a conversation concerning recent events. The page will accept your response and provide details should you choose to accept.
Jerod.
Assuming Ossian accepts, the page describes a room on the west side of the castle, away from the sea in the more defensible portion of the castle. Given that Ossian has been working on his trump gate, he might remember a medium sized utility room on that side of the castle that would appear to fit with the page's description of where Jerod would be.
Ossian shakes his head. A meeting with Jerod will most likely not be pleasant, but it needs to be done. He tells the page he will meet Jerod in the described room, and goes there. Has Jerod any surprises for Ossian when he arrives?
Surprises are always to be determined by the viewer, or at least, that is what Jerod might say.
The first thing that strikes Ossian when he approaches the room is the faint whiff of something...fragrant? Lavender perhaps, or is it cinnamon?
No, now it's sulphur.
Upon entering the well lit room is the profusion of glass equipment placed across a number of tables. Ossian's level of scientific background will determine whether he recognizes any of the various concoctions that appear to be brewing. Whether he is able to do so is dependant on whether his attention is distracted by the sight of Jerod, rolling what appears to be a small pieces of paper into a tiny ball as he scribbles a note into a journal, before he tosses the ball deliberately into a bunsen burner's flame, to watch the paper flash out a brilliant bluish colour, and a very pronounced "whoof".
"Good afternoon cousin." Jerod says, finishing up his notes.
"Good afternoon." Ossian says, with a smile. "Nice lab. I didn't know you were into chemistry?"
"The unfortunate side of the being the king's son is that you rarely get to indulge yourself in the things you find most fascinating." Jerod says, adding a final notation to the journal before closing it. "It is only now, several years later in fact, that the opportunity to pursue my own goals has come to the fore. This is one of many hobbies that will become more available as time passes. Plus the King may find the equipment to be of use to himself or one of his servants."
"There is a matter of some importance that I wish to discuss with you. Care to guess what it might be?"
"There are things I'd like to discuss with you as well. Let's start with yours." Ossian says with a twist to his mouth. "Guessing it has something to do with the cards wouldn't be too bold, I guess?"
"Not too bold at all." Jerod says, laying the journal to one side. "There's a reason why I like your dad. He's smart and he picks up on stuff quick. It's good to see that some of his qualities have passed onward.
"I suppose I could keep asking questions to see if you pick up on where we're going but I think we'll save that for later and just get to the meat of it. You did up trumps of people, without their permission. Did you do one of me, or my sister?"
(Even though it has not been asked, yes, Jerod is armed. He's wearing Eric's sword. The spear is not in the room.)
"I did a Trump of Solace when Lucas asked me to. And one of Merlin when I needed to reach him. Otherwise everyone knew. Why would I do one of you?"
(Ossian is not visibly armed as long as he is in the castle)
"Perhaps Lucas asked you?" Jerod responds. "His activities are under considerable scrutiny and not for the better I might add. Or perhaps you thought it might be advantageous to have a trump of someone who you might perceive as a threat. I understand they can be very useful in that respect."
"Well. I have certainly perceived you as a threat. And that is a good thing." Ossian smiles "Didn't make a Trump of you. Or your sister. I have never intended to hurt you. And if I wanted to taunt you, well, that worked fine without making a Trump."
"If you're looking to taunt me, go ask Paige for lessons." Jerod says, returning the smile. "I enjoyed the ones she offered. They were worth responding to.
"Since you've indicated publicly that you did not do up trumps of myself or my sister Cambina, my questions are now answered. That is all I require."
Ossian nods. "I want your advice on a family matter, concerning the child I thought was mine."
Jerod's only change of expression is the raising of an eyebrow. "Really? While I will admit I've been in a long term relationship for quite some time, I would think the lack of offspring would make one think that children are not a specialty of mine. But I will admit to being curious. What makes you think that I am either capable of, or perhaps more precisely, inclined to provide advice on such a topic?"
"Oh, I'm counting on your loyalty to family." Ossian says with a smile. "The child is Reid's. But I have been appointed as the child's guardian until we find Reid. I think Reid wouldn't want me to act without trying to get some advice."
"My loyalty to family may not be the definition you think it is." Jerod says, the smile disappearing as if it were never there. "As for you being appointed the guardian, that still has no effect on whether I'm inclined to provide advice. So we're back to my original question - why should I help you with advice? I might think it worthwhile for you to stumble through this on your own, after all. Learn the hard way. And before you decide to try the classic guilt trip line of how this will impact Reid's child also, kindly remember I was raised in Rebma. Hard lessons and cold reality are the order of the day there. Learning those lessons early may be a benefit in my eyes."
Ossian shrugs "Yes. We can really make reality cold. If we want to. Good luck with your experiments."
"Thank you." Jerod says, watching as Ossian turns to leave.
Just before he reaches the entrance, Jerod says. "You still haven't answered the question though. Why should anyone help you with this?"
"There is no general answer to that question." Ossian says over his shoulder "But unless you consider Brand's childrearing good, you might find arguments for involving more than one person."
Jerod nods, looking at Ossian's retreating. "In that respect, I would agree. The logic is impeccable."
Ossian bows and leaves unless Jerod wants to say more.
After several occasions of spontaneous travel, Silhouette has discovered a comfortable rhythm to unpacking. She utilizes it now, settling once more into the quarters provided her by Steward Vent. She is conservative in her preparations, fully aware that she may be required to leave once more at a moment's notice.
She smiles faintly to herself, musing. So marvelous these Trumps. The shimmering light and heady sensation of traveling without moving. Tantalizing constructs that required her future study.
She hangs up one of her formal dresses; one she saved for her uncle Caine's benefit. A curious fellow, to be certain. And deliciously dangerous. He had been unreadable after allowing her passage into Amber. An enigma of gentlemanly politeness. Another secret I must unlock.
So many secrets to be savored. She smiles again, feeling a twinge of anticipation.
A knock comes at the door as she closes the dresser. Most curious, considering the late hour.
"The door is unlocked," she called to the visitor. "Please enter."
The door doesn't open, but Silhouette sees shadows beneath the bottom rail of the door. Out from the shadow steps a small red bird. It grows larger and redder as it comes closer to Silhouette.
It jumps on the table and pecks it three times with its bright red beak. At this distance Silhouette can see that nothing of the creature isn't blood red, from the talons to the beak. It doesn't look like an animal at all, except in shape.
Whatever magic this is, it is a magic of odd choices.
At the appearance of the shadows, Silhouette lightly touches the blade hidden upon her wrist, readying herself. But at the appearance of the bird, she smiles in welcome, relieved.
She joins it at the table, studiously observing its shape and design. She finds it elegant and practical, as any true magic should be. A dozen new Mechanika designs sparked in her mind; what terrible wonders she could create with this arcane ability.
She reaches out to touch the bird, to gently stroke its ruddy feathers. "One of your sanguineous constructs, my Prince? I had wondered what form your messenger would take."
The bird hops onto her hand and lowers drops its head to her wrist. It feels as if it weighs nothing.
The beak makes contact with her wrist, just by the hidden blade. Silhouette feels a small peck. The bird starts disappearing into her wrist quickly.
Silhouette blinks in astonishment, but otherwise does not react to this dark miracle.
Moments later, Silhouette sees a blood-red bird shaped tattoo on her wrist. It pulses when she turns towards the harbor.
"Delicious," she whispers, examining the tattoo in the light. Once satisfied, the tattoo disappears under her sleeve. She walks over to her wardrobe, removing two hooded cloaks; one drab and unassuming, the other elegant and conspicuous. She puts on the former, and then covers it beneath the latter. Covering her head beneath the double hood, she slips out of her room and toward the nearest exit - taking full advantage of the castle?s enormity and copious shadows to remain unseen.
Silhouette takes a circuitous path toward the harbor, slipping down alleyways and cutting through crowds in an attempt to lose any pursuers.
It takes about 45 minutes to get down to the town along the switchbacked mountain path leading from the city. It's slower than the stairs, but safer. The road also goes to the city gates, which are important.
They are manned but not closed this evening, and Silhouette is let through with ease.
She backtracks and ducks into shops, adding to the chaotic nature of her apparent wanderings. Finally, once she senses her opportunity, she slips off the elegant cloak and leaves it with a beggar woman roughly her height. Hopefully, this decoy will shake off anyone still following her.
Amber is still a major port and as such shops exist that are open into the evening, although that number is much higher if 'taverns' are also considered shops.
Silhouette believes she has shaken any possible physical tails.
Now cast in an unassuming guise, she blends into the bustling harbor crowds, following the pulsing tattoo as if it were a compass.
Silhouette needs the cloak; the dark evening under the tiny remaining sliver of the Boatman's moon has a bite to it. Amber is no Xanadu, and it bodes ill for the winter if the fall is cold less than a tenday after the Equinox.
A creature of flame and smoke, Silhouette suffers terribly from this bitter cold. Perhaps this is a minor blessing, as she is forced to tighten the cloak about her, hiding her features even more so. Only her professional nature prevents her from cursing Huon a thousand times over.
The tide, however, makes no allowances for the comfort of the weary and turns when it will. The harbor prepares for departures on the high tide, in the dead of the dog watch. To Silhouette's experienced eyes, it looks like warships are being prepared, and not for a peaceful mission.
The bird leads her to a small boat with two masts. The crew seem to be expecting mysterious visitors in nondescript cloaks.
Silhouette boldly walks up the plank, as if she is one of the crew returning from the city. She pulls back her hood enough for the watchman to see her face. "I have business here," she states firmly.
A man, likely a junior officer, nods, and points to a door on the back deck. The bird pulses when she faces it. It opens into a small cabin.
"So, you've met the family, now." Huon reaches up and brightens the oil lamp above the table.
Silhouette saunters over to him, softly kissing his lips and running her hand down his chest. "That I have. I have made allies, as well an enemy. A perfect reunion, to say the least," she whispers, placing another kiss on his ear. She sits across the table, smiling pleasantly.
He puts his hand on her arm when she kisses him the second time, and lets it slide along to her fingertips as she moves, dropping it when she sits.
"King Random offers his protection from death or permanent mutilation from your brother and Rebma. However, in exchange, you must submit to Rebman justice and serve out your sentence. Escape nullifies the agreement.
"I've sung your praises and I suspect he will utilize you in some fashion or another. He pretends to be a fool, but I doubt even he would cast aside a potential resource."
Huon snorts. "Hah. Escape did fine by him, although it led to a second prison. Am I to be the new Random? If my sentences are as short as his, I will not be fashed.
"I think it's within reason. No sentence from him, just Rebma. The Rebman sentence would need to be finite."
"The breadth of your sentence shall be yours to parley," Silhouette replies. "However, Rebma now possesses a new Queen. One now filling the vacuum you created. Win her and you shall win your freedom. I suspect redemptive works shall pave your path to reconciliation. What you have destroyed, you can rebuild."
She smiles softly, but it is not a pleasant one. "Unless your associates in Chaos have offered you safe haven."
"If I had associates in Chaos, then I might not have need of Random or his mercy. Had Brand been a better option, I might have taken him up on his offer, and been elsewhere now. Or dead in Martin's stead. I am sure he considered using me."
Silhouette's brow rises slightly, "Brand consorted with these creatures, as well? That explains much. But exactly what did he intend to utilize you for?" She leans forward, resting her chin upon steepled fingertips.
Huon grunts, bitterly. "They didn't tell you about Martin, then? I didn't hear about this until much later. Brand stabbed him. Tried to murder him as part of a very practical and nasty bit of ritual magic. I'd've been a better target, since I was even less regarded than Random's get, but I was likely too canny for him."
Huon lowers his head and looks up at her, intensely. "Don't let the sweetness and light fool you, they're only civilized when it suits them."
Silhouette barely hears Huon's warning, her mind suddenly racing at his previous revelation. He has confirmed what she's already surmised through observation and experience. An uncharacteristic rush of excitement quickens her pulse.
"Blood magic, then. Considering our divine origins, I am not surprised that our blood could be utilized as quintessence." She lightly brushes her fingers tips over the ruddy tattoo on her wrist. "Oh, such glorious possibilities. Not the least of which being the alchemic symbiosis of metal and soul. I shall learn this magick."
His eyes are like twin sparks, but he says nothing in reply.
The light in her eyes flickers out like a guttered flame, meeting his intense gaze with ruthless acumen. "Civility is little more than contained rage. And our rage is most terrible, indeed. Kitschy masks worn by beasts shall not deceive me, my Prince. But your warning is welcome."
She tilts her, "So, will you submit yourself to Rebma's mercy?"
He leans back. "I will negotiate terms of my surrender with them, yes."
Silhouette smiles, "Excellent. I believe this is the best course of action. However, I worry that your sudden appearance in Rebma may not be well received. It would be a tragedy if you are harmed before negotiations can even begin. As such, I suggest that I extend my services by delivering the King's amnesty to the Queen of Rebma prior to your arrival. I can then summon you via a Trump and you can conclude your negotiation personally."
She runs her fingertip over the oil lamp's hot glass, as if touching a lover's cheek. "Unless you still lack the trust in me to possess your Trump."
He raises a finger. "It's not that I have no faith in you, but that I have absolute faith in my brothers to take advantage of such an opening. Was my creature unpleasant as a rider? I can make one that you can send to me when you wish to meet with me.
"You have my warrant to pursue terms with the Queen of Rebma, and to discuss the matter with those of the family with whom you see fit." He steeples his fingers. "Agreeable?"
"Agreeable," Silhouette replies. Her fingers draw circles on the lamp. "In the meantime, you must remain hidden. Even the younglings wish your demise. Brennan - son of Brand - for one. Jerod - son of Eric - for another. Both would likely ignore Random's reprieve before this matter is settled. So, for now, I need to provide them with another enemy."
She tilts her head, "So, tell me of Gateway." Her dark eyes glitter in the light.
"Unicorn-forsaken barren plains, full of stuffed shirt mages who think they ought to have more than their share because they can do magic.
"It's pissant stuff, too, but they impress the hell out of the locals, so it works for them. They're about as smart as your average shadow teen-ager, which is to say they're earnest and easy to manipulate by people who are smart enough to pull the right strings.
"Why, how did they come to your attention? And how will you use them to distract the children?"
"The King intends to make an example for their complicity in your assault on Rebma," Silhouette says. "Whether or not he shall decide upon simple decimation or truly salting the earth is as yet to be seen. I suspect he will utilize the youngers to carry out his punishment. Prince Jerod, in particular, appeared most interested in Gateway. If could provide him with valuable information, he will be focused on Gateway and not your lordship."
A sly grin curls upon her lips, "Now, were I not loyal to the King, I would warn Gateway of its impending doom; even going so far as to provide them the means with which to defend themselves. Their cause is already lost, but bolstering their courage could result in a protracted battle. The perfect distraction."
The grin becomes cruel, her eyes dark pits that consume the light. "And should the initial conflict turn sour, the King might even request your brother take the field. And there is no telling what misfortune might befall him there, whilst you are safe in your gilded cage."
Huon's eyes flash. "He is mine to deal with, when and how I choose. I will not cede my right to him to another, even to a ... friend."
Silhouette dips her head in acceptance. "Forgive me, if you believe I would rob you of your victory."
He turns more quiet. "Now, Gateway. Gateway overreaches. I am loyal to the King as well, and do not want him to have too much trouble with the Gatwegians. Do not trouble yourself further on that account.
"When you go to Rebma, my girl, you will be farther from contact with me than you were in Amber. Do not be surprised if it takes a day or so for messages to reach me. I will be busy preparing."
"Very well," she replies, "I will take the possible delay into consideration."
She stands and smoothes her dress, "Now, I must return to the castle, as there may be a minute possibility that my mother will accept my summons. No matter the outcome, I shall depart for Rebma promptly and conclude this affair. With your leave, milord."
Huon waves towards the door. "Of all my affairs, the conclusion of this one is the most desirable. Go with my patent to negotiate terms, If necessary, remind them that I will be expecting terms befitting a Prince of Amber."
Silhouette smiles softly, "Of course, milord." She walks to the door, only to pause and gaze back at him.
"It is good to see you again, my Prince."
And with that, she disappears into the night like smoke.
Last modified: 17 April 2011