Underwater Catch-Up

Having arranged to catch up with Brennan shortly, Fletcher steps off into an unoccupied corner with the borrowed trump.

He ponders the portrait of Random on the card, noting the differences in style from the older trumps he has. He applies the requisite concentration to activate the trump and waits for a connection to form.

"You majesty, it is Sir Fletcher. I have news from Rebma regarding Huon's surrender."

Random holds a hand out to someone who Fletcher can't see. He is smiling and holding a glass of wine. "Yes? That sounds good. What's the news?"

Remembering previous conversations, Fletcher decides to front-load his report. "They have an agreement in principal that he'll stay in Rebma for a time under house arrest, and share intelligence on his collaborators. They're still ironing out details. There's some question of whether he has any surviving family. But they've agreed not to kill him. Also, Droit is on his way to Xanadu. Shall I tell Celina that you're prepared to recognize her as Queen of Rebma, or should I press for something more? It seems a bit premature for trade negotiations until we can get regular travel between Xanadu and Rebma. In my travels I've ridden along the river path to Paris from Xanadu but these things take time." He pauses and waits for Random to comment, entertaining the hope that Random remembers what Fletcher's mission was to begin with.

"So wait, the family that may not exist has agreed not to kill Huon? That's mighty sporting of them. I'll think up something to do with Droit. Maybe he can retire to Amber, unless Llewella insists on keeping him. If she asks, she's welcome to him, of course. We won't have a direct path to Rebma, because we're closest to Tir and Paris on the Queen's Road, but see what she's willing to offer. No need to give away what we can trade." Random's glass, held at arm's length gets filled up by someone. He smiles in their direction, then turns his attention back to Fletcher.

"Right. I'll let Llewella know about Droit. Any instructions on Celina? Any other concessions you're looking for?"

Random blows out a long sigh. "Not really. See what she'll offer. Xanadu is, as they say, 'that kind of a trade partner'. We're easy, but it works out better if everyone pretends we're not.

"Also, let Llewella come to you on Droit. If she wants her boy, she can ask."

Fletcher nods. "Understood. If that is all, then by your majesty's leave I'll return to affairs in Rebma."

Random smiles, then frowns. "Good for you, but be careful. That doesn't always turn out well. Carry on."

Fletcher salutes in farewell, probably after Random has already severed the connection. He returns the borrowed trump and takes care of some shopping before looking up Sir Brennan.

Brennan gives Dignity a friendly clap on the shoulder, by way of telling him that he's said enough. Then, pressing a ruby signet into his hand, says, "Wear it well. You've earned it," before sending him off to celebrate.

Once Dignity departs, Brennan sees that Ambrose is unoccupied, and moves over. Most of the members of court are present, but Court seems to be over, and Brennan's demeanor shows it-- Brennan is rarely accused of an excess of warmth, but the formalities of court are now gone, and his bearing is more relaxed. He grasps his brother by the forearm, saying, "I'm glad to see you, and in better circumstances than our last meeting. How is Tayanna?"

Ambrose returns the clasp. "Not well, I'm sorry to say. Her--" he pauses, considering his words, finally settling on "--degeneration is advancing in Xanadu, which is suggestive. Sometimes I wonder how old she really is." He doesn't follow that line of thought any further, but changes the subject instead. "I've moved all of our father's code wheels into Fiona's lab to preserve them. I'm not sure we could reconstruct them from memory if anything happened to them."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Brennan says. Brennan may feel worse for its effects on Ambrose, but that doesn't make it less true. For a moment, it looks as though Brennan is going to press the subject, but he allows at least a partial diversion from Tayanna. "That's probably wise," Brennan says. "My memory is good, but not that good. And Fi is on my list of people to talk to in the near future." An offer to carry Ambrose's regards, or any message he might care to send, would fit perfectly into the structure of the sentence but remains unspoken.

"I take it from your presence, and Brita's, that the people have been settled in Xanadu?" The question is open-ended by design.

Ambrose nods to the mention of Fiona; Brennan's oblique offer has been heard, and, he suspects, taken under advisement.

"They have been moved to Xanadu and given instructions. 'Settled' is probably overstating the case, but they are beginning to adjust. They will lose their culture quickly, or perhaps stir it into the melting pot that is Xanadu, but that is what the King wishes, I believe. In a few generations, our kin will be the only ones who understand what the code wheels are for." Ambrose seems more resigned than upset about that.

"You ride high in the Queen's favor, brother."

"Conner, too," Brennan says, with a twist to his mouth that looks like it's trying to be a smirk and a frown at the same time. "I don't think anyone expected a pair of hardworking Redheaded boys to end up as senior advisors in a Rebman regime, but for my part, it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Twice. I think you know the first part: Tracking the Eater here, and so forth. I really need to track that thing down and kill it, one of these days," he mutters. "And then, Khela's death."

"I had hardly known she was Queen." Ambrose looks around at the remainder of court. "I have many questions, but they are not for this company, I think. Nor, perhaps, talk of the Eater. Shall we find a more private place to speak, with Her Majesty's permission?"

Brennan, though he hadn't been speaking very loudly, glances around the room, then nods. In the time he's been in Rebma, Brennan has scouted out a number of quieter places in the palace, a few of which are even unadorned by Rebma's many mirrors. It is to one of these places that he leads Ambrose.

Ambrose follows, noting the lack of mirrors and nodding his understanding and approval. "Tell me of Khela, then, brother, if you would, and what you know of Silhouette and her embassy from Huon, and then we will talk of measures we might take against the Eater." He settles in for what he clearly expects to be a long story.

Brennan accepts the question because he did broach the topic himself and because, when you get down to it, he does want a sympathetic ear to talk to. "Khela," he says. "It happens rarely, but even among Family there are some people you meet, and you're not just fast friends, but it feels as though you've been friends before you ever met. Jovian. Cambina. Khela was one of those. You've heard the story of how I got to Rebma the first time, yes?"

[If not, Brennan tells that, but I will mercifully spare the readers of going through that again: Weyland, Plain of Towers, Eater, following it to Rebma through an intersection with the Faiella-Bionin, Parting the Veil with Conner, Trumping the blood golem back out to Amber.]

"Some of that shouldn't have been possible, the trick with the Veil, especially. That's one of many reasons I wanted a closer look at Rebma's Pattern, along with the stubborn thought that if Amber and Rebma are tied together, than Amber's demise might mean something for Rebma. Khela had become queen in the aftermath-- she was seen as having defended Rebma against Huon, as opposed to absent Moire. I'd worked out a number of ways to get into the chamber, but a consultation with King Random gave me the easiest: Just conjure a key." Brennan pauses to see if that possibility is news to Ambrose or not.

"The reason I brought the key to Rebma was to carefully examine the Pattern and its chamber," Brennan says, "In my mind, the final proof of it would have been to walk the thing myself. That wasn't Khela's plan, though. She and Celina walked it right then and there. At the same time." Again, Brennan pauses to see what Ambrose thinks of that particular piece of tomfoolery. "Celina made it through. Khela... didn't. She never came out."

Ambrose listens to the whole story, nodding and asking for clarifications as needed. At the news of the Patternwalking, and its outcome, he's visibly shocked. "What in the name of--Why did they do that?" He realizes his mouth is literally hanging open, so he closes it. "I knew before I walked that I would have to prepare myself, but I never contemplated walking with another person. Celina is fortunate indeed that she didn't perish as well."

Belatedly, he remembers to add, "I'm sorry for her loss, and yours."

Brennan can only close his eyes with a blank expression, and shake his head. Sentimental love, a complete disregard for consequences, and a profound lack of understanding are not fit sentiments to express for a dead friend. "I know it," he says. "I think Celina knows it too, now, and doesn't need to be reminded. Once they started, all I could do was watch in horror-- there was not a single damned thing I could think to do that wouldn't have made it worse. When they were close enough that they were about the same point, I knew it had all gone to hell. What's not entirely clear to me is if the tragedy was the result of both walking, or some... intrinsic... of Khela."

The story seems to have, at least for a moment, driven the questions Ambrose wanted to ask from his head. Finally, he looks around to be sure that they're not being observed. "The Pattern only accepts those of the royal blood, or so I'm told. Are we... certain... of Khela's heritage?"

"Apparently not," Brennan says, speaking in that characteristic way people have when they don't want to be lip-read even if they can't see an observer... or a mirror. "If you'd like to ask our Aunt for the details, though, be my guest." By tone, Brennan doesn't expect that to happen.

"Even so, I'm not sure it's quite so simple. Dara mastered it at some great descent from our Uncle, yes, but do you think Cleph could manage it?" Brennan seems skeptical, but even if they're not bosom buddies, Ambrose knows Cleph better than Brennan. "Or Grandmother?" Here, Brennan's skepticism is more concrete. A thought occurs to him, though, and he continues to keep his voice low: "I do wonder about Fletcher's sister." He doesn't mean Lilly.

Ambrose starts shaking his head in response to Brennan's first question."Cleph would never survive. He's too disordered. But I would have thought that of Dara, too. As for the progenitor," he considers his words for a moment. Finally he says, "I'm not certain she, or it, survives in a recognizable form. I think it may have spawned by fission the final time. That's a guess, though."

Brennan nods, somewhat in agreement, somehwat in anticipation of Ambrose's assessment of Cleph. He sifts through memories of old conversations, and adds of Dara the Elder, voice still pitched low, "You may be right. Madoc and Borel were both alive and present for Grandmother's wedding. Lintra was obviously alive. But of her own mother..." Brennan shrugs. "Grandmother has always been silent. Uncharacteristically so." But then, any silence would be. "Even when pressed. It's hardly important, but that gap in my understanding has always been an irritation."

"That gap in my understanding has always been something of a relief," Ambrose mutters. "Perhaps there's someone we could ask of that. Someone old enough to remember." He ticks through people in his head, clearly figuring out that's a very small number.

Brennan's already done the calculation and probably ends up with about the same number of people. Or entities. Some of those, Ambrose would probably have better luck with than Brennan, and vice versa, but all Brennan does is nod, and shelve the topic.

"Here's a question on a less sensitive topic," Brennan says. "What do you know about the Faiella-Bionin? Have there been any mentions in the notes?" It is probably clear that this is not a topic shift for its own sake, but a matter of import for Brennan. But rather than hammering his brother with specific questions, Brennan gives him a chance to think and go with it where he will.

Ambrose narrows his eyes and thinks about this question. "I know that it extended from Rebma to Amber to Tir in the old days, and that now it extends from Paris to Rebma on one end and from Xanadu to Tir in another. Either there's a fragment between Paris and Xanadu that we haven't identified, or the code wheel used to inscribe the universe has changed. Or at least had some of the segments rotated, which seems to have happened anyway."

What an interesting turn of phrase, Brennan doesn't say.

There's a long pause, and Ambrose adds, "I'm trying to remember what, if anything, he wrote about the Faiella-Bionin. It strikes me that he might have mentioned it, just not under that name."

"I've heard just about everyone refer to it as the Queens' Gift, of course," Brennan says. "And I've heard Fiona and Dworkin refer to it as the Great Road, in private."

At this point Fletcher approaches, pausing slightly at a medium distance away to make sure he's spotted before he gets to conversational distance. "Hello again Amrbose. Brennan? I was hoping we could pick up on our previous conversation about roadwork before we're needed at Court again."

Brennan smiles when he sees Fletcher's approach, and waves him over: "Perfect timing, actually. Ambrose and I were just beginning a related discussion. Please, join us."

"Indeed," Ambrose says. He waits for Fletcher to join them before continuing, "I'm familiar with those terms as well, but I presumed you were more interested in less common information." For Fletcher's benefit, he adds, "I'm researching, translating rather, some papers that my father left after his death."

"I am," Brennan says, "but I'm not sure what information is common and what isn't. And those," Brennan repeats them for Fletcher's benefit, "are the only terms for it I've heard." He scowls in thought, searching his memory for old conversations. "Or perhaps not. Weyland referred to it, and the Cities along it, as a crown. That was more in the way of a metaphor, I thought, not an actual name. But that, and other things, have given me very strong reason to believe that the road forms a ring or a cycle, not just a chain from A to B." Brennan sounds as though he is hedging his language only out of Redheaded habit, not because he is uncertain of the road's topology.

Fletcher shares, "It is, in effect, a siege wall, with the Patterns as towers. So I could easily believe it to be circular. I have not tested that theory, but aim to. The proscription on visiting Tir may pose a problem though."

Brennan nods at Fletcher's description of it as a wall-- it's not the first time he's thought in those terms, but it may be the first time he's heard anyone else say it out loud.

Ambrose, used to the sort of elliptical thinking characteristic of the redheads, says, "Or you could approach Tir from the other direction." His voice doesn't quite rise enough to make it a question, either. The resemblance between his tone and Brennan's is particularly pronounced.

Fletcher manages to contain his amazement at Ambrose's keen understanding of the term 'circular.' He continues. "And so just as at the road leads here, it follows that it must lead beyond here. I'm keeping my mind open on the number of towers along the wall. But yes, it must lead eventually to Tir. And so I'm hoping to pick up the trail here in Rebma. Are you game?"

"Five, I would expect," Brennan says. "From Tir-na Nog'th, down the stairs to Xanadu when the time is right. From Paris through that underground tunnel down to Rebma. I would guess that waterfall from Xanadu leads, ultimately, down to Paris, although I don't know it for certain."

Ambrose shakes his head slightly and says, "The river," but that seems to be a thought he'll work out later.

"Rebma has no extension to the road at its surface level or going up, that I've been able to find," Brennan gives Ambrose a terse mathematical description of the technique, since he's either figured it out himself, read about it in Brand's notes, or will be able to work the rest out even if he hasn't. "Which leaves down, again, and I have a good notion where the next leg is. And another guess tells me it goes to Avalon." There are guesses and there are guesses-- Brennan is reasonably confident about the ones he just made. And by inference, he's going with or without company.

At the mention of Avalon, Ambrose nods; this appears to be the answer he expected.

"My question, though," and Brennan looks to both Ambrose and Fletcher, "is why is it there? If it's a natural formation, why does it bear Faiella's name? If it's a made object, then how? And who was Faiella to make such a thing?"

"Based on some things I've seen in the notes, I would guess it would require an expenditure of power on the scale of creating a Pattern in the first place. And the same set of tools that would be required to create a Pattern." Ambrose doesn't sound entirely certain of that. "That's an initial approximation. I haven't done, as you say, the mathematics."

That visibly gets Brennan's attention-- he had idly considered and then discarded the notion that a Jewel would be required. Hearing the idea echoed independently from Ambrose pushes it from the discard pile to the possible pile. And, after a few moments' marination, pushes up the urgency of finding and questioning Weyland again. But first things first.

"I knew her at the end of her era. I would not have estimated her as being capable of such workings, but then again if she was, one would expect she would not advertise it. Certainly the path did not bear her name, nor was it as easily-navigated prior to her death. The truth may not be knowable at this point. But the current state can be determined. Where shall we start?" Fletcher seems ready to begin at a moment's notice.

"Probably by talking to Queen Celina," Brennan says. "If we expect to find Avalon and Benedict at the other end of the road, the trip takes on a dimension of statescraft, and I would not deny the Queen her opportunity to send messages or even a delegation to Benedict. But this raises another question: No one seems surprised at this place called Avalon being at the other end of the road. Is this something Brand intentionally left out of my education, such as it was? I think it's safe to say I know nothing of the place beyond inferences from a few bits of conversation over the past few months."

Fletcher's court upbringing determines his reply. "It is not my father's 'style' to come out and actually tell people important facts. However I've reached that conclusion that Avalon is on the road, and would very much like to confirm that conclusion. I have a standing invitation to visit there. I am not certain how many other cousins may have reached this same conclusion. However it certainly explains the social dynamic between King Random, King Corwin, and my father. Which brings me to a concern about the idea of bearing messages from Celina. I am here as an unofficial representative of Uncle Random, who has yet to formally acknowledge Celina as the rightful Queen of Rebma. As far as I know no formal diplomatic relations between Rebma and Avalon exist. Although I would of course be happy to carry messages for my cousin, I would not want my actions to be misconstrued. I have sworn no oaths to Celina, nor have I sworn fealty to Random. Further, although we have reached certain conclusions about the nature of the road we will take, we do not yet know for certain that the path is safe. We probably shouldn't take responsibility for escorting ambassadors from Celina. I'm all for talking to her though. I'm convinced that it's just a matter of time before other monarchs formally recognize her claim to the throne. I suggest we find the beginnings of the trail out of Rebma first though, so as not to waste her valuable time and energy if we are unable to find it."

"I've heard the name 'Avalon' mentioned in some other context," Ambrose says, "but I don't recall the context. We can ask--" there's a slight hesitation before Ambrose changes direction on whatever he was about to say "--the archivists here. Perhaps they'll know. But my sense is that there must be at least one further anchor point along the road. This Avalon is a place ruled by a powerful family member. It's at least a strong candidate for an anchor."

Brennan affects not to notice Ambrose's change in direction. If anything, it's Fletcher's lack of an oath to Random that gets his attention. "I've sworn to both," Brennan says, "And if you think that's not a tightrope..." he shrugs. "Let's hope the formal recognition comes quickly. But there's another reason to consult with Celina before heading off. I expect there are Tritons between us and the hypothetical Avalon Veil. And, though I hear your concerns, there's another element of this that touches on matters of state: It's simply vital for Celina to know something about the ways in and out of Rebma. I'm not exactly worried about an Avalonian invasion," not least of which because if Benedict launched it, the best course of action would be to leave town, "but because every other non-Family member interested in Rebma will consider it important. I've been working on the admittedly paranoid assumption that Moire knows all about it." Brennan pauses to let that idea float for a moment.

"And remember, the Eater was drawn into the Parisian branch as well. I'd really very much like to know," Brennan says, "exactly how that happened."

Fletcher nods. "Fair enough. Shall we hunt up the beginnings of the trail then?"

"If you mean right now, I've just arrived," Ambrose points out. "But if Moire knows about it, and she must, we mustn't wait too long."

"Fortunately," Brennan says, "I haven't exactly been idle. I've already followed the Faiella-Bionin from the Paris Veil as close to Rebma's Pattern as possible. It's not too tough once you see the trick of it, but the closer you are to the Pattern, the more the Pattern swamps out the sensation. I've already circled around the City and I know it doesn't come out the other side. And it doesn't go up. Looking at the lay of the land, knowing how the Road follows it..."

Brennan shrugs. "I have two good guesses where to look. One is some sort of sacred cave, guarded by Tritons. The other is a Triton Temple." Thus the previous comment about Tritons being between it and them.

"Righto then. I guess we see Celina first. [I'll] head back to the palace and check her calendar."

[On the assumption that Fletcher's departed...]

Once the goodbyes are exchanged, Brennan turns back to Ambrose, with something between concern for Ambrose and annoyance on Ambrose's behalf on his face. "No one's given you the rundown on the most recent Family Meeting-- I hadn't realized. Let me remedy that."

He's given his version of the Huon Blood Golem story so often that it sounds rehearsed. Brennan prefers not to dwell on, so it's an economical tale. He also gives a sketch of the discussion of the Dragon(s) of Arden and Nedra. Once the summary turns to the Moonriders, Brennan slows down because it is relevant to what just happened, and to their shared project:

Knowing that it sounds like something out of a shadow-tale, he is explicit about the requirement not to name the Queen of Air and Darkness out loud. He gives the descriptions of the Moonriders' granted abilities that he's collected from Family members, followed by his own brief analysis of how he'd fight against it with Pattern or Sorcery. (Despite himself, he likely sounds curious enough to be looking forward to an encounter.)

"...And somewhere in that discussion is when Benedict casually confirmed that there are two routes into Tir-na Nog'th, and that he's securing the one that isn't Xanadu. So: Tir-na Nog'th to Xanadu to Paris to Rebma... and eventually to Avalon and back to Tir-na Nog'th. I suppose it is just possible that there's another leg along the Road, but I wouldn't bet on it." Brennan finishes.

Ambrose has been nodding along, in some parts well behind but in others, well ahead. None of the news of the Moonriders seems to be a terrible surprise, although some of it is new. And obviously the bit about the second road to Tir isn't entirely a surprise.

"This all ties in to more of our father's papers. His project was not intended to resolve matters with the Moonriders, but he believed that as a side effect of repairing the flaws in Tir and restoring the balance of the Universe, he would undo the processes that had made the Moonriders what they are and end their war with Amber forever."

"It was my understanding-- or received wisdom, at any rate-- that the Moonriders were made what they are by an act of their Queen," Brennan says, frowning. "Assuming both versions are correct, that implies that--"

Brennan stops so abruptly, the rest of his sentence unspoken crashes into his teeth as he follows the intuition and the logic. At last, "She did this to herself?"

"That's the likeliest interpretation," Ambrose says neutrally, trying not to twitch. "Our father's research says they're bound together. Either there's a flaw in the Tir Pattern which made her that way or a flaw in her that echoed as the damage to the Tir Pattern. For him, the beginning was somewhat academic; it was effecting the repair that was key."

There is a great deal that Brennan could say in response, on the subject of madness and Patterns, and not caring about causes or consequences. What he does say is, "How did he describe the fundamental flaw?" Brennan asks. "Or for that matter, the final fix?"

"Early notes involved an exercise of erasure and rewriting of damage," Ambrose says, still struggling to maintain his neutrality. "Ultimately, and perhaps all along, he believed that Tir was not the correct venue for the exercise. It's not clear how he derived the existence of the Primal Pattern, if he did, or whether he was simply told it existed. Either I haven't deciphered that part of the notes, or they don't exist any longer."

Brennan makes a noise not entirely unlike a grunt. "Well. Knowing that the Faiella-Bionin is a ring leads to the obvious question, 'What's at the center?'" he says. "I think it would not be difficult to find out that way." It works the other way, too-- knowing of the Primal and the Road, makes it easy to conceive the Road as a ring structure. "As for the rest," Brennan blows water out of puffed cheeks, the way one would blow air above the surface. There seem to be a lot of leaps, here, and unfounded conclusions. "We've been talking about a flaw in Tir's Pattern, and an imbalance in the universe-- are these the same things?"

"I think so," Ambrose says, frowning. "But it was not an imbalance created by our father, but one pre-existing. And if his plan had worked as intended, the Moonriders would have been undone. That suggests that if our father was right, and such a flaw existed, the recreation of the universe didn't fix it."

The resemblance between Brennan and his brother is probably never stronger than when frowning at something that just doesn't make sense. If so, Brennan resembles Ambrose for some time, in silence, thinking. At length, he says, "Is it possible that his goal was not to fix Tir-na Nog'th directly, but to modify the Primal in such a way that the rest of the universe could better accommodate it? This might possibly explain why Oberon put it back the way Dworkin created it, if he simply preferred the status quo."

Left unsaid is that the status quo did not involve Brand effectively becoming God.

Ambrose picks his words carefully here. "I don't think his original plans took the Primal into account properly. That seems to have been a later--refinement?" He wrinkles his nose a little. "I conclude that the flaw that damaged Dworkin was not the flaw that damaged the Queen. If she is still damaged, which, if the hypothesis about the Moonriders being linked to her is correct, she must still be. But resolving the problem of the Queen was always secondary to the problem of restoring Dworkin."

"There is still so much that we don't understand," Brennan muses. "Why would the Primal be an appropriate venue to fix an issue with Tir's Pattern? What is so dire about her intentions that no one will even mention them? What was done to cause this, and why?

Although Brennan would love to hear answers to any of those questions, he's really just musing. And with every mused question, his mind ratchets one more position toward more practical, smaller questions that they might be able to answer in the near future. The ratchet turns once more, and the question is a more serious one: "When was this flaw made? My guess is sometime after Benedict's birth, but before Brand's, which is... quite a long stretch of time, really. And who was the Queen, anyway-- not her name, but who was she?"

"I don't know." Ambrose puts up his hands in a gesture that isn't fast enough to be properly described as "throwing them up" but indicates he's no less frustrated, and probably moreso than Brennan. "Where our father is concerned, it's never clear what's going on, or even in some cases the order of the notes. But he was convinced the problem with Dworkin was tied to the problem of Tir, and that solving the problem of Dworkin would solve the problems of Tir and the Moonriders. But clearly he was wrong, or Dworkin preferred not to have his problem solved. Maybe the rest of the notes will shed more light."

"We can hope," Brennan says. "I would offer to help-- in fact, I'd like to help-- but," he shrugs. "I seem to have fallen into a position of responsibility, and for the moment, Avalon is next on the agenda for too many reasons to ignore or delegate. Maybe I can learn something from Benedict that will give us some context."

After a pause, Brennan adds, "I know you have responsibilities in Xanadu, but I don't need to consult with Celina to tell you that you're welcome here. And I--" know I haven't been much of a brother, but I--" am glad you came. I missed your advice."

"I'm glad I could provide some, even if it only ends up with us asking more questions than we answered," Ambrose says with a wry smile.

Conner congratulates the new Sir Dignity and then slips to the side to join his sister. "I do hope you are in the mood for seafood, my sister. Royal audiences always seem to trigger my appetite. Quite frankly, I'm not sure how the palace chefs are coping with so many Family to feed." Conner chuckles. "Come, let's repair to somewhere more private and talk."

Brita gives a ready grin. "I Love Seafood! Have you tried the Sushi?" She chats about various dishes as she follows Conner to an appropriate nook and he orders enough food for them from a passing servant. When they are alone with their feast, she says,"Brother, Are you Truly Alright with these New Responsibilities? I Mislike that You are Tied to This Realm."

Conner does not answer right away but busies himself with picking out a bowl of ceviche from the assembled dishes. "I will admit that this was not the original plan, my sister." Conner answers with a wry smile. "I followed Celina under the waves because she had come to my defense and was following a trail to a Pattern blade as I was. Neither of us expected to find it on Khela's hip or at the center of a three sided war. The more I learned about the threats to Rebma's Pattern without and within, it became clear that Rebma's Pattern and its blade needed a defender. A swift analysis of the most likely options for such a person separated them into two camps: me and someone I trusted less than me." Conner chuckles. "So I made my play for the sword. I would have been fine with serving Khela but now with Celina on the throne." Conner's smile becomes warmer. "She's a friend and she needs all the help she get. So here I will stay."

Brita is picking apart an odd bit of sushi, pulling out long green fronds that bush out of the small tidbit. Her expression is intent. "Stay," she repeats. "You Will make a Stalwart Defender of Watery Rebma. But you will Likely get All Pruny from Being in the Water. When you Come Airside to Visit, I will have to Pull Water Around you so you won't Dry Up," She swishes water at him playfully but he can see a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

"As befits a matriarchal society, the water down here doesn't cause wrinkles." Conner chuckles. He floats over and places a hand over hers. "We've had many meeting and partings each to our own dangers before now dear sister. Why so worried this time?"

Brita's hand turns and clasps his strongly. She smiles but her brow is furrowed as she says, "There have been Too Many Deaths. You will Not Be One." She shakes his hand in emphasis, then her real smile returns. "I Know You will Be Careful and you Will Call if you Need me." She shakes off the seriousness. "So, What do you Need From me while I am Here?"

"Well if you had the time to paint a few Trumps, I think we would all be ecstatic." Conner starts. "If nothing else, I would love a sketch of me and Halosydne here looking all Bleysian like his Trump." Conner chuckles. "More interesting though, how would you like to go hunting soldiers, Tritons, dragons and Unicorn knows what else through a giant kelp forest?"

Brita's head cocks to the side as she looks at him with a painter's eye. "A Bleysian Trump I can Make For You," she smiles. "Spending Time with You will Help me Finish Sooner - Where is this Kelp Forest?" She seems ready to go now.

"Roughly where Arden is in relation to Amber." Conner answers. "The Kelp Forest of Nedra is where the Sons of the Dragon and their Mother originate from. Brennan went investigating out that way and found evidence of camps that indicate some of Huon's troops have retreated that way. I've been meaning to venture into the Kelplands in search of a few answers but that news shifts it to a higher priority. After all, I now hold the title of Warden. I'm considering commissioning a suit of white shell armor just to keep the whole reflection thing going."

"A Watery Forest Arden?" Brita muses. "When do you Wish to Proceed?"

"Well that will depend on the timing of Huon's arrival as I would like to be on hand for that." Conner replies. "Otherwise in a day or so would suit me. I would of course be more comfortable going far afield if I had a reliable way to be contacted if there was trouble here and a swift way back. Ever since the battle with Huon I have been leery of Parting the Veil."

Brita looks a little quizzical at the last, but says "I Will Make some Trump Sketches in the few days we have. They will Not be As Stable, but they Will Help for Developing the Trumps. I Would be Interested in Knowing if Our Uncle Remembers me from His Brother's Walk or if That was Another Uncle."

"Or if that was a Huon from the past or a Huon from the future." Conner shrugs. "I will admit that the possibility of altered time beneath our feet is a disturbing one. I too will be curious to see if he remembers you. Fortunately, you are a memorable sight and that should help to jog his memory." Conner chuckles.

Brita preens a little under the praise from her brother, then says "I have some Supplies to Acquire for my Sketches, but you could Show me Your Thoughts on the Best Place for a Return Trump of Watery Rebma."

"We shall want to check with Her Majesty of course, but I do have a few ideas. There are some air filled rooms in the palace for guests and activities that cannot happen in a watery environment. Should we be able to make one secure I think that would be ideal."

Brita thinks about that for a moment. "I would Think that the Desire would be to have the Place be Outside the Walls. Perhaps at the Exit from the Tunnel, Just where the Palace is First Visible or an Outer Courtyard as with Castle Amber's Trump Entrance?" She doesn't seem to need a response from Conner, but poses several other ideas as they progress to eating their meal and discussing the advantages and disadvantages of various locations.

Following the meeting, Silhouette returns to the solitude of her quarters.

She slips from the confines of her dress - the entwining fabric little more than a nuisance. Her hand moves to the tattoo on her wrist, outlining its sanguine edges with her fingertip. With a soothing noise, she coaxes the creature from beneath her flesh. A clotted mass oozes from her pores like tar, reforming itself into the mockery of avian life. Glassy eyes stare up at her, unblinking, infinitely patient, as she relays the recent discussion - word for word. She finishes with, "Be prepared. I will arrange for your escort to arrive on Asir Island in short order. I will join them, if you require. Otherwise, I shall remain in Rebma until your arrival."

She lightly kisses the creature on its tiny head; the stain of copper lingering on her lips. "Go now," she says, sending the bird on its way.

Truly alone Silhouette sends a note to Celina. My Queen. I request a moment of your time to arrange an escort for Prince Huon. Be it in my quarters, or your domicile, I am at your convenience. She folds the note and sends it to the Queen.

While she awaits Celina's reply, she pulls out a wax writing tablet and begins her daily letter to Vialle. It contains her usual observations of courtly matters and the outcome of the 'Huon Question.' But soon, the letter loses its normal formality, drifting into more intimate currents.

I find myself strangely drawn into this realm of fluid and sensation, where the merest touch sends a ripple throughout one's being and soul. Where a kiss can express a thousand moods or desires. So different from the brutish affections I have encountered above the waves.

Forgive my casualness, but as I wander these streets, I feel a deep melancholy for you. The terrestrial realm is bereft of these intriguing vibrations; current and convection and flux. You must have felt so alive here. And now I fear that my letters may inflict a yearning in you. For that I am sorry.

I wish you were beside me, Vialle. I wish to explore this world through you. To see it as you do. I know, without you to guide me, I shall remain ignorant to its true subtleties. And this inexorable nescience makes me miss you all the more.

Your servant,

Silhouette...

She closes the tablet, and mails it along with some carefully wrapped shells -- their whorled surfaces pleasing to the touch, rather than the eye.

Silhouette will receive a return request to meet at the Queen's diplomacy gallery where she shared breakfast with Silhouette.

Silhouette arrives at the assigned time, casually dressed in a turquoise, tunic-length top and jersey-knit skirt tie-dyed with the full spectrum of undersea colors. The top's ruffled sleeves are short enough to reveal the olive skin of her forearms. Celina might notice that her crimson tattoo has disappeared since their last encounter.

She curtsies, "Forgive me for interrupting you once again, my Queen. I will not steal much of your time."

Celina is at the low quartz table transferring food from a cart to the places set. She looks up as her cousin enters and smiles. "Well then, if you cannot stay to eat, what can I do for you?"

Silhouette returns the smile. A soft chuckle passes over her lips. "I never turn down the opportunity to eat, my Queen. One can never tell when their next meal may come." She joins Celina at the table.

"I sent word to Prince Huon of our concluded negotiations. I may now reveal his request for an escort with an Ambassador from Bellum to travel to Asir Island. Prince Huon will present himself there, and return to Rebma in princely fashion. This is to avoid any complication that might arise, if he simply shows up at your gates unannounced."

She examines the fare, "I would have mentioned this in Court, but I do not trust Brennan to not use that information to his own ends."

Celina dishes some new foods into a bowl and places it in front of Silhouette. "The blue is Krill sauce. How is it not better to meet Prince Huon in the out marches of Rebma and escort him from a known path into our Realm? Why these places he has chosen so far from here?"

Silhouette experimentally tests the sauce, and then nods with approval. A vague shrug, "I abandoned my attempts to understand his Lordship's motivations early into our relationship. I would like to believe he plays the Long Game, but there are moments that I question this notion. There is a touch of the Woodsie Lord in him."

Celina raises a questioning eyebrow. "Woodsie Lord? Please explain that to me a bit. I'm not from around here."

Silhouette smiles and pops another piece of fruit into mouth. "Just an expression, my Queen. The Woodsie Lord. Polúmetis. The Trickster. A personification of Chaos. I am certain Rebma must have one in its mythology."

"Perhaps," Celina pauses. "I'll check as nothing comes to mind. On to other things. Travel to Asir to escort the Prince involves sending resources out-shadow that were never discussed as a condition. This isn't trivial, as the shadow paths are not stable and time can spank even an amberite prince, let alone a cohort of Rebma. We could be talking a journey out and back of months. And of a certainty, while I am moved to cooperate to settle this Family matter, the idea of 'oh-by-the-way' conditions makes me think I should have some of my own in response." Celina shakes her head looking very thoughtful. "In light of how serious this business is, this request seems a bit childish." She looks at Silhouette inviting her opinion.

Silhouette tilts her head, shrugging. "As I've stated before, he is paranoid that he will never be allowed to reach his imprisonment. And from conversations with various cousins, I do not entirely doubt his concerns." She leans forward, a hint of empathy in her voice. "If you are willing, I can send him your Trump, and he will contact you immediately. But, in truth, would it be wise to have such an item floating around?"

"There is no Trump of me," Celina responds. She thinks a few moments, neglecting the meal. "If I give you another message for him, can you still contact him?"

Silhouette frowns, "Not at this immediate moment. Our mode of communication is rather... primitive, and rife with delays. However, he should be contacting me once again within the next day or so. He must inform me whether or not he requires my presence in Amir. I can include whatever message you have at that time." She blinks again, objective curiosity in her shadowy eyes. "Could not one of our cousins create a Trump Sketch of you? I believe that is the terminology Ossian used. Or is this skill a rarity?"

Celina nods, "It is rare. In order to be very effective, the Artist should know the subject passing well and I did not grow up with the Family. It is possible to create one, but we would need to ask a gifted cousin to study me posing, perhaps talk together and make a connection." Celina sighs. "It is on my list of things to do." She laces her hands and considers her options. "When next you exchange messages with Huon, I'll have a response for him that will accommodate his request in some fashion. We need to get this done and move on to other things. So see me before you respond and I'll make a final ruling."

Silhouette dips her head reverently, "I am your servant, my Queen."

Fearless, she reaches across the table and takes Celina's hand. She guides it to her surprisingly warm lips, deftly finding the nerve-clusters on the delicate membranes between the Queen's fingers. While not a 'Rebman' yet, she's definitely been studying the Art. And is a brilliant student.

Her forest-shadow eyes shimmer, "And you, Celina? Are you well? Beyond all the pomp and circumstance, have you found at least a moment's solace?"

Celina studies Silhouette's lips. She does not speak for a few minutes. Then she whispers,

"Whose is the love that, gleaming through the world,
Wards off the poisonous arrow of its scorn?
Whose is the warm and partial praise,
Virtue's most sweet reward?

"Beneath whose looks did my reviving soul
Riper in truth and virtuous daring grow?
Whose eyes have I gazed fondly on,
And loved mankind the more?"

[Queen Mab, Percy Bysshe Shelley 1813]

Celina reaches and traces a finger down Silhouette's face. "I am not well until I am whole again. I am not made for solace. I'm not even sure if I deserve it. Fallen is my queen, Silhouette. You are scraping a wound. I bleed." She shares a sad smile.

Silhouette returns the smile, no judgment or pity in her gaze. When she finally speaks, her voice is melodic, ethereal.

"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angelic orders? And even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.

"For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.

"And so I keep down my heart, and swallow the call-note of my dark sobbing.

"Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need??"

[Duino Elegies (The First), Rainer Maria Rilke, 1912]

She encompasses Celina's hand with her own, guiding it to her heart. It beats with a burning rhythm, like magma stirring in the deepest earth. "I am no angel, Celina. I do not offer solace, and I am incapable of love. I shall never replace your Queen, nor seek that place in your soul. But what I do offer you is sanctuary. A respite from your pain. A time to heal this wound. In my embrace, you shall find either Lethe or Aletheia [truth]. No matter which you choose, I will provide it freely."

Silhouette tilts her head, exposing her delicate throat. "You have only to ask."

"You say you are respite and sanctuary," Celina reaches and puts a second hand on Silhouette's chest she lets her cousin's TaKhi flow through her palms, half watching Silhouette's forest eyes and half listening to the body whisper under her hands. "But I feel fire and iron thorns under my hands. You offer peaceful mind in your arms. But I have peaceful mind in my arms and it is not the strength I covet." Celina runs her palms both up Silhouette's chest, mapping collar bones and sliding up to hold the face lightly at the jaw line. Celina slides from her own seat to Silhouette's perch, but holds herself firm from the floor on the balls of her feet, posture coiled faun-like as if ready to float into her cousin's lap. "Your offers are winsome. You have a delicious throat. But I have yet to become a siren that needs drink the kindness of others to survive. There I think the reality is worse than the myth. Do you hunger for love, Sil? Are you starving? Are you siren?"

At Celina's touch, Silhouette arches her back like a stroked cat. Her pulse races, the embers deep in her chest flaring like a kiln. The stony resolve begins to crack, a purr rumbling in her throat. And yet, her eyes remain dark, distant. "Starving? I do not know hunger, Celina. Beyond my Duty, I need nothing. Not love. Not kindness. And, although, I am a Daughter of the Earth, I am no siren. What I offer you is given unconditionally." She closes her eyes, her weight shifting forward, as if the iron strength has left her.

When she opens her eyes again, her face encompassed by Celina's hands, Silhouette appears almost human. A trembling smile, punctuated by a cynical laugh. "How can one hunger for something they do not know?" She sighs faintly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But can they desire? Oh yes, most certainly."

Celina realizes Sil is younger and less experienced than she supposed if she believes what she is saying. Her expression becomes more maternal and kind, less intense and intrigued. "Take the word of one who knows, the Desire in this blood can sweep you places that are larger than your horizons. Can turn you into something else entirely." She releases Silhouette and eases back, now floating above the floor a few inches just with a simple kick and circle motion of her lower legs. "Huon is coming here. You should consider staying in Rebma a while using his presence as a pretext. Get him to confide more in you, since you are his one natural ally here. Get him to make more of the family history for you. Contact Vialle and strengthen ties between yourself and Xanadu. Start developing all of your strengths so you can make the important choices coming your way."

Silhouette nods lightly, the stone returning to her eyes. "Remaining here for an extended period may be an issue, as your father requires my services in Shadow. However, accommodations may be possible."

Celina settles to the floor slowly. "You are wrong about needing nothing. We will have this interesting conversation again. Rebma has a lot here for you. I'll be a friend if you decide you need one."

Silhouette watches Celina move through the liquid medium, as a wary fish might observe a predator. Her dark eyebrow rises ever-so-slightly, and then her smile falters. "If one desires a worthy adversary, embrace a friend. They know where best to strike," she says without malice. "And I have collected enough enemies for now."

She rises from her seat, "Forgive me, Celina. What rose from Kabeiro's ashes was the creature of Stone standing before you now. And although I wish to please you, to make your body burn, to taste your lips and heat, to serve you in whatever fashion you desire... I would never do you the disservice of becoming a friend." She lightly brushes her fingers through Celina's hair; the salty water erasing the tears in her eyes.

"I could never be so cruel."

Celina breath catches a bit but her voice is sure and steady. "What pleases me is to never have another lover that dies. I don't think you can be that." But she runs her hand down the arm that reaches into her hair. "I'm certain you cannot be that until you prove otherwise. And now I have no appetite. Please excuse me, dear one."

"Then, in that case, I have failed you already, Celina," Silhouette replies, regret snaring in her throat. She catches Celina's hand, gracing her wrist with a tender kiss. "Death embraced me once. Yet here I remain."

At Celina's final words, she curtsies, "My Queen."

Slowly Celina disengages herself from Silhouette's currents and with a final smile leaves for her own quarters to regather her thoughts.