After that night, Silhouette begins a regular routine that she follows over the next few days. She begins each morning sparring with Ettrio in the garden, each the conversation of blades engaging the boy's mind and body alike. After breakfast, they part ways -- Ettrio retires to the library for his daily research, while she attends Huon at the hospice for much of the afternoon.
Most of her afternoons are spent inquiring ceaselessly about Amber and Bleys, as well as playing the supportive companion. Her seduction -- if it can be called that -- attempts to enthrall Huon's heart in a fashion not wholly unlike the smelting of primitive alloys. She recognizes that a male's passion -- like tin -- possesses a low melting point, while his true yearning -- like copper -- requires a more prolonged and hotter flame. A combination focused more on rousing passion rather than inspiring affection creates a malleable, but inevitably weak bond -- pewter. But a combination that stirs true fondness rather than empty passion creates a durable and unwavering bond -- bronze. It is the latter she attempts to inspire during their days together through a skillful balance of flirtation and coyness -- playing games of chess, speaking of uncomplicated matters, and feigning ignorance when appropriate.
When the sun touches the green waters, she returns to the foundry to discuss the day with Ettrio over dinner and further his education in the Grand Design. It is these moments Silhouette discovers herself enjoying the most -- much to her surprise. The boy's thirst for knowledge matches her own, and she relishes the opportunity to play mentor and friend. They usually speak until the candles turn to shallow pools of dim light and the moon is dipping toward the dawn. The midnight hours are spent at the forge and anvil, crafting the mechanical guardians that will protect her home and secrets in her absence -- vicious, clockwork rats with gnashing teeth and scything claws. A scant hour or so of sleep is more than enough for her to begin her day anew.
And thus the week passes -- cyclic, unwavering, peaceful, yet never tedious. Before Silhouette recognizes the passage of time, the Badjao return to Vanderyahr's shores to announce the approach of a new Travelling.
Silhouette senses Huon's eyes on her back. Framed in sunlight, she knows her sheer dress will offer him a sensual outline, while obscuring enough to tease his imagination. She holds her arms around her protectively, appearing suitably anxious.
She allows a pregnant moment before tilting her head toward him. "Shall we discuss your intentions for sending me to Amber, my Prince. I regretfully lack the skills required for navigating Shadow. And escorting me will place you in danger. That I shall not allow." She blushes faintly, her kissable lips mimicking timidity.
"So, how may I be your emissary in a realm I cannot reach?"
"The reason that Amber did not conquer Vanderyar ages ago to provide her merchants access to the same far-flung clients that you serve is that they have ships and captains capable of following the routes laid down by Princes of Amber. I will give you a rutter to follow, which will allow you to sail there by a path of my making that the King himself knows nothing of.
"Will that do? The danger to me is in my past, and your future."
Silhouette nods and returns to the bed, sitting at its foot. "That will be suitable, my Prince. As long as you are safe."
She smiles thinly, "However, will you provide me with a Trump, so I might contact you once the negotiations are complete? Or must I seek you in shadow? I feel it is best that the crew return to Vanderyahr immediately after transporting Ettrio and myself to Amber's shores.
"No doubt coins will loosen stories of the Wounded Prince and his whereabouts. Given the choice, I would kill the crew myself."
"I will send with you, in a cage, a bird of my desire. When you have need of me, attach a message to her leg, and she will fly to me.
"Oh, and let the men land, and talk. This place will not be hospitable to my kinfolk if they were to discover it and attempt to track me down here." Huon's smile is wholly feral.
Silhouette returns his predatory grin. It pleases her when Huon speaks this way -- but not for reasons he likely suspects.
With the adroit pace of a lazy cat, she crawls up his body and curls into his warmth. Playful fingers run through the hair on his chest as she gazes up at him. "And what of this little bird of desire, milord? Will you wish me to fly back to you?"
Huon pets her soothingly. "Only a fool or a madman would not, and while I have been called both, I claim neither title. I have seen the future, and the cards are like my siblings--deceptive and cunning, but ultimately true to their own natures. You can expect to be tested in all your strengths. Have faith in me, and do not waver."
A happy purr answers his caress. "Oh but I do have faith in you, milord." Moist lips touch his shoulder, "Perhaps more than you'd scarce believe."
And then -- much like a feline -- she playfully shies from his affections and sits up. "I intend to approach the King long before I entreat your brother. It might be best to win his favor before I solidify a peace between you and Bleys. In such fashion, I will have the King's influence to strengthen my negotiations. But might you have words of guidance for dealing with either?
"I suspect you would have more insight into the latter than the former. But all advice will be of use to me."
"If Random is King, a peace is his to make and enforce. I'd be perfectly happy to be welcomed home and have Bleys be named outlaw for attempting to murder me after Random negotiated a quit-claim between us." He pauses, momentarily. "Assuming he didn't succeed, of course.
"I can outlast his patience, I think. Or I can trump something up." Huon changes the subject. "They will not believe I am reformed, of course. Do not try that approach. Merely suggest that, having learned the true situation, I have realized that my self-interest lies in reconciliation, as long as the price of such is within reason.. See what they might have to offer for peace."
Fluidly, Silhouette swings her leg over Huon's and waist and then straddles him. Despite the intimate position, she maintains a dignified composure. She ties her hair back, "I had no intention of espousing your redemptive enlightenment, my dear Prince. Such penitential declarations are best reserved for children and the clergy. And I am neither, so do not treat me as such." A libertine shift of her hips emphasizes this point; perhaps more than the steel in her voice.
She begins drawing labyrinthine spirals on his midriff with a coy fingernail. "I shall expound upon the benefits of embracing the Second Law. Even this young King shall recognize that a former adversary is more loyal than any comrade, as they have more to prove. He will embrace you willingly, for he has more to fear from his 'friends' than you."
Silhouette leans forward, draping her breasts upon his chest, nuzzling her lips against his chin. "And you shall become the embodiment of my honeyed words, yes?"
Huon lifts her chin with his hand and leans forward and kisses her. "The honey is sweet, but do not offer too much, lest it attract none but flies. I want freedom, not shackles of a different sort."
Silhouette offers a wicked smile, "If I have my way, the only shackles you shall wear will be made of silk and employed solely at my choosing."
She kisses him again, the lips first and then his throat. Her fingers soothingly stroke his brow. "Tell me of your brother? Even if you must embrace familial harmony, I wish this man undone. He troubles my Prince and thus is my adversary. You cannot be forsworn if it is my hand that brings about his end."
His hand touches her wrist stopping her, but gently. "He is a pot of poisoned honey. Sweet and pleasant to be with, and in the end, painful death. He is my father's assassin. I wonder that he outlived him, his time has passed. I wonder if the new King pities him or uses him?
"He has children, and grandchildren. I would never have thought it of him. He never seemed domestic to me."
"Spilling one's seed is no more inexplicable than more malodorous bodily functions. And both can coax life from well furrowed soil," Silhouette says, rolling her shoulders with an annoyed shrug.
She drums her fingers on his chest, "I have suffered tortures even you cannot imagine, Lord Huon. An assassin -- even one such as this -- does not instill fear in me. Respect? Indeed. But not trepidation.
"If you wish Bleys undone, I shall endeavor to do so. If you do not, I shall shun his company. It matters not to me either way."
Huon laughs, and she feels it throughout his body. "Careful, tiger-cub. If he turns his full attention to you, you would do well to fear him. Not because he offers a simple threat, but because he offers a subtle one."
He smiles at her. "He will be undone, but I am in no hurry. We immortals have no need to hurry."
Silhouette smiles. It is good to hear him laugh. She turns her head to offer her delicate throat. "You are correct, milord. On occasion, I forget that -- for us -- time is little more than a paper tiger. Forever chasing, but toothless."
A brow rises. "Do you have children, milord?"
He laughs again. "I am past that period in my life, and children are rare jewels in our family, to be hidden and protected.
"I have descendants, if they yet live. I was locked away from my home for five centuries by Bleys' hand, and I have not walked into Bleys' trap for me in that shadow, if he did not destroy it."
Silhouette offers him a smile, so profoundly tender that it might even be genuine. "Oh, my sweet prince. To have your home denied you for so long. My suffering has been but an eye blink in comparison. How do you endure it?.
She slides atop him like silk and kisses his mouth. "Let us lose ourselves, yes? If but only for a moment. Let our last night together strip away the illusions and insults. Dismiss the shadows and hatreds. Let there only be you and I, and nothing else between us."
He laughs. "At a century, you may realize that such a thing is not possible. At five, you may realize that the striving for it is worth it despite that."
"We shall see," Silhouette whispers. "We shall see."
As she stands in drizzling rain, Silhouette remembers how much she hates ships of timber and cloth. They remind her too much of the Before. The creaking whispers of wood and rope, the sharp cries of and laughter of men, stir memories she cares not to explore. Memories of darkness and pain and grimy hands. She adjusts her umbrella and stares out at the ocean beyond Rethora's protective harbor. A line of grey slate stares back, mysterious and somber.
Soft chirps call her attention away from the ashen waters. She smiles down at the covered cage in her hand. She can feel Huon's farewell gift - a bird of fiery plumage and golden eyes - hopping about its home. Oddly, the creature provides her a modicum of comfort. It is a living link back to him -- her lover, her patron. Such noisome sentimentalism should be beneath her, but for once she tolerates it.
She adjusts the cage in her hands and turns her head. Nearby, Huon is engaged in last minute discussions with the ship's captain. He appears in his element -- thriving off being in charge of men once more. It pleases her to see him this way.
Farther down the dock, Ettorio oversees the loading of their luggage. A touch of pride warms Silhouette. The boy is coming along perfectly, she thinks. He will be an excellent tool for the Grand Design in short order. And for now, an excellent companion.
Her eyes drift back to Huon. He has dismissed the captain and now stands there, staring at her intently. She smiles and walks over to him, "Is everything prepared, milord?"
His nostrils flare as he takes in the sea air. "All is. I am not one for sentimental farewells, and I know you are not either. You know what to do." It's not a question.
"Indeed," she replies. She graces his cheek with a chaste kiss. Then, without another word, she turns and ascends the gangplank to the ship. She pauses only once to glance back at him, more for Huon's benefit than hers.
"Set sail at your earliest convenience, captain," she tells the ship's master. "I shall be in my quarters unless there are matters that require my attention. When my manservant has completed his duties, send him to me with some hot tea."
The captain nods, and looks at Huon, who nods slightly at him. The quarters are well-appointed, but small and tightly constrained, as is necessary on board a working ship. Her young charge arrives within a quarter watch and has both news and tea.
"The tea is tasteless, Lady, but may be spiced adequately." His tray has a variety of tools for fixing the beverage. "We sail in half a glass."
Looking up from her working schema, Silhouette offers him a thin smile, "Thank you, Ettrio. This will do." The quill is set aside and the sketch book closed momentarily.
She pours herself a cup of the bland tea -- adding a bag filled with dried corn mint, wild carrot seed, and rue. A grimace passes over her features as she sips the bitter liquid, her stomach rebelling almost immediately. But -- considering the previous evening -- the concoction is a grave necessity; ensuring Huon's seed will not take root. Granted, the Amberite physiology generally inhibits conception, but as an Earth magus Silhouette is abundantly aware of her disproportionate predilection toward fertility. A ruined appetite seems a small price compared to the possible consequences.
"I shall join you on deck promptly," she says. "I would like to witness our departure. Afterwards, would you join me for a game of Gateway, perhaps? I have found your company most tolerable of late."
Sil will remain in her cabin during that time, putting together a mechanika raven that can move about, spy, and record messages. Sort of like a flying tape recorder. She'll only use temporary parts (roughly a season's 'duration').
Ettorio wants to know how that's done.
Silhouette gestures to the seat across from her. She folds her hands together and offers a sad smile. "Ettorio," she says in a motherly tone. "You ask the impossible. My work is of arcane origin - manipulating the laws of Draig-talamh to my will. This cannot be taught to the Unenlightened. Teaching you Mechanika at this point would be as effective as explaining Fermat's principle to a cave bat."
She cocks her head, "Only those willing to give themselves over to the Grand Design might learn this high magick. And I doubt that you could endure the five Ordeals to even begin this path to Enlightenment. I do not mean this as an insult. Your intelligence intrigues me. But this path is all-consuming and your heart belongs to other realms."
He says "Yes, Lady", but his heart is unconvinced that there is something he cannot know.
She says nothing more. But over the next few days, Silhouette begins surreptitiously testing the boy with the Ordeal of Humility -- requesting him to undertake dull and mundane tasks, such as recording water depth or joining the sailors on dog watch. She notes his reactions for later assessment.
After a few days pass, the lookout on deck cries out. "Land! Cabra rocks on the port bow!"
The captain sends work to Silhouette. Amber is twenty miles to the North and the ship will make the harbor that evening.
"Thank you," Silhouette says to the sailor -- too busy to look up from her work.
She takes a smoldering coal from her palm and sets it into the heart of her mechanikal raven. As a red glow flares, she shuts the boiler plate with a satisfying clink. White puffs of smoke rise from its beak -- the bronze wings springing to life. She leaves the simulacrum to its self-discovery, brushing the soot from her unblemished hand before heading for the upper deck.
It flies away. Silhouette wonders if it was as well-made as she'd like. It seems to be less ... something than she expected.
This erratic behavior both alarms and intrigues Silhouette. Her work had been above standard -- the poor working conditions notwithstanding. Something else must have influenced the simulacrum's development.
She instinctively tightens her cloak as the cool sea breeze hits her. Locating the captain, she joins him on the quarter deck and nods politely to the helmsman. "Captain," she says in greeting. "Have we encountered any Amberite patrols as of yet? Or do we remain undetected?"
The old captain turns to her, his face a mirror of his thought process. "This far out? They don't patrol here. This is far enough away that they'll notice us from land a lot sooner. We could land you and your boy, and horses, and be in the harbor waiting for you in a day, if you wish discretion."
"Then do so," Silhouette says with an edge of finality. "Never underestimate the benefits of cultivating an air of unpredictability. My family will wonder how a non-Initiate traversed Shadow, particularly this close to Amber. Let them waste time with speculation.
"I also I prefer to have an out, as it were. Make harbor, trade and carouse, but say nothing of your association with me or the Lord Huon. Wait for one week before sailing with the tides. If I do not return by that time, it is likely I shall not return at all."
He nods and arranges it. In a half a glass, Silhouette and her servant are on the shore, with their horses, watching the boat that ferried them here row back to the ship.
The horses are saddled and fed and happily on the dry land. The city is visible in the distance, or at least the castle, glimmering in the sunlight on the side of the only mountain for some distance. It is a singular sight.
Silhouette pauses for a moment -- overcome with a rush of bothersome emotions. Wonder, admiration, awe... and burning hatred. This glorious bastion of stone should have been her home. It should have been her birthright. Instead, she'd been abandoned to cruel hungers and grimy hands, robbed of everything sacred and innocent. Beautiful and cold, it is a perfect representation of her mother's betrayal.
As she begins riding toward the edifice, she erases her sentimentalities beneath an icy wave of soothing logic. She evaluates the landscape for the possibility of siege -- prolonged and expedient. Mentality dissecting the castle's weaknesses provides her with intriguing thoughts for the future -- but more importantly calms her nerves.
Going up the mountain in the face of an active defence would be a slaughter, and the other direction would go through dense forest of unknown safety. The castle walls look tall and thick, and the stairs up the steep face look slick and narrow. If the castle can project force outwards as well as it can defend, it is nigh impregnable, at least with the technologies and magics that are supposed to work (or not work) in Amber.
Silhouette smiles faintly. The castle becomes an intricate puzzle box urging her to unlock it. She considers the stronghold's architecture and positioning for a moment, when a possible key becomes apparent so swiftly that she cannot stifle a delighted laugh. The solution is so decidedly obvious - so ridiculously simplistic - that it has probably been overlooked by her more grandiose-thinking uncles. She notates this working hypothesis for investigation later.
She leads them along the road, making certain to be noticed by any observers. Indeed, she wishes to attract as much attention as possible.
Silhouette turns to her companion, "When they come, I shall speak for us both. No matter what, do not interject or interrupt. We walk upon glass from this point forward."
Ettorio has been scanning the mountain, the forest, and the beach-side road. "Five leagues or more to the city, but if the road is good, we shall be at the gate by nightfall. I will be your eyes and ears, Lady, and you will be our voice."
"Thank you, Ettorio," Silhouette says, pleased.
They ride in silence from then on -- accompanied only by the soft chirp of Huon's blood-bird from beneath its hooded cage.
In time, the city gate looms before them and Amber's sheer scope instills Silhouette with a renewed appreciation of her grandfather's vision. Despite the numerous improvements she would incorporate, she feels a warm sense of pride to be a part of this bloodline -- this legacy.
Considering recent events, Silhouette suspects that new visitors will be viewed poorly -- if not ill-treated. She cautiously guides her horse within ear-shot of the guards before finally pulling on its reins.
"Hail!" she calls. "I am Kabeiro ap Cadmilus and I hereby invoke the Right of Hospitality, as is granted me by birth and by my status as emissary. Will you guide me to the King, so I might parley?"
The main gate is open, and a young officer of the guard is there. "Emissaries and Ambassadors must send word to the castle within twenty-four hours of arrival in Amber. I suggest you find lodgings in the harbor district and prepare to wait, Lady." He seems bored, as if her arrival is part of his normal day's events.
Silhouette's smile is like a line of polished daggers. "I see. And might I have your name, sir? So I can inform the Princess Florimel that you've been ever-so helpful to her daughter. I am certain that she and my cherished uncle -- the King -- will wish to reward you personally for following protocol, despite the unfortunate delay to our reunion."
She removes a notepad and pencil from her cloak and waits patiently.
He stands slightly straighter. "Sir Gradient, Lady Cabero." He looks to the castle, and sees which pennants are flying. "The Princess is not in residence, but I am sure the Regent will send word to her and your uncle once he is apprised. Through the city to the Plaza of Remembrance, there's a big statue there, you can't miss it, then turn left up the big boulevard, out the Kolvir gate, and up the mountain. They will assist you at the castle.
"Most considerate of you, Sir Gradient," she replies, "I shall remember you."
She clucks her tongue to get her horse moving once again, heading into the city. Her ride through Amber is both enjoyable and informative. She studies the architecture more closely -- the composition of buildings, the angle and width of streets, and, in particular, the drainage and water sources.
Following Gradient's instructions, she turns left upon reaching the Plaza of Remembrance and begins the steep ascent to the castle proper. As she passes the Kolvir Gate and the magnificent and imposing structure comes into better view, the censure for her uncles Bleys and Corwin intensifies. What fool would assail this bastion with mere flesh and steel? Even with siege engines at elevated positions, such a task would be formidable at best. An unforgivable waste of manpower, when a more subtle -- if risky -- solution to achieve victory offered itself to the trained observer. She shakes her head in disgust.
"Remember this day, Ettorio," she says, urging her horse onward. "You shall not see the likes of this again, I suspect."
Upon seeing the castle guards, she hails them. "Goodmen, I am Princess Kabeiro ap Cadmilus. As emissary and niece, I claim the Right of Hospitality and would speak to the Lord Regent. Can you assist me in this?"
The guards are quiet and a young officer appears. "Of course, Lady. Please come in. We will see to your horse while word is sent to the Regent." Silhouette thinks he dresses and carries himself in the manner of a seaman.
"Thank you, sir," she replies humbly.
Grooms come forward and are ready to help her dismount and to take her horse to the stables.
Silhouette plays the part of the innocent, young noblewoman -- leaning on the groom's shoulder as he helps her down. She blushes shyly, letting the moment linger before speaking in a gentle tone. "If you could store my luggage in a guest room, I would be most appreciative. Nothing fancy, please. My manservant will assist you." She nods to Ettorio.
"Welcome to Castle Amber, Princess. If you would care to step into the guard tower, we can wait inside for a return messenger."
Silhouette follows the guard, hands folded over her belly. It is a demure stance, but also provides her easy access to the needle-thin blade strapped to her wrist. As friendly as these men might be, she prefers caution at this uncertain time.
"My thanks to you again," she chimes. "I find myself a little overwhelmed. My uncle's stories could not have prepared me for seeing Amber for the first time. It is a rather... humbling experience."
She laughs musically, "I am sure you must think this all prosaic by now, Captain."
"Ensign, Princess," the young officer corrects her absently. "I was born in the city, so it seems to be .. normal to me."
Silhouette exchanges enough pleasantries to learn the young man's particulars, as all are important instruments in the eyes of the Grand Design.
Another young officer appears in the door. "Please come with me, Lady. The prince will see you now."
The officer escorts her to what is obviously a receiving room, where the Prince is waiting for her.
He is young, blond, and handsome, and carries a blade. He has the nondescript and pleasant demeanor of a minor courtier and the eyes of a killer. "Kabeiro ap Cadmilus," he says, "Welcome to Amber. I'm Martin fitzRandom. Your mother is not in residence, but we'll send word to her. Unfortunately she gave us no word of your impending arrival."
The Prince Regent? An intriguing choice, Silhouette muses. And an appealing fellow -- the eyes, in particular. Men of predatory nature have always appealed to her.
He gestures to her to take a seat. The chairs are heavy leather, and well made, but have seen better days.
"I was told you claimed rights of hospitality as an emissary, but the guard didn't advise me of whose emissary you were."
"Firstly, my thanks to you Prince Regent for meeting with me," she replies, bowing her head. "I am certain that news of my arrival will catch my mother equally unaware. As she left me for dead many years ago, doubtlessly she remains entirely ignorant of my existence. Indeed, my true motivations have little -- if anything -- to do with her."
She leaned forward in her seat, resting her arms on the table. "I come before you in the name of Prince Huon. He seeks an agreement of peace with your goodly King Random. I shall be his voice in settling this matter." She falls silent, allowing this revelation to truly register.
Prince Martin is either really hard to read or extremely unflappable. To the extent that he should be shocked, he doesn't seem to be.
[OOC note: known as the high-earth champeen of the youngers, and don't play poker with him.]
"I'm sure my father will be pleased to hear that Huon is ready to negotiate a peace. But I'm afraid negotiations will have to wait their turn, as there is other family business to be carried out first. I would arrange for your mother to return to Amber for a reunion, but I'm afraid she's unavailable, as she is currently seeking the murderer of your brother Lucas."
The Dutch Defense to my Queen's Gambit, Silhouette muses. Perhaps I shall enjoy this game after all.
She silently debates continuing an aggressive stance or utilizing a fianchetto; dismisses both and settles on any entirely different gambit. Her fingers knit into a tight bundle and grief shimmers in her forest-brown eyes -- the cold resolve dismissed and a mask of empathy slipped on.
"My brother is dead?" she says in a pained whisper. "Lord Huon did not tell me this. When? How? And has Vendetta officially been declared? Pray tell me, cousin."
Martin moves to take Silhouette's arm and guide her to a seat. "I doubt Huon knew. There's a lot about the family he's unaware of. We don't have all the answers yet, but it happened in Paris, and Corwin's daughter Celina, who was acting as Regent, is investigating."
Silhouette is light as a feather in his arms -- a shy smile painted on her lips. "Perhaps you're right. I... I had hoped to meet my brother. I lost my sisters. And now this." She touches her hand to her mouth, shivering.
Her body stiffens and she shakes her head, as if to cast the grief away like molting scales. Her hand seeks Martin's, patting it chastely. "Forgive me, my prince. My duty is to Lord Huon. I should not allow my personal feelings interfere with our initial meeting. I am sorry." Sad eyes plead with him.
"No, it's quite understandable. Initial dealings with the family can be a shock." Martin relinquishes Silhouette once he's sure she's not going to fall over or make any such womanly display of weakness. "I'll arrange to contact your mother as soon as possible. Am I correct in assuming that you'll wish to attend his funeral?"
"If that would not be an inconvenience," Silhouette says, settling into her chair. "As his sister, the Rite of Blood and Ash demands I be present."
She takes a steadying breath and sits up. "However, as much as I appreciate your kindness, my concerns are secondary. Please relay to your father that Lord Huon wishes to accept the offer of amnesty previously offered him. In return for your father's reprieve, he will cease all hostilities from this point forward, as well as renounce his vendetta against his brother, Lord Bleys.
"I suspect he would be happy to retire into Shadow without further incident."
Silhouette offers a rueful smile, "He is fully recuperated from his previous encounter, both physically and logistically. He is also -- if I may speak plainly -- overly fearful of retribution. So, any harsh dealings from wayward family members would complicate matters at this sensitive time. My limited communications with him -- a precaution -- make it difficult to defuse a potentially volatile situation. As such, time is of the essence."
Strength returns to her eyes, "Until the matter is resolved, I offer myself to your father as an ostaticum. Will you accept my surrender, in his name?"
Martin straightens once he's sure Silhouette is properly seated. "I can provisionally accept your surrender on my father's behalf and make arrangements for you to speak with him as soon as possible. I know he'll be pleased to achieve a peaceful resolution of this division in the family."
Silhouette bows her head, "You are most kind, my prince. As Lord Huon's ostaticum, I freely give myself over into your custody. I am now your hostage."
Her eyes seek his -- tinged with pain. "However, before my incarceration, will I still be provided the opportunity to pay my respects to my brother? You have my word that I shall not shirk my responsibilities. I would not take advantage of your hospitality so unduly and endanger our agreement."
"There's family business in Xanadu first, but my understanding is that most of the family will be in attendance in Paris for Lucas' funeral. I don't know of any reason you wouldn't join us for the service."
There's a pause and Martin adds, "I'm sure his wife and children will be comforted by your presence."
Silhouette tilts her head like a curious cat. "A family? Another item my Lord Huon apparently neglected to inform me of. How many children and how old?"
Martin nods at the word 'family.' "Two. Young enough to still be with their governess but out of arms, both of them. A boy and a girl, named Philippe and Hope."
She taps her chin, "I doubt a lost sister could offer them much solace at this dark time. I would be nothing more than a stranger to them. But I shall endeavor to provide what comfort I can."
Silhouette raises her head and smiles, "Thank you for informing me of this, my Prince. I have lived a great many years... alone. In a matter of moments, you have dispelled a lifetime of solitude."
"We are, as one of us once said, a bunch of immortal superheroes. Other people come and go, but family remains." Martin smiles pleasantly at Silhouette. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see about arranging your transit to Xanadu to speak with my father. Has Huon instructed you in the use of the cards?"
"The Trumps? I regret, no," Silhouette says. "Nor do I have access to them. He allowed me only one method with which to relay missives and I intend to reserve it until I speak with your father.
"However, if provided access to Trumps, I do believe I can utilize them with little difficulty."
She stands up and curtsies, "Shall I retire to my quarters until further notice?"
Martin nods. "I'm sure you wish to freshen up after your journey. Dinner in the Castle is a family affair, so you'll meet the members in residence here--assuming that my father doesn't want me to send you through to Xanadu at once."
"Of course," she replies. "I will make myself available to your father at his convenience."
He moves to the door and pulls a long cord hanging by it. Moments later, the door opens and a youth, presumably a page, enters and bows to the Prince and the lady.
"This is the Lady Kabeiro. She is Princess Florimel's daughter and will be staying with us at my father's pleasure. Please see her to the chambers Steward Vent will have arranged, and obtain anything she needs." Martin glances back at Silhouette to see if she has anything to add.
"Thank you, my Prince," Silhouette says, curtsying once more. "And please, you may call me 'Silhouette'. It is the sobriquet I am best known by now. I look forward to seeing you again." She turns to the page and gestures for him to lead the way.
Quietly attentive, Silhouette studies the halls of Castle Amber. She pays particular attention to the structural system, noting strengths and weaknesses, as well as form and function. The calculating aspect of her personality appreciates the architect's skill at satisfying the Three Principles of Firmitatis Utilitatis Venustatis. Although she notices areas for improvement, she cannot help but feel a heart-swell of respect for this talented craftsman.
Even as she considers this, another aspect of her personality disturbs her thoughts like a wriggling snake. Self-indulgent thoughts wonder what her life may have been like here as a child. Playing hide-and-seek with her cousins in the vaulted chambers and impressive grounds. Exploring the servant passages and lost rooms. Walking hand-in-hand with her mother through the decorative halls. Growing up as a child should -- without the knowledge of pain and blood.
A bitter snort escapes her nostrils. And what good would such a sheltered life done her? She'd be nothing more than a wastrel by now, a vain shadow of her true self -- just like her mother. She crushes these juvenile fantasies before they can interfere further. The Grand Design has little room for such indulgent ponderings. There is work to be done and no time to be wasted on lost childhoods.
When Martin comes into his torn up, half-packed chambers, he finds Folly in the sitting room where she's been supervising (and helping Violet get things in order). Giving Violet an apologetic look, he dismisses everyone for a break of a half-glass or so for a private discussion with his wife. The workmen have the good taste not to snigger in front of the two of them, or Violet, but Folly can imagine what they're thinking.
Martin can too, because as soon as the door is shut, he rolls his eyes. "I have news. Finding the cat and sitting down kind of news. The good part is nobody's dead."
Folly slides a partially-packed trunk to one end of the sofa so there will be room to sit. Instead of hunting for the cat, though (who will probably materialize out of thin air -- or whatever box he's hiding in -- as soon as her butt hits the cushions anyway), she reaches for Martin. "And the bad part is...?"
"Huon's sent an envoy to Dad. She claims she's Flora's daughter and she's taken an interest in Lucas' family, as if that situation could be any more of a clusterfuck than it already is. And I got the job of good cop." Martin makes a face. "Of course, it's easy to be the good cop when the bad cop is Caine."
Folly can't quite suppress a smirk at that last, but she quickly sobers. "And what is it she claims Huon is after? Has she come bearing threats, or promises?" She settles carefully onto the couch; as if on cue, Fathom appears out of nowhere and crawls into her lap, purring. Folly fusses over him for a moment in a way that tells Martin that she's more worried than she's trying to let on.
"Claims she's negotiating a peace." Martin's eyebrows go up and if he were wearing those glasses she kept trying to put on him on their first visit to Texorami, he'd be looking over them.
He flops down next to her on the couch and puts up his feet on the edge of a crate that's been left in place of a table. "She tried to play a little hardball with me but she folded way too easy when I told her about Lucas. After seeing how she reacted to Lucas, I think it's prudent that we keep you under wraps. My recommendation to Caine and Dad was that she go through directly and you and I take a slow boat to Xanadu, and get there just in time for the funeral."
"Prudent," Folly agrees. "But...." Her brow furrows. "...Do you know whether my mother will be attending the funeral? Either or both of them?"
"She's in Xanadu, with Bleys. I assume she'll be attending Cambina's." Martin ponders that and starts to scrub his nonexistent bangs out of his face. "How do you think your mom is going to take Huon sending a cousin as an envoy? You think she's likely to let on? Especially if the envoy is credibly Flora's daughter in that she'd be pretty hot if she went natural?"
Folly blows out a sigh. "Difficult to say. Mum is nothing if not capricious; although I've come to expect that given a wide field of options, she'll generally find a way to choose the most irritating one." She makes a face and engages in a bit of preemptive cat-petting before she gets too annoyed. "On the other hand, that was Texorami. There, I suspect most of her choices, even the horrible ones, were about staving off boredom. Here, maybe she won't have to worry about that so much."
She pets the cat some more, but even that can't keep a frown from creasing her brows. "On the other-other hand -- is it even technically possible to _keep_ a civil tongue in one's head if there never was one there to start with?"
"I think what I'm asking about is whether your mom's likely to get into a fight with a girl who could be taken for Uwe's younger, hotter, new model," Martin says, drawing out Huon's use-name with Brij's Texorami accent. "Is it bad if I hope she is? 'Cos that means she's less likely to admit she's old enough to be a grandma."
"Well, if you put it that way -- weighing the likelihood of a good catfight versus admitting her venerable new generational status...." Folly smirks, just a little. "Fight. Totally."
"And otherwise we play it by ear. But," Martin says, straightening up from his couch-slouch and turning to meet Folly's gaze, "if Silhouette messes with you, I'm going to send her back to Huon or on to Paris in pieces." It's very matter-of-fact, as is Martin's way, but Folly knows he means it.
"I know," Folly says, without judgment; it's simply a statement of fact. She reaches up to touch Martin's cheek. "Let's just hope, for her sake and ours, that Huon has chosen his emissary for something other than their similar ideas on how to interact with family."
Martin nods, once, and reaches to take Folly's hand with one of his. "Her and a lot of other people."
Last modified: 6 April 2010