[Before Celina] can arrange to work with the mirrors, there is a soft scratch at the door, after the Rebman fashion. It seems almost mannish, but when Celina rises to open it, it is the Queen, Vialle, who stands waiting there.
"May I come in?" she asks, her blind eyes staring past Celina.
Celina steps aside. "Certainly, and be welcome." Then she realizes that nothing about this room may be familiar to the Queen. A quick glance about settles her next thought. She offers an elbow to Amber's Queen: close enough to brush her sleeve. "There are some chairs ahead if you would like to sit."
"Please," says Vialle, and she lets Celina show her to one. Vialle seems to have a reasonable sense of where things are. Perhaps she can read the air currents the way a blind woman would read the water currents in Rebma.
Once she is seated, Vialle says, "I came to see how you were settling in. Breakfast was very overwhelming, and with Merlin a newcomer here too, I don't know how much he was able to tell you about the background of that discussion."
Celina sits as well, she pulls her seat nearly close enough to touch knees with Vialle. "Not a lot, actually," Celina smiles. "I'm not sure he understands it completely himself. It became clear that the King announced the wake for Amber and that there is already a new ...," she thinks, "port and capital that will be replacing this city.
"It's kind of you to think of me." She plunges ahead. "I do know the reputations of the people in the room. I understand, as something of a surprise, that I'm related to them. There isn't much resemblance, but then there is less reason to tell me such an improbable thing just for the fun of seeing me swallow the bait."
She adds, "As it were..."
"Oh, Random wouldn't do that. At least not with something this important," Vialle says. "It's all a shock. None of us knew about it until today, except Martin and Folly, and even they haven't known long." Her expression flounders for a moment, then she reels it back in.
"But as long as we are here, we would like you to feel welcome, of course. Amber is very different from Rebma, and I imagine you find things strange. I'd like to be able to help you with that, if I can."
"You know the court of Rebma," Celina's words are slower now, as she tries to parse her thoughts fairly before they escape confinement. "Your offer is welcome. I'm quite attracted to the strange. I might need a wiser woman to guide me in this."
Celina feels that saying this sort of thing in Rebma would have played very badly. She watches Vialle closely.
Vialle smiles and reaches for Celina's hand. "I will be glad to help you," she says, and Celina has the sense that she has said just the right thing.
The Seaward lass tries to smother a shiver of excitment as Vialle touches her hand in friendship. Good chance that this fails with a blind woman so dependant on her other senses. Celina chuckles and slips her grip more strongly into the Queen's and gives a gentle caress in return.
"Well, that's a good way to start my first day in Amber." Her voice threaded with wonder and youthful enthusiasm.
"I'm glad we're to be friends. There are so few of us from Rebma here--I was lucky that my husband was able to help me acclimate. I would feel terrible leaving a newcomer alone to float in the currents," Vialle confesses.
"Especially when they run as deep as they do today."
"I felt that..." admits Celina softly. "And I'm very torn about many things I don't understand. There is no mourning within me, but instead a fierce anger that seems strange and misplaced. It does seem to be about Amber and the currents this morning. I fear it is not, but instead other things I cannot deal with."
She holds a moment and gathers her thoughts. Her eyes light on the Queen's hand still in hers. This is a good thing, so she takes something from that and moves forward. "I'm angry with my... mother, and she's not a person to brook my temperment. Better I try and bail a whirlpool than bring a girl's anger to the Queen of Rebma."
Vialle's intake of breath is sharp.
The Seaward girl winces in reaction--then glad that Vialle can't see it.
Celina blows out a breath, like a dolphin's laugh. She comes back to topic. "I keep thinking of Amber as a thing alive, and it feels like she is being left used and broken. Where is the love? I think I'm identifying too much. I want to hold her; comfort her. I want to tell her she's safe for as long as she has, but I have not a starfish's clue as to why my heart is so tangled."
Celina's eyes are suspiciously wetter now. "If nothing else, let her know that she dies with someone holding her hand."
"I know, dear." Vialle closes her blind eyes. "And it must seem terrible to you, for those of us who have lived here so long to abandon her. But My husband's brothers show nothing of what they think. They may feel it all as keenly as you, but they won't tell you. And we who have waited during the Regency have done our grieving already. We've watched Amber leak her lifeblood; Random only confirmed what we already knew."
Vialle can hear an undertone of anger still in Celina's sigh. "I've been trained better than this. I don't know why I'm getting so emotional about it. Everything is too sudden, but that's no excuse. It shouldn't matter to me. I thank you for your perspective."
She pauses long enough to give Vialle the floor.
"Let us speak of other things. Surely you have practical questions about life here in Amber, or even on the surface, that I can answer?"
[OOC: Vialle will answer such questions for as long as Celina cares to ask them.]
[ooc response: I think Celina will ask about court etiquette, baths, clothes (including that famous nudity taboo) and the 'modus luxury' of men running things. I suppose she'll really take Vialle at her word on much of it. She'll certainly guard against provoking another gasp of ?dismay? shock? from the Queen. ]
Then she'll conclude (if we can even call it that) by saying,
"I'm meeting Prince Martin for lunch. Merlin thinks highly of him. I hope he'll turn out to be a friend to me as well. I feel less likely to offend a man brought up in Rebma, but any words of advice as I swim into social chat?"
Vialle pauses for a moment before answering. "Martin has suffered a great deal in this war. His childhood in Rebma was not always happy, and he has been ill-used by many of his kinsmen. He is often ... angry. Be kind to him, and don't take it personally if he is a bit harsh with you. All we can do now is hope that the love of his family heals his wounds in time."
She seems very sad.
Celina's nails dig hard into her palms, distracting her from the awful sense that she may have just touched on something too personal and tragic. She gave the Queen a response even as her thoughts raced through the dozens of stories she had overheard about Rebman male youths and the ways they might be tamed for 'discipline problems.'
"A man so kind to my brother will have the kindness returned three-fold from me," Celina says quietly. The words are a bit more dramatic than she might have wished. A flush passes over her neck and shoulders and she is glad the Queen cannot see it. Celina barely stops herself from continuing. I know what it is like to find out you do not have a home so much as a series of mirrors positioned to distract you for someone else's benefit.
"You are very kind, Celina," Vialle says quietly.
She swallows and tries to find a better end to the meeting. "I really do appreciate your assistance, your majesty. Many thanks."
Celina nibbles at her lip. Love of his family? Can she serious? Is it a metaphoric riddle she poses me? Or are the lies of Rebma also preventing the true character of Amber princes from reaching the Seaward?
"It is my pleasure. I hope you will find happiness here, as I have--"
There is a strong, albeit brief, knock on the door. Outside, Lilly waits patiently. The staff has told her she would find the Queen here. Her message was not of extreme urgency yet she thought it best to deliver it in a timely fashion. She did not wish Vialle to suffer any undue concern.
Celina's thoughts just at the knock give her a start and she twitches with the shock. She releases Vialle's hand and twists a bit in her seat to present her torso more squarely to the door. Due to Vialle's kindness, Celina knows this is a request for entry. She composes herself. "Yes? Entry is allowed."
Lilly opens the door gently and peers inside before entering. To Celina she offers a nod, to the Queen, "Good afternoon, your majesty." Stepping inside she closes the door behind her.
"Please forgive the intrusion. The King asked me to deliver a message to my queen and I thought it best to do so with expediency."
"Celina," Vialle says."I know you met everyone at breakfast, but I'm sure it was quite overwhelming. This is Dame Lilly, who is a Knight-Commander of the Order of the Ruby, and has served as my guard and companion in the King's absence." She smiles at Lilly.
"What message did my husband send for me?"
Celina takes the moment to study the beautiful Lilly, Dame of Ruby. There is a symmetry and deep understanding to her movements that suggests the TaKhi.
"He asked me to inform you that he has some appointments this afternoon, and he will meet you for dinner," Lilly replies. She awaits patiently for the Queen's.
"Thank you, Lilly," Vialle responds in turn. She's about to add something else when there is a second knock on the door. After a moment, it's followed by the scratch that Celina might expect from a Rebman.
Celina looks first to Vialle, as she is in a much more official mode now that she takes messages from the King. She completely misses that her glance will go unanswered by the sightless Queen. But the follow-up door scratch arrests her attention and she immediately looks there, not at Vialle.
Lilly give the door a glance but remains silent. Instinctively her hand comes to the hilt of her sword. As a rule intruders who mean harm do not knock, she knows that. The moment she stops being prepared for such things though will be the exact moment her enemies decide to be polite.
Celina speaks clearly. "Entry is allowed. Be welcome." Her voice is edged with curiousity.
"Thanks," says a masculine voice, slightly muffled by the door. It opens to reveal Martin. "A page told me where your rooms were, cousin," he says to Celina as he steps in and closes the door behind him.
Lilly's sword arm visibly relaxes.
His eyes fall on Vialle and Lilly. "He didn't mention that you had company. Your Majesty," he says to Vialle, offering a neck-bow, and, to Lilly, with a smile, "Cousin."
"Good Day," Lilly replies the hint of a smile momentarily visible on her lips.
Martin turns back to Celina. "If you're busy, I can come back later."
"Not busy, cousin Martin," Celina replies, "just getting settled here. The Queen was nice enough to share a few points with me." She nods to Lilly. It seems apparent by her expression that no explanation from Celina is needed for Dame Lilly.
Martin nods, once, and smiles at Celina.
Vialle says, "I'm sure you and Celina have a great deal to talk about, Martin. I should be on my way. Will you be joining your father and me for dinner?"
"I, ah, think I have plans," Martin says.
The side of Lilly's mouth quirks slightly. There is no sound or other movement to give away her thoughts right now though.
Celina rises from her seat in preparation for the Queen's departure. With the added people in the room, she presumes the Queen might like an arm guide to the door--and she is hostess here.
"That's all right," Vialle replies. "Another time. Lilly, will you walk me down to my office? I have some business with Ember and Gilt this afternoon." She rises and turns toward the door. "Celina, it has been most pleasant. Thank you for sharing your day with me. If I can help you settle in, please don't hesitate to call on me."
Celina takes a half step back, a formal gesture opening a larger space for Dame Lilly to take escort of the Queen. She smiles at Lilly and says, "I feel properly welcomed, your majesty. I will avail myself of you if I need any reassurances."
Vialle smiles at Celina.
Lilly nods to Celina, "Good day cousins." With practiced ease she allows the queen to note her location so that Vialle may take her arm. As they walk to the door it is apparent they have done this many, many times.
Martin touches Lilly lightly on the arm as she walks by. "Spar tomorrow? Dawn?" he asks.
Celina notes the arm pat with some concealed delight. She was afeared that cross-gender touching was not permitted in Amber.
Lilly's own delight is less concealed. She is very glad that she did not completely scare Martin off with her mistake during their last match. "Certainly. I will be looking forward to it.
Quietly Lilly walks her out. If the Queen wishes to converse, Lilly will respond. Otherwise she is content with the silence.
The Seaward lass watches Lilly take the Queen out.
Celina looks at Prince Martin, studies his stance fleetingly. "Do I call you Uncle Martin? Or would you prefer cousin? I used cousin before, but I realize age and generation are complex institutions in Amber. I'd rather have your pleasure than the convention."
"I think you're my aunt, technically," Martin says absently. "Cousin is probably easier on everybody. It's too complicated otherwise." Martin has that odd slightly off-side distribution of weight that Celina has come to recognize in surface men as meaning that he normally wears a sword. He seems watchful, perhaps waiting for something.
[possibly for her to sit down, since they're both still standing]
The notion that a man radiating maturity and grace is her nephew throws her for a moment. She smiles, thinking of Jerod.
Celina realizes that she was also waiting for something and corrects the slight lean towards him that she didn't notice. Feeling too restless to sit, she tucks her hands behind her back and moves slowly in front of him, shifting and ebbing like a bauble dangled before his eyes.
"I guess ... I don't even know where to start. You must have a million questions, because I know I do. I guess you know what Jerod's gone down there to look into, the business with Llewella's townhome and Conner and all the ripples from that...."
Celina smiles broadly at Martin's opening, for indeed she loves her questions and appreciates his implied offer that here is another willing to answer them. The gut-punch of information follows too fast to completely wipe the smile from her face.
Jerod. Llewella. Conner? Weren't there rumors about...?
But Martin isn't finished.
"It even looks like someone's got an arm long enough to reach Demond Harga'rel from there--assuming it was fallout from his Rebman troubles that got him killed."
The follow-up blow makes her head spin. Demond. Dead in Amber? Celina blinks once. The smile has crumbled. Now the court gossip comes back to her. Dashing and charismatic Demond killed by his partner. Conner? Connel? Connick?
Sorrow washes over her and is reflected in her sea-green eyes. Valeria. Loreena. Their father escaped some vendetta only to be struck down in Amber? But who could have made the journey from there to here?
Only Jerod and herself had been in both places that she knew.
Valeria. Celina realized that Valeria would be furious in tracking down the killer.
She froze. And again, her eyes have forgotten that there is no water here to hide her tears. When she feels the first one on her cheek, Celina blushes and looks up into Martin's eyes.
Exposed.
The next is simple understatement. "In Rebma it is thought Demond died at the hands of his trade partner. And what is this about Llewella's house? I think I heard a murmur about that.
"And how much trouble am I in if I know who killed Demond?" She offers a tentative question with a lifted brow.
Martin fishes in the pocket of his trousers and finds a clean, if rumpled, handkerchief, which he offers to Celina.
"They didn't tell you anything, did they?" he asks, a bit disgustedly.
The girl dabs at her eyes only a moment, then shakes her head 'no'.
"Jerod probably assumed you knew, and Merle didn't know anything to tell you. And Lir forbid my grandmother lets any scrap of knowledge into hands she doesn't control perfectly."
Celina swallows hard on that last.
He finds a seat on a couch, and pats the empty cushion next to him. "This is going to be a long story, so you'll want to sit down."
Celina takes the folds of her dress in hand and twist them more to the side away from Martin and takes the seat offered.
Martin begins his tale. "Conner is the son of Princess Fiona, our aunt on the paternal side. He was placed in the embassy in Rebma as a conduit for information when the redheads were trying to take over Amber. When the Faiella-Bionin closed, he was trapped."
"Conner," she repeats, locking it into her memory now.
"A few years ago, and I guess this must have been before you came to court, there was a breakin at Llewella's townhome. Every piece of glass in the place was shattered, he said. Nobody knows who did it, or what they were looking for. Conner, as first secretary to Ambassador Droit, was the Amber liaison appointed to the investigation. Sir Montage," and Martin practically spits that name, "was the Rebman liaison."
Martin pauses to see whether Celina understands the significance of the choices.
She looks a bit wary. No one ever really questioned things about Montage. "The two men who had direct access to significant court power both above and below? So like Llewella's own position?" That doesn't quite seem right to her. She suspects Martin is driving some other point.
"Montage has no power here, except as Moire's hand at a distance. Moire's scared, or she wouldn't have sent him and Bend up here. They're her dirty tricks people." Martin says, and continues his story:
"After he started investigating, Conner was lured into an ambush, and got the crap beat out of him by a pair of masked Tritons. Montage and some guards found him afterwards. Conner managed to pull away the mask on one of them and see that the Triton was tattooed. I assume you know as well as I that only Tritons who serve--or have served--in the royal household have facial tattoos. Which means that it was someone who had command over the Tritons, someone whom Moire had given a Triton, who ordered Conner's beating."
Celina's face cools. She knots her fingers into the handkerchief to keep them from becoming claws.
He pauses again to take in Celina's reaction, although there's clearly quite a bit more to the story, since Demond Harga'rel hasn't even made his initial appearance yet.
"I'm not from Rebma. I admit I thought the Tritons were of several clans both pious and royal. The tattoos seemed to be for all of them, different of course, and no one said that anyone but a Triton knew what the tattoos could mean."
"In all this then, the Tritons are used by both factors without consent? They do not elect their service?" This question seems important to the girl. "You're talking treason, I believe. Just so you understand I'm young but not entirely stupid."
"If good sense be treason, let me be a traitor," Martin says, with a bitter laugh. "You're not the first person to suggest that. You're not even the first person to suggest it today--but I have been conversing more with people from the old country than I have in many years."
Martin reclines against the back of the sofa. "The Tritons--that's complex. Atrios--" and he cuts that thought off, with pursed lips.
He turns to look at Celina and sits up, leaning toward her, holding her gaze. "The last time someone asked that question, people died, and more were driven into exile. Many of their troubles, and mine, come from asking the question you just asked me, and insisting on an answer. Are you sure you want to pursue this, Celina?"
He trusts me? Or intends to bring me up short if I say yes? Celina slowly unclenches her hands. She doesn't waver in returning Martin's gaze. Even to the extent that she sees her reflected image frozen in his eyes.
For a long moment, nothing happens. The battle is all beneath the surface.
Celina speaks slowly to her cousin. "I have no power or influence here, except by my use to those who would wish to hamper Corwin in Paris or Moire in Rebma." Celina is sure from Vialle's earlier reaction that her connection to Corwin has so surprised the family here that they have not actually thought who her mother might be. She confirms it to Martin, even though his earlier answer, 'aunt,' suggests he knows it already. "People lie to me regularly and often, it seems. Then there are those who do not speak at all, even when they ought to. These last have been friends and sometimes protectors."
She finally blinks and nods. "It could be argued that the lies have protected me as well. Yet I am sick of them. I want to know about Demond. And I want to know about the Tritons. Atrios begged me to learn what I could."
"And I want to know who commands the Tritons despite Moire, but I suspect you do not know this." She puts her hand gently on his.
"Atrios spoke to you?" Martin asks.
"He did. Shortly before I left Rebma."
Martin lets out a long breath. With his free hand, he pushes his hair out of his face. "Atrios told me once that the Tritons would eventually be delivered from slavery. There would be a sign, he said, and they would be unbound, and free to return to their homeland. I think--I think they may be looking for that sign. In you."
His eyes stray bootward for a moment, then return to Celina. "But why I think that is another long story. Let me finish the tale of Harga'rel's death, and then I'll tell you my own story, and we can go from there.
"So Conner was beaten, and he turned to his ladylove Thalia, the Ambassador from Gateway, a place that has long supported the ambitions of Conner's mother and her two brothers. She had a connection to Harga'rel. The short of it is that while Harga'rel and Thalia were investigating a way out of Rebma for Conner, who was about to be framed for various crimes, Thalia was kidnapped by Tritons.
"Harga'rel and Conner rescued Thalia, killing a Triton or two in the process, and fled Rebma through the secret escape route Harga'rel knew. I think I know the way they left, though I haven't tried to find it since I heard the tale. When they emerged into the surface realms, they were far from Amber. They found a boat and Conner brought them all back to Amber.
"This was during Gerard's regency, while our uncles were gone. We accepted Conner into the council we'd formed to assist Gerard. Harga'rel and Thalia lived quietly in Amber, he at his family home and she in the Gatwegian embassy. Nothing happened until after my father returned as King, and Valeria came to Amber and accused Conner of murdering her father. We produced him, but she remained suspicious, of course.
"Harga'rel was invited to the masquerade ball that celebrated my father's coronation. During the ball, there was a serious disturbance. Someone, or someones, took advantage of that disturbance to drown Harga'rel in the champagne fountain. Because of the disturbance, which panicked everyone in the ballroom, no one saw, and many people left before the body was found. The murderer escaped cleanly. And because of what happened during the masquerade, there were no sorcerers to spare to try to find out what happened to Harga'rel that way. So the murder remains unsolved."
Having finished his tale, Martin sits back again. "You see why I think Harga'rel's death may be connected to events in Rebma?"
"I do," Celina responds quietly. "And it supports my intuition that a Rebman killed him, or ordered him killed. I suspect passion was involved, too." She thinks a moment. "So as far as you know, the secret of the escape route died with Demond?" The Seaward lass seems calm now.
"No," says Martin. "In fact, I'm quite sure it didn't. I've been through it with Benedict, as a boy. I might be able to find it based on Conner's comments; it's in the Triton quarter. Benedict was evasive when he spoke of it, but a tactician and strategist of his caliber doesn't forget an exit route from what might be enemy territory. And I doubt Harga'rel learned the route from Benedict." He arches his eyebrows to emphasize that last point.
Just for a slender moment, the very name of Benedict stuns her. She tilts her emerald eyes to look at Martin, this young legend who so gracefully speaks of old ones. She notes the eyebrow and the implicit humor---perhaps also a bit of wonder in it.
Celina takes a deep breath. She is related to Benedict. She swallows hard.
Oh. My.
It is a difficult thing to think on. Even more difficult than the shock of who her parents are--and thereby who she could be inside the shape of Celina.
"My, my," she says to Martin's eyebrow.
She feels a bit lightheaded. "So Atrios..." She has to swallow again and can't follow up that thought. He saved her and bade her return. "There is a presumption that I might be helpful in Unbinding the Tritons from some long service which others might call slavery. I suppose that would be reason enough to wish me harm in some quarters." She also looks bootward at Martin's feet. "And Rebma's reach to Amber is proven over the champagne filled body of Demond. The motive of that incident being obscure and possibly but not probably mundane."
Then it pops out of her without warning. "Valeria. Somehow it seems to me that she could have felt her father betrayed Rebma and taken matters in hand---so to speak." She doesn't look up at Martin to see what her outrage might provoke there.
From the tone of voice in which Martin replies, it's clinical interest. "Valeria strikes me as more hot-blooded than cold-blooded, but I haven't excluded her from my list of potential killers. That list is longer than you might think. I'm assuming Jerod's not involved, but I could be wrong. I'll be disappointed if I am. Everyone else is still on the list at this point."
The hand underneath Celina's doesn't move.
She is caught by his words. Her eyes come up flashing. "Jerod would kill him with more grace, if my opinion matters." She grabs hold of her temper. She manages a rueful smile.
"The one whose behavior makes no sense to me at all is Llewella. But I haven't understood anything about her relationship with Moire since they shut down the Libertists. You'd think killing her daughter under false pretenses would be enough to alienate her, but maybe the prospect of dealing with Eric's partisans in Amber was enough to make that look good. Or maybe Moire convinced her that the party line was true."
Oh little starfish. Celina tries to hold a mask and fails. "Llewella's daughter under false pretenses?" Celina just swallows it and puts it away. "There is less and less I understand about Moire all the time."
"The Libertists were a threat to public opinion of Moire, but not to Rebma," Martin says. "That was enough for her to frame Cassia for murder and execute her. But they couldn't execute a member of the Royal family on the Faiella-Bionin, so they killed her secretly. Montage took a certain pleasure in letting me know she was dead."
And she doesn't want to talk about it much now. But there are still things that bite out there.
It is clear to her in all this that Montage and Martin will have a reckoning some day.
"Everyone? So I'm a suspect? I'm honored I think." Celina sighs --unable to carry off the humorous feint. "Perhaps you had better tell me more about my fellow suspects. How can so many people have wanted the exiled Demond dead? I thought it would be easy to figure out recent arrivals from Rebma as the most likely suspects."
Martin looks back up at Celina. "Harga'rel was up to his pretty little ears in shady business dealings with people both in Amber and in Rebma. He had Aunt Rilsa's ear as well as Loreena's and Valeria's. He was up to something with the Gatwegians, which ties him indirectly to Bleys' attempt to take the throne from Eric a couple of decades ago."
Celina looks quite blank at that.
"That last, of course, tends to point the finger back at Conner, since Fiona's son would have reasons to want someone who would know Bleys' secrets silenced permanently. It doesn't quite jibe with his rescue of Thalia and Harga'rel from Rebma, but Harga'rel's death was only a couple of weeks after the return of Amber's expedition to the nether end of the universe. Bleys or Fiona could have done it, or had it done. And with Paige and Conner comfortably already situated here, they had indirect access to people who could do it quietly." Martin looks at Celina to see if she's following his logic.
She winces at the rush of names, but seeing his look, she nods. Yes. The trio of Fiona, Bleys, and Brand had an attempt on the throne while Eric held it. She remembers hearing they might have even been in league with the Black Sand attackers.
She frowns with the next thought. ?Didn't Corwin help Bleys in fighting to the steps of the castle?
"Similarly, let's say one of Dad's brothers or sisters had some dealings with Harga'rel--perhaps related to Bleys' bid for the throne, perhaps not--that they didn't want Dad to find out about. Any of them could have had Harga'rel silenced. So there's a broad range of suspects just looking at our relatives."
There is an ache under her ribs for it seems the cast of possible murderers will always be too large to keep up with. The room's air is so still and thin. Suddenly she is worried about Merlin drifting about in this family of sharp knives. Her brother's look of panic as he explained that Benedict had tried to kill him swim's before her again.
Small wonder. Little starfish, I want to scream too.
"I made the error of thinking Rebma was most important or passionate in regard to Demond's death," Celina says softly. "From Seaward, Rebma is always the most important. That is why I thought it had to be Valeria. She arrives as agent of Moir --and shortly after he dies." Her eyes fall on Martin's hand over hers. Trap? Trust? Tryst?
Martin nods. His face betrays nothing.
Celina smiles. "It seems that while Amber comes undone and strange cousins walk in from every shadow, I ought to disappear for a few decades. That is what the legends say the immortals of Amber do---wander through fantastic worlds, never aging, never loving, and never resting for the enemies that seek them out."
Her green eyes question Martin as a spark sizzles in her voice. "Doesn't that sound smart? Tell me why I should stay, son of Lir."
Martin meets her gaze. "Running does you no good, daughter of Moire," Martin replies. "I have hidden in the shadows. They don't protect you. I still bear the scar of the attempt on my own life. Your father was abandoned in shadow without his memory, and still his enemies came for him. Ask him, or ask your brother, whether you can hide.
"And back then it was just one madman. Now there's the remnants of that old plot plus whatever is coming out from under its rocks now that our grandfather Oberon is dead. Have you been instructed in the use of trumps, and how to block an unwanted call? How much do you know about shifting between shadows, and how to use them to disguise and deceive? How do you think you'll do out there, alone and untrained?
"That is," he adds, "if you will not stand and face your foes, or your fears, where you are." His eyebrows rise and fall again, questioningly.
Celina smiles at him. She hums low, then sings in a tuneful whisper:
"Shadow, shadow, be my pillow,
Take my head and let me sleep
In the coolness of your shallow,
In the silence of your deep
Shadow, shadow, hide my yearning,
For the things I cannot see
Keep my mind from constant turning,
To the things I cannot be
Shadow, shadow, be my blanket,
cover me with the endless night..."
She stops. "I used to go to sleep with that tune. Ta'Flir had a good voice."
The Seaward girl stretches her feet out and curls her bare toes. "Good. I'm glad to hear that I'm about as naked and ready for grilling as shucked shrimp. That's the way I feel. I've had a taste of the shadows and while they might not scare me I don't think they'd hide me either. There is too much I don't know. Thank you for being honest. I'm used to being naked. I can deal with that better than lies."
She purses her lips in thought. "If this fortress is to be abandoned soon, then maybe I'll just move in and plan my defense here. I understand that lessons can be had around here for staying alive." She wrinkles her nose at him, her anger completely gone now.
"Don't kid yourself. The flag will move, but this place won't be really abandoned for years. Old habits die hard, and the one of living in Amber will be no different."
She nods.
Martin frowns. "And my road takes me to Xanadu, or so my father tells me. I'm hoping you and Merlin will come too. I've done most of what I can for him, but I think you could still use a few lessons."
Her eyes consider his offer.
He slides his hand out of Celina's and pats hers once. "Why don't we start by you telling me what you know, what your background is, and then I can tell you where some of the holes are."
"A very good place to start," she replies. "The first thing I ever learned was that swearing would get my mouth slapped. Then came the 'ABCs.' Jumping ahead," she grins at him, "we find me a very proper young lady with very respectable aunts. Not blood aunts, but dear ladies who took me in when the captain they employed went down with all hands on a stormy run in the Seaward lanes.
"Their cargo and ship: so they decided to raise me rather than see me go to some scruffy family through the public adoption route. Were they fussy and a bit old-fashioned? Oh yes. Did I ever ask them about my mother's family? Yes. Was it the perfect cover for raising me to hold my own with royalty later? Starfish, yes."
She looks at the wall for a moment and goes on. "So what I know is what you hear about Amber from the far side of the Seaward Kingdoms. What I learned about Rebma and Amber as an adult is what elite young ladies of the Nibbeak Boarding Academy could read in the histories of the Golden Circle. A lot of that sounded like myth-making or history-scrubbing." She shrugs a very small motion.
"I learned poise and dance and being respectful because that's what everyone responded to. I felt lucky to have nice things and people that cared about me. I paid back into the system by being a star student. So good girl gets good grades and pat on head. Graduates top of class and gets a season working for a professor at the Academy." Celina squints at something. "I learned magic because my elders seemed to think I had a talent for it. I had some weird reactions to things during my TakHi studies. Sometimes my dreams are troublesome still.
She shakes her head. "Suddenly there was this position, this travel grant to Rebma and the body of knowledge there. I could do some journeyman work in the archives. Professor Khrop thought I was perfect for it. She thought I ought to see Rebma before trying to pick a career. I was flattered and agreed." She looks at him, her jaw tight. "Just so you understand, connecting the dots like this makes me feel very stupid about not realizing what was happening."
Celina nods. "So once in Rebma things really started to slide in strange directions. The travel grant was eliminated by some budget tangle. The court was very 'sorry' about me being stranded, but they contacted my aunts, who promptly put a credit draft with a courier so I could stay a season in the city. Before that even arrived, I was called back to court to find that Queen Moire had placed me in 'ward of Rebma' status because she was irritated that a young Seaward girl would be 'bereft of a good appreciation for Rebma and its history because of an administrative blemish.' Which meant that the archivist study did happen and I was living at the palace. My credit draft arrived, so I was able to buy nice clothes and do the family proud in the swim circles of the various galleries. I could hit the opera and other cultural events.
"And somehow Moire took a personal interest. She crossed my path more than once before asking that I attend a few sessions of court. I thought," she looks tiredly at Martin, "that it was all about Rebman pride and showing a merchant girl how things were done in the Big Swim." She gestures with a hand. "Anyhow, you probably know the rest. I ended up with a status I couldn't refuse and a lot of... interest from the various sharks that found the new 'angel' just fascinating. I had no 'white tip' troubles, but I really was more worried about the 'hammerheads' anyhow."
"I had time to do even more with magic. Moire actually gave me pointers after she 'read my transcripts' from Nibbeak. I learned the enchantments of mirrors."
"Eventually, Moire decided I said the right things to the right people--she titled me. The 'bedchamber' title being at first the biggest shock and honor of my life." She sighs. "Months later, Moire just started handing me things that Loreena, Valeria or Rilsa usually did for her. That's when the waters really got cold. I escorted William Roth when he was in Rebma. The envoy to Paris business was handed to me when Loreena had a 'conflict' in her schedule. There I met Corwin, Jerod, Merlin, and Vere. There Moire decided to expose my parentage to Corwin, who decided to do that in public in front of all the honoreds.
"When Merlin talked about coming back to Amber, I jumped at the chance to go with him."
"Now the whole of my history is just fuel for embarrassment. I appear about as bright as a tiger shark." She purses her lips. "Maybe I'm not quite that bright, but it all seemed to hang together when I swam it. Now it's I don't know what---."
She seems done.
Martin has listened to the entire story with a lack of betraying expression, occasionally nodding to indicate comprehension. At the end he says, "Moire's good at maneuvering people to do dirty work for her. Look at how she got Corwin to do hers with you." He shrugs fatalistically.
"But let's back up a minute. You said you learned TaKhi," he says. "TaKhi and magic. What kind of magic did you learn, exactly? Have you talked to Merlin about that, and the mirrors?"
"I have talked to Merlin about magic and he has ...corrected?" She looks at Martin, "or given me his Chaosi interpretation of my studies. All magic is Sorcery as he calls it. Where I learned that sorcery was a very specific kind of magic. Perhaps the difference is approach only. I was taught that the journey to magic was through Artistic expression, not seeking power. TaKhi opens the body to dance and passion and expression. It also helps you find a path to magic. I did not talk to Merlin about the mirrors. It was enough to learn that my view of magic was not matched to his.
"Still, I'm interested in what he thinks, so talking about mirrors with him would not be something I would avoid." Celina watches Martin. "I told you because I thought you would understand the differences and the sources of those differences. I am willing to learn other views."
"I'm not a magician or a metaphysician. My command of such matters is practical rather than theoretical," Martin says. "TaKhi I know of, more than many. And of sorcery I know this: the only people I've ever seen perform sorcery of the sort Merlin does--trans-shadow violation of universal principles--are lords of Chaos or relatives of one sort or another. Or both. Who was your teacher?"
"Just recently, Moire, of course. Originally Khela. Professor Khrop, who was the instructor for our TaKhi," Celina says.
"Oh," he says.
And then, "oh," again.
Her smile melts a bit. Has a current changed again?
"She's about so tall," Martin says, rising to indicate Khela's height with his hand. "Dark-skinned," (by which he means the dark green skin common to Rebma), "with a colored mark, a tattoo perhaps, over her left eye?"
It's only nominally a question.
The echo in her head is the matter-of-fact denial. How would he know her?
"I should never believe anything Moire tells me or has me told. That's Llewella's daughter."
Her thighs twitch with lightning. Celina gapes at him.
He sits back down on the couch with a thump. "Christ, I hope Jerod's still alive."
Her hands take ahold of his shirt front. Gently she pulls herself very close to him. "Why would Jerod not be alive? Who's after him? Montage lied about Llewella's daughter to you when? Recently? Montage is here in Amber then? They don't want you to look for Khela?" Saying the name makes another group of muscles twitch hard.
She feels a storm of weepng boiling up on a distant inner horizon. "Khela. Half-cousin?" Her hands clutch harder now unknowing and threads are nearing their utmost strain. She leans a finger width from his mouth. She whispers, "They will kill her then if they can. Won't they?" She blinks slowly and stares at Martin. She is not as dazed as she thinks she ought to be.
Except she knows that the world will never be right. No one can make it better. The mad tangles are deeper still and so intense as to keep the tears far away.
"Probably. If they can," says Martin. He reaches up and removes Celina's fingers from his shirt. Most people wouldn't be strong enough to do that, particularly not without hurting her. He is.
Celina gives with recognition of how much strength she was using. She flushes and draws a thin breath.
"To answer your questions in reverse order, Khela's your cousin on both sides, because her mother is your mother's sister and your father's sister. No, they don't want me to look for Khela, because they're afraid I'll side with her in what looks to them--and to me--like a probable civil war."
Celina blinks at the ache in her temples. She nods.
"Montage isn't your mother's only resource for these things, so his presence isn't a measure of her capability for handling it. He told me about Khela's death just before Cassia's execution. And Jerod--he's facing someone who can command the Tritons, just like you or me. We thought it was one of his sisters, who wouldn't hurt him. If Khela's moving against Moire, she has no reason to hold her hand."
Martin stands up and moves to the door, where he uses the bellpull to summon a page. "Ask the Princess Llewella to join us at once. It's very important. And have someone send up some ginger water from the kitchen."
The page scurries off and Martin closes the door behind him.
"Ginger water---would be nice," mutters Celina. Her emerald eyes see a different room and her skin recalls other kind touches. She chews her lip. "Llewella. Spines, what will I say to her?" She wonders if Khela actually sent her to Rebma or only appeared to go along with something arranged by Moire.
"Tell her the truth," Martin suggests. "It would be a novelty in our family."
Celina groans out loud with Martin's suggestion and closes her eyes in frustration.
What difference does it make? How could Khela have really cared for me when she wouldn't tell me who she was? She inserted herself at Nibbeak to corrupt me.
Martin's words belatedly coil around her thoughts. She looks up sharply and puts a hand to her throat. "Command? You and me? There isn't a ritual or some safeguard, some connection that must be agreed to? You mean you have commanded the Tritons by royal custom or arcane force?" She has a filthy image of herself bound to the Tritons at birth in some ritual.
Martin frowns. "You're Moire's daughter. She gave you a Triton, didn't she? I don't know the magics of the binding, but I know the Tritons obey. And I know there are--loopholes, let us call them. I don't think one could or even would try to go against Moire directly, but they'll twist her words, or yours, to let them do what they want if they're rebellious. That's why Atrios was able to help me walk the Pattern and escape. She never told him not to, and I told him to."
"Oh," is the very quiet response.
He looks into Celina's eyes and says, "Khela had Tritons too, in her day. They know she can command. She wants to free them. The ones who work with her want this, and they'll do their damnedest to hear and obey her, but not Moire or any who serve her will. Do you see why I'm worried?"
"You're thinking that tritons tasked by Khela would only be countermanded by Moire or someone that Moire has allowed to command tritons. A civil war in Rebma. But wouldn't she have revoked your authority or mine as soon as we were out of sight? Likewise it makes no sense that Khela has authority still. Are you thinking the Authority is more permanent than that?" She pauses. "Wait."
Two ideas tangle in her head. She licks her lips and shares. "Atrios coerced the tritons who wanted to grab me in Rebma. The masked ones were furious, but left based on hand signs he gave them---so there is some sort of delegation of authority. Moire might have told large groups of tritons that Atrios had to be obeyed in matters relating to the court. I was of the court."
"Yet I demanded the tritons coming at us 'explain themselves' and they did nothing by sign or voice to do so." She looks at him. "Actually, looking at it from the rebellious standpoint, they could have captured me and then explained what was happening. That's what you meant by twisting things, isn't it?"
Martin nods once, abruptly.
"And it's hard to give orders to people who aren't in your presence to listen," he observes. "Tell me more about this business with the Tritons. How did that happen?"
"The Celina Factor: by which I mean 'out of the blue'," she replies. Then she gives a short recounting of she and Bill Roth being accosted in the city as she toured the Paris emissary. "At the time, I thought it must have been something Bill had done or said. Bill remarked afterward that the tritons were not after him. I realized he was right." She pauses. "I was very frightened by the whole thing and expected Moire to be more than upset with me. And when I told her Atrios said I should leave Rebma----before I left court that day, I had the lead of the Paris delegation."
"The rest follows," she adds.
"Yeah, it would," says Martin. "Let me pose you an alternate theory: those Tritons weren't there to hurt you. They were there to carry you off, and that's what--" A knock on the door interrupts his sentence.
Martin glances at Celina, and barring a demurral from her, says "Come in."
So bidden, a page enters with a sealed note, which he presents to Martin. "Your Highness, Steward Vent says Princess Llewella has ordered her rooms closed. She left this message for you."
Martin takes the note from the page, breaks the seal, and reads it. "Dammit!" he exclaims, and smacks the side of the couch with the bottom of his fist. He passes the note to Celina.
Martin,
I've been apprised of recent events in Rebma that require my immediate attention. I'm going home to take care of things. Whatever you do, don't come to Rebma without talking to me. There are things you need to know before you set foot in the city again.
Take care of yourself and keep an eye on Celina and that lovely purple-haired girl of yours.
Love,
Llew
"Or does everything hereabouts happen out of the blue?" Celina murmurs as she finishes.
When Celina looks up from the note, Martin is already concentrating on a Trump. After a couple of minutes, he shakes his head. "No good. She's busy or blocking. Dammit!"
She gnaws her lip. "How far could she have gotten? How important is it that you talk to her? And is it important enough to do a little trespass?"
"With a Trump deck of her own? She could be in Paris already, with Corwin, and en route to Rebma from there. If she wanted to talk to me, she'd be taking my Trump."
Martin shakes his head again. "What did you have in mind? My instinct is that snooping would be a bad idea. I know how I react when people mess in my stuff, and I think I know what she wants to tell me already. About Khela."
Embarrassed, Celina puts thoughts of Llewella walking into the surf to reach Rebma out of her head. "Oh, yes, it will take me a bit to get used to you all traipsing about the universe." She hesitates to go any further. His ideas and words are much more informed by experience than hers.
"You were swearing," she shrugs.
Now it's Martin who looks vaguely embarrassed. The slightest hint of pink colors his cheeks. "Sorry," he says.
"I thought there was some urgency or a warning of something you had to pass to her. She signed her note 'love' and Rebmans don't do that unless they mean it." Or are skilled liars trying to twist your head around.
"I wasn't thinking snooping exactly. I was thinking she would have a personal mirror in her room. One that has held her image many times. Perhaps one that is face down under her bed or tucked away for a crisis. We could at least try to get her a visual message. You could write it and I could push it at the face of the glass." She waits on his wisdom.
"I think she and I need to talk, both ways. I have questions, and I might be able to help her with information--but I can't help her if I don't know what she needs." Martin shakes his head. "Just sending her a note might make things worse. You're not the only one who could monitor such a mirror. Thanks, but I think I'll have to wait until I can Trump her."
Celina relaxes; then realizes how much she was worried she might have to deliver on a precarious promise. She smiles thinking Martin will know now. "Fine," she admits. "Of course, you are right about the tap. However, making a personal connection through her own mirror would give a certainty that the message was direct and could be done quickly. I would not set my learning against the Queen who taught me. Being inexperienced is my lot, but being stupid annoys the silt out of me." There is no sting or reproach to what she has admitted. She smiles.
"And so," she goes on, "when and how will you educate me to my lot as the girl who has a lot to learn? Things seem busy. I feel a literal imposition in taking your time to talk me through shadows. Is there anything I can read on the subject?"
"The kinds of things you need to know don't come in books, I'm afraid. And if they did, the books wouldn't be accurate." He lets out a gust of air and shakes his head. "What a mess. I have no idea how long I'll be here; if my schedule so far holds, two or three days. And I can't tell you the kinds of things you need to know in that kind of time."
"That doesn't surprise me," she replies. Celina studies him a bit in the pause. "Something tells me you would be a better teacher than Merlin."
Martin pauses a moment, and says, "I do my best. Your brother's a stranger in a strange land here; he's got enough to learn himself that the fact he can teach at all speaks well of him. And the sorts of things you need to know right now aren't just the basics of our family gifts, which are blocked in Rebma anyway. Merle has the political subtlety, or as much of it as I could give him, but he doesn't yet really understand how to implement what he knows. That'll take time, and being around people."
"And didn't you just forecast my future in the same breath?" Celina doesn't seem upset by her question. "I'm not sure the age difference between Merlin and I, but I appreciate how much he has an upward battle against the great body of ... gravitas that is this family."
"I'm a lot older than he is, and I have to fight it pretty hard myself," Martin says ruefully. "But as terrible as my grandmother can be, she's at least human. As human as you and I are, anyway. Merlin's other relatives aren't. He does such a good job coping that most people forget that."
A servant arrives with the ginger water, and Martin prepares a glass for Celina.
Celina relaxes and thinks about Merlin swelling breasts while she watched. How could anyone forget? Everything about her brother shouted out his aloneness. She nibbled at her lip.
As Martin crosses to her she nods a smile and accepts the ginger water.
"So you go where the king sends you," Celina sips the water and inhales the scent of it. "And would you have time to teach even if Merlin and I went with you? Or would it be easier to find us here in broken Amber whenever you had time to teach?"
"I'll make the time. I sleep too much anyway," Martin says with a wry grin as he mixes up a second glass for himself.
I don't believe you, Mr. Intensity. Celina surprises herself with that thought.
"I don't know enough about what I may have to do to say. I think my father wants me in Xanadu for a while. I'll have to talk to him and find out what his plans are before I can say for sure. Either way, we could stay in contact if we had Trumps of each other. Merlin already has mine. I guess he hasn't had time to make one of you, since he's been preoccupied with working on Jerod's Trump.
"We'll work it out somehow."
"These ... Trumps that the family passes around," Celina searches for words, "aren't they a bit like handing out keys to your brain?"
"Not exactly. You can block Trumps, although it takes some effort to do so. Anyone who uses Trumps should learn that. Combining Trumps with sorcery comes closer to what you suggest; fortunately there have only been two who could to my knowledge. Your brother I trust, and the other is dead." Martin's jaw shifts slightly for a moment, and his blue eyes go icy.
"There aren't enough Trumps of most of us for them to be passed around too casually. There are a lot of my Trumps. My father has one, your brother another. My cousin Paige has a third, Folly has a fourth. And, unfortunately, Merlin's mother has the last of them." Martin makes a sour face.
He adds: "There was another Trump of me, but it was damaged and doesn't work any more. My father has it. Of others of our cousins there are generally only one or two, if that."
"Good. I think I wouldn't be able to sleep well if portraits could always come into my head and talk to me." She seems serious enough.
"While we know from practical application that it's possible to make a Trump of someone without their knowledge, it's not normal to do so. The use of a secretly-created Trump to attack someone is likely to be a high crime under my father's rule. Possibly even a capital crime." Martin's jaw sets and his lips flatten into a tight line as he finishes speaking.
The conversation seems to have gone into troubled territory and Celina only now realizes it. The Seaward girl thinks about her fears and Martin's face and suddenly imagines herself that coldly furious. What provokes him?
It pops into her head without further thought. Rape. He's seen mental rape or avenged it for someone close. She feels the icy horror of her worst fear realized: someone has already done this and others know how it can be done. But she moves closer to him instead of away.
Martin doesn't acknowledge her movement. It's not that he's ignoring it, but perhaps he puts no significance on it.
"Thank you for being so honest. Let's be done with monsters and apprehension for today," she thinks what might be a pleasant diversion to move from what history or loved one he imagines behind his tight face.
He nods, once.
Celina is careful to keep a respectful but pleasant Rebman distance between herself and Martin. "So tell me about something in Amber that I ought to see. Speak of beauty and wonder, not as a prince but as a man."
The faintest flicker of a smile appears, and is gone. "I think I missed all of that when I came to Amber. I was only here for a little while with my father before everything fell apart. There was an earthquake, and fires. A lot of buildings were damaged, or burned." Martin shakes his head sadly.
Celina fights off tears and succeeds this time. It is not Amber she is worried about for this moment.
"My father's place, the new one that they were talking about this morning? That was beautiful. No buildings yet, just a palace built into the rock. There's a cliff and a waterfall. We dived it, Dad and I, and climbed back up." He smiles, and it's genuine. "You should see it before all the people come and mess it up."
Celina realizes that Martin's patience for most people is all used up. He doesn't hate them perhaps, he merely has no more of himself he is willing to give them. "I should," she answers impulsively. She holds back her next thought. Finds another: "Tomorrow then? Things will move quickly, won't they?" Then she remembers that she is trying to keep this part of the talk lighter. "I want to see the waterfall. I need to see things that inspire me."
Again she chokes off where that thought is going. Instead: "And promise you won't ask me to dive off it the first time I see it." She smiles. "I'm delicate."
"We didn't make Folly jump, so I'm sure you can get out of it." Martin's native good humor, or the face that he wears to signify it, has returned. "I don't know when people are leaving. But if you want in, I'll see what I can do about bringing you with one of the first couple of groups that go."
Wearing a face that cradles the hope of his mask, Celina responds with some zest. "Very gracious, I accept." She takes a long drink from the ginger water.
Somehow, the idea that she is not one of Martin's people that will 'mess it up' is enough to power her strained heart through the rest of the day.
Last modified: 4 October 2004