When she arrives at her room, Silhouette discovers that Stewart Vent has accommodated her in surprising luxury -- at least, extravagance for one more accustomed to far more Spartan conditions. She finds her traveling bags set out and easily accessible, as well as a turned down bed and plenty of amenities. Having initially expected a jail-cell, this is more than she could have dreamt for.
"Thank you," she says to the page. "Might I have some green tea brought to me? And a quill and paper, if possible? Oh yes. And please see to it that my servant is informed that I may be departing from the castle for my brother's funeral, but I shall return shortly thereafter."
Once alone, she settles in and lays out a dress for the evening. By the time she has unpacked, her tea and the requested writing materials arrive. After politely dismissing the page once more, she sits down at her vanity and begins to write a letter:
Lord Houn,I have arrived in Amber and spoken with the Prince Regent Martin. He has provisionally accepted your surrender in his father's name. Amber and your lordship are now at peace. I will ratify your amnesty with King Random shortly.
However, there is a minor delay. Negotiations are postponed due to the funeral of my brother, Lucas. I am to attend in Paris. It is there I shall most likely meet the King. From all indications he wishes a peaceful solution to this matter.
Please send word of any requests you may have. This method of communication appears the best for the time being.
Your faithful servant, Silhouette.
She seals the missive with wax and uses her thumb as a stamp. Collecting Huon's blood-bird, she leaves the room and begins searching for the nearest outside window or balcony from which to launch the creature.
The creature departs and quickly flies out of sight.
As Silhouette watches it disappear from view, she idly ponders the fate of her own bird. She makes a mental note to investigate this later.
A man walks up, clearly a warrior, lithe and easy in his person and his place in the world. "You are the Lady Kabeiro? I am your Uncle. Caine, Regent of Amber. My sister wishes to speak with you."
Silhouette strikes a demure pose, lowering her eyes in respect. "That is I, my Lord Regent. Although most know me as Silhouette. It is a pleasure to meet the man my Prince has spoken of so highly."
Caine nods politely, as if bored with pleasantries.
She tilts her head, providing him a glimpse of her elegant throat. "Your sister? I assume, then, you do not refer to my mother. Shall we, then?" [Assuming he allows it] She slides her arm into his, as if it had always belonged there.
He allows her to take his arm and leads her back towards a sitting room. The castle looks as if it has been half-abandoned, with some things clearly gone, such as paintings on walls and books from shelves. The actual furniture seems to be staying.
After a moment of companionable walking. "I confess to some curiosity. Why would you assume any of my sisters other than your mother would be interested in speaking with you?"
Silhouette turns her head toward him and smiles kindly, "Firstly, it was your choice of words. It would have been more advantageous for you to state 'your mother wishes to speak with you,' rather than 'my sister.' It would have created a greater emotional reaction and thus a deeper desire to answer your invitation. Secondly, with my brother's murderer still at large, I suspect Florimel's attentions would be elsewhere. And is she not in Paris at this moment?
"I would suspect that Princess Llewella might desire my presence when one considers my association with the man that recently undid her realm. Princess Fiona is a less likely choice, but not out of the realm of possibility."
She gives a self-effacing laugh, "Or perhaps my prolonged proximity to Prince Huon's mistrust has clouded my judgment enough to read far too much in your words."
Caine nods. "His judgement is not necessarily assumed to be sound, here. One option to consider is that my relationship to my sister is more important than yours is. The other consideration is that I may be reserving judgement as to the truth of your parental identity."
This inspires an odd smile, but Silhouette says nothing further. She has learned what she requires. And there are so many delicious sights to partake of.
Caine opens a door behind a painting--there are a lot of doors behind paintings. This part of the castle is awash in art, floor to ceiling. He leads her into a hallway and into a utilitarian office dominated by a massive wooden slab that can only be called a desk because it was being used as such.
He leads her to a group of seats that almost look comfortable and offers one to her.
Silhouette sits down, folding her hands modestly over her lap. While Caine seeks his own seat, she breaks the silence. "Lord Regent, may I make an inquiry of the proper etiquette required for vendettas in this realm? And do they extend to other realms as well? I do not wish to inadvertently cause insult when I seek retribution for my brother's murder. For example, in my original homeland, a letter of warning is required thirty days before an official vendetta is called against those of noble birth. This allows the offending family enough time to offer proper compensation.
"But after mother abandoned me, my education into Amberite politics degraded most profoundly. And -- Unicorn bless him -- my current mentor's attitudes toward vendetta are slightly... skewed."
Caine shakes his head. "The rules differ depending on whom you wish to kill, child, and derive from the qualitative differences between us and shadows.
"A person of shadow is yours to kill for the insult or not if you see fit. Were I with you, and you chose to take offense at a stranger's actions, it wouldn't be my place to gainsay your choice to kill him or not." He pauses. "Just because a person was yours to kill or not, doesn't mean I won't judge your choices, but that's the way the world works.
"Where a person is under the protection of a family member, the family must be satisfied that the cause is just. Were my secretary to insult you would come to me for satisfaction. I might tell you to leave him alone, or give you permission to act as you saw fit, or kill him myself for putting me in the position of having insulted you by proxy.
"Where the giver of offense is a family member, one can either appeal to authority, or one can take care of one's own business." It's clear from his tone that the former is not commendable. "If you or your patron's choices lie in that direction, recall that all of the family are vassals of the King thus under his protection. The Lesson of Osric and Finndo was 'don't annoy the King, even if you're in the right'.
"Now, those are the rules, and an ugly world it would be if we failed to understand that they are the extreme limits, to be approached only in time of need and not on a routine basis. That was the flaw of Eric, of Huon, and of Brand. Have a care which relative you choose to emulate. We survive best and get along best when we treat people as people rather than chattel."
Silhouette nods to this, "Thank you, Uncle. I shall reflect upon your council. Fear not, though. I understand this is my mother's Vendetta to carry out and shall not intrude without invitation. However, a Preceptor's approach to Vendetta is as sagacious as their approach to mathematics. As such, until both terms of the equation are satisfied, they cannot dismiss the impression of something left incomplete.
"I cannot suffer such a deficiency ad infinitum."
He reaches for a pouch at his belt. "Now, shall we trump your mother?"
"Please. It is time we were reunited."
Caine pulls out a card and looks at Silhouette. "When I reach out, place your hand in mine."
Without waiting for her response, Caine pays attention to the card. On it, Silhouette can see a woman with reddish blonde hair, wearing a low cut green dress that highlights her figure and brings out her startlingly blue eyes. Caine says nothing for a long, long moment, then reaches out for Silhouette's hand.
Silhouette slips her fingers into his, squeezing his hand. Seeing the image stirs old memories. Those blue eyes. Like the Mesogeios Sea at midday. Infinite, alluring, mysterious. She'd been framed in sunlight last they'd been together; standing on the south balcony of their home's gynaeceum. The scent of olives and lemon myrtle hung in the air, carried up from the kitchens below. A faint breeze tugged at her mother's sea-green chiton, its sheer fabric moving like the waves. Her smile had lost its softness, now wistful, pained. Silhouette -- Kabeiro, then -- knew unease, as if she could sense the coming betrayal. Could sense that she would soon lose a piece of her innocence to forces she could not hope to understand.
"I must leave you, Little Meliai. But only for a time," she'd said.
"I shall return to you, I promise."
It had been the first time her mother had lied to her.
But as Silhouette holds Caine's hand, a lifetime away from that fragile moment, she doubts it would be the last.
Once Silhouette takes Caine's hand, she comes into the contact, and Florimel is present almost as if Silhouette were looking through a magical window.
Her mother is dressed in a style unfamiliar to Silhouette. The ruffles and frippery are alien, but suit Florimel perfectly. The color is dark, and Silhouette understands it is mourning. Florimel wears it flamboyantly, almost aggressively, as if it is a weapon in her own grand design.
Her mother is angry.
"Who are you," she says coldly, "who claim the name of my daughter? If this is Huon's idea of a peace offering, I'd hate to see him try to offend."
Despite herself, a derisive snort escapes Silhouette upon seeing her mother for the first time in twenty-five years. Emotions -- hate, anger, bitterness -- bubble to the surface like sulfurous impurities rising from smelted copper. Emotions she'd long thought purified from her heart. This revealed weakness disturbs her greatly, but guides her voice nonetheless.
"An elegant dress, Mother." The word drips from her tongue like acid. "I wonder, did you wear such finery when you mourned for me? Did you shed perfect tears for your husband, my father? Did you cloak yourself in black for my sisters, who loved you as their mother? Or is such doleful elegance reserved solely for your favored son?"
Caine can feel Silhouette's hand tighten with rage. "I am the specter of Kabeiro ap Cadmilus, your precious Little Meliai. The eleven-year old girl you abandoned to the flames of war and cruel men. The child you left to die and be reborn from the ashes. And no matter how you deny it, I am your Daughter. I am your Blood. I am your Sin.
"And I shall no longer be forgotten."
Florimel's eyes narrow. She does not appear impressed or even particularly fazed. "I'm sure that's what Huon told Pinabello, too. If you don't understand what that means, ask Caine before you die in flames.
"This conversation is over. Do not disturb me again, imposter."
The connection closes.
Silhouette's anger flares again. However, it is not directed at her mother's dismissal, but her own loss of control. She closes her eyes and whispers the first stanza of the Iron Heart, "Once wrath hath entered thy heart, thy life's work is at an end. Even the stone may crack when placed in the fire. Be forever diligent and turn thy back upon contemptible passions." The chastising words soothe her wounded heart.
She realizes she still holds Caine's hand and promptly releases it. Her back straightens as the cold, comfortable mask falls back into place. "Forgive my outburst, Regent. My antipathy poisoned my words. But it does not change the truth. I am her child.
"However, I suppose that matters little to you now, yes?"
Caine slides the card back into a pouch at his waist, just beside an elaborate jeweled dagger that Silhouette is only half-convinced is for decoration.
Upon seeing the dagger, she begins mentally calculating the outer limits of Caine's reach -- incorporating body height, arm length, and the additional blade length. Once the mathematical approximation is acquired, she tries to remain constantly aware of his movements. She doubts he would attempt anything so rude, but caution appears prudent.
His smile is the bland one of a courtier, and is entirely and obviously merely for decoration, unlike the knife. "What matters to me is my duty. The preceding scene merely delayed it while I allowed my sister to conduct her business with you. Now, onto matters. What assurance can you provide us that you do, indeed, speak for Huon?"
Silhouette produces a sealed envelope, "My Prince provided me with this missive to the King to authenticate my identity as his emissary. Prince Regent Martin, did not ask for it, nor did he question my purpose here. If you are willing to take responsibility for this letter, I shall surrender it at your request."
She sets the envelope on the table and then leans back. "On a personal level, Prince Huon has been my patron for some time now. You may have witnessed some of my armaments in action, yes? I am also a skilled healer, of which he happened to be in need of following his encounter with... how did he put it? 'Two brothers, a sister, a brace of assorted nieces and nephews, and an ex-girlfriend all screaming for my blood.' And a dragon from the appearance of his wounds.
"I believe this prior -- and continued -- patronage influenced the decision for me to become his liaison. And witnessing an opportunity, I accepted the role."
Caine looks nonplussed. "Well, he can thank the King kindly for the generosity of his kindred in not using him to keep the dragons occupied while we departed.
"I hope, but am not convinced, that the King intends to extract a very high price from Rebma for Huon's head. They are most vexed following Huon's attempt to massacre everyone living in the city." The regent picks up the envelope and flicks it open. He scans the contents quickly.
As he reads, Silhouette remains mute. Her thoughts dwell on Remba and the possible conflict over the King's future treatment of Prince Huon. Schemas begin to materialize, each one serving the Grand Design to varying degrees. Firstly, the ultimate destruction of the now weakened Rebma might revitalize Amber, providing it dominance over this section of the Real. Secondly, euthanizing the ailing Amber in a war of vengeance might be a mercy and spawn a new, stronger legacy. Thirdly -- and matching her current goals -- fueling their current animosity into open conflict could weaken them both and make them vulnerable to a final strike from the Queen's Exiles. Time would reveal which path -- or other paths -- to take, but allowing the status quo to continue would only invite Stagnation.
"How long will you need to prepare to be taken to the King? He is in Xanadu."
Silhouette offers a sparing smile, "I require no preparations, as long as my manservant is cared for in my absence. With your leave, I'll attend the King immediately."
She rises, smoothing her dress with long, elegant strokes of her hand. "Before I depart, may I inquire as to the meaning of my mother's comments regarding Pinabello. Should I recognize the reference?"
"Huon murdered his brother Pinabello by tricking him into walking the Pattern in Rebma. Pinabello burned alive. I had the misfortune to see it replayed in a vision recently." Caine shakes his head.
"His hatred of Bleys, of course, is a displacement of his hatred for Oberon for judging him for it. Bleys was merely the instrument of the King's displeasure." Caine shrugs and reaches for his belt again. From his pouch, he pulls a different card, this one a slim man, or older youth.
Silhouette listens without comment. She offers an appreciative smile and nods. After sleeping with the lion for some time now, she finds comfort in finally recognizing the thorn that troubles it so. She compartmentalizes this information and then turns her full attention to the card Caine produces.
He wears clothes not unlike the Venzanian traders who sometimes visit Vanderyahr--bright, blousy silks in a riot of colors. For all his youth and slightness of build he does not look unable to use the sword by his side. His hair is a shade lighter than Silhouette's mother's, but one could envision them as brother and sister.
"My brother, the King," Caine replies, then concentrates on the card.
"No, your highness," he says with a slim, unwelcoming smile. He pauses. "I'm with the one we discussed. ... Yes, she has. Flora has disavowed her, as I'm sure you'll hear about in detail. ... From our brother." Caine picks up Huon's note, and it disappears from his hands.
"Your hand, Silhouette." It's not a request so much as a command.
Silhouette follows his command without hesitation, lacing her fingers with his. She finds his matter-of-factness refreshing and it shows in her eyes.
The man is as she saw, just as young, but not as trouble-free. He is holding, open, her bona fides from Huon.
"Hello, Silhouette. My son told me of you, so did my sister. How'd a nice girl like you end up with a louse like Huon?"
She bows her head reverently, "Milord Random. It is a pleasure to meet you. As you know, I am Lord Huon's chosen emissary. We have been acquainted for roughly a year now; our preliminary affiliation being of a serendipitous origin.
"He sought my skills as an artificer, specifically my talent for constructing weapons. Upon our initial meeting, he became aware of our shared lineage and revealed it to me. Until that point, I had not encountered another member of my blood-line since my abandonment by the Lady Florimel. In addition to his coin, the information he provided me of my 'home' paid for his commission. These current duties are merely an extension of that original contract and correspond with my current goals. His actions against Amber and her allies -- be they good or ill -- are extraneous to that association."
She bows her head again, "I only wish to assist in the resolution of this difficult situation, in which you now find yourself."
"Weapons for Huon? We'll get back to that. I am indeed in a difficult situation. One of my inherited vassals seems to want to make every other one of my vassals and my neighbors and scores of complete strangers want to kill him."
Random leans back against a column and Silhouette can see a dappled, colored light behind him, as if a he's inside a cathedral. "Now, I don't give a fig if he lives or die, but I don't want anyone else thinking they can decide to kill a Prince of Amber, no matter how mean, and not have consequences.
"In addition, he's sent you, which I hope few will hold against you, so I am doubly bound to be cross if anyone kills him while I'm negotiating with him for his surrender to royal authority.
"So, yes, you can assist. My recommendation is that you come here to Xanadu and we can discuss terms.
"If so, take my hand." It seems as if she can actually take his hand, even though he is on the far side of the magic card.
Silhouette nods to this, "Agreed." [If allowed] She graces Caine's cheek with a chaste kiss, "Thank you, Lord Regent. I hope we may speak again. I find your company - pleasing."
She reaches out with her free hand, marveling at this strange form of magic. Despite the tales Huon has told her, she is still surprised when she feels the King's hand wrap around hers, transporting her into another place with but a gentle pull.
The other place is a balcony, halfway up a large mansion that abuts a cliff-face and overlook a lake fed by a giant waterfall. The lake itself is on a ledge overlooking a giant lagoon and there is a second fall from it into the lagoon. Beside the lagoon is a growing harbor and a large town.
The mansion, or perhaps palace, isn't a castle, but is certainly fit for royalty. The banner that flies with the most prominence is a variation on Amber's: The Unicorn Rampant is still white, but the field is red, not green.
There are other banners as well, and the same flag flies below in the town and from ships in the harbor.
Holding Silhouette's hand is a young-looking man, dressed in casual clothes similar to what he wore on his trump.
"Welcome to Xanadu."
Silhouette allows her hand to linger in his, scanning her surroundings with bright eyes. "I believe Mister Coleridge would be most pleased, my King." A sly smile paints her lips as her discerning gaze meets Random's; her silky voice dropping to a whisper. "And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
"Tell me, King Random. Should I close my eyes with holy dread?"
Random's eyes narrow. "Sammy was a thief. I sang him a song and he wrote a poem. That's why I got got him hooked on Laudanum." He pauses. "Your mother introduced us---your purported mother."
"Ah, do I find myself in the company of the Man from Porlock? Yes. It does suit you," she says with a pleasant smile. "And I understand your actions. The Grand Design views thieves as base creatures. For when they steal from the Whole -- be it coin or words -- they invite Discord and thus hinder Progress."
Her thumb idly brushes over his knuckles, "And yet our talk of Samuel does possess a hint of irony to it. As I now find myself trapped in one of his poems. Will you think me Christabel or Geraldine? I am certain my mother would prefer the latter. But I assure you, although I have known the merciless company of rough men, I am no doppelganger."
Random snorts. "Don't be too hard on Sammy. We fell out because he wouldn't play cards with me. He was a sore loser." He moves towards the castle, framing himself perfectly in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight coming down over the clifftop.
Pleased that Random has not yet relinquished her hand, Silhouette follows him toward the castle. She offers an admiring smile as she studies his face.
"Look, I ... know things your Mother doesn't. You're somebody's kid. You're young enough that your parent could be in for a big surprise. Huon was on the loose by then, although we didn't know it. You could be his, or a plant, or more likely he could've arranged the whole thing to steal you from Flora. You and Flora could both be right: she came back and found you dead, and you ended up in the next shadow over.
"And if you think that sounds unlikely, I can tell you how Caine 'died'."
She casually flips her hair back to better expose her sensual neckline. "Might I hear this story? I found my uncle... captivating. And I wish to learn more of my family. Lord Huon provided me with only snippets.
"In return, I shall tell you my tale; beginning with my death and concluding with my contract to Lord Huon. Would that please you, my King?"
Random laughs. "The tale is, as they say, 'nasty, brutish, and short', but then so is my brother. Caine believed that Corwin was allied with Brand in his attempt to take over Amber, so he went to a nearby shadow, found a reflection of himself, and killed it. He left the corpse for Corwin to discover and be blamed for. In all honesty, I myself didn't care if he had or hadn't, I just didn't want him to have any problems over it."
The King pauses. "Both inspired and horrific, and I can't imagine what it would do to your psyche to literally murder yourself, but Caine did. It's the kind of service to the crown of Amber I hope never to need again. So, you see why anything is possible. Now, tell me about your death."
Silhouette's eyes sparkle with admiration. "Very clever," she comments. This joyfulness is short-lived, however.
She heaves a sigh, squeezing Random's hand as if gaining courage from his touch. "Kabeiro's life ended twenty-five years ago with the arrival of a messenger. He wore strange clothing of heavy fabrics and dull colors -- his skin untouched by sun and salt. Back then -- a child of eleven -- I mistook him for a Northman, but know I know he came from Amber. I still do not know the contents of his missive, but upon reading it, mother announced her immediate departure. She took me aside to say her goodbyes, promising me that she would return. I still recall the scented oils in her hair -- lilacs from our gardens. She kissed me on the brow and sent me to my lessons. I did not see her again until today. Weeks passed. And life -- apart from mother's absence -- continued much as it always had. But that would change.
"My father -- Cadmilus -- kept the world's ills from his daughters. So, when the Hydran War reached our doorstep, we were completely innocent to its horrors. The soldiers came in the night, slaying our guards and servants, and pulling us from our beds. My sisters were screaming, kicking and fighting like furies. My father wept silently -- tears staining his bruised, but hardened, face. I had never seen him cry before. That frightened me more than the soldiers and all the blood, I think. They bound us to the olive trees shaded the house.s open-air aulae. The ropes cut my wrists. The trunk was gnarly and twisted. It bit into my back, soaking my night robe with blood."
She glances up at Random, "Did you know blood appears black in moonlight? I didn't. I thought it ichor. The blood of the gods. After all, my mother was a goddess and I her blessed offspring. It made sense to me. But as I said, I was only a child. I believed a great many things back then. I had even believed mother would come. That she would save us."
A tired shrug. "My sisters were beautiful. The soldiers of low character. Need I tell you what followed? There are worse things than death. Of all the things I learned that dark night, perhaps that was the most significant. They did not touch me. Too young, I suppose. But once they had slacked their lusts, they busied themselves with other conquests, emptying our home of its riches. Finally, they drenched the aulae in oil and set it alight.
"And still, mother did not come."
Her body stiffens, eyes closing in the futile attempt to block out the images. But they still lurk behind her eyelids, as fresh and vibrant and terrible as they were on that night. "I remember the smoke. And the blinding flames licking at my skin. I remember my clothing burning off my body. The ropes turning to ciders around my wrists. Mostly, I remember the screams. Vestia bless me. Those screams. Not like before. Shrill. Impossible for a human throat. Indistinguishable. I recall the bitterness of cooking flesh in my nose. Of burnt hair in my throat. And still mother did not come."
She wets her lips and breathes out, steadying herself. "I awoke in the glowing embers, nestling against the greasy thing that had once been my father. I do not know how long I lay there. Nor the words I spoke to him. Children's stories, I believe. The stories he once told me while we ate ripe olives and watched lightning dance upon the ocean. Days passed. I grew weaker. But did not care. I ignored the rains and cold. Dismissed the growl of my stomach. I screamed and tore at my hair and flesh in mad rages. My rancor was not directed at the men who had stolen all I knew. My family. My home. My innocence. No, I raged against myself. For I lived and they did not. I hated this girl that was not Kabeiro, but someone -- something -- else. A wraith that refused to enter the Elysium Fields. A cuckoo's child crying in its nest of ashes. And still, my mother did not come.
"But the slavers did. They discovered the cuckoo's child and took her to another world. A world of molten iron and clamoring hammers and blistering smoke. In that world of steel and soot, Silhouette was reborn like the phoenix. And now that woman stands before you.
"However, her story is for another time, my King."
Random nods, letting that go, for now. "So, this was about 25 years ago? You're too old for it to be during Eric's reign, unless your home shadow was a place of fast-time, but I hadn't heard of her being away from Shadow Earth much before Corwin escaped. Still, it's not out of the question. In any case, time ran differently in different shadows when the world was ending. It still could've been anytime.
"Given that Huon was known to be out of jail at least that long ago, I really suspect he might have been involved. We tend to cross each other's paths inexplicably frequently. Or perhaps it's completely splicable, just not by me."
Random sighs, and continues. "So, anyway, I'm going to propose that we deal with you and your claims after we deal with my brother and his desire to make peace. I have been warned, I should inform you, that Rebma would like his head. What reason does Huon offer to ignore their claim?"
Silhouette nods courteously, "My personal matters are of no consequence at this time; only in that I serve the best interests of my patron and you, my King. Lord Huon did mention Rebma in passing, specifically the Mirror-Witches. However, apart from his initial concerns, he did not provide me much insight into your current question. I believe he fears his family more, which is why he sent me to you. As I've mentioned, he is willing -- within reason -- to cede to your command, as long as he is provided amnesty for his previous discretions. As a sign of his good intentions, he will dismiss the vendetta he called upon Prince Bleys."
She slips around in front of Random, halting their leisurely walk. "I am young in the way of things and -- as you say -- still of questionable origin, but if might I speak plainly for a moment? Rebma has suffered a terrible blow; that is true. And your lady wife is of Rebman origin, if my Lord Huon informs me correctly. So, I can understand your reluctance to simply dismiss their claims against your brother. But they are weakened and likely in turmoil. I doubt they could mount an effective offense against Amber were you to refuse their pound of flesh. A great opportunity has been provided you.
"Offer Rebma assistance in their rebuilding efforts. Call it a sign of Amber's good favor and its sadness for the actions of its misbegotten son. The people will desire food and resources far more than blood. A stroked pride does not fill one's belly. And nobles are only as strong as the people that support them. As their discomfort fades, even a villain such as Huon will be forgotten. You will -- as the Eleventh Law dictates -- garner support and influence in Rebma, as well as expand Amber's hold over the region, all without angering your closest neighbor.
"In the meantime, offer amnesty to your brother. He is a valuable resource in his own right; one foolishly wasted simply to appease Rebma's bloodlust. Nor do you wish to risk provoking his Blood Curse. You have witnessed what horrors those can unleash. Furthermore, you would not only save him from Rebma's vengeance, but his family's animosity as well. An enemy saved from the hangman's noose shall be more loyal to you than any friend. He will always demonstrate gratitude for his life and can ask no further favors in return. And if he betrays you, well then, you can dispose of him without concern of reprisals from hidden allies."
She smiles faintly up at him, "Just a singular opinion, my King."
Random smiles down at her, and it is not a particularly avuncular look. "It is. And in this scenario, how would you have me deal with any number of possibilities? What if I do as you say and Rebma or Rebmans attempt to kill Huon while he is under my protection? Would you have me go to war over him?"
He turns towards the lake. "What hold would I have over his loyalty? Fresh treason would require harsher measures than even those currently contemplated. And what form of visible punishment would we need to undertake to placate the many, many angry relatives whom Huon has crossed? I am sure you see the necessity for the King to not seem overlenient with recalcitrant vassals."
Silhouette follows his gaze. She rubs her arms, absently warming her skin against the faint breeze coming off the lake. "Pick up a wasp from kindness and you shall learn the limitations of kindness."
Her smile wanes. "Huon is guilty of crimes against peace; that is an undeniable truth. A mere slap on the wrist shall not suffice. It would make you appear weak and invite unwanted reprisals. Were it my choice, I would require Huon publicly swear an oath of allegiance to you and place him under house arrest in Amber for an indefinite period. Admonish and shame him, but do not harm his pride -- lest you evoke true resentment. And certainly do not follow King Eric's path. Instead, utilize Huon's services and council as you see fit, perhaps even to the benefit of Rebma. Reconciliation rather than retribution, yes? In time, he will grow complacent in his gilded prison. More importantly, he will remain at arms-length from Xanadu and thus cannot undermine your authority, be it purposeful or by association. Also, he can escape at any time, just as he has already proven. But now, if he opts for this course of action, he will be truly forsworn in the eyes of all. Your hands will be clean of any misdeeds to follow.
"Furthermore, Huon's 'incarceration' in Amber serves another -- perhaps more valuable -- purpose. The clever hunter sets his bait where the prey might find it easily. His continued presence shall inspire jealousy and resentment in those you believe to be 'friends'. This will draw forth the wolves from the lambs, be they hiding in Amber or Rebma. Should they be of familial origin, you have lost little and gained much, for creating a new -- more controllable -- enemy is always beneficial. Should they be of Rebman origin, you can rescind your support without consequence -- whilst remaining the superior force in the region. Or, if you so choose, you may cite the murder as an excuse to wage war and eliminate the Rebman gentry once and for all."
Her hand gently brushes over his back, empathic eyes touching his. "You must remain formless and cannot commit to one side of this argument. For only fools take sides; as obligations breed further and greater obligations later on. And although I do not envy you in this, my King, I shall assist you in whatever fashion you deem best.
"Your desires shall be my desires."
Random smiles and takes her other hand, pulling them together between the two of them. He speaks almost eagerly. "And if I desire Huon's head? Kings are, as I am sure you know, notoriously prone to fits of emotion and illogic."
Bold, Silhouette strokes her thumb along the side of his hand. "Then I would counsel you otherwise, as my current oath to Huon decrees -- as well as my firm belief in the Greater Good." She tilts her head. "However, if you persist, I would support whatever desire pleases you. Without question. Illogical. Emotional. It matters not. You are my King. My duty to you supersedes all others.
"That is, if you will have me."
Random drop her hand. "Take off your boots," he says, and begins taking off his.
Perplexed, Silhouette gives a curious nod. "As you wish."
She strips out of her boots. Despite her regimented nature, she allows herself a relieved gasp as her feet are removed from the riding boots. "Oh, my," she chuckles. "I'd forgotten how long I've been in these."
Random smiles, looks at both the boots, and at her feet, nodding. "OK. Ready? Run."
He turns and takes off, running as fast as a prince of Amber can. He's heading straight for the low retaining wall that overlooks the bay. It is a long drop, if he doesn't stop. The good news is that the waterfall means that it's very unlikely that he'll dive into a passing ship.
Silhouette pauses for a moment. Although she is a consummate swimmer -- as one must be living on an island -- she possesses a feline revulsion to water and avoids it whenever possible. The practicality of leaping into said element -- particularly from great height -- eludes her.
"You are quite mad," she says.
And yet -- despite her better judgment -- she pursues Random, running toward the wall's edge.
"It's less than a mile!", yells the King, over his shoulder. It looked like a lot less than a mile, actually. He's stripped off his shirt and is now wearing only his pants. He reaches the edge and leaps out, arms spread like a royal bird. He disappears over the edge.
"Completely mad," Silhouette reiterates. She reluctantly sheds her skirt, relying on her long blouse for modesty. But now -- at least -- she move more freely.
In spite the irrationality of leaping from a cliff, logic dictates that the King would not take this course of action unless a modest chance for survival existed. This cool logic steels Silhouette's nerves as she reaches the edge and leaps into oblivion. She finds the thrilling rush oddly pleasing.
As she passes over the edge of the cliff, Silhouette finds it to be undercut: she's free and away from the edge very quickly. Below her, quite some distance, is the water, choppy where the falls hit the lagoon.
For a creature of stone and iron such as herself, Silhouette finds hurling oneself into the thin air treads on lunacy. And certainly nothing that she is accustomed to. As such, she more closely resembles a plummeting penguin than a soaring hawk.
"Spread your arms and legs!", shouts Random, who is doing so. "When we get close, tuck and roll so you land feet first!"
The view is magnificent. The perfectly circular lagoon, the falls rushing by, the growing city, and the view back up at the castle.
Silhouette thinks she's falling more slowly than she should be. That's probably a good thing. The water is coming up very quickly and Random is grinning like a m -- like himself.
Magic perhaps, Silhouette muses. Initial doubts aside, she finds this experience quite exhilarating. The panorama is breathtaking, as well as provides further insight into the King. She finds herself smiling, in spite of herself.
As the water approaches, she follows Random's instructions; tucking up her body and then rolling in order to enter the water feet first. A girlish whoop reaches her ears. Much to her shock, the sounds of elation are her own.
When Silhouette surfaces, the King is treading water and looking at her. While the waterfall is rushing down nearby, Random's voice seems to somehow carry to her anyway.
It takes her a moment to recover from the impact -- the water clinging to her eyes and nose and ears. Satisfied that nothing is broken, she wipes her face and then kicks toward Random.
"To be my vassal, there are three things you must do. First, conclude the matter of Huon. Two, resolve, at least to my satisfaction, the matter of your mother. And C, take the oath. The same oath Huon is in violation of and negotiating his way back under. Except I expect you to keep it. In exchange you get my protection and you'll be able to walk the Pattern. Make sense?"
"Indeed," she replies. "My oaths are as eternal as the stone, my King."
She floats just out of reach from him -- her dark hair spreading out in the water like spilled ink. A quiet chattering of teeth accompanies her voice. "However, I do hope you will allow me some consideration should my mother refuse to accept my true origin. For I doubt twenty-five years has allayed her obstinacy. Father always said she must be the Lady of Cythera, as only a goddess could possess such a stubborn nature." She begins rubbing her arms to warm them.
Random laughs. He swims in slow circles around her, like a dancer or a shark. "You shouldn't ever ask Corwin's opinion of your mother. 'Goddess' wouldn't be on his list. Her opinion isn't relevant. I know you're a relative, and what I say goes.
"You can prove it, you know. To her and to everyone else." He stops circling and swims in closer. "What do you know of the Pattern?"
She allows the current to push her even closer to him. His laugh inspires a warm smile -- his words rousing it further. Her expression grows timid at his question, her gaze darting away like a startled fish.
"Lord Huon told me little of it, I'm afraid," she replies. "However, I believe it is the Multiverse's underlying matrix. As it resides in Amber, all Shadows are progressively transformed wavefunctions of that realm -- Amber acting as the singularity of an ever-expanding ripple.
"Our blood allows us to manipulate the Pattern. As such, we can walk between worlds, change paradigms, and alter possibilities. It may also explain our relative immortality -- as we exist outside of Euclidean space."
She blinks, "Why do you ask this?"
Random dips his head down a little, and blows bubbles, or possibly speaks under the water. He resurfaces, smiling. "Because it's a family secret, and I wondered what you'd had of it from your mother or from Huon."
He keeps swimming in circles, and is now close enough that she feels the powerful rush of water as he kicks below the surface. He's completely at home in the water. "It's 'the thing in the basement', literally. An honest-to-me pattern, etched in living stone and immutable, around which there is a catacombs, a castle, a city, and an endless series of shadows. It's written in your blood if you're of the royal house, and the pattern will kill you, without mercy or even cognizance if you're not.
"It's the most difficult thing anyone can ever do, which is not to say there aren't more difficult things; they just can't be done. I want to make sure you're aware I offer you a risk to take, not a reward... but the reward for the risk is considerable."
Random's discussion of the Pattern makes Silhouette's body flush with excitement and desire -- erasing the chill from the water. Immutable. Stone. Endless. These honeyed words have haunted her dreams since Huon hinted at the Pattern's existence. She shivers again, but for an entirely different reason.
As Random passes in front of her, she reaches out -- allowing her fingers to trail down his muscular arm. Her gaze is a dark mixture of longing and wariness. "You would allow me to walk the Pattern?" she asks softly. "Allowing me access to such power -- risk or no -- appears most foolish or overly trusting."
Random stops circling until he is on a slow-motion collision course with her.
She drifts into his path, closing the distance between them -- her brown hair brushing over his skin like kelp. "And you are neither, My King. You remind me of Hermes. Bright, beautiful, and wise -- but forever the trickster god." She tilts her head, "So, what is it you desire in return?"
Random comes to a stop, close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. He laughs, but not unkindly. "That's as may be. Here's a free lesson in my siblings. They will offer you more than you can pay for, for no obvious reason. One of two things is happening. Either you are playing a role in their internal jostling with each other, or else they are investing in you for the future.
"That's not to warn you away from anything, just to help you go into these things with your eyes open.
Silhouette unabashedly conforms her body to Random's as he speaks -- shivering. The embrace is more selfish than romantic; needful to replenish the warmth that the water is leeching away from her.
"I shall remember your words, My King, And I shall not forget what you offer me today," she says softly, meeting his gaze.
"My eyes are open and I repay my debts in full," she adds -- a subtle warning behind the smile.
Another shivers passes through her, "Now, may we retire to the shore, My King? I find myself assailed on all sides by the cold water and your warmth. And should I give myself over to either, I know I shall drown."
"I hear it's a pleasant death," says the King, swimming behind her, a laugh just hiding in his voice. "Do you know what will warm you up?" He swims for the base of the cliff. "Freeclimbing."
"Other -- equally engaging -- ideas come to mind," Silhouette replies in a wry tone. "You are quite mad, My King."
A laugh comes from over the King's shoulder. "That's what they said about my Grandfather!" he replies.
She races him out to the cliff and then begins to pull herself out of the water. She then pauses and glances over at Random. "Considering my state of undress, perhaps it would be more appropriate if you ascended first.
"I would not wish to unduly distract you."
"Bah!" replies the King. "You just don't want to race!" He throws himself out of the water and begins to climb, not quite recklessly. He's quite good at it.
Silhouette purses her lips as she stares up the imposing wall of stone. Although it allows Random a head-start, she surveys the rock above her -- calculating the best path for ascent. After she's memorized in her approach, she begins to move at speed, pushing herself to the limits of endurance and strength to catch her companion.
After a moment, a genuine laugh bubbles up from within, "Your manner is very perplexing, My King. But I find myself rather enjoying this playfulness. Are you allowed to enjoy this activity often?"
"Oh, once or twice before now. It's a long way down, so I can only do this with family."
Silhouette mantles onto a ledge and the pauses to reassess the next section of rock -- an imposing headwall. "Yes, I can see why," she says, jumping to grab a crimp.
A keen observer would notice that the King was going just fast enough to stay ahead of Silhouette, and didn't seem to be fully exerting himself.
"Anyway, the deal is that most people here are familiar with my father's reign, right? It's pretty easy to accept the idea of absolute monarchy when the last King ruled since before the founding of the city.
"What I think my job is, by the way, is celebrity spokesmodel for the single most powerful gang of armed banditos ever to get too big for their britches. Think of this as a gang initiation, and not the most important one."
Silhouette heaves herself up from a cut-loose position and resumes her pursuit. Her tireless weeks at the forge help maintain a consistent pace. "If this is a minor initiation, I dread what may await me, considering my tenuous familial credentials.
"Will I even be allowed to attend my brother's funeral? Or meet his family? Or would it be best that I avoid doing so, in order to preserve peace? I would prefer you do not suffer my mother's wrath for supporting me."
Random reaches a bit where he can take a short-cut and does so. For several long moments he's silent as his legs dangle over the hundreds of feet above the lagoon. Once he's back on more solid footing, he looks back. "So, that's going to be in Paris, not here, which means that it's up to Corwin, Rex Paris, to decide. He'll be aware of the same things I am, but he's also got to deal with Flora, so he may be more sympathetic towards her. Plus she's undoubtedly talked to him about you.
"We'll ask him at Cambina's funeral."
"Thank you, my King," Silhouette says, using a heel hook to pull herself to the next ledge. After a moment, she jams her legs into a hold and leans out no-hand to gaze at the stunning view. Her heart races as gravity and vertigo caress her spine -- yes, she could grow to enjoy this.
"Prince Corwin. Tell me of him?" she asks, resuming the last portion of her climb.
Random continues to climb, and after a bit, reaches the low railing protecting the general populace from following royal example. He pulls himself over it easily, and turns to watch Silhouette finish her climb.
"King Corwin, Master of Paris and all things Parisian and Lord of the Parasols. My brother. All tall and dark and broody, like a gothic cathedral. He was sorta-dead for a few centuries, and now he's not. He likes your mother, but he doesn't respect her."
"This King sounds like Aiidoneus," Silhouette returns. "I shall tread carefully with him."
The last section of her ascent requires her to traverse a difficult sloper. She pendulums her body and throws herself over to it. She lets out a pained gasp from the impact, halting her momentum with a toe hook. Another yank and she mantles up the railing's level. She leans against it, smiling at Random as she catches her breath.
"So, My King, did I satisfy you?"
Random laughs, long and loud. He's clearly not out of breath. "Shall we say 'in those ways I allowed you to, you did'? When your mother lived in a shadow known as Earth, I visited her. The most important man in the country she lived in used to have people come to meetings with him while he sat in the garderobe. It's hilarious, but I don't need to prove I'm King that much."
Silhouette smirks, then chuckles. "I have met many a King because of my vocation. Almost to a man, they puffed themselves up like gaudy peacocks. But for all the cawing and strutting, their hearts remain as hollow as their plumage.
"A King with nothing to prove needn't prove he is a King."
He nods. "A King with a pattern in his basement has nothing to prove. If you ever get a chance, I highly recommend it. Only works if it's your pattern, of course."
Silhouette gives a playful laugh, "Then I shall endeavor to locate a Pattern of my own."
She carefully walks the cliff's edge over to Random, smiling. Her hand brushes through his hair, the smile softening. "Now, I suspect I have delayed you too long, my King. For that, I am most grateful. But with your leave, I shall retrieve my skirt and retire to my room until you need me again."
Random smiles lightly. "If you must. Do let Gilt know if you're going to leave town. He worries about my guests."
She bends down, sliding her fingertip along the line of his cheek. "I do not wish to, but I believe I must, my King. Or I shall desire more than you can provide."
Silhouette stands up, smiling affectionately. "Thank you for this. No matter where we go from here, I shall cherish this day with you."
Last modified: 12 April 2010