Ocean of Secrets

Dearest Aunt,

I would seek your Enlightenment with regard to the history and politics of Rebma, so I might be of service to it and its people. You have been well spoken of by my cousins, and they inform me that your knowledge of this realm is unparalleled. It would be my honor if we might meet in person.

I also understand this must be a sad time for you, so will understand if you would prefer to deny my request. You have my sincerest sympathies.

Your niece,

Silhouette

Calling upon a page, Silhouette sends this missive to her aunt. While she waits, she attempts to engage her triton 'ward' in conversation... if such a thing is even possible with the creatures.

The triton is not very talkative. Perhaps it's a side effect of their generations of slavery at the hands of Rebma during which they did not speak to humans.

Silhouette takes note of this, and intends to continue her attempts at communication. She shares a kinship with them, after all; the phantom pain of cold shackles still lingering on her wrists.

A different castle page returns, a girl with exquisite manners and poise. She bows and address Silhouette. "Princess Llewella extends her compliments and invites her niece to tea in the fan coral room at three."

She seems to be waiting for a reply.

"Please express my acceptance to your Lady. I would be honored," Silhouette replies. "I will join her at the appointed time."

She arrives a few moments early, dressed in the outfit she wore in court. Its sea-grass appearance is a fitting choice for the setting. A prismatic garden of gorgonian structures rings the chamber, protected by a low wall of polished tiger coral. Whips and fronds drift lazily like leafless trees in a summer breeze. Tiny fish dart from colony to colony like flights of birds seeking a place to land. At Silhouette's approach, they disappear behind the protective fans that carpet the garden floor.

The center of the room has been prepared for afternoon tea -- an elegant table and comfortable chairs.

Silhouette remains at the periphery, waiting for the Princess to arrive. She stands so still, several fish begin circling her inquisitively, as if she were some exotic coral herself.

There is a murmur at the door and Princess Llewella is sweeping in. Her unbound hair is like the fan coral around her head and Rebman court wear suits her. In the low light, her skin practically glistens.

"Hello Niece. Thank you for joining me." She smiles, but it's not easy to tell what she means. The Princess is difficult to read.

Silhouette dips her head, "The honor is my, Princess." She walks over to the table; the tiny fish scattering in a colorful display.

She pulls out a chair for her aunt, "Might I first express my condolences. If I can serve you in any regard, you have but to ask."

"Have you learned the knack of serving liquids under the sea? I shall pour." She picks up the pot and begins the ritual.

"Please call me Aunt. Princess is a title, and I prefer the relationship." After she finishes pouring each of them a cup, she sits back.

"I have run across entire shadows where the goal of the inhabitants is the abnegation of all needs. They practice this and consider it a great achievement if they succeed. And yet, the people I know who are without needs and from whom nothing is needed or granted to others are among the most miserable people I have ever met. So it troubles me to tell you have I have no needs that you, or anyone, could serve."

Silhouette nods lightly to this, taking her cup. "I understand, Thea.* Needs are the expense of being human, and are rarely satisfied from without. Queen Celina and I recently touched upon this; although I do not believe she understood or approved of my views on the subject. My hierarchy is different from most." She smiles faintly, "Let it simply be said that I am at your service, as you deem fit."

[* Considering Llewella's elder status, Sil would fall into her native tongue when saying 'Aunt'.]

"There are many who are not sure we are human, and still more who are sure we are not. Is it possible to be human and immortal? I am sure I do not know. I appreciate your offer in the spirit in which it was given."

She sips her tea, drinking in the Rebman style. "I am curious about you. One of my nephews arrived during the war and was nearly executed when he admitted to being Brand's protege (which he was not). You are in a similar situation. Association with Huon will not serve you well here or with my brothers. Your problem with my sisters is also clear. How do you propose to escape from this situation?"

Silhouette smiles, beginning to like this woman. She gives a respectful nod. "Indeed, I have observed the Family's inability to distinguish the difference between association and patronage. The stigma they've placed upon my person is both perplexing and troubling. As such, I intend to faithfully serve either Xanadu or Rebma to dispel this specious attitude - whichever will have me. Furthermore, I shall sever contact with Prince Huon once my obligations to him are fulfilled. A regrettable necessity."

She lifts her cup in perfect mimicry of Llewella. "As for my mother, the sin is hers. And I have made my peace."

Llewella smiles, but doesn't mean it. "You think you have, but it's clear that you judge her based on your guess as to why she did not find you. Few of your generation knew their parent even as briefly as you did. Those who did were not without the consequences of that information. I speak not just of my own daughter here. The Rebman way seems to have been worse than Amber's secrecy. Our children were a weapon against us."

Silhouette shrugs vaguely; her tone remaining perfectly cordial. "I cannot pass judgment on what I do not know, and Mother's reasons are hers to keep. And knowing her stubbornness, she will keep them until death. I offered her the chance to explain, and she threw it back in my face. So, unless she wishes to pursue a Vendetta against me, Mother is of no further consequence. A child might crave its mother's love, but I have matured beyond the need for such self-indulgence."

She sighs softly, "And yes, children are the weapon only those with true Will can survive. If I am honest, I feel fortunate that I have not been tested thusly."

With a tilt of her head, she stares into Llewella's eyes. "Do you know something about my mother's reasons then?"

Llewella looks up and returns Silhouette's gaze, unblinkingly. "I know little, but I find the issue full of gnawing concerns. Your mother was tricked into believing you were dead. Tricked so thoroughly that she is willing to discard the evidence she has that you are not, in fact, dead. Who tricked her? To what end?"

She shifts and her hair moves in waves and creates patterns behind her head as it crosses the coral behind her.

"If it was Huon, what was he doing? If he had that much freedom, then why was he not attacking Bleys? If someone else, who?

"Do you know that we have a cousin who is a shapeshifter, who has impersonated even members of this family to their intimates, and who had an interest in children? Dara is a powerful and dangerous enemy, if she somehow became involved in your life, it would not be an easy attention to bear.

"And all that assumes that Father did not make you suffer for some point or purpose in the games that he played, which none of us were ever able to completely fathom. It's not beyond him.

"There are too many questions to just pretend it wasn't a hostile action."

Silhouette gives a faint nod, "Indeed. However, before I can begin to rule out suspects, the crux of this must be examined. Why would a Family member act thusly? What is their ultimate goal? What effect did my disappearance have on my mother? What role did she play in Family politics at that time? What havoc would such a distraction cause? Unfortunately, I know nothing of her to hazard a guess at any of these questions. And Flora will not speak with me, let alone provide any insight."

She sets her cup down, and then folds her hands together across her belly. "Surely, you know her better than I."

Llewella shakes her head. "We are, in our generation, a family of serial only children. I knew her differently, but there are times when we do not see each other for decades.

"What I see when I see you, and when I hear of my sister's denial, is two women of our family who were wronged, badly. And you let it continue as long as you do not reconcile. And someone, somewhere has done you the kind of wrong that justifies, even with our newfound family peace, retribution. You should not let this blow go unanswered."

"Rest assured dear aunt, should I learn who destroyed my family, they and their kin will understand true suffering before I grant them death's release," Silhouette says in an eerily dispassionate tone. "But until such time, animus is like drinking poison and then waiting for your enemy to die. Only Aite lies down that path. A lesson Mother has yet to learn."

[Aite = "ruin, folly, delusion," the action performed by the hero, usually because of hubris, that leads to his or her death or downfall.]

She tilts her head, raising a brow. "You state your concerns. But words are hollow without Action. Do you offer to break the impasse between my Mother and I?" A curious smile. "And what will such a boon cost me?"

"I was thinking the same of you, niece. When you are ready to take action and you have gathered evidence, bring it to me and I will bring it to my sister. Until you resolve this matter, you will have a shadow over you."

Llewella smiles and leans in toward Silhouette. " As to the cost of the boon, it is not a thing I have considered. As a mother separated from her child by the actions of a family member, I am not wholly unsympathetic to the plight you and Flora are in."

Silhouette's expression softens. "Then my thanks to you, dear aunt. If this kindness is a reflection of your nature, then your daughter was indeed blessed. I wish I had had the opportunity to know you both before this." She offers to refill the woman's cup, before filling her own.

She smiles softly, "Might I ask your counsel on another issue? How can I best serve Celina?"

Llewella raises an eyebrow. "Today? Tell her all you know of Huon, who will be our guest at court for the next some decades. In general? After you have resolved your difficulties with my sister, if you still wish to serve, use your powers as a member of this family to help her rebuild the trade network. Our prosperity is built on it and shall be rebuilt on it. Most things anyone can do. One thing, only we can."

Silhouette nods to this, apparently pleased. "I have provided her with everything I know of my patron. I hope it will assist her in the coming days."

She leans forward, becoming more at-ease. "I have been a tradeswoman for half my life, so this is a role I can fulfill. However, Xanadu requires much the same. Will they be suitable trading partners, or will they compete?"

Llewella neither leans in nor backs away. "Competition for resources happens because of scarcity. Trade is critical to the role of our city and Xanadu, but we do not have the limits of a single shadow. Xanadu could completely denude Shadow Weirmonken of all the timber they have, and could the next day sail into a harbor of another timber-producing shadow. Paris and Rebma can do the same.

"If you wonder why we are Queens of these cities, it is because we created them. We stay Queens because we create prosperity from nothing for millions. To belong to this line of Queens is to be assured that you will always be attended by those you can suddenly enrich. It is much like having friends."

Silhouette raises a brow, smiling faintly. "An intriguing use of the Eleventh Law, although I would be leery of the concept of 'friendship' with the masses. Despite the views of some, I do not believe that maintaining the citizenry's dependence on the state will assure their trustworthiness. It also risks Stagnation, if such dependence becomes developmentally intrusive. Still, it allows the Queen more freedom to guide the economic and cultural growth of their realm." She nods again, mulling over this concept further.

A thought comes to her. "Although Shadow is infinite, surely access to them remains limited. How will Rebma create stable trade routes without utilizing the Family? And, if a limit number of routes do exist, will not three Realms require some form of protectionism to avoid conflicts? The Family does seem like a prickly lot."

Llewella looks up, "Aren't we? To answer you questions, she will not and there is no theoretical limit, because infinite shadow is infinite. That is what you have not internalized, even if you think you understand it."

Silhouette nods to this, "I fear my perceptions remain constrained by my lack of Pattern knowledge. I shall have to overcome that deficit before being any use to Rebma and its Queen. Which leads us back to the beginning."

She refills the cups, smiling. "With my siblings dead, who would you suggest I speak with to learn more about my Mother? As you say, I must find who wished to harm her. But she will not be forthcoming on this. To me, at least." She pauses, then tilts her head. "And might you tell me of your father? I wonder if he tried to remove a possible distraction."

Llewella closes her eyes briefly, gathering her thoughts. "Flora was always desperate for his attention, of course, but she couldn't see that he was unable to get past how much she was like Dybele. Eric, and later Corwin, were the only ones who paid her much heed. Speak to them, and their supporters from their feud, if you wish to know the Flora of old.

"My father, on the other hand." She pauses again, clearly self-censoring. "My father and I had a difficult relationship. Everyone in Amber thinks he recognized me in order to make a statement about Eric's legitimacy or about Clarissa's status. They are all wrong. He did it to keep my sister from having me murdered as a rival for her throne. He said to Moire, "this is my daughter, she is a Princess of Amber, and you cannot casually dispose of her without incurring the wrath of Amber."

She smiles. "I've always been grateful for that act of kindness."

Silhouette shares the smile, "To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter." Her eyes drop as a cloud darkens her features. Her gaze is elsewhere, another world, another time. A greasy skull stares back at her. Its blackened mouth locked in a silent scream - be one of impotent rage or remorseful anguish, now unknowable.

She dismisses the specter, and crushes the traitorous emotions it inspires. Sentimentality is weakness. And yearning for the dead futile.

She lifts her head; the steel back in her eyes. "If Moire considered you a contender for the throne, why do abandon it now? Surely, you have a better claim. And, not to disparage Celina's abilities, you would be far more qualified."

[Llewella] smiles, lightly. "What do you think the qualifications are to be Queen of Rebma?"

"There are many. But above all else, wisdom," Silhouette says. "And that quality can only develop through maturity. You have watched Rebma grow and change. For how many generations, I can only guess. You know its moods, its thoughts, its history. Celina will need to learn what you already understand."

She tilts her head, offering an appraising stare. "I suspect you also possess knowledge of the Laws. And a willingness to enforce them during your rule." A pause, then a slight smile. "Unless, of course, that is your true intention. To rule from behind the throne."

Llewella shakes her head, and looks somewhat disappointed. "I can hardly call my sister wise, but she ruled for many years. My brother Eric ruled Amber for less than a decade despite his centuries of experience. He may not even be recalled in the annals of Amber beyond these next few decades. What qualifies someone to take the throne of Rebma, or any of our cities, is the desire to take it. The ability to hold it is another thing entirely. Even if outlanders took the city, they could not keep it. Moire could not master the city completely, so her rule, which seemed stable, was always precarious.

"Celina wishes to keep the throne. If she can master the realm, she will be a far greater Queen than her mother ever hoped to be."

"And therein lies the difference between desire and wisdom," Silhouette says. "The desire to rule is irrelevant. The ability to rule is truly what matters. Through wisdom, the effectual ruler understands this. Those who rely on boldness to take a throne cannot see beyond the present moment. Those who rely on wisdom look to the end, instead; fully aware that Creation provides a Queen with a glimpse of happiness, only to bless her with utter ruin.

"Celina still believes in the fantastical. It will cloud her judgment, no matter how deep her desire to rule may be. Unless instructed in Reality, she will fail."

She sets her empty cup down, "Do you serve Rebma? Or will you leave that to others?"

Llewella shifts in her seat. "You know quite a bit already. We shall skip the part where I try to tell you something and go directly to the part where you tell me."

Silhouette bows her head, "But I welcome your wisdom, dear aunt. And doubt I could tell of things that you do not already know. That is why I seek your counsel."

She brushes floating strands of hair from her face, smiling. "I inquired as to your position, as I suspect you are the night heron in a family of cocks. You let them strut and caw, while you, instead, are prized for your scarcity. But while the cock possesses great virtues, it is they who end up on the dinner table. After all, they are always within reach." The smile becomes one of admiration. "And I would rather learn from the wise heron than a noble entree."

Llewella's eyes narrow. "Let me impart to you my wisdom then, such as it is. I am a being centuries your elder, yet young by the scorekeeping of this family. You asked earlier how you could serve. You will not like my advice, but I will give it, as it was asked for. Grow up. Take your place as a very junior member of this family. Learn our ways. Listen to what we say instead of telling us what you think.

"In my father's day, he taught this to his children by kicking them out of the city when they became insufferable, letting them learn for a century or so in shadow, and then bringing them back. It was effective. I am kinder, but I do not know if my method will be effective."

She stands. "i hope you have enjoyed your tea. I am sure we will have opportunity to speak again."

So, you are simply here for the millet, Lady Heron, Silhouette thinks. Did you offer your daughter such wisdom, I wonder?

But she does not say such things. There is no advantage making an enemy of the first elder to vaguely impress her.

Instead, she stands and bows her head. "Thank you for answering my questions, Princess. May the currents ever show you favor."

She pauses before adding, "May we speak of your sister at our next meeting? I am curious as to your stand on her, and how she will be treated upon her eventual return."

She nods, her voice still harder than it has been heretofore. "Here is one of our ways. We are painfully direct with each other. We do not bother to lie, because all of us are so good at reading others that we give away more with a falsehood than we do by telling the truth, and merely omitting what we do not wish to tell. You may ask me what you wish, when next we talk, and I will answer what I wish. My main interest in you at the moment is to have you disturb whatever enemy could attack one of us as you and your mother were attacked. Such a capacity to harm needs to be identified and eliminated. When you are working on that, we will have the basis for further discussion."

Silhouette meets her aunt's gaze, unflinching. "The remnants of an enemy are like sparks on tinder. I shall extinguish this ember without mercy, before it becomes a flame once more. Thank you, Princess."

Given Purpose, she curtsies and turns to leave.

Llewella nods her head and lets her leave with the last word.

Celina arrives to see her Aunt Llew without announcement. She asks the page there to announce her and ask permission to use an hour of her aunt's time. She waits humbly for a page to advise if Llewella has time for her.

Guards and archivists wait some distance away. They are necessary but not invited to chambers.

When Llewella arrives (alone presumed) Celina starts with a summary of Court business. "I need to advise you about Huon's terms and arrival in Rebma." She sketches out everything she knows, and also describes the questions she has asked her advisers and Silhouette.

"It is my feeling that Bleys could go and escort him to Rebma. It would be a favor to me, but I think it would be a favor to Bleys as well. Even Huon might benefit. What do you think?"

Llewella considers the matter. "Whoever you send is a message, not just to Huon, but to Amber and Paris and the Seaward and the Court and the Gate. Who are your allies? Who do you turn to? How big a threat is Huon to Rebma?"

She considers again. "I would send someone else, were I you. Ideally someone more associated with Rebma than Amber. Martin or Jerod would be a nice touch, but I don't think they are available. Who are your other candidates?"

Celina looks at her hands as if she has Trumps arrayed there. "Conner. Brennan. They know my mind most on things. But I would rather not send Brennan for personal reasons." She looks a bit grim. "Rebma is getting chatty about Conner sleeping with me. Sending him to honor Huon is practical, but also makes me feel vulnerable in a way that sending Brennan would not. Huon might also decide that attacking Conner for the blade made more sense than surrendering to Rebma. Merlin would do it if I called him, but he is away in Chaos and it is not in me to call him back at this time and interrupt he and Vere. Jerod again might do it for me if he were not away from Court with good reason. You are right about playing down the Amber connection."

She looks back at Llewella. "I might ask you. I like that least of all for the time it would remove you from the center of things. I spoke to Rilsa, she strongly declared she is done with aligning herself to any Court for a time. She and Moire are no longer 'on speaking terms'."

Llewella snorts. "She and Moire have not been on speaking terms for a generation, specifically Jerod's lifespan. Eric was the father of Rilsa's son, and yet he was more hated than Random, who Moire blamed for Morganthe's death. Her desire to separate herself from felicity is genuine. In any case, you don't want me. I send the message that you are not in charge."

Celina smiles. "I think Huon respects you and my sending you places would indicate considerable courage and leverage. OK, then Conner mentioned to me... that Brita is willing to do a Trump of Rebma. And other than the wet bit of actually arriving... we should have a Trump of Rebma I think. Conner... also has proposed that he and Brita fetch Huon. The redheads suddenly seem to like being wet. A passing interest in preserving a Pattern too I think." Celina is obviously being wry because she does not consider the sacrifices already made to be 'passing interest' at all and her voice holds that emotion.

Llewella nods approvingly. "Conner and Brita seem appropriate. They show a balanced level of concern on your part, without the trappings of panic or weakness."

Celina goes on to discuss possible locations of the 'Trump arrival' with Llewella so she can send a message to Conner and Brita. She suggests the Torch Gate, that place at the wall immediate to the boulevard that folks arrive at by way of Paris. She votes against any of the dry rooms inside the palace.

Llewella considers the matter for a moment before replying. "I don't think much of them, but as long as they are outside the city and watched, they should be of little harm for now. But will they be safe in a century? Think on the idea of opening up a way to the very gates of Rebma, forever."

Celina hesitates and nods once. "Yes. I will suggest two units be stationed at the Gate with watch times that overlap. Incorruptible commanders from disparate units should add a layer of honor to the duty. I agree it is a risk." She looks deeply in Llewella's eyes. "I spend too much time thinking about forever now. Which brings me to other matters I'd like to talk about with you. I'll make effort to arrange them in the order of importance to Rebma. Do any artifacts belonging to your mother remain in Rebma? Besides the Scepter, Throne and Jewel, were there mirrors that she Used? Did Moins have a Triton favorite and is that worthy still about? I might gain something by talking to him. And since our family blood is mysterious and ultimately potent, where is Moins' shrine and who else is related to my maternal grandmother? Or was your mother's death such that a body was never recovered to honor? I am trying to gather the best understanding of Rebma's armor and weak spots."

Llewella holds up her hand. "Too much, let's start with the easy one.." She pauses. "The Queen has a monument on the hill above the castle, near to where were create monuments in Amber. It was put up by the regency council. I was in Amber at the time, for my own protection. Moins was buried on the field, but later, her body was returned to Rebma."

Celina looks as if she did not expect this. "I shall visit. Perhaps even spend a night there." She brings her hands to her face and rubs her eyes. "Yes, I must. It is only right." Celina stops and looks at her aunt. "For your own protection?"

She nods. "I was young, and the war was close. If Moins and Moire both perished, the queen's line would continue. I took Rilsa and came to Amber. I was also there to make the case for Amber's aid."

"Ah," Celina says and nods. "Maybe this detail is not important, but you said her body was returned to Rebma as if someone not Rebman did that for us. Did the Tritons fetch her from battlefield burial?"

Llewella looks unhappy. "To this day I do know know how she fell, or how she was returned. It was a part of the peace your mother negotiated with the sea reavers. I was the child of her old age, and the best I can tell is that my mother seemed tired of living."

This answer resonates with Celina and also saddens her. What failures? What love lost that you would be tired of your own dream? What regrets allow for such a death? Facing what tired Moins will be part of wedding Rebma. That flaw will be there waiting. Celina nods once in sympathy. "It might be unlikely that the Queen would take the Jewel of Rebma into combat in far shadows. Were you a child of curiosity and mischief....is there a place in the Queen's chamber where things get hidden? I'm seeking any tools Moins might have used. Mirrors or such-like." And would Llewella know something Moire did not? It strikes Celina that Moire had used the jewel but did not wed it. Perhaps the jewel could not be removed from Rebma by Moins will and waited to be discovered somewhere in a mirror or higher level of Order right around the corner.

She shakes her head, and her hair slowly follows the motion. "That was long ago, and I was too young to accomplish much. Anything Moins had was Moire's for centuries. If you wish to find those things, you must search her effects." Llewella straightens. "Khela found nothing she could use in them, or so she told me."

I did my best. And failed. I've had so many failures since I got here. Celina smothers the impulse in her muscles to straighten in sympathy with Llewella. They are both hurting. Khela's name brings all the sparking pain to mind. We walk Moins' Pattern in ignorance and courage. Moire did not know enough and would not share. But it still feels like I am responsible. Celina pushes the grim thoughts away for later. Her sleep comes at night only after many questions. "Aunt, you and I and Conner are the best guardians the City has. I will search. I will take the Palace apart if I have to. I've done the cursory searches and Khela was sincere. I've found nothing. But that could mean that Moire found nothing also. So we will look. I could use your experience on that project. You know the Palace better than I. Let's peel its secrets away and at least put us on better footing with Moire's agents."

Llewella nods. "I can help you with that, at least. We may not like what we find."

"We may not," Celina agrees quietly. "In the interim, and to make the task of palace secret-extractor easier, will you accept the duties of being my heir until I arrange for a child? I assume that your promises to Moire about the succession are no longer restraining?"

Llewella's body stiffens, and it's clear that she's suppressing a physical reaction. "You could revoke those orders, but you should not. Thank you for the offer, but I am better suited for a role as advisor. I did not object to Moire's actions because I knew I would not be a fit Queen. Give it over to another, or leave it unclear, as Moins, Moire and Father did. The true succession will rest on the person with the ability to take the city, if you die."

"I understand," Celina does not say she'll never mention it again, but as she agrees with Llewella's reasons.... she lets it go. "Let's talk a bit about what Rebma was like when you were a girl."

Llewella lets her niece change the subject. "It's more like the present than it ever was. We, too were rebuilding after a war that we had won, but at a cost. I didn't spend much time in the city, because I was a threat to Moire, but I came here when I couldn't stand Amber any more..."

It's clear she's not recounting fond memories.

Finding himself at loose ends as he waits for Trumps to be made and Huon retrieval plans to be finalized, Conner decides to go on a ramble through the palace. His intention is to informally drop in on just about everyone, magicians and scouts, that he set tasks for and see if any of them have turned up a lead to Moire or anything else of import.

The scouts are away scouting, which is a positive sign.

The mages don't as a class, have any information that is useful. The stories you here are of prophetic dreams that must be interpreted, spirits that must be cajoled into providing information, and counterspells to be defeated.

Lamell nods as Conner enters. "I was about to send you a note. A mirrorsmith was found dead in her studio in town. Murdered. No one knows why."

"Most interesting. Do you anything about this mirrorsmith? Was this person ever employed by the nobility for example?" Conner asks with interest.

Lamell nods. "He was one of the few who was. Which is why it was notable, Your Grace. It may be coincidence, or he may even have gotten sucked into the mages squabbling, but it should be looked into, and I have no idea if the Queen even has someone filling the role of Bend in her court yet."

"I am told Her Majesty is considering openings for the position but at the moment, I am the Emergency Back-up Montage so you did well to inform me. Thank you." Conner gets the address of the Mirrorsmith from Lamell, send the Queen a message explaining where he is going and why, and then heads out with a few soldiers of Khela's guard that just became policeman. It was time to investigate.

Conner and his guards arrive outside the address given. The building is in a fashionable shopping district, and the storefront has an actual window of glass. There also seems to be a warehouse/workshop behind the store. It is all locked and apparently vacant. Neighboring businesses are open, in the late afternoon way that suggests that they are hoping not to be, soon.

Conner sends the guards around the building to see if there is any way into the building. If there isn't Conner uses his array of lockpicking skills and/or a bit of muscle to enter and search the building.

After the guards return, Conner gets the door open easily. The floor of the room is covered with shards of mirrors and blood floats in the water. The body is no longer present, but cleaning up a murder scene in Rebma must be a very, very difficult job.

This looks like what it is: the home, store, and workshop of a well-to-do craftsman of Rebma. Only a few mirrors are shattered, and they aren't shattered completely. It looks as if the place was searched, either by the killer or by whoever else might be investigating.

Celina examines the construct plans from the Craft Masters once again and finishes her salt tea. She finally nods, writes 'make it so' and signs her name in the corner of the wax tablet.

There will never be a body at this shrine, but it will give history and sacrifice a tangible meaning, forever. Or until the universe ends. Or I do... at which point Lark can worry about the rest.

Celina now records the wax plans in a series of desktop mirrors that she has gathered to this purpose. Up until now, she's practiced and merged the line images in a rough ghost of the actual shrine in miniature for consideration during progress of the set. But now with the lines more complete, she sculpts light for a time, adding shadows, color, and finally setting a bright green flame beneath the two feminine hands, one lean, one young, that touch fingertips at the centerpiece. Each layer of illusion requires another mirror. When she aligns the tiny Green Flame Mirror and sees it all in the final form she smiles. Then the tears start flowing.

The shrine won't be beautiful or glorious, but it is spare, fierce and cunningly made. These are the tastes and touches she needs to remember Khela and say 'farewell'.

Celina abruptly lowers her head into her hands. Her fingers drag and massage her temples as she quietly sobs. Her eyes do not leave the shimmering model of light and shadow on her desktop and her tears wash over the image in currents moving the entire concept into soft focus. She nods a 'farewell' and thanks Lir that they both did not die on the Pattern.

Not having died, it becomes most probable that she must live.