Brita blinks for a second or two after the Trump call has ended, still maintaining contact with Conner. Finally, she says, "It would have been Interesting to See What our Cousin Silhouette would Do to Help or Hinder our Task, but Probably not Wise." She sighs. "What shall we Try Now?"
Conner pours himself a glass of wine and drains it before answering. "For all that I firmly believe everything I said to Ambrose, the direct approach is appealing to me right now. Unless they are truly insulated or incompetent in there, they know we're here and they must know we're coming. Let's knock on the door and see what happens. If they don't let us in, I have no doubt that the barrier will prove a minor one to remove."
Brita nods in agreement, "Then Let Us be Direct." She makes quick work of cleaning off her almost abandoned plate and does her best to straighten her appearance. She makes sure her knife is displayed outside her jacket. "We can Play This as Before - I will be Your Guard. You Play at Royal Better than I."
As they near the Embassy, Brita scans the scene. The harbormaster had said the Paresh had the Embassy under siege. She wonders how that fits with the meek, passive image that Elder Farhan projected. The question is whether they will let Conner and herself approach the Embassy guard or whether they will attempt to stop them.
"I am hurt sister." Conner smiles. "I am quite serious about being a Royal." He chuckles. Conner allows Brita to proceed him by a half step as befits a bodyguard as they walk to the Embassy. Rather than any badge of office, Conner holds his telescoping pointer in his hand with a sorcerous working half on his lips should any within the embassy decide they are target practice.
There are dozens of people in the plaza outside the embassy, watching it. Only one looks to be there on official city business. The rest may be Paresh. They aren't actually blocking the entrance, but it would be impossible to get to the embassy without going through them.
Brita will continue to lead the way through the crowds. She is alert, but appears to ignore the majority of the crowd. What does the one who looks official look like?
The official looks like the portmaster: he stands away from the proto-mob and seems to be looking in every direction at once. In a word, he seems harried. The Paresh look different; they are more focused on the embassy and don't seem to be ready to do more than loiter.
As Brita presses towards the gates to the embassy, a Pareshi steps up. "Excuse me, gentlefolk, are you going into the embassy? We have a message we would have delivered." He smiles.
Brita stops and stands at parade rest. Turning slightly towards Conner to allow him to answer first. She does not smile.
Conner pauses a half step behind Brita and smiles broadly at the Pereshi. "I am in the profession of delivering messages, sir, but not from unknown parties. So please, introduce yourself, and then I shall be happy to pass along your message."
The man cannot help but smile back. Few can. "You are the diplomats from Amber? I too am from that city. My name is Elder Martial, and I have not been to Amber in many years. If you would tell the Lord Huon of the Horn that he owes a service to Justice, and he may do his duty by stepping out from the Bellumite Embassy, I would consider it a personal favor."
"I do not think appeals to Justice will sway, Huon," Conner replies. "but I will relay your message if you tell me one thing. What manner of justice do you expect should Huon step outside the Embassy?"
Brita is listening but continues to scan the crowd as well.
He replies softly, as if repeating a lesson. "How one pays one's service to Justice is for the Gods to determine, my friend. It is not optional, and it is much better to do so in the life during which you incurred the debt."
The man leans in. "He hasn't much time."
Brita turns at this to focus on the conversation. "Has Something been Seen as to His Fate, Elder?" she asks. "The Elder that Gave Me a Meal at the Temple indicated that Some could See the Future."
The man smiles, albeit somewhat hesitantly. "I do not have the sight, but I have heard that it is so."
"I have attempted to divine the future a time or two myself and have found the endeavor to be ambiguous at best and useless at worst." Conner comments lightly. "Be that as it may, I will pass along your message, Elder, and we shall both see what comes of it. Good day." Conner nods to the Paresh and motions to Brita to continue their march towards the Embassy to demand entrance.
Brita nods as well, turns smartly, and leads the way to the entrance, monitoring the crowd as they go.
No one stops them as they approach the gate to the Embassy. There are two guards, who do not look to be ceremonial. The fence is of a different style than is true of neighboring houses and the gate is not centered on the house.
The guards watch the crowd as well as the approaching Amberites; only their eyes move. They look ready for combat. They would look ready for combat almost anywhere, and may indeed have been chosen for this trait.
A third man, also a fighter, greets them as they reach the gates. "Welcome to the Bellum Embassy to Asir, strangers. What is your business with the Great And Bountiful League of All the Bellums?" His smile is plastered on, but his tone is not hostile.
"My business is with my Uncle, Huon of the Horn, who I am told is currently within the walls of your Embassy." Conner replies. "Unless your Ambassador chooses to involve Bellum in this private family matter, I have no business with the Great and Bountiful League of All the Bellums." Years of diplomatic training manages to keep both sarcasm and amusement out of Conner's voice as he repeats the title of the currently ascendent faction of that fractured nation. His rather icy smile is intended to convey that Bellum would like to remain uninvolved.
Brita stands stoically by although she does turn her head to monitor the crowd and hide her reaction to the title.
The iron grating sweeps open. "Welcome to Bellum, my Lord. Your Uncle the Prince awaits you within. I will show you the way."
The courtyard here is also out of place in the neighborhood, more reminiscent of a dunjon keep than an embassy. The entranceway is narrow, as are the windows. Within the building, there are few long sightlines through the building.
The man leads them to a second floor parlor. In it, standing in front of a bookshelf, is Huon. He looks every inch the Prince of Amber that he was born to be. "You are my sister's children? I am pleased to meet you."
"Uncle," Brita nods at Huon. She holds her tongue on her other questions until Conner - the more diplomatic of the two of them - speaks.
Huon nods back at her.
"Highness." Conner inclines his head the shortest distance allowed by protocol. "These are certainly more pleasant circumstances than our last meeting. I am Conner, son of Fiona, and this is my sister, Brita." Conner indicates Brita with a sweep of his arm. "I apologize if we have kept you waiting, but there is a rather agitated crowd outside." Conner smiles thinly.
Huon smiles in return, equally thinly. "Please, call me 'Huon'. We're not in court and it's nice to meet you under less stressful circumstances. I'm surprised that you were bothered by them. The Asirians are most talented at disagreeing over nonexistent theological minutia.
"I am ready to depart, or if you are tired after your ... journey, we may impose on the Bellumites for tea. I would not recommend it. Their tea often tastes faintly of gunpowder."
"Departing without Addressing the Concerns of the Locals seems a bit Abrupt," Brita notes. Deciding she can be the not diplomatic one, she turns to her uncle and asks directly, "Did you Kill Anyone While you were Here, Uncle?"
Conner cannot prevent a flicker of his usual grin as Brita asks her question. Conner decides to see where this goes and awaits Huon's response.
He looks shocked. "Didn't they tell you? The Assirians are usually much more forthcoming than that." He pauses just for a moment. "I killed some cultists. Were they important to you?"
"There are certain metaphysical questions about them that his Majesty wants answered," Conner informs Huon. "and questioning the dead is a rare talent currently frowned upon in family circles." Conner shares another thin smile. "I think my sister was more curious what they could have done to have drawn your ire. They seem a quite passive and benign group from all accounts."
Brita nods in agreement, "Somewhat Too Passive from My Observation."
Huon pauses for a moment. He doesn't look at all discomfited by inconveniencing the King. "They were mine to kill, for insulting a Prince of Amber."
Conner nods at the expected response.
Brita does not growl at her uncle in frustration, but her tone carries the frigid winds of Jutenheim, "Uncle, What Insult could those So Beneath You offer that would Warrant the Effort to Kill Them and the Potential of Garnering a Real King's Disapproval?"
"The Paresh are known for saying things that people do not wish to hear." Conner points out. "I do not question your right to avenge an insult, Huon, but I am too am curious as to what occurred if for no other reason than to reassure my Queen that this was a rare aberration of a situation."
Huon shrugs. "The King my brother may ask my motives. I am his loyal subject and vassal. Had he but let me know of his interest, I might have delivered them unto him. The Queen of Rebma will soon be in a position to gather her own assurances."
Typical Uncle Speak. Brita looks to her brother to deal with this.
"Very well. Time is the one thing our Family has in abundance after all." Conner smiles. "Though there is one order of business I must discharge before I leave. Elder Martial of the Paresh had a message for you. He said that you owe a service to Justice, and you may do your duty by stepping out from the Bellumite Embassy." Conner pauses to await his Uncle's reaction.
Huon nods. "Thank you for the message. As I am in your custody to be returned to Rebma, I will defer to your judgment on the next course of action."
Brita turns to her brother. She is willing to run the gamut of Paresh if required, although she feels it will go poorly for the Paresh. "Thoughts, Brother? Could we Make it Appear His Atonement is Executed for Them?"
Huon looks around the room, which is tastefully decorated in equipment for and depictions of war. "In my generation, we were a more direct family. The Bellumites are prepared to fight there way to the docks, if necessary. I suspect they are always prepared to do so."
He brushes at a non-existent speck on his sleeve. "I have informed them not to come to my rescue no matter what happens. I can rescind that directive if you are ... nervous."
Brita bristles. "It is Not Nerves, Uncle. It is an Attempt to Find a Way to Prevent these Paresh from Hassling King Random or Queen Celina in the Future. Assuaging their Thirst for Justice in Some Manner would Ease Future Interactions."
"But that is our concern, sister." Conner smiles. "Our uncle merely wishes to be on his way. The Paresh have left this in the hands of the Asir and the Asir have come to terms with me. So I suggest we three simply leave by the front door, make our way to the docks, and see what fate has in store."
Brita calms at her brothers words and prepares to lead the group outside.
Huon nods. He seems ready to leave with no further formalities.
Conner leads the way out of the embassy with the intention that Huon will follow and Brita bringing up the rear. They might be walking into a riot but Conner seems married to the direct approach today.
Brita follows her uncle and politely does not glare daggers at his back for being such an Uncle. She is watching as Conner and Huon exit to see how the crowd outside reacts and is prepared to react appropriately.
Huon offers his arm to Brita, but will allow her to follow if she does not wish to take it.
Brita declines the arm with "Playing Guard Today, Uncle - not Lady."
Things procede without incident until they reach the gates of the embassy. Within, Brita and Conner observe what appears to be packing activities. Bellum's embassy is well-designed to move quickly, and people seem to be scurrying to make it happen.
The gates are opened for Conner as he approaches and the plaza before him, once busy with passers-by and interested Paresh, is empty. All of the streets and alleyways leading away seem to be packed, but no one seems to want to be in the plaza as Huon leaves.
As Conner steps into the empty, yellow-tiled plaza, a man, quite probably of the Asirian customs department, approaches him. "I've had word, your honor, from the harbormaster. We're to follow your lead. What, if I may ask, is your intent?"
There are hundreds of eyes on the four of them, although no one should be within earshot.
Huon seems to be enjoying himself. He may break out a wave to the crowd.
Brita waits with an eye on Huon and one on the temperament of the crowd. If Huon starts trying to play to the crowd too much, she will intervene with a softly hissed "Uncle Pinnabello's Kin should be More Circumspect at the Moment."
Huon laughs. "A Prince of Amber who fears to face his doom is no true Prince, Niece. No one would compose songs about your glorious death for the good of Amber if you slunk to the gallows.
"Besides, we both know that you or I or even your brother could make quick work of this rabble. They don't have the heart to do anything about me. If they all rushed us, do you know which one you would kill first? Benedict would know, as would Corwin or Bleys. You must learn to think as one of us, my dear.
"Would you like me to see if I can manipulate probability to get them to attack? Just as a test of your abilities? Could you get us safely to the ship then?"
Brita just raises an eyebrow at this. "Perhaps Another Day, Uncle. We've spent Enough Time in this Shadow."
Huon nods. "Perhaps another time, then."
"My intent is to walk to my ship and leave." Conner replies simply. "How difficult do you expect that will be?"
The guard, nods, and Conner thinks he's afraid. "Would you mind if it looked as if my men were escorting you? The jail is near your boat, so it should be easy, unless the mob turns ugly."
The mob doesn't seem ugly, but there are clearly some men associated with the customs service waiting near them. They seem to be waiting for orders.
Brita is willing and relays that to Conner with a slight shrug. She is monitoring to discern if there is any pattern manipulation from her Uncle.
Asir is an odd place, and things are not quite right. It's hard to explain, but there is definitely something unusual here.
In addition, Uncle Huon or someone has been engaged in some sort of pattern manipulation, and may have been doing so for a long time.
"If you wish to put your men in harm's way, feel free," Conner replies easily. "But they will have to keep up for I do not wish to linger here a moment longer." So saying, Conner walks off briskly in the direction of their ship. He eyes the crowd for any signs of courage or stupidity on the part of the populace. One hand slips into a pocket to find a sorcerous prop he has readied there, a crude battery with a coil of wire attached to one pole. He hopes not to use it but Conner did have the benefit of his mother's training and has already selected his target should it come to that. The fact that Huon would approve disturbs him deeply but this is not the time to dwell on it. He has a ship to catch.
The Customshouse man seems startled, and falls in, trying to get ahead of Conner, but failing. His assistants clear a path though the crowd ahead for Conner. Huon is right behind. Brita sees him nod to selected individuals as he passes.
The Paresh who approached before allows himself to be pulled out of Conner's way by a deputy.
The man, hurrying behind Conner, speaks up. He seems a bit winded. "Would Your Honors at least stop in the harbormaster's office before departing? It's normal to do so."
Conner slows his pace to allow the man to draw even with him. "There is little that has been normal about today." Conner observes. "Why should I stop in the harbormaster's office aside from adherence to tradition?" Conner watches the man carefully while he answers. Conner is still waiting for the other shoe to drop and watches for any sign of falsehood.
Brita is still surveying the crowd and keeping an eye on Huon.
Huon is grinning at the crowd. He tosses a flower, which he must have conjured, to a pretty young woman. It lands perfectly in her hands. She stands there, staring at it.
The idea that someone wouldn't check out with harbormaster seems alien to the functionary "I... because that is where you get clearance to leave, your Honor! It's my duty to escort you there."
The crowd closes behind Brita, at a more-than-respectful distance, and starts to follow.
As they get away from the Paresh at the embassy, it becomes more of a product of itself. People see the crowd, they join the crowd, and they attract more crowd. Some in the crowd seem actually excited to see the procession, although they may not know why.
Perhaps they are expecting a hanging on the docks. Or a speech.
Had Conner known the wishes of the crowd he might be pleased to do either with the bureaucratic mite stinging his heels. His gut tells him this is a mistake but he has been a diplomat too long to ignore the forms and functions. "Lead on then, but be quick about it. I expect to see efficiency such that future generations will hold this day up as a model."
Brita follows along, on alert for any change in the crowd vibe.
The crowd is less angry and more interested in the spectacle. Some of the Paresh have followed this far, but not all by any means.
The customs man leads Conner directly back to the same office he departed when he went to get Huon. The door opens and the bureaucrat ushers them in. "The man you wanted, Uncle!", he announces.
"Laval, you idiot! You weren't supposed to bring them here! Take them back to their ship at once.!"
The younger customs man's face falls.
He turns to you, his smile tight and forced. "You are clear of customs and authorized to leave, as long as you cast off within the hour."
He picks up a blank piece of paper from his desk and stamps it with his seal. He holds it out to Conner, and it seems he is intentionally not looking at Huon.
Huon just chuckles. "I think I'll miss this place, when I'm gone."
Brita notes - loud enough for the young customs man to hear - "At Least Someone Sees to the Proper Formalities." She waits for the exchange of paper and to be lead to the ship.
The portmaster does look up at Huon at his comment. "If you return, your honor, I will be required to fulfill my duty and arrest you. I pray you choose to do so on my successor's watch."
Huon chuckles. "Fear not, for the sun shall not set on another day when you are still alive and trying actively to arrest me."
Brita does not like Huon's comment. Heck, she doesn't like any of her Uncle's comments - Uncle Loki is obviously a 1st generation shadow of this Uncle. She looks to Conner to get them out of here before their Uncle starts a natural disaster that destroys the entire island.
Conner's plan is to sail until the crew of the vessel can get somewhere safe and then see if the Trump sketch Brita made of that spot by the stairs works for the quick way home.
The first part of Conner's plan works successfully and the ship sails out of the harbor of Asir's main port and into the bright, late spring sunlight. The looking back at the city is almost impossible due to the great glare off the snowy mountains that overshadow the narrow, fjord-like valley that cradles the city.
"Wondering when that cold spell would snap", says one sailor, as the ship turns for deeper waters. Soon Conner has the ship back along Jerod's remade golden-circle route and the ship can return to Amber safely. He takes out the trump sketch and, stares at it. The power is there, and he can take them all through at his leisure.
Conner passes Brita and Huon through the Trump and follow along behind them.
Brita checks quickly to make sure all the appropriate items are in appropriate water tight packaging before stepping through in front of Uncle Huon. She stands ready on the other side - greeting the awaiting guard with a quick, "Lord Conner, Prince Huon, and Lady Brita Returning to Realm Rebma at the Queen's Behest."
The guard, a young officer, nods. 'You have been expected. You and the Duke are welcome back, your Ladyship. My men and I will act as your escort to the palace, for the prisoner's safety. May I send a runner ahead?"
[Regardless of the answer...] He turns to Huon.
"I regret, your highness, that I must ask for your weapon. No one not sworn to her service may be armed in the presence of her majesty."
Huon smiles. "How delightfully traditional. I daresay His Grace the Duke, who has custody of me, can take it, or the Lady Brita. Will that be satisfactory?"
The guard, bows in response and looks to Conner and Brita for their response.
Brita gives her uncle a slight bow and says "I Will Hold it for You, Uncle." As she hold out her hand.
Huon nods and hands the scabbarded blade to her. "Thank you, Brita. I may not be needing it again for some time."
The guard nods and the men lead out, in a loose but deliberate circle some distance from the Royals. A runner has departed for the castle and it's clear that some troops has gone ahead to clear the streets.
"Our second parade of the day," says Huon. "I feel honored."
Brita follows along, ignoring Huon's comment.
"I suppose that depends on what you take pride in Uncle." Conner remarks. He take a moment to see which troops and Tritons have been assigned to this detail making mental notes of how this differs from the instructions he gave before he left.
Huon nods, letting Conner have the last word.
[OOC: It's the honor guard you asked for. There may be tritons nearby, for values of nearby that include, "above, swimming in the darkness." Honor guards still don't, by default, include Tritons, even in the new, Integrated Rebma. They're nearby.]
The entire group moves up the road towards the castle. There are, by the time they arrive, many people following behind them.
Early awake. Early to rise. TaKhi to iron out the internal pain of love dying.
Celina enters the corridors of the Palace and then into the Galleries, by a back route that does not connect directly to her chambers. She wanders in the plain robes of an Archivist, with long very black hair and memory rings on her fingers.
It becomes a slow stroll as the Queen drinks from the traffic of early morning. She learns more than she expected from Silhouette's suggestion. She learns that TaKhi expands her mind. She doesn't just read the ordinary motions of her people. She reads what they see of her motion. Of course, she is walking in mimic of one of her Archivists, that is only right. But to see the bodies and eyes of the people around her anew. To see them not see her. To see them relaxed and confident in their duty, without the poise of the nearby Queen.
That is poetry. That is a gift. She feels the wonder a mother watching her children at play unobserved.
She finds the right path again. The Gallery to Ambrose's suite has guards and she passes them after they ask her purpose and receive the name the Queen chose from the ones offered by the Archivists. Remembering Orseas' mandate, she taps the bag of meat and salt flavors under her robes at the hip. The favorite triton would not let her travel anonymously alone unless she left a scent trail he could mark.
Celina scratches at the door loudly and waits for the Lord Ambrose.
Ambrose opens the door momentarily. He has adopted the sort of half-Rebman, half-Amber fashion of so many of his contemporaries: clothing that conforms to the body without revealing, as many of the close-fitting Rebman garments do. His messy red curls float in the water around him, haloing his head.
"Your majesty," he says, "You do me honour. Will you come in?" He stands aside to allow her entrance into the suite she has commanded for him.
Celina enters after a slight bow. She moves inside and looks about for where to perch. "So my disguise is not really that good?"
"Your disguise would undoubtedly serve against many others, but it is my nature to know the magic of others. I am the Feathered Serpent; this is what I am." Ambrose smiles. Once Celina has come in, he closes the door behind her.
"And how may the Feathered Serpent serve Rebma, Your Majesty? I have salt tea and other things, but your suite certainly has as good, if not better. You come in disguise--which perhaps I should not have broken, and I apologize if I should have known better, but perhaps I shouldn't be sorry I've proved my worth--which probably means you want something of me. I can only ask what it is." He moves to sit, and offers a seat to Celina as well. Most men wouldn't do that, but Ambrose is not Rebman, and he's also a Feathered Serpent.
"I do want something of you." Celina nods and sits. She reframes what she was planning to ask into a very different package. "I want you to be strongly appreciated in this Family of ours. I want you to be able to demonstrate a series of accomplishments that will get you credentials here in Rebma but more importantly, in Xanadu and elsewhere. That's a very large agenda, but you may find it far out of range of anything you want or need. Of course, it also will help me."
"Of course it will." Ambrose flashes Celina a smile, one with a lot of teeth, but isn't particularly sharky. "You wouldn't have to ask me if if weren't something you wanted." Of the benefits she offers him, Ambrose says nothing just yet, or perhaps he considers the offer par for the course. It's hard to tell with him, sometimes.
"What is it that you want me to do? It sounds as though it's a task of great scope, with a benefit for the entire family, and one that you can't ask our Aunt or any of our cousins to take on. Including," he says shrewdly, "Silhouette."
Celina examines his face, taking in his easy manner and his confidence. She nods once. "Silhouette? She has offered service with me." Celina sighs. "I suppose we are all of us 'special cases' since anything done to us when we are children is a great spitting disaster of some kind." Celina leans forward and takes on an even more intimate aspect speaking slowly and softly. "Look. I was an orphan. Told my existence, my books, my education, my place in society was founded on the kindness of strangers and honor. When I found out the truth I was thrown completely off balance. I was angry with Everyone." She nods. "Silhouette didn't even have that much luck. Lost. Sold. Raped. Left to her own survival. She became a wary beast with sharp teeth. I want to do something for her. I may not be able to have children of my own. Do you understand? I know there are risks. I'm trying to save a City and providing safe haven for Family is at least as important as that."
"I understand part of it. My brother was raised to be a sacrifice, and I almost followed in his shoes. I loved my father in his own way, but I am under no illusion that he was anything but a madman." Ambrose's smile is razor sharp. "I am the Feathered Serpent, but he was Smoking Mirror." He says that as if it should mean something to Celina, perhaps.
"The second part is what I don't quite understand. Help Sihouette," Ambrose agrees, "but how?" His eyebrows climb up in an invitation to explain. "I can guess a way to do it, but it carries great risks if handled badly."
Celina shakes her head, seeing as how the discussion of Silhouette is putting them both in a different frame of mind than the one she started from. Her will grapples with the idea of Brand sacrificing sons, even trying it again when the First slipped his hand. There are orders of wrongness to the family that are ranged out before her in dark emerald light. They are not a pleasant vision but her dreams are worse. She sighs.
"Let's talk about Silhouette separately. I should not have let you put her first in my thoughts, as I expect that task to be mine alone." And she pauses only a beat to read his face.
Celina goes on, "So here we are in Rebma, center of Order and Mystery. Rebma lives and the Pattern is strong here. Moire has no linkage to the Pattern of Rebma, in case that was a question for you. It may be that she sent daughters before me to walk it. They did so in secret and they did not survive." Celina has weathered that nightmare several times over. She has tossed and wept in sleep, seeing the faces of dying girls who did not understand. Celina is glad there are no mirrors in the Pattern chamber, because she would be tempted to look back through years to determine if her horrid dreams of older sisters burned away by Pattern were valid. She cannot help those girls now. They may be guilt and not real. She has watched them die; she has cried for them. Time to move on.
"Moins is long gone, and I have not solved the mystery of that yet either. My Aunt says it matters not at this point. But whatever her fate, Moins did not get a message to Llewella regards her succession. There is no writ for how to 'pick up' the reigns of Pattern. Khela died. I didn't. I am doing everything I can to ... graft myself to Rebma's center and be that Attuned Mirror to its Order." Celina considers her words, chews her lip. She shrugs and smiles. "The example we have of Amber's Order dying when Oberon died does not fit in Rebma. Rebma has not had a Guardian Blade or an Attuned Mirror for ages. The Blade is now back. The Queen is a Novice, but what I need is every means to become more Attuned. So," she looks at Ambrose, "I look for every wise hand to nudge me the right way. That's what I'd like your help with. Please."
"I will help you if you wish it," Ambrose says, "for all that I don't know how much good I'll do. My manhood forbids immediate respect for me as either sorcerer or historian, but I believe I can earn my way around that." He smiles at Celina.
"My experience with sorcery is extensive, but my experience with the Pattern is not, no more than yours. But that fresh ignorance may work to your advantage here. Not being blinded by the assumptions of our fathers and mothers--mine strove to keep me innocent of certain matters as well--I may see what is new and different that our aunts and uncles cannot see.
"Moins was Queen before Moire, just as Smoking Mirror was the god of Uxmal before the Feathered Serpent. What do we know of that transmission of power, cousin? What Moins did may be irrelevant, but how Moire assumed the regnal mantle from her is not."
"Exactly, .....and thank you," Celina nods once. "Magic works here, in some limited and grand ways. That may give us a route to analysis that the Elders in the family have not had." She shrugs. "I know that Moire assumed the throne with three of power, that the Tritons also respected. The scepter, which I have, the Sapphire of Rebma, which I do not have. We have added back into the set the Blade that was lost."
"What made her Queen, then?" Ambrose leans forward slightly in his chair. "Was she Queen by right of conquest, of power, or by some decree of the Tritons? Or by questing for the tokens of power and then mastering them, which the Tritons later recognized? And do you think the official histories will be correct? My father frequently had the history of Uxmal edited to his taste, particularly where matters he disliked were concerned." Ambrose's smile is wry and not pleasant, as if there were some particular matter Ambrose is thinking of.
"She was daughter of Moins and she wanted the Throne with all her heart," Celina responds. "That is my opinion based on what I know today. She was determined. She had the means. She had the Jewel, the Throne, and the Scepter. The Tritons accepted the Scepter as a token of the Original Oath. I think the histories will be missing things. Our archivists are faithful but they can be told what to forget. Also none of them lived as long as the history itself."
"Moire is clever and experienced and not done with the Throne, even now. She certainly took the Jewel with her, if for no other reason than to have some possible pardon should she run afoul of Khela later."
"As to the transition, yes, I feel that is most pertinent to me, because I am in this similar situation myself. Moire may have asked questions of Moins, but Llewella remembers her mother as not sharing particulars about the Throne of Rebma, or the Order of the Realm. So I assume that Moire did a lot of spying on Moins and improvised the rest. She certainly knew she was missing parts of the Power."
"Do you know whether Moire had mastered the Pattern?" Ambrose asks. "Because Rebma is very different to what I was told of Amber and what I experienced in Xanadu, in terms of my ability to use the lesser magics. This suggests some difference in natural philosophy where the Pattern is concerned, and I wonder what Moire's role in it was."
Celina is quiet a long time. Her expression may lead Ambrose to believe she's thinking about something more personal than philosophy. She shakes her head. "I do not think Moire mastered the Pattern. No."
She tilts her head. "I could ask Llewella, but I think magic has always worked here. In that sense, very differently than Amber. But then I think some of the things I expect to see in Xanadu are ....magical. As to Moire's role?" Celina looks sad. "She was magic. She was grand and mysterious and, bless me, she still is. Perhaps she touched the heart of the magic here and that was enough to hold it all together. Mmmmmmmm." Her eyes focus at intangible things. She shakes it off. "The fact that there may be a magical heart to Rebma that is NOT Pattern is an idea I might have explored but never occurred to me. See? I need that sort of assistance."
"It's been clear to me since I arrived that this place was very different to what I knew of Amber. Amber seems to have a blade--perhaps a blade, because which is which, I cannot tell--and a Jewel, but my father never spoke much of the other regalia. And yet here, the regalia are more significant. And the matter of magic. I was always told that Rebma was a reflection of Amber, but--" Ambrose shakes his head "--that clearly isn't so.
"And the mirrors, which are an art my father knew nothing of. Tell me what you know of them, and their connection to Moire. Are they her Art, or Moins'?"
Celina will summarize mirrors, not as detailed as what she and Brennan went through, as this is all a beginning, not a process yet. She concludes, "What I know of Mirrors is that they are old as Rebma, so rightly they are of Moins. Moire has shown herself to be extremely well-versed in Mirrors and taught me what I know. I have no reason yet to believe she taught me wrongly.
"Being from the Seaward," Celina smiles, "I never heard the 'Rebma reflects Amber' advisement. Having seen Amber, I would not have believed it. But then, it was broken when I saw it." She chews her lip. "I offer to teach you of Mirrors and ease your access to Rebma's history. I offer you a place here."
Ambrose nods slowly. "It's a generous offer. I cannot commit to a life tenure here--not given the length of our lives--" and here he flashes a smile at Celina that invites her to share the jest of their immortality but is alloyed by the knowledge of their losses "--but I am willing to work from a base in Rebma for the foreseeable future and serve your interests. If you require an oath--"
But before he can finish that sentence there is a scratch at the door, and Ambrose looks briefly to Celina before rising to answer. There is a brief exchange in the hall which Celina cannot see, in part because Ambrose is blocking her view of the newcomer and vice-versa, and then he closes the door.
"Brita has returned. With Conner. And Huon," he tells Celina.
Celina's response is immediate, her face showing great relief and pleasure. She stands. "I shall leave now discreetly. You may want to be there for this business with Huon. It is a Family matter as well as the business of Rebma. I'm sure the Queen would not be the only one to appreciate your observations." She puts the hood up and arranges herself before approaching the door to leave. "There is no oath required between us for the things we just discussed."
She waits for Ambrose's spy/messenger to depart before she exits.
Ambrose bows. "I'll dress for court, Your Majesty." He bows, waits a moment, and ushers her out, making sure no one is in the hall to see her as she goes.
Last modified: 30 June 2013