"You were able to allocate the goods then?" Jerod asks, carefully tapping the fine point horsehair brush against the foil leaf to collect the gold flakes, the late morning sun reflecting brilliantly off the square patch carefully laid out on the heavy table in the courtyard, alongside tools and bottles of liquids and chemical and low lying reservoir trays taking their own places.
"Yes, my lor..., your grace." Candid replies, catching himself as he watches Jerod begin applying the gold to part of the background of the porcelain icon, his movements slow and painstaking in their precision. "The size of the caravan was quite large and there was no advance warning, but once we did an initial inventory it was easy to get it sorted out. The stocks are already down a third now that we have been able to put some of them to use. There was only one issue that we could not immediately resolve."
Jerod smiles slightly, more to himself than anything. That he only had to correct Candid once on the title bodes well for him in Random's new realm. He learns fast.
"And the gifts that I gave you?" Jerod inquires, focussing on a ridge line of the icon, being sure to wedge the particulates deep. "They were forwarded through the proper channels?"
"Yes, your grace. Two packages of sea salt chocolate, with suitable ornamentation for the Queen. I personally ensured it was delivered to her secretary with your sealed correspondence. The return receipt is attached to the shipment document here." Candid says, pointing to the folder of papers to one side of the table. "The case of alcohol, the scotch, was delivered to Prince Martin's quarters as requested."
"Good." Jerod says, a mental note ticking off about his letter to the Queen, the introduction for Carina and the careful request for her entry to the household in whatever capacity that the Queen might deem appropriate and desirable. That she was the Rebman archivist would never come up in the letter's contents, nor would it ever need to. The Queen would see the value of having Carina available and Jerod would see that Carina had another wing to look for protection from should it come to that. With a little luck, it would work to everyone's benefit.
The current path finished, he puts the brush down and collects the documents, flipping the paperwork very fast, verifying the contents and notaries are correct based on his previous conversations over the last two days. Having taken over two weeks in Shadow to collect and deliver the caravan, he was not eager to have its effects squandered due to greed or carelessness. There had been enough of that during the Sundering.
He places the paperwork aside once he is done with it, noting a quizzical look on Candid's facade. "Is there a question?"
"Begging your pardon, your grace, but I was wondering." Candid offers. "We were not expecting your caravan or its contents. How did you know to arrange it? I mean, how did you know what to bring?"
"Is it not possible that someone from the King's court informed me of the need?" Jerod asks, noting Candid's curiousity as he picks up the brush once more to begin the slow placement of the gold leaf.
Candid pauses, then picks up the manifest list, flipping to the itemized list.
"Hammers, saws of various kinds, chisels, standard tape measures, level and layout squares, picks, shovels, axes, hatchets, screwdrivers, screws and nails by the gross, planes and rasps." he begins, randomly ticking off items as he goes, then flipping to the next page.
"Forge molds for metal and brick work, general construction pieces to permit the build of small local forges, simple surveying equipment, glass molding components..." Candid says, flipping the page back. "The list goes on. Over 30 wagon loads, each requiring a four horse team. And this. Tung oil? 500 gallons? I've never even heard of that before. I've been working in the town to assist with local construction, even seen the Lord Mayor a couple of times. No one's ever mentioned this shipment."
Jerod listens but says nothing, instead finishing up the small arc of gold leaf particles on the icon background. "Tung oil is a wood preservative. Good for outdoor use. Wouldn't use it on ships mind you. Need something a lot heavier for that. But for homes and buildings until a general trade is setup or local supplies can be procured, it works quite well at keeping your wood from rotting. Last thing you want is your building collapsing a month after you built it...near a sea salt shoreline." Jerod says simply, glancing up at Candid only once.
"As for what I acquired, it's all simple and straight forward. Every item is something that is needed and will be used in constructing and maintaining the city. There's nothing fancy about anything I brought, only that it's useful and it's needed. Certainly I could have brought more and it could have been used, but this is what I could find in the allotted time. As for how I knew? The last time I was here, I noted the need for it. I had a conversation with the King and it came up that if something useful could be done, I should do it. So I did.
"One thing. All the items provided are for the people for use in constructing their new city. But let it be clear that they are a gift from the Crown. The King would wish that they be used wisely and fairly."
"Of course, your grace." Candid says.
"You mentioned one small issue." Jerod says, harkening back.
"Yes, there were some questions concerning these." Candid says, flipping through the list, coming to the specialty list and pointing halfway down the list. "Your artisan tools. They caught the attention of one of the Royal Family. I am not sure how she learned of the shipment but she had heard of the new tools and supplies after they had arrived and was asking after specialized equipment. When she saw the entry for those..." and he points to the leather roll-up kit on the table, "...she inquired as to whether there were other sets available. She has a need it would seem for high quality precision implements, cutting and etching tools and the like."
Jerod frowns. "Who was it that asked?"
"The Lady Silhouette." Candid says. "She was...quite insistent. I had informed her that you were the owner and that I could not advise as to whether there were other sets available."
Jerod smiles. Huon's arms-maker. Not a surprising turn, he thinks. "I'm afraid these are the only set. It took some time to find them and they are for my own personal use. I did not think to consider if someone else might have a use for them." he says simply, remembering the time he took to locate the tools in Shadow, to ensure they were of a sufficient precision to meet his needs and yet not violate the inherent reality of Xanadu. The last thing he wanted was for Reality to suddenly decide to break his tools because they were deemed to be inappropriate.
"I would say that if the Lady was to continue to inquire that you should advise her to direct her inquiries to me personally." Jerod says, motioning to one side of the courtyard where a figure could be seen coming from an entranceway. "In this case, it would appear she's decided to inquire directly. If there is nothing else, I think this is the time you'll want to be excused."
"Of course, your grace." Candid says, collecting his own paperwork and bowing before heading off.
Silhouette descends upon the courtyard like a carrion crow. For today, she has chosen an imposing outfit - a notch-lapelled jacket of black leather, straps, and grommets providing her a dashing outline. Beneath, she wears a white ruffled top and shadowy clincher, which rustles with tendrils of black ribbon cross-lace. An onyx-dark skirt with grommetted straps - likely to assist in the lifting and lowering of her hemline - obscures the polished top-boots beneath. There is a brown paper package tucked beneath her delicate arm.
She ignores the departing Candid, her attentions reserved for Jerod alone. When she closes the distance between them, she curtseys with perfect fashion - her ribbons whispering like feathers. A fingerless-gloved hand crossed her heart as she lowers her forest-shadow eyes. "Prince Jerod. I am your cousin; Silhouette. Firstly, allow me to offer my condolences in this time of sorrow."
Jerod accepts Candid's bow and turns slightly, moving one of his tools slightly as Silhouette approaches, opening a bottle as she curtseys.
Humbly, she extends the brown package to him. It smells vaguely of thyme and marjoram. "I hope this gift will provide you some small relief."
He turns towards her as she extends the package, his gaze passing over her in a single swift motion. Whereas Candid saw only the face of the benevolent Prince, Silhouette is met by another, the face of the true Prince, one who even at his young age knows he is not to be trifled with, a force that moves of itself, that can shape whole worlds...and just as easily destroy them.
It is a face he shows to very few, and never to his friends.
On this day, he is wearing court clothes of spartan grey, the collar and cuffs embroidered with a material reminiscent of mother of pearl in that it shifts in color depending on the light and position. His long dark hair is collected with a silver ring and his only jewelry is the hint of a silver necklace under his shirt. A sword belt of faded red carries a long silvery saber clasped with a red jewel, a familiar weapon given the callouses on his hands. At the far end of the table stands a spear of strange design, not metal per se but definitely not wood. It has the look of a priceless work of art, yet the wear marks of a tool well used in a violent trade.
He does not immediately accept the packet that is offered, his gaze remaining firmly on her. "I know who you are." he says simply. "I have been in Shadow for two weeks. The accorded time of Rebman mourning has long since passed. On that basis, I would first inquire as to what gift you are offering that you believe would afford me...some small relief."
Silhouette remains unaffected by Jerod's gaze, matching it with steel of her own. No wilting flower this young one. A she-wolf in fancy dress. And yet, this wolf is wise enough to show respect when it is due; her eyes dropping after a moment.
"Lethe's Kiss - an essential oil to be placed upon the eyelids and brow before bathing," she explains. "My people believe it allows the cleansing waters to carry away grief. And thus, the memories of our loved one are not tainted with sorrow, milord."
She lifts her chin, "I am stilling learning the Rebman Ways. If such a gift would offend your customs, then I shall retract its offer."
"One cannot offend customs, only individuals and their interpretation of custom." Jerod says drily. "We will hold your gift in abeyance for the moment and see whether its vendor is worth the acceptance. The value of a gift is never in its material quality but in the one who offers it. And since you know me not, nor my sister, that automatically places your gift into question. And questions demand answers."
Jerod turns slightly, taking a brush and dipping it into a colorless, slightly thickened liquid and begins applying it to the gold leaf that he had just finished working with. "You offered material support to Huon. He brought an army to my home, threatened genocide to everything that I hold dear and caused the deaths of many that I considered to be mine. For the sake of old, tired vengeance and ego. Sparing me the tired excuse that an arms-dealer is not responsible for the actions of their client, why would I accept a gift from you, who now act as his emissary? And before you think I'm feeling overly sensitive, I can advise that I am not the only one who Huon has offended with the deaths of colleagues or violence to others of importance. It is a not inconsiderable group."
Silhouette studies Jerod's gilding technique with some interest. Her appraising gaze drifts over the chemicals being utilized, as well; cataloging them for potential threats - particularly, the presence of aqua regia. Although future violence is unlikely, she prefers to remain aware of her surroundings.
But as to his words, her expression retains its mask of remote formality. When he is done, she replies in a mild tone. "We share the kinship of loss, Prince Jerod. Your sister. My brother. Familiarity with you or your sister is unnecessary to recognize the loss suffered. The gift is a representation of that kinship. Beyond that, I do not assume nor request amity."
She pauses, drawing a breath. "As to my status as Lord Huon's emissary, it is irrelevant with regards to the aforementioned gift or my presence here. That role is reserved for Lord Huon and the King alone. It does not define me beyond that context. I shall make no excuses or apologies, for they are not required."
The chemicals available on Jerod's work table are varied and do not appear to match what Silhouette would consider to be valid for the process of gilding. There are no acidic compounds that Silhouette can identify, which would tend to eliminate the option of cold gilding. And given that there is no forge within a short distance to allow for the proper heating of a gold amalgam, combined with the definite lack of mercury would seem to rule out fire-gilding as well. The number of low lying trays filled with water, plus a well-capped bottle of colourless liquid would tend to lend itself towards wet-gilding. But there are still unidentified variants. There are several small bowls that appear to contain combinations of water and oil perhaps, though the miscibility factor must be extremely high as the oil appears to entirely contained in a small globular mass within the water. The varying colors of each might indicate they are paints or some other type of coloring agent, though one she can see is very odd, an almost colourless oil of some type within its vessel of water. A preservative or a sealant perhaps.
Also, the medium does not fit with normal forms of iconographic materials such as wood. The image he is working on is a precise, life-like rendering of a woman's face, etched in depth and in pain-staking detail in something similar to ceramic or porcelain. But the disc of white material is clearly neither, as the fine level particulates on his etching tools would indicate.
(If Silhouette is eclectic enough, she'd recognize it as a coral, a cross-sectional cut from a stand of pillar coral)
Having lived on an island half her life, Silhouette has utilized all the resources at her disposal - terrestrial and aquatic. Even so, it takes her a moment to recognize the digitate coral in this particular incarnation. But when she does, it is impossible to hide her appreciation. The stony expression crumbles away to reveal the warmth beneath. In that moment, Jerod can see she might be human after all. There is a question in her forest-shadow eyes, but she does not ask it. Instead, she listens; the clockwork aplomb hard returning to her face.
"First rule of life with Family." Jerod says. "Unless you're the King, it's not whether you think something is irrelevant. It's whether someone else, who might take offense, finds it relevant. And the King still considers whether other people might think something is relevant, just for good measure. If he didn't he wouldn't be fit to be King.
"As for the statement that we share the kinship of loss, by that argument you have a kinship with several hundred families in Rebma. I don't think I need to point out that they would probably disagree with said argument." he says. "I would tend to think that would be the same in the Isles and Abford, along with anywhere else Huon. Oh, and I almost forgot Marius. He's in that list too.
"I find it far more likely that you are here not because of kinship, but because of some more immediate desire on your part. Whether for information or material, that is most probable explanation. Your meanderings through the castle have brought you into contact with many, though only a few have been purely incidental and not of your own making. Of course, I could always be wrong, and it is quite amusing to be proven wrong I find." as he finalizes the sealant of the gold trim area, dipping the brush into a cleansing solvent before turning back to her.
Despite the flatness of his tone, one could surmise that he indeed does find it enjoyable to be proven wrong. Given the level of confidence with which Jerod carries himself, that begs the question how often he's been truly wrong before.
So many traps lay before her, but Silhouette refuses to take their bait. As if made from the coral Jerod now works with, she allows the currents of his words to wash over her, taking from them what she requires, but standing resolute and unmoved.
"Then I amuse you I shall, I hope," Silhouette says, dipping her head. "For, although other reasons to seek you out do exist, they in no way influenced my desire to express my condolences to you in person. Such an artless approach is beneath me and would be an insult to you and Cambina's memory. However, circumstance did not permit at or after the funeral. Nor do I believe it would have been proper at the time. Be that as it may, your parting..." The next words catch in her throat like barbed wire.
She silently brushes a bang from her temple, her gaze drifting elsewhere. Somewhere very distant. She takes another breath. "Perhaps this is my fumbling manner of saying, 'Thank you.' That witnessing your grief that day brought me some comfort to old wounds. Old hates. And that vicariousness is undeniably selfish. Forgive me." There is no deception lurking in her voice. For only now has the truth been revealed to her as well.
Jerod's expression does not markedly alter as she speaks, but he does not speak immediately when she is done. He rubs his chin momentarily as his arm comes to rest upon the table top and his gaze has an aspect to it that could be considered uncomfortable for he is not likened to others who would shy from the sudden opening of another's defenses, to leaving themselves open to attack. Though another might want to turn away, whether from respect or from insecurity, he does not. He watches her, looking for something...
As the seconds pass, sound fading in the background under his gaze, only then does he speak. There is little emotion still, but the tone is not flat or formal. Rather, it is as if he speaks from another place, another memory, another time.
"I stand surrounded by the walls that once confined me. Knowing I'll be underneath them, when they crumble, when they fall. With clarity my scars remind me, ash still simmers just under my skin. Indifference smiles again. So much I hide. How is stepping back a move forward?"
He stops rubbing his chin, letting the hand drop. "The song for my sister was a gift in her memory. It was granted for any who might learn from it and take from it what they could, should they have the courage to do so. As with all gifts, it is given without thought of compensation. So it should always be." he says, making a decision, turning his gaze away just slightly.
"I accept your gift, in the spirit that it is offered."
Silhouette bows her head in solemn respect. For an instant, her lips tremble as if to speak, but in the end she remains mute. Words are not necessary - even crude at this moment. Unspoken understanding lingers in her eyes. Understanding and something... deeper. But whatever that might be fades as she returns to the familiarity of her steel walls. She gently places the package upon the table and steps back.
A pause as she tightens the lace of her glove. Formality echoes in her voice when next she speaks, "On a separate matter, if I might ask an indulgence, Prince Jerod. It has come to my attention that you may have procured - or could acquire - a collection of refined tools. I have been commissioned by our King to construct a mixing board for his music studio. An intriguing challenge, to be certain. Regrettably, I've come to the conclusion that my watch-making tools and hand lathe will not be adequate for the task. The tools I have located here are... insufficient for precise work." Her nose wrinkles as if struck by a foul odor. "Furthermore, this realm's proximity to a Pattern interferes with the arcane skills I normally employ. As such, I doubt I can achieve Excellence in this project.
"As such, with your permission, I wish to make use of the tools you've acquired. Considering my current affiliations, I understand this may be considered inappropriate. However, you have my Oath that they shall be used solely in the service of the King and at times of your choosing. Is there a service I might offer to acquire your favor in this regard?"
"Huon." Jerod replies, picking up a new brush. "His behaviour suggests that he has support, someone else backing him. His attempt to garner his goal at Rebma was insane and doomed to failure, yet he proceeded with it. He survives it seems only due to blind luck, and the use of powers that it would appear he had acquired elsewhere. Had he not had them during the battle, I would have killed him and we would not be having this conversation."
He dips the brush into a bowl containing a light green globule, withdrawing it through the protective water layer and very quickly begins tapping it into the coral, applying it as a skin tone to the face on the icon. "I do not believe in blind luck. I believe he had help, that someone found him a convenient tool for use and that they remain hidden from our view.
"You wish to be of service to the King. Then tell me about Huon. Everything."
"If I might sit then?" Silhouette asks.
When [if] given leave to do so, she takes a chair across from Jerod. She rests her elbows on the wood comfortably, speaking as if they were old confidences. "There are two considerations. Firstly, I made an oath to conclude the negotiation with King Random for Lord Huon's amnesty, as was promised to him by his father. As such, I will not discuss where he may be at this time. Nor shall I betray any discussion between myself and the King. I am unwilling to become forsworn to acquire a set of tools.
"Secondly, you must understand that Loud Huon was and is... cagey. For example, he did not inform me of his intentions with regard to Rebma. Indeed, if he had, we would not be having this conversation - as you said. I never would have agreed to assist in the dissolution of a Pattern. And if he remained silent on this, there is a great deal more he has likely hidden from me. So, any information I provide will be undoubtedly tainted or incomplete."
She tilts her head, "If you can accept these considerations, I will tell you what I do know. As well as share what suspicions I might have."
"Your considerations are accepted. Please proceed." Jerod says, continuing his work with the green pigment.
"As you know, I am an artificer by trade," Silhouette says. "Lord Huon, by chance or design, hired me to supply his campaign against Shadow Abford. As he was the first Family I'd encounter since my mother abandoned me, I agreed to accept the commission. This allowed us some time together, during which he taught me what little I know of Amber and its history. Early in our relationship, I could tell that his vendetta outweighed his reason. However, he never discussed the history between himself and Prince Bleys.
"Several weeks passed after he launched his assault on Abford. I had no contact with him whatsoever. And then, he simply reappeared in a local hospice. This appearance has, in truth, puzzled me. From what little I have witnessed in Amber and Xanadu, the most expedient manner of travel is via Trump. However, he did not contact me thusly. I doubt even Huon, skilled as he is in Pattern manipulation, could not use it to escape a jail-cell. Although, after speaking with Robin, I wonder if he ever dwelled in one to begin with."
Her expression hardens at this point, a granite resolve unlike Jerod has observed thus far. "And before you ask, 'no.' Our cousin - while brash - shares no complicity with Huon's flight from Amber."
Jerod patient work with the pigment on the face of the representation does not waver in the slightest as Silhouette speaks, though his tone returns to its former flatness.
"Second rule of Family." he says. "Never stick your nose into something that may be between two members of the Family, unless you're quite ready to get your ass handed to you.
"Whatever you may have heard concerning that situation, you can be sure of one very important thing. You are missing the other side. Choosing a position without having at least attempted to ascertain the other side of the equation is a means to assuring yourself of a miserable life." He looks at her directly now, and he does something that may strike Silhouette as being odd. As he speaks, in his very formal, quiet tone, his head tilts just slightly, the way a woman would speak when she is engaged with a colleague or a peer, the process of subtle emotional connectivity, not at all the way a man would with an upright posture and a direct, forceful expression of power and authority. But there is also a look to his eyes, the kind she would expect from a woman as well, the veiled viciousness that can lurk beneath a pleasant exterior. It might occur to Silhouette that Jerod was not raised by his father, but by his Rebman mother. One might wonder who of the pair was the more dangerous.
"Now, if you have questions concerning that situation, there are means by which Family go about to inquire in these circumstances, without causing offense and creating further problems. You can avail yourself of those means, or you can continue on your current course. Your choice." and he waits, patiently. The brush stops moving.
Silhouette folds her hands upon the table, meeting his gaze with an unwavering strength. In juxiposition to Jerod's feminine stance, she exhibits a stalwart masculinity in her body language; her body unconsciously reclining back - not in retreat - but to reveal her self-assurance and control. The coy, closed-mouth grin betray her interest in his words - in him - but the cold distance remains in her bright, watchful eyes. Strange, perhaps, for a woman raised by Amber's epitome of womanliness. Until Jerod considers that from a vulnerable age, Silhouette has likely been forced to expunge signs of emotion and replace them with strength. Anything weaker than steel would invite violence - truly, hers is a soul forge-folded by a thousand torments.
"I commented on her lack of 'complicity,' not her 'responsibility,' in the matter of Huon's escape," she says. "She would not knowingly assist Huon. Of that, I am certain. Inadvertently, however...?" She sighs in a tone of motherly exasperation.
"As such, I have not chosen sides. Nor would I without further data. And I am abundantly aware of my lack thereof. Indeed, I would very much like to hear what you know of the events following Robin's placement of Huon into Amber's care. Perhaps we might both benefit from such an open discussion and shed light on the situation."
"You made an assumption that I would ask a question concerning an individual who has no importance in the matter that I asked for information upon. Your assumption was incorrect." Jerod replies, either not recognizing Silhouette's sign of strength, or simply not caring. "If I consider it of interest to others to discuss my personal opinion of Robin, then I will do so. Since I do not bring it up, and it is not germane to the line of questioning originally proposed, I consider it at the very least an unwarranted interest in an area of my life. That's the polite way of saying it's none of your business. It is not the matter that you agreed upon originally. The matter at hand is Huon. He is a threat to the kingdom and that is what I am interested in. Robin's behaviour, and my opinion of it, are of no importance in that respect and I will not allow that or my opinion of her, good or ill, to interfere with my line of questions concerning him.
"We can return to the line of inquiry originally proposed, or you can find something else to barter with."
Silhouette nods, smiling as Jerod has passed some unspoken test. "Of course."
She relaxes her pose, resuming her story in a familial tone. "As I mentioned, through means unknown, Huon returned to me. Wounded, but not in critical condition. He recovered quickly in my care. During that time, he expounded upon his feud with Bleys - a five-century old hate. He briefly mentioned the sword he desired. That he held it briefly before being denied the prize. I suspect by you, our cousins, and his ex-girlfriend, whoever that may be. He recognized the enemies he had gained during his failed campaign, including the mirror-witches of Rebma. And it was at this time he suggested that I become his advocate in Amber. He prefers peace to a protracted conflict and wishes to fall upon the King's mercy. However, should he be denied amnesty, he is not afraid of or incapable of resuming hostilities. I believe him, if that matters. In the end, he provided me with transport to Amber. That was the last I saw him."
She falls silent, staring at Jerod expectantly.
"If he preferred peace, he would have accepted the offer I made to him, before he assaulted Rebma." Jerod says, slowing his application of the pigment as he moves across the icon facial curves. "As for his comments concerning being able to resume hostilities, he has roused the family to action, including Amber's war-master. You are a delaying action, to buy him time.
"You indicated that he approached your for arms, for his trek through Abford. Why? What benefit would you provide that another would not? Keeping in mind that if I spend a week in Shadow I can acquire sufficient quality arms to outfit a regiment. Two weeks for a division. Of any technological level.
"Did he come with a specific shopping list, or just a general requirement?"
"And now who is making the assumptions, Jerod?" Silhouette replies. "Lord Huon sought me out because there are few - if any - artificers in Shadow that could have met his demanding specifications. And none capable of doing so within the time-frame he requested. I do not state this out of pride, cousin. Only certainty.
"Furthermore, Lord Huon's strategy required complete secrecy. An assurance only I could provide, as I am a solitary creature; more than capable of meeting his requirements without risking exposure."
She smiles faintly, "I am also a woman. Although, I suspect, that was an ancillary benefit for him."
"What were his specifications?" Jerod asks, ignoring the elements of Silhouette's response that he deems to not be relevant to his original question.
"Continued functionality regardless of paradigm restriction," she replies. "I will not discuss the commission beyond that. Besides, you likely have access to my weapons now. You may glean from them what you require."
"Have you informed the King of these specifications?" Jerod asks.
"Only in that I supplied Lord Huon with armaments," Silhouette says. "Beyond that, he did not appear interested in the details."
She leans forward with a slight sigh, "As I stated, Lord Huon's specifications focused on weapon functionality under a multitude of paradigms. The remainder outlined form and construction; firepower, simplicity, and environmental resilience. Simply put, he required weapons that would provide his troops with cross-Shadow mobility and battlespace preparedness.
"He did not, however, specify their use in Rebma. Supercavitating projectiles are not an impossible task, so I was surprised when I discovered he'd not requested weapons with that capability."
"Did he ever mention a place called Gateway?" Jerod asks, changing colors from green to a light blue, shifting his attention to a background position on the icon.
Silhouette watches Jerod's methodical work, her eyes following each movement of his brush. "No. He maintained a certain level of secrecy with regard to his military movements. May I ask the importance of this particular realm?"
"One can always ask." Jerod says, in a way that leaves no doubt that her questions will likely be left unanswered. That she has volunteered virtually nothing has not gone unnoticed. Silhouette will have no difficulty figuring out that she has gained no traction with Jerod.
"So, you built him weapons, but we knew that already. You've told me only that they worked in multiple shadow locations, but we knew that as well. Oh, and lots of other little tidbits that not surprisingly are totally valueless, which means you haven't said anything even remotely of value. Despite the fact that you came to me, looking to obtain assistance in your goals to further yourself in the King's good graces.
"Rule number three of family. You can be nice, you can be an idiot, you can be an opinionated SOB, or a scheming weasel. Hell, you can even be like me, a moderately short-tempered highly driven pain in the ass... but never bullshit someone that you've come to cup in hand. It will come back in the future to bite you."
At his use of profanities, Silhouette exhales with unrepentant disillusionment. An almost bored expression settles over face as she leans back, "As I previously stated, I cannot provide you with what is not in my possession. Huon did not mention Gateway, in any regard. Just as he kept his intentions with regards to Rebma hidden from me. For all the rules you helpfully quote, Jerod, perhaps you should recall this one: If you have a secret, you do not share it with the hired help. By the time he warmed to me, the deed had already been done."
She cuts the air with a dismissive sweep of her hand, "Now, I could insult you by providing some fantastical nugget of information, if you wish. But, as you so elegantly stated, it would likely come back to bite me in the future."
"Then we come to the next rule of Family, a rule that should have become quite clear based on your meeting with the King." Jerod says, switching back to the green once more. "Tidbits are meaningless. All that matters to us is Family."
"You might wish to remind my mother of that particular tenet," Silhouette says, offhandedly.
"I believe we have met an impasse then, for I have answered your questions to the best of my knowledge," she continues, fixing a wayward ribbon. "Unless you wish to pursue another avenue of inquiry, I shall leave you to your work."
"You've answered my questions, but you haven't yet provided anything of value." Jerod says. "To which I am surprised. Your mother is quite aware of the rules of Family. She helped to teach some of them to me."
At this, something moves behind Silhouette's eyes; something dark, something venomous. With practiced skill, she cages this rancor before it can rear its ugly head.
He finishes the last few touches and places the brush into a bath of solvent. "You came to me looking for tools to do a job and were prepared to pay with information for it. Yet Family doesn't work that way, not normally." he says, turning towards her. "These are nothing." and he waves at the tools. "Had another of my cousins asked, I would have lent them. But my cousins know the rules by and large. I can find another set in a day, so could they. If they had asked, they'd owe me a favor. Perhaps it might be worth their while to owe it. Perhaps it might be worth my while to accept it, or to politely decline and be magnanimous. It's what we do, as Family, for eternity.
"So now you'll ask, why was I being such a pain in the ass." he says, a wolfish smile forming, clearly having recognized her dislike for profanity, but using it nonetheless. "Because you're behind the eight ball right now, and you need to catch up, very fast. You need to learn the rules of Family, because you're going to be with us for a long, long time. But you've wrapped yourself in your layer of mystery and misery. Yes, I've heard some of the stories about you, your past and some of the things you've dealt with. This is a castle, stories move quickly. Your layers aren't going to help you here, not when you need them most. You need to move beyond them. You nearly did just a few minutes ago, when you offered me a gift...that barest glimpse of yourself. For a fraction of a second, there was a change.
"So I decided to see what else you'd offer. And you promptly shut yourself up, wrapped up the cloak again. You're not wasting my time Silhouette. You're wasting your own. Why are you doing that?"
Silhouette gives a mirthless chuckle, "Perhaps if you came out from behind your own coral walls, this snippet of wisdom might resonate with more validity."
She shakes her head, "Jerod, for all the trained smiles and helpful platitudes, I am still a stranger in an enemy camp. And I likely shall remain such if my mother has anything to say about it. A camp, I might add, where secrets are treated like currency; another 'Family Rule' I've learned. In a coin and carry world, only a fool does not pay as they go. If I have not paid enough, then so be it. For the questions you asked, that is all the coin I have.
"So, perhaps, I am wasting my time. But it is my time to waste. No matter the outcome, I shall endure."
She closes her jacket, as if preparing to depart. "If you wish to be my mentor, you will need to earn my trust. A thing not freely given and overshadowed by old betrayals. And certainly not won with quaint idioms and vulgarities. So, when you are ready to remove your mask, I will remove mine. And perhaps then, I shall answer the question you have not asked."
"I've never considered looking for a student." Jerod says, watching as she makes her preparations. "And you've got to earn the right to be one with anyone here, assuming any are interested. Might be a couple. As for my mask, it's always been off. One should never make the mistake of equating a mask with formality or protocol. I agree with my father when he said, never lie. And never project to the world anything other than what you are. Whether anyone actually accepts what they see, or is even accurate in their interpretation...is not my concern."
He appears disinclined to stop her departure.
Silhouette nods, "Then perhaps we are not dissimilar, after all. Goodbye, cousin." She places the chair back and offers a perfect curtsy.
She takes several steps away before pausing. She turns her head and smiles softly. "I would very much like to see her when you are done, if you will allow me." "If you wish." Jerod says, picking up his brush once more to continue the icon. "Three days."
Silhouette nods, "Three days."
With that, she departs.
"Right over there." Jerod says, motioning to the side table in his quarters as the kitchen serving boy struggles under the weight of the kitchen tray. He wonders for a moment how busy they must be for them to have sent this one, with a full load of trays overflowing with food for two Royals. Given his own liking for large quantities of food at all hours, it is surprising they send a younger lad to take care of this. Possibly a punishment detail?
He re-seats himself at his work desk, stirring the clear lacquer as he watches the young boy finish placing the last tray, having already verified that Martin's personal favorites are front and center. The page would have delivered his note to Martin by now, advising him that lunch and scotch was available, along with additional news from previous conversations. With luck he would be arriving soon.
"Is there anything else, your grace." the boy asks, breathing heavily after his exertions.
"No, that should be all." Jerod says, looking at him intently. "When did you eat last?"
"Not since early morning, your grace." He says. "It has been a busy morning, visitors and the like from the city, business with the Lord Mayor and such. Keeping very busy, plus moving in goods, new trade from ships in the harbour. Everyone's busy."
Jerod nods. "Well, you need to keep your strength up." and he points to one of the trays. "Pick out something from there. Then go out to one of the castle balconies and count the number of ships in the harbour. By the time you get there, you should have finished your meal. You can return to your duties then. And if the kitchen steward asks, you can tell them I told you to count ships."
The boy looks over at the tray, for a moment uncertain, but the smell of the food gets the better of him and he grins as he moves over to collect a few choice items. "Thank you, your grace."
"Please leave the door open on your way out." Jerod says, watching the boy as he bows and heads out, busily munching on a sausage coil.
A few minutes later, Jerod can hear someone coming down the hall whistling a vaguely familiar tune. The tread is light but familiar, and the whistling stops as the footsteps do. Then there's a knock on the door and Martin sticks his head in.
"Jerod? Is that our lunch I've been smelling all the way down the hallway?"
"Well, given how deep I've buried my room in the castle I didn't want you to get lost." Jerod says with a smile, motioning with the brush to the table stacked with food. "Plates there, scotch there, and chocolate on the side for later."
A look at the spread elicits a smile, but Martin comes over to offer Jerod a clasp before moving to the sideboard. "I think I would've come all the way from the studio for this even without the note. Soren tells me you brought in a caravan." It's not a question, just an invitation for Jerod to tell his story in his own time and order.
Jerod accepts the clasp as he gets up, having finished applying the last of the sealant to the icon and putting it to one side to dry. "An opportunity presented itself." he says, collecting a pair of glasses to fill, heftily, with scotch while Martin goes to work on the sideboard, setting one glass beside a comfortable chair before settling himself in another one. The chairs, while very comfortable, have a slight out of place look for what Jerod normally had in Amber. In fact, the room has a slightly different look that what he would normally seem to be used to. The furnishings retain their utilitarian function that Martin would expect to find Jerod preferring, with writing tables, a work bench and assorted other pieces occupying their usual places. But there are additions as well, bits of ornamentation that appear to suit him, yet are not perhaps what he himself might have thought to choose on his own.
"Your dad and I had our little discussion after we talked. Worked out the basics for what's going on and came to an agreement. Or more precisely I explained why I did what I did and he appeared to agree with it." Jerod says. "Never really did like that old oath, too bloody pompous I thought. However, appearances needed to be maintained and my improv appeared to cause a question or two. That's been worked out, between us. Now the big deal is to get the official perception dealt with. Unfortunately his only potential crusade is being passed to someone else I think so he's got nothing to send me out on. Always wondered about that, the idea that sending off someone who might be out of favour to go and kill a bunch of people you don't like brings them back into favour. Not that I'm going to mind if Gateway gets its butt kicked. I'd even have an interesting way of doing it too.
"We brainstormed a little for other ideas but there's nothing immediately available, barring someone else having something useful to pass off. Since I wasn't told that Bleys and Fiona were digging into the deal with Cambina, I was going to do that myself, so I never bothered to volunteer for anything. Thus, everything got divvied up and then I find out about this whole perception cock-up.
"After we hashed that, I mentioned I'd be returning here and he mentioned I should see about doing something useful. I wanted to find a few things in Shadow before I got back here, stuff I really wanted for myself and a few others." he says, taking a drink as he motions to the toolkit on the table, the bottle of scotch. "So I started digging around. You know what shopping is like in Shadow. You find two things and see ten more that would be just so nice to have. Before I knew it I had twenty truckloads of stuff and I could've done a hundred more. Damn near had to get office space to deal with the brokers.
"I'm just waiting to see how it works out. Xanadu's got a different reality base for tech so I want to be sure that nothing breaks or fades out. Assuming it lasts a couple more days it'll be fine. Assuming it's all good, I could see about setting up a trade route if the King's interested, lay down a path. I'm guessing that might fall into the category of being useful."
Martin nods and makes the occasional social noise through Jerod's explanation without actually asking any questions or interrupting.
"It'd be useful, if it turns out the tech holds on. We need a new Golden Circle kind of thing, and somebody's got to set down the paths for that. I figured it might be me, since Folly and I will need to hang close to home for the next couple of decades, and between the two of us we have the diplomatic experience and the actual diplomatic temperament," Martin says as he finishes filling his plate.
As he comes back to sit down, he adds, "On the other hand, I'm not convinced I want to leave right now, even with Folly, if only because I want to keep an eye on new-cousin Silhouette."
"I had a run in with her just recently. Wanted to borrow my tools." Jerod says. "She's a right piece of work. I'd be curious as to your opinion of her."
"I don't trust her," Martin says between bites of lunch. It takes him a moment to elaborate.
"She was very interested in me, but dropped me like a fire urchin as soon as she laid eyes on Dad. We're by no means interchangeable, but the way it happened smells like trouble to me. She wants something and Dad can give it to her more easily than I can."
Jerod nods. "She's on a separate mission, something different from whatever Huon set her on. And my sense is that whatever Huon has her on is only done because it supports her goals. As soon as those goals don't mesh, she dumps him if she hasn't already. She makes Ossian look positively well-balanced." and he frowns. "Which reminds me, I need to have a little talk with him about Regency paintings.
"She reminds me of an anemone." he says, getting up to collect his own plate now that Martin has had first dibs. "A pretty little thing that only a few recognize as a predator, waving it's fronds about, collecting and touching everything as it moves around the reef. Just as dangerous, and just a delicate."
Martin, who grew up in Rebma, snorts. But it's not like either of them is liable to make the mistake of underestimating a woman on grounds of her sex.
"She's got a narrowness to her focus that makes me think she'd be very easy to break. She maintains a vicious control over her own equilibrium, her version of reality and how she interacts with it. Break that and she's split like a diamond on a cutting line." [Jerod] muses, pausing over a collection of cheeses before nodding and collecting some to add to his rapidly accumulating pile of food.
"I wonder...how much did you pick up on this bit with her hate on for Florimel? I mentioned Auntie once in my conversation and Silhouette's response for very informative. She's got a definite love-hate relationship there."
"Not enough, but my job was 'friendly face of future Amber' to contrast with Caine's bad cop." Martin looks up from his plate to add his particular insight on that point. "I know she wanted Dad and Folly to disrupt Lucas' service with a ritual song designed to make Aunt Flora out to be a bad mother."
He doesn't bother to elaborate on the family complexities that represents, given the relationships among their aunts and uncles.
"Really?" Jerod says, balancing his over-burdened plate as he collects another bottle and puts it halfway between Martin and himself before sitting down.
"I suppose if she's foolish enough to want to commit suicide, far be it from anyone to stop her. Not that I'd be looking forward to cleaning up all the blood afterwards. I've got to wonder what the hell she is up to. She can't possibly believe that a confrontation of that kind will go in her favor, in any way. That she's Family only grants her so much of the King's protection and only if she doesn't step over the lines. So long as no one dies or gets mutilated, I don't see your dad stepping in to start regulating internal conflicts, especially if they involve parent and child, assuming Silhouette is Flora's. And a ritual song to piss off Flora, is definitely not good. Silhouette's automatically suspect for everything, every word she says, every move she makes. Another notch downward on that one." he says, taking a bite of a roast chicken and nodding approvingly.
Martin, his mouth full of some fishy delicacy, nods once by way of agreement.
"And no one's going to apologize for being suspicious of her in the first place. Current circumstances don't warrant it. So what's her game I wonder?" he muses, not actually expecting an answer.
"She mentioned that she's doing work for your dad, something about a sound system I think. That's why she chased me down, came looking for high grade precision tools. Beyond the desire for the King to have the one true music studio of which all others are but Shadow, what's that about?" he asks with grin.
"How did Folly get into his pants?" Martin asks, clearly meaning it rhetorically. "Not that Silhouette knows about that, but anyone who knows anything about him knows that the way to the King's heart is through his ... instrument." He makes a face at what may or may not have been an unintentional pun. "She wants something, and not just to walk the Pattern."
Jerod's grin increases and he chuckles slightly, though he does not interrupt.
"I don't know what it is yet, but after putting my faith in Lucas and being disappointed, I'm not inclined to stand by and watch her get it."
"Which brings me to a point that I wanted to bring up." Jerod says, noting that opportunity, once again, has provided. "Your dad had nothing available for me to chase after, or that he wanted me to chase after. One thing that was mentioned was Abford. I'd considered doing some tracing on Huon, see where he went and what he behavior was. We know he went through three areas before hitting Rebma. Gateways' out for obvious reasons and given that the Isles are evacuated by Vere, I'd conjectured that circumstances left it a smoking hole in the ground. That leaves the first place we know he went.
"Huon already had his guns by that time. So I'm wondering if I can find a way to backtrack him, see where he came from. That might give us a clue as to where Silhouette's keeping her base of operations. She didn't produce all those weapons for him in a shack in the woods, especially since she indicated they were supposed to be operational across a variety of shadow environment. I'd recommend that we obtain a couple of samples from Rebma for evaluation too.
"Silhouette's got access to something big. And since he made contact with her after we pounded on him, it stands to reason he ran back to that base to recoup. I doubt he's still there, and given he ran to it I doubt it's easy to find otherwise he wouldn't have gone there. But I'd like to see about finding it, and then letting Uncle Benedict go and give it a once over.
"But to start, I'd be going to Abford, and I need your permission for that."
Martin laughs humorlessly. "Oh, no, it's not _my_ permission you need, although to the extent that you want it, you've got it. It's my daughter who fancies herself owner of Abford, and it's her you'll hear from if you go to Abford without her blessing."
"I've met her, in Rebma after the battle. And she's yours." Jerod replies, not without humour. "So before I go near her, I'm making sure you're aware of it.
"Has she walked the Pattern yet? I'm curious as to how she's going to enforce any kind of dominion if she can't even get back."
"Not yet, and if I have anything to say about it, not for a while." Martin reaches for the scotch. "She's not ready. And she's not ready in the worst possible way. What we do takes skill and experience, and lifetimes of it. She thinks if she walks the Pattern, she'll be ready to take Huon head-on, when she might be ready to take Garrett head-on. Might," he repeats, stressing the word. "And that only because he's used to deferring to an overbearing mother whose yoke he hasn't thrown off yet."
"Problem on that front?" Jerod asks. "Or just growing pains?"
"My little brother's a kettle of fish we'll get to later," Martin says with a mild eyeroll. "Meg is--well. It's not like I expected to have a fantastic relationship with her once I figured out she was mine. It's an open secret that Dad and I have had our ups and downs. But--she's coming out of Shadow and she has all the wrong ideas about what it means to be one of us. She sees the power and has no idea about the responsibility. And mostly what she sees the power for is to prosecute her personal grudges."
He takes another sip from his glass. "And her biggest personal grudge is my father-in-law that the King is busy negotiating a peace with. She wants me to kill Huon, Jerod."
"Well, let's say there are a number of us who feel a similar desire at various levels." Jerod replies. "Thankfully, we're all smart enough to realize it's a really bad idea except under certain circumstances. A very specific, limited and exceptionally small set of certain circumstances.
"She had a fairly protective bent towards those kids she had when I met her after the battle, which I'm gathering were not actually hers, just adoptees. Since she doesn't have any power at the moment, it's not like she can do anything directly to cause trouble, but I'm guessing that's the least of your worries. What are you afraid she might do? And would you like some help?" he asks.
"I don't think you can help me with the thing I'm most afraid of." For all that he sounds relatively calm about it, something about the way Martin is handling his glass a little too tightly suggests he's not. "If Khela feeds Meg's inflated sense of self-importance about her place in the universe and puts her on the Pattern, and especially if she puts her in the succession somewhere, we may be royally fucked."
An eyebrow goes up as Jerod listens. "Khela's sticking to her nose into this? Why would she want to put Meg into the line up?" he asks, tapping at the air absently with a grape while thinking.
"The story is that Meg is yours and Dara's. Is Dara connected to Khela?"
"Not that I know of, and somebody is likely to end up short a head if I find out I've been lied to about it." There's a bite to Martin's tone that suggests he expects either Khela or Dara, or perhaps both, to have actually done so.
"But this is the thing: how long do you think it stays under wraps to Khela that Meg's mine? That makes her Rebman, even if the claim is weak. Who's supporting Khela now? She's got Celina and maybe Llew, and you and I aren't hostile. Your sisters and your mother will stand with Moire. Khela may have broad support, but I'm not convinced it's deep. If Khela puts Meg on the Pattern and Meg survives the Walk, she's bought Meg's loyalty at the price of making me unhappy--and I'm already hacked off at her."
"It would give her another hold, though I find it ironic that Khela follows the same route as Moire in trying to garner Pattern control." Jerod says. "More circumstancial evidence of Khela not being able to walk it.
"If Moire returns with any success she'll put the boots to Khela faster than she can blink. That puts Celina on the outs, so even if she wasn't bedding Khela, she'll support her. Merlin's questionable, in that he supports his sister but I don't think he trusts Rebmans, and he's your friend as well. And while I'm not hostile, I've made it clear to Khela my support is to the kingdom and order, not who sits on the throne...unlike here. Your dad's far more personable than she is." he says with a vague, shark-like smile. "Khela pulling shit makes me more likely to do something to frack with her plans, and Khela pulling shit on you fits into the same category.
"Khela's support is in the disaffected. The Shells will bide their time however and wait to see who comes out strongest. It's the way of things. I can give you a run down later of the Shells that I saw giving active support in her army, and there will be others, allies of Khrop that will be easy to sniff out. I've also got a family retainer keeping an eye on things. He may come up with something, and he knows how to get ahold of me." Jerod says, pointing a finger. "That last bit, by the way, is for your ears only." and he pops the grape into his mouth, chews.
"The immediate advantage Khela has is the sword and the Tritons. Benedict advised there is a way to neutralize the sword, and if Conner assumes its responsibility he might find his support for Khela waning as it grows for Rebma. Despite being a redhead, he's got common sense as well as brains. He's smart enough to recognize that Khela's messing with stuff and it may not turn out as rosy as the propaganda would hope.
"As for the Tritons, I'm wondering how they're playing Khela." he muses, collecting another handful of fruit to work on.
"That said, gaining Meg's support seems questionable. It pisses you off, and potentially your dad if it's a threat to Xanadu but what's the payoff? Even if she gains Meg's loyalty, Khela's basically got a hot-head with no training and if your assessment is correct, some impulse control issues. It will take a couple of decades for Meg to be of any value, at least in the way we view value. So why go to all that trouble, what's her short term value? Khela's going to be acting in the short term right now, either to achieve objectives for plans already set in motion or to consolidate her power base to forestall any moves against her. Given how fast she's moving, I'd suspect the former, not the latter."
"She needs to be doing both or she won't make it," Martin opines. "As far as I know, Khela thinks she can walk. But she hasn't walked, and she doesn't view value the way we do. And no matter how we slice it, Margrathea daughter of Martin son of Morganthe daughter of Moire daughter of Moins is a name that carries weight in Rebma. It speaks of tradition, it soothes the shells--" instead of continuing in that vein, Martin throws up his hands "--but you know all that.
"I don't think she thought she was going to piss me off when she did. I think Meg is a fallback, because if she could have had Martin son of Morganthe and his wife and their unborn daughter, who could be raised a support to Khela's house, instead of Margrathea the hothead, don't you think she'd take her?"
"Sure. From a political perspective it makes perfect sense." Jerod says. "But I'm aware of just how short the odds are on the bet of something trying to get any kind of hold on your new daughter. Their lifespan, even with the King's disapproval of family killing, would be shorter than a candle in a seastorm. Fathers can be like that where their kids are concerned." and he smiles at that.
"Yeah," says Martin, nodding once, slowly, "they can be. But Khela is first and foremost a woman of Rebma; she sees a girl with no mother to consider. If Meg's aired her grievances with Huon to any of the Rebmans--" and Martin's expression suggests he considers that likely "--Khela knows her price. And it's not like Khela doesn't want Huon's head anyway."
He moves to push the long bangs he no longer has away from his face, the motion more betraying now that he wears his hair as short-cropped. "And I know from personal experience I can't stop Meg. Not just that, even trying makes her more likely to do something stupid. When your father was there for you, Jerod, that's one thing. But you can't walk in after you've been gone, even if it's not your fault, and expect to get a father's due. To have that kind of trust from a child you meet as an adult means you earned it. And I won't take Huon's head on Meg's say-so. Meg's not the only one with father issues to work out."
"No, she's not." Jerod says simply. "Despite all the stuff I had to deal with growing up, I will be the first to admit that full-time parents have a unique benefit.
"How did Meg end up in Abford?"
"I have no idea." Martin shrugs, a bit helplessly. "I didn't even know she existed for a long time. The way I found out she was mine was when I saw that bracelet of Celina's. I'd had it made for Dara out in shadow as a thanks-gift for saving my life. I never knew Dara was pregnant--tried to be sure she didn't get pregnant--and I had no idea about what happened to the child."
"Well, what works for shadow doesn't work as well for Chaos Lords." Jerod says, with considerable sympathy. "I'm assuming you didn't get anything from Dara about why she decided to hide Meg when you got her out of...what would it called now, Dara? I keep finding it hard to call it Borel. I find it curious that Dara would do something like that given her previous behaviour with Merlin, to let her daughter out of her sight like that for such a long period of time.
"I assume Meg didn't get anything from Dara on that front?"
Martin shakes his head. "Nothing she told me. Either one of them. But my guess is that things happened the other way around: Dara had Meg first. From a purely dynastic perspective, it makes sense: test out whether the reproductive plumbing works before you make the significant union. So she gets me and has Meg, proving her fertility with an Ordered mate, then she seduces Corwin and has Merle. And if she'd given up one child, possessiveness with the other would make more sense, wouldn't it?"
"Logically, yes. Though I recall something Merlin said about being worried about being eaten by Dara if she got him back." Jerod replies. "It still begs the question that apparently only she can answer, specifically why was Meg in Abford? Not to be crude or anything, but if Dara was done with Meg, why wouldn't she just eat her? Regain those elements of her that went into her, plus yours. Kind of seems like the ultimate state of possession.
"Do you think you might have...gotten through to her? To Dara I mean? That maybe she didn't want to get rid of Meg because of you?"
"I think if I'd gotten through to her at any point, any good I did was later undone. She was never much for me, not once she'd gotten enough use from me to make her appealing to Corwin. I was unimpressed at the time--" Martin's expression tightens a little, and if Jerod didn't know him so well, he'd probably miss it "--but now I think I'm just relieved. If anyone got through to Dara at the end there, it was probably Meg and not me.
"It does make sense that Dara would have eaten Meg when she was born, not that there was much of her to eat. It makes sense that Dara would eat her now. But I've given up expecting things to make sense where Dara is concerned."
Jerod listens as Martin speaks, his own expression darkening momentarily with what he hears, rage quick to rise at the insult he perceives to his friend. He lets the rage settle though, knowing that it will not help and it is Martin's insult to deal with, as he sees fit. He is a Prince.
"Then we'll leave that alone for the moment, since we can't fix it just right now." Jerod says, reaching for the bottle and refilling both their glasses, pouring an amount that would be considered hearty even for a Prince, then pushes the glass back.
"Maybe an opportunity will present itself for the future. I'll be sure to keep an eye on her for you, just in case she gets into something really nasty that she can't handle." he offers, lifting his glass. "Rebman boys."
"Rebman boys indeed." Martin raises his glass to that and drinks about half of it. Had Jerod not filled it so completely, he would probably have drained it. "I appreciate your keeping an eye on her. I'll keep an eye on things here." He doesn't specify, although there are a number of "things" Martin might mean, and knowing him, he probably means all of them.
Jerod raises his own glass, putting back a substantial amount of his own drink, perhaps a bit more than he might have been used to, once upon a time. Or perhaps it's just his brand that he enjoys so much.
"Speaking of things around here, there are a couple of items that I was looking to take a look at, one of which I wanted some more details on. I noticed from asking around the Valeria is still here. The King hasn't seen fit to ship her off back to Rebma, or she's inveigled an amnesty to avoid dealing with Khela. I'm going to meet up with her, find out what's going on and I was wondering about your take on that."
"My take on Valeria is that I don't want to get in several leagues of her as soon as she hears I'm getting married to someone who isn't her, especially not when she hears my bride is pregnant. And I can't imagine she doesn't already know." Martin makes a face. "I wouldn't mind being your brother, but not that way."
Having made his caveat, Martin adds, "Dad hasn't said anything to me one way or the other about Valeria. I'm not sure I mentioned her offer to him, but it was never one I planned to take, so it might not have come up. It's likely that unless she, or someone on her behalf, pushed things with him, he hasn't done anything. And who wants to petition my father on Moire's granddaughter's behalf?"
"Well, I thank you for the compliment, my friend." Jerod says, raising his glass. "And as a semi-honorary brother, I will advise that should my sister cause any grief when I meet up with her, I'll give her the family thrashing she deserves. Given Moire's absence, pushing your dad would not seem to be a viable option and he could always get nasty and dump her back in Rebma where Khela could get at her. I've no doubt Valeria will be up to something so we'll have to see to that, make sure there are no old problems rising up.
"I suppose I could always send Ossian to keep her occupied. She seemed to find his company appealing initially. Which reminds me I've still got to talk to him about his painting activities during the Regency and I'm sure he probably tried to do up a trump of me without permission, even if he wasn't unsuccessful at the time."
"Just don't let Silhouette near her," Martin says, setting his own now-empty glass down after the toast. "I have a feeling that would be a really bad idea. Either they'll kill each other or they'll get along, and I'm not sure which would be worse."
"It might be good for Silhouette to learn the rules of turf." Jerod muses. "But I'd tend to agree with you on that one. Valeria trying to kill her would probably result in Valeria getting hurt or killed and I'd have to respond, even if I might agree with it the results. I'd be more worried about Silhouette sticking her nose into Rebma, given what I've heard with her talking about whatever this Grand Design is. I've got a problem with people who think they know how the universe is supposed to work." and he munches on a very large piece of cheese.
"Probably explains why I have such trouble with Bleys." he says with a smile.
Martin touches his head, probably since his hair is too short now for him to make a show of holding blond locks out in his fingers. "Fortunately I have the hereditary excuse for tuning out when he starts going on about that stuff."
Last modified: 27 December 2010