You'll Never Guess...

Brennan makes his way from the gathering of the Sons to somewhere more private-- probably back to the tent they've rented if nothing better comes to mind-- so he can make a Trump call to Folly.

She comes quickly to life on the card. She is sitting at a desk that looks Parisian in style (as does her dress), and she's holding a silver fountain pen that looks as though it could double as an impromptu weapon if needed. Without preamble, she says, "I was just about to--- Oh, hello, Brennan! What can I do for you?"

Brennan is wearing the same travelling outfit he has been for the past several of their conversations, but it's less travel worn, less dusty. His bearing is different as well, much closer to his normal presence than the more subdued body language he'd been using, too. His voice is still pitched somewhat low, probably to make sure he's not overheard from outside the tent he's in.

Most importantly, though, he's smiling. It is a finely understated smile, the very opposite of his uncle's Bleysing bright smile, but it is definitely a smile. A self-satisfied and somewhat malicious one.

"I have news," he says, "and a challenge: You will never guess who is here in Avalon. Go ahead. Guess."

It's a rhetorical flourish, of course-- he doesn't force her to guess. He does pass the sketch of Montage through the connection, though to answer his own question.

The frown she gives the sketch falls somewhere between confusion and consternation. "Er... unstuck in time, or zombie infestation?" she ventures. She tilts the sketch this way and that, perhaps trying to decide if the subject looks zombie-ish.

"Don't know," Brennan says. "I haven't put eyes on him. I'll be brief, but let me sketch out what's happened for context: The siege of Montparnasse is over, in the Mountain's favor. I'm gone from there, and tracked down the assassin for reasons that were..." he shrugs, "about three parts wrath, one part professional loose end-tying. I had the distinct impression that one of enemy captains'd had his mind tampered with, and a hunch told me the assassin, Cledwin, might be in the same boat. Shortening a long story even more, I caught him, gave him reason to think his mind is not his own, and we're with a faction of local Maghee wizards having it undone. The image of Montage is the first gold we've struck, but I'm hoping we'll get more.

"So I haven't set eyes on him, yet, and I'm not sure what's going on. But I knew you both needed to know and.... well, far be it from me to question anyone's professionalism, but alongside zombies and time paradoxes, I didn't want to discard more prosaic solutions. Such as I-didn't-see-the-body, or an older brother or maybe a father."

Folly looks like she might have thoughts on one or more of those, but instead she says, "Well, here's something else possibly relevant to your concerns: The closest known kin of your zombie is, shall we say, a long-term guest of the state here. We were just discussing that -- and by 'we', I also mean Conner, who may be interested in your story as well, if that's okay?" She is already rising from the desk; she collects several small folded pieces of paper and drops them into her pocket, and then heads for Conner's guest room, not far away.

"Conner? I had no idea he was there. Can we bring-- ah, I see you are ahead of me," Brennan says, as she heads in Conner's direction."

She taps on the door and, without quite waiting for an answer, says, "Hey, look what just came in by metaphysical airmail? You might want to join our conference call." She slides the sketch under the door.

Conner looks up for the book he is idly thumbing through and starts towards the door at the knock on the door. He picks up the sketch slipped under the door and immediately opens the door. "You have my attention, Cousin." Conner smiles at her. "Please come in and make yourself comfortable." He holds out his hand for Folly to take and gestures with his free hands towards a pair of stuffed chairs in the corner of the room.

"It's Brennan," Folly says by way of further explanation, "trying to track down who might've tampered with the mind of an assassin sent to help take down Montparnasse, and so far -- as I understand it -- that sketch is the first clue or useful memory to come out of the... un-tampering." She settles into one of the chairs and takes Conner's offered hand to let Brennan fill in the rest (or correct what she got wrong).

"Good to see you again, Conner," Brennan says. "And yes, that's about right." Brennan proceeds to bring Conner up to date with a near word for word recitation of the thought process that led from Cameleopardis, to the enemy captain Jellicoe, to Cledwyn. "I got lucky," he finishes up. "I recognize Montage. In a few hours, we're going to try again with something a little more comprehensive. I'm hoping to coax a picture of the former Queen out of him. Considering he was last seen dead, I judged this to be interesting enough to let people know, and hopefully get some updated information on the rest of the court."

Conner shifts his gaze to the sketch again. "The likeness is uncanny but it looks a little old to be Montage himself." He opines. "What updated information were you looking for?"

"I'm aware of the perceived age difference," Brennan says, "but he's still remarkably spry for someone supposedly dead.

"As for information, he's taking orders from someone, and I'm fairly sure this person is local-- the cover story is that "the Admiral, Stratum," is the son of "War-Leader Syke," and everyone I've run up against who's had contact with Stratum has had their minds scrambled: false memories of faces and details, and a strong enough geas to keep them from questioning it. The geas isn't strong enough to hold up to forceful outside questioning, but the memory block is. Now, my operating theory-- and I have some local capital staked on this-- is that Syke is Moire. If so, I'm still ahead of their game. But Montage, there, was a surprise. So since you've been in Rebma both more recently and a lot longer than I have, I'm looking for a list of likely alternates. People, likely female, that Montage would consent to at least appear to defer to in a theater like this. Senior members of Moire's court not currently in Rebma, even if we have assurances that they're not working for Moire. And remember, some of these people I might not recognize if I sat down to supper with them. I still have Folly's sketches of Moire, Dara and Moins, but think of this as an insurance policy-- once we more comprehensively remove that block, having a wider pool of candidates might be useful." Brennan says.

"And what's this I hear about Bend?"

"She's being held here as an accessory to helping-Moire-escape- after-Lucas's-death," Folly offers in answer to that last question. "We--" she gestures to indicate herself and Conner "--haven't spoken to her yet; those who have, think she probably knows where Moire is or at least how to contact her. There's been some disagreement about exactly what to do about that. And I think we'll need to revisit the question depending on what you find out on your end."

She leaves it to Conner to address the questions about Moire's court, since her own knowledge is pretty limited; but she adds, "You know, as we weigh the evidence we should also consider whether Somebody Else wearing Montage's face is a more likely scenario than Zombie Montage. Although I suppose a near shadow is also a possibility."

"So is the more prosaic explanation of an older sibling or family member with a strong resemblance." Conner puts in. "Though if such a person exists, he was not known at Court. I would have noticed a montage of Montage." Conner chuckles. "So as to Rebman females and their whereabouts the most likely candidate is Loreena. She was allowed free movement in the City in hopes that she would lead us to other agitators but she slipped our net and is currently off our sonar. After that the non-Moire possibilities drop off pretty sharply. Rilsa has self-exiled herself to the Seaward Shells and expressed her neutrality. Valeria is in Xanadu so far as I know. No doubt she claims to be the ambassador for the true Queen in Exile or some such. Bend as you know is here. As for the male branch of Montage's family tree, Lamell is still in the city but he is older than the man in the picture. I'd have to nose around Rebma to find out more on that front."

"Interesting," Brennan says. "All of that, very interesting. Valeria, I think I know. Loreena, Rilsa, I don't think I do. Neither of them were at Celina's coronation, were they? Assuming this Lamell shares no special resemblance to Montage, can I trouble you for descriptions-- or better, sketches-- of Loreena and Rilsa? You left someone out, though," Brennan says, and not happily. "Meg. Any word from her or about her?"

"I haven't heard anything for quite some time -- but then, we've been rather deliberately out of the loop," Folly says.

"Last I heard of Meg, she was here in Paris." Conner supplies. "But as she was not called into Family council, I do not know if she is still here or not." Conner frowns slightly at that. "As for Loreena and Rilsa, you would not have met them during your time in Rebma. Rilsa was absent and Loreena was deliberately snubbing the Queen by not engaging at Court. I am not my sister but I can sketch a good likeness. A moment." Conner leaves the connection just long enough to fetch a few sheets of paper and a charcoal stick. He takes Folly's hand again and sketches with the free hand as they talk.

"As for Moire, I am more convinced than ever she is in this region. All my fuss over the rest of her court-in-exile is just precautionary. I don't believe this Admiral's appearance is coincidence, whatever the full story is. Where precisely... well, that's still the rub. But I'm getting closer," Brennan says.

Folly casts a glance at Conner's sketch out of professional curiosity, then returns her full focus to Brennan. "Since we've been pondering the same question here, it's worth asking you, too: If you do find her, what next? What's your play, and what's your goal?"

Conner's sketching style is reminiscent of the illustrations in old naturalist's journals.

"My gratitude, Conner," Brennan says.

"And, find who? Moire? Depends on the circumstance, but ideally capture. The only question is who gets her-- Flora, Random, C- the King of Paris, Celina, they all have some interest. Am I forgetting anyone?

"Anyway, I would like to keep her just a bit off balance, put some pressure on her without revealing my presence or how much we're unraveling, make her think Rebma is unprepared and her best bet is to attack, and then trap her between a hammer and anvil. There are," he concedes, "a lot of problems to solve before that happens. Like, which route is she going to take, like raising a local force here, and so forth," Brennan gestures to elide a large number of smaller unsolved problems.

"Back at you, though: What's your play with Bend?" Brennan asks. "How do we use her, and this Montage, to get what we really want? Threaten her with Flora? I think I can find this Montage fairly quickly if I really have to, but I'm not sure it's the right play."

"The 'threaten her with Flora' was the first plan floated." Conner answers. "Flora knows a little vacation/torture shadow where existence would be hardscrabble and painful. Tell us what you know or we leave you here." Conner sniffs and rubs out a line on his sketch. "Crude but potentially effective if we sell it well."

"...And then I counter-suggested that perhaps I should go the diplomacy route of attempting to accept Moire's invitation of several months ago, and seeing if Bend might be persuaded to set it up," Folly says, "which plan rather hinges on my being observably more interested in conversation than capture. Honestly, though, now I just really want to go to Bend and ask, 'So what's your brother doing in Avalon?' -- just to see how she reacts. I wonder how her poker-face is?"

"Huh," Brennan says. "I'd just drop a warm Trump of Lucas and a cold Trump of Flora in front of her and ask her who she wants to talk to. I wouldn't even be offended if she's more afraid of Paris' spymistress than of me, all things considered. But all this cloak and dagger, everyone concealing their identity has me in a more direct mood than usual. And as much fun as either of our approaches would be, will threatening Bend and Montage directly get us much? Bend might be more worried about what Flora would do to her than Moire... but if she turns, what would Moire do to Montage in return? And vice-versa. I've never met Moire-- is she that ruthless?"

"I haven't either, but... yes," Folly replies grimly. "If she thought it worth the effort, there's no question she would kill to make a point. It's not clear whether Bend is a big enough player for Moire to try to control her that way, though -- although Bend might not know that. My gut tells me Bend is more motivated by trying to stay in her mistress's good graces -- perhaps by bringing her a naive granddaughter-in-law who seems turnable into a potential ally -- and thus gain political power, than by threat of that kind of retaliation. Which is why I'm not so in favor of torture plans, or even outright intimidation: not so much that they're distasteful as that I suspect there are much more effective approaches."

"Well, I tried a variant of the softer approach." Conner offers. "I offered to treat with Flora and Corwin on her behalf in exchange for some information about why I was run out of Rebma on a rail. She was pretty forthcoming with information but I wasn't asking for anything on the scale of finding Moire. She also got to mock my ignorance which I think she enjoyed."

"I've found that carrots work even better when there is at least the idea of a stick looming somewhere in the background," Brennan says. "In this case, you've got two: Flora, up close and personal, and me here in Avalon threatening to ruin Montage's day. I haven't figured out exactly how that's going to play, but he's one of a small number of very concrete, very immediate things I can pursue here based on what I know right now. That might change depending on what else I learn from Cledwyn and the Maghee, though.

"But we're-- I'm-- still putting the cart before the horse. I don't know what the story is with this Montage. Maybe Bend can shed some light on that. Maybe it's news to her. If I had proof beyond that picture, I'd give it to you. For what it's worth, though, despite past evidence of Dara having been here in Avalon, I don't think this Montage is her or cleph. I just can't see going to the effort of posing as Montage, who is supposedly dead, and then covering that up in a layer of mind controlling misdirection. I don't know what exactly is happening, here, but that scenario is low on my list. Sometimes the simplest answer is the best-- could he have faked his death, for any version of that idea that fits? And while I'm at it, I'm going to display my lack of familiarity with the Rebman Court: I know who Bend and Montage are, obviously, but who are they? Did they get their positions by skill, birth, or both?" Or in other words, who else's day is Brennan ruining when he ruins Montage's?

"That, I don't know," Folly offers, "but I suspect skill -- or some similar form of usefulness -- was most of it, both because they would not have held those positions for any length of time without it, and because I don't recall hearing them spoken of in ways that suggested high birth. I'm sure my husband could shed some light, and talking with him is on my near-future agenda anyway."

She hesitates, then adds, "And I don't think there was any death-faking going on -- or at least, I think the Montage that died actually died. Near shadow or close relative seems much more likely. Or maybe whatever Cneve thought was going to bring him back to life worked on Montage, too."

"I concur with the assessment of skill." Conner nods. "Montage was in the Coldstream Guards before earning his title and position as royal troubleshooter. Bend was unusual at Court in that most women of ambition tried to collect titles and honors to bolster their perceived importance. Bend remained simply Bend." Conner pauses a moment to peer at his sketch. "Lamell, their father, is a magician of considerable skill. Once again, a male moving in the circles of power by dint of his usefulness. Lamell was and is an adviser of Jerod. It occurs to me that I don't know who their mother is. An annoying gap in my knowledge."

"Well, and I'm not sure I knew Lamell was their father -- or if I did, I'd forgotten," Folly says. She frowns like she's trying to work something out.

"I'm interested in what he has to say," Brennan says, referring to Martin.

"For the moment, though, my position is this: For me, this is not personal, it's professional. The worst Moire has done to me is overplay her retaliation at Lucas, which puts her firmly in King Random's jurisdiction; and leave Rebma to fend for itself before Huon, giving Queen Celina a big stake as well. Montage and Bend are even less personal, for me, for all that I gather they would not be missed. So, since I am nobody's assassin, I am not going to go out of my way to kill him. If anything, the mystery of how this Montage came to be here makes me want to capture. But that said, if this ends up as an actual war," Brennan shrugs, "I'm not going to go out of my way to save his life, either. Subject to later information, of course. I'll do my best to preserve your options, too, if you'll keep me in the loop."

Folly nods. "There is a lot of checking-in-with-other-monarchs going on right now, before any of us makes a move. We'll certainly keep you posted, particularly if we get more definitive marching orders. But... if Montage is your Admiral Wossname, would that make Lamell your 'War Leader Skye'? Did I follow that correctly? And Conner, to your knowledge would Lamell have the kind of power or skill to do memory manipulation like Brennan has been seeing?" She's still frowning a little, like she knows she's edging close to wild speculation here -- but it doesn't hurt to ask.

Conner shakes his head no to Folly's question and is about to respond when...

At this point there’s a knock on the door.

Conner raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't expecting anyone. One moment." Conner leaves the contact and walks over to answer the door.

It's a page, looking for Conner and Folly, to tell them that Celina has arrived and would like to speak to them.

"Tell Her Majesty that we will attend her presently." Conner informs the page and then returns to the contact.

"Celina is here and wishes to speak with us." Conner chuckles. "Seems a change of venue is in order."

"She's there in Paris?" Brennan says. "By all means, bring her in. It will make at least one topic of discussion easier."

"Shall we walk as we talk, if we think we're coordinated enough?" Folly asks with a grin. Her excitement at the prospect of talking with Celina is palpable through the contact.

"And to answer Folly's question in passing-- I hadn't even considered Lamell. My assumption and hope is that Syke-- who is Admiral Stratum's mother-- is actually Moire. Or at the outside, some female member of Moire's court, just on the assumption that it's easier to maintain that sort of illusion, when the changes are smaller. Oh, and of course if Bend already knows about the Montage/Stratum angle, then just dropping the name will be enough to prove to her that we know what's going on."

Folly nods. "So there is at least an outside chance that this Skye is actually Montage's unknown-to-us mother. Perhaps Celina will have some insights."

The page has run off under Conner's instruction, and the group proceeds safely toward Corwin's study.

Conner briefly weighs the optics of walking hand in hand with Folly through the halls of Corwin's court and decides that they might as well give the rumor mongers something to do. Taking his sketches in one hand and Folly's in the other, Conner leads them out into the hallway. "An outside chance as you say." Conner agrees. "Can't really rule out anything at this point."

Folly has no qualms about walking hand in hand; the brisk eagerness with which she does so might inadvertently help fuel some of those rumors if anyone is paying attention. She is less eager to continue their conversation at any more than a very shallow level now that they're outside the privacy of Conner's rooms. With a murmur of agreement to Conner's comment, she hurries them toward Corwin's study.

As Celina closes off her Trump contact with Caine, she gets the niggle of an incoming Trump contact.

Celina is surprised, she takes a moment to center her mind and breathe deeply.

"It's your father; I'm in Paris and I have news."

Celina relaxes only a mite. "Yes, I hear." She wills a connection.

He's standing in his private study in Paris; his secretary is open, the desk flipped out, and his trump case is on it.

"I hope all is well with you. Conner, Folly, and Garrett are visiting here and I have news that we should talk about. Is there any news from Rebma, particularly emergency news?"

Celina runs through the kinds of things she thinks Corwin will believe an emergency. No. She's not going to have THAT conversation. "We improve by handspans, Father. But the large questions remain. No emergencies. It is good to get news from you. And I was just wondering about Conner. I do hope that Folly and Garret are well. No news from Merlin?"

Corwin answers the most important part first. "Nothing recent from Merlin, though I mean to talk to him after I talk to you, unless you'd rather speak with him yourself. He'd be happy to hear from you. And depending on how things go in the conversation Garrett is having with his father, and the one Random and I are going to have when that one is over, it may be time to call him home anyway. Any problems with Huon, while I'm thinking of family concerns?"

"Huon is being accommodating, certainly by his oath," Celina responds. "He's not that impressed with the ladies of Rebma so far. He is polite to me." She smiles. "So far our local politics are all equally interested in his potentials. He's fine with that. I'm actually looking forward to dealing with various heads of house telling me he is corrupting their daughters."

"My experience with Rebma is that it generally works the other way around," Corwin realizes how that sounds and hastily adds, "with all due respect to the ladies, who can take care of themselves. In any case, as long as he's not making trouble and you and Llew have him under control, we'll consider him dealt with."

He continues, "You know we have Bend in custody here. Conner and Folly are considering taking her out of Paris in the hopes that a trip will secure some cooperation from her. Some sort of good cop-bad cop thing, with them being the good cops and your Aunt Florimel being the bad cop. They hope she'll let on something about where Moire went."

Celina borrows his phrasing, "With all due respect to Aunt Florimel, Bend is made of hard times. She'll know a change in situ means something and letting on anything about Moire just seals her fate. She'll hold on to the last that Moire has a plan and Bend will be rewarded for waiting for it. Wouldn't you?"

And that wasn't helpful, Celina ponders. "It seems to me, Folly alone would have a better chance of talking to Bend 'through the bars', and asking Bend for advice about how Folly fits into the succession as Martin's paired one. During that conversation, Bend might try to woo Folly to making a plea with you for some latitude, based on how helpful Bend can be and how 'clueless' Folly might be about Moire's full plans and Folly trying to make any political headway without Martin around to 'back her up'. Do you see what I mean? Bend would be very willing to think she could advantage over Folly, but not so over Florimel."

"We've already decided that the threat of Florimel is sufficiently heavy that it should be left implicit," Corwin explains. "I think Folly's thinking along the same lines you are. Fortunately for us all, her daughter is with Martin and not here. If she were, I think it would change our judgement on the wisdom of this strategy. I don't think I'd want to take any chances with a prospective heir to Moire in the same Shadow as Bend."

Daughter?! Celina takes a second to make the stretch between when she saw Folly less than nine months ago and this news. Then Celina is gobsmacked in the next moment with a full blown flash sight and the Quantum Blonde whispers, 'but only in a quantum sense, since my timeline is purely theoretical from your point of view'.

Celina visibly sags and puts her hand over her left eye. "No. Father. Agreed. No chances." The connection wavers.

In the next moment, Celina straightens up, filled with resolve. She is fully in the connection again. "What do you need from me?"

This is easy. Corwin has an immediate answer. "If Rebma has an official position on the matter of Bend being taken and used in this manner, and your current position on what to do with Moire, so I can present that both to Random and to the company currently assembled making decisions about the two of them. If you can't make that decision immediately, we can have a day or two to consult. Or if you want to talk to Folly or Conner, or both of them, I can loan them my Trump."

"Bend," Celina's voice is dry, "is accused of aiding a traitor to the throne. She can remain in Paris custody until the streets of Rebma are parched, or serve at the pleasure of the King of Paris. If Bend wishes to enter a plea with the Queen of Rebma, I believe she is free to do so. Moire is that Traitor to the throne. She has also stolen the Jewel from Rebma which is material to the sanctity of the realm. She should be apprehended at all costs and questioned for the location of my Jewel. She should not be killed. And yes, I would love to talk to Conner and Folly, together or separately. I think either Conner or Folly could handle Bend, with Florimel's assistance and your support there is no question. It would be gracious if I might speak with them soon."

Corwin nods along, clearly attentive to the answer.

Celina pauses barely a breath, "Who made the Trump of me?"

"Merlin gave me a sketch-in-progress from the Trumps he's making for an emergency. This qualifies." Which makes this a serious matter indeed." If you want to come through, you can, though it will probably destroy the sketch. I can send you back to Llewella on her Trump afterwards."

"Yes," Celina says without hesitation, "But I am alone, and cannot leave without explanation, you understand." Celina maintains the Trump focus but walks backwards to where she knows there are markers and instruments for sketching. She keeps her focus on Corwin, but with quick hands makes notes on a sleeved bladder about her stepping out and returning soon. Llewella should be informed to expect some contact within the span of a day. Graces are offered to those who might miss the chance to speak with the Queen, but her absence should not be reported out of Court.

Celina nods to Corwin. "There. The sketch will fail, yes, I recall Merlin saying something of that. And Brita, as well, conveyed that sketches are just not hardy." She holds out her hand to her father. "Is there danger you have not said?"

She is ready.

"Only politically," Corwin says, and brings her through. They are in the study/office/private receiving room that Celina has come to know well.

"Welcome to Paris. Would you like me to send a messenger to Folly and Conner? Or is there anything else I can do for you, like have Alice get you some dry clothes?"

"Message to Folly and Conner, yes. Page to Garrett to let him know I send hugs. My respects to Florimel, Alice, Bill, and Lancelot." Celina says it all in one breath, noticing that she does not find the Parisian air as difficult as that last time she was here. "May I have a ginger drink? I do not think I'll be here long enough to change clothes or make a public face." She takes a small step to center herself more on the area rug so that the water running down her length does not puddle the hard floor.

"How keen is Florimel on the idea of laying hands on Bend?" The unasked question being is her Aunt yet patient in pursuit of Moire or not?

"At least let me get you a towel to dry off with." Corwin's already moving to get the ginger drink from the bar, and in passing hands her a large linen towel to at least stop the dripping of her hair with. "Florimel hasn't gotten anything out of Bend yet, so she's willing to try other means to get at her ultimate goal. If Bend manages to get away, though, we'll never hear the end of it." He produces a glass of ginger-water and hands it to Celina. "I'll send for a robe, at least."

He goes to the door and sends pages, seeking out Folly, Conner, and Garrett, and also one for Alice with a request for a robe, the luxury hotel sort, before turning back around to do whatever needs to be done next.

"I can see where Bend would take any reasonable opportunity given," Celina offers, pulling pins and combs from her hair and wringing it into the provided towel, "but Bend knows about shadows. Getting herself lost in one also means she'll never be found by Moire. On balance, staying near the center of things in captivity, with the chance Moire will change the politics makes hard practical sense. Dying alone in shadow, not a great alternative.

"Before the others arrive," Celina nods as he hands her the drink. "What advice on attuning myself to the Jewel of Rebma?"

"You don't ask the easy questions, do you?" Corwin answers, his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. "If it works the same way the Jewel of Judgement does, I'd say don't, until you need to. The Rebman Pattern isn't dead yet--I know; I've walked it--and you want to fix whatever's wrong with Rebma, not write a new Pattern."

"I can barely expressed how cheered I am by your sentiment," Celina grins back at him. "I am at present pursuing a course that treats the Pattern Realm as a grieving widow, and I am courting the Old Dame with an eye to acquiring her tasty fortune. The best cure for sadness is a new filly in the bedroom."

Celina adds, "But then, in extremis, if I find Rebma is not fixable, how to approach the Zeroth Jewel?"

"One of us will help attune you. It's not that hard, except for the part where you'd better hope you got my endurance and not your mother's. You won't be Queen of Rebma after that, not really, though, so be prepared."

At this point, the page returns, saying Prince Conner and Princess Folly are on their way.

Celina waits until the door is closed again. She looks at Corwin. "I understand you well enough."

It is not much more than a minute after the page returns when there is a knock on the door and Folly's voice: "Your majesties, it's Conner and Folly, plus an exciting mystery guest behind Card Number Two." From her tone, this is definitely NOT a stab-the-trump-caller-with-the- nearest-letter-opener sort of situation.

Celina understands her father is not that formal, however, she waits for him to do the invite into his royal inner chamber. She drapes the towel across her wet shoulders as a mantle.

"Come in," Corwin says, “and tell us who else is joining us.” He waits for greetings to be exchanged by all and sundry before reaching for one of his nephew or his niece, whoever is nearest, to join in the discussion.

Celina's face reflects the glory of Conner and Folly together when they actually are revealed. She suppresses a laugh of joy, but the excitement obviously drops away her burdens in the moment. Her eyes drink them up.

"Celina, I'm so glad to see you," Folly says with obvious delight; it is only the etiquette of maintaining the trump contact that keeps her from running to her cousin and embracing her. "I was hoping to talk with you soon about a couple of things, if you've got time -- but first, Brennan has called with some news that may interest you, too." She holds out her free hand, inviting Celina and Corwin to join the contact.

Celina finds herself reaching and taking Folly's hand, even as the question wanders the backstage currents of her mind, how many cooks before the Trump is spoiled?

Conner treats Celina to one of his warmest smiles and shifts himself however needed to allow Corwin and Celina to join the contact.

"Greetings your majest...ies," Brennan lobs the plural after the greeting and hopes it catches up in time.

Addressing Corwin, he gives the briefest of pre-ambles, but ultimately opts to let him ask such questions as he sees fit rather than tell the whole story from the beginning: "Majesty, you may already know, I am in Avalon-- or very near it, anyway-- on Celina's behalf, following up my suspicion that Moire had fled here. I've been here for some months, now in loose coordination with your brother, following various leads and hunches."

Turning more toward Celina, he shifts to the more recent past. "You may recall our last conversation-- it's been some weeks since then." Brennan proceeds to give a sketch of his increasing suspicion and growing evidence that mind-manipulation was not a one-off with Cameleopardis, but a standard tool in the toolbox for the forces of 'The Admiral,' having also been used against Cledwyn and probably Jellicoe. He includes the end of the siege, catching up with Cledwyn and making him confront is his memory loss, and their on-going success in recovering one good memory so far. He notes particularly the use of third parties, none of whom know what Brennan's actual suspicions are, so that Brennan isn't simply seeing what he wants to see.

"The punchline is in the drawing," he says. "That is the recovered face of the mysterious Admiral Stratum-- a man I had previously understood to be dead. We don't have a recovered image of the War Leader, supposedly Stratum's mother Syke. But I have some good guesses at what we'll see when we do." If Folly and Conner don't still have the Montage sketch, Brennan passes it back through so Celina and Corwin can see it.

Corwin does seem to be caught up on the story [per Karen's email], and nods his way through the story. When he gets a look at the sketch, his eyebrows rise. "That looks like Bend's brother," he says, and makes sure that Celina gets a good look at it so she can offer her opinion.

Celina, who was wondering earlier about the number of people on this end of the connection, notices that it seems solid, moreso than she might have expected.

Celina studies the sketch moreso than she might a Trump. "Perhaps the paternal line? The dead man may have a brother. Not old enough to be the father I guess. And for what it is worth, Rebman thinking might be such that the brother of a half brother is not much leverage. So our Captive might not care. Not that I would take that idea too far." By way of further clarity, Celina adds, "Our Captive and the Dead Man shared a mother but not fathers."

"Who was their mother, and the Dead Man's father, if you know?" Folly asks. "The sort to be involved in something like this? And what sort of ties did they have to your mother, if any?"

"My questions exactly," says Brennan. "Whether it's Montage or a close relation, I'd like to know what I'm walking into and whose feathers I'm ruffling." Or the appropriate submariner idiom.

Celina shrugs, "I can find out. The troubleshooting of ...Our Captive and the Dead Man were never on my horizon at court. Be sure that the ties to my Mother were seriously vetted by the Former Queen. And if the fact of the recent Dead Man would add extra leverage to making old ties more fervent, yes, she would have gone there."

[Conner]
"Brennan also has a concern that a Rebman noble lady, other than Moire, might be working behind the scenes in Avalon's troubles. Aside from Loreena, can you think of any others that are off our sonar and likely to be a partisan for Moire?"

"Related specifically to Avalon?" Celina pauses, "It might most likely be from Paris that this would happen, as the path to Paris has been open the longest. Also I recall that Moire neatly sowed some rebellion into the Children of Lir before she fled to parts unknown. So I could see those seeds blowing to Avalon if she knew the way to lead them there, or back to the Isle of Dannan if that is where the Children in question of loyalty settled. The latter does not seem pertinent to Avalon and I think the honor of serving Vere and the throne was more prestigious than a fleeing queen. So if they went to Dannan I think they are not for Moire."

Celina mutters nearly unheard, but since psychic contact is shared, she thinks of Bend and Montage, and D'Losielle. "Loreena is unaccounted for still, but again, I do not think she could get past the Tritons and alternating shifts that guard the way to Paris. She is more likely holed up in Rebma. Valeria has no access to Moire, unless Random is letting her do mirror work from Xanadu. No, I do not think so. But I remember, Bend's mother, her family is D'Losielle, and they took the oath to me when others choose not to attend. Lady Kendra is still alive. I can look further into that. However, the Father, Felik of Mal da Nollis. He was a champion and dabbled in theater and opera. I have not seen him, but I understand his voice was not suited to opera, but some say he was surprisingly convincing in dramatic stagecraft. He would have been very handsome. I do not know if he is still alive.

"I hate to make it more complicated, but are there practicing sorcerers in Paris? Because Bend was here, and Moire was here, and the mirror factory was here. If Bend was working to establish something here, why would she not choose a powerful ally who already knew the limits of Paris ways? Is there anything in Avalon that would easily seem.... French?"

"I wouldn't relate it strictly to Avalon," Brennan says. "I'd bear in mind anyone with the right skills, and high enough in Moire's esteem, to be trusted with such a task. If, of course, it isn't Moire herself. We know she's been in the area."

"To answer your question, though, does anything in Avalon seem Parisian? Are you asking me if I see evidence of Parisian infiltration? With deference to his majesty," Brennan nods at Corwin, "No, I have not. But I don't even know what that would look like. Remember, I haven't found what I found by looking for green haired people, I've found it by looking for military activities that could plausibly be cloaking an invasion of Rebma." Those with no direct experience overseeing a military campaign might suspect Brennan is leaving out a description of something difficult.

"Two more things to think about, though: When last we spoke, I suggested having a Trump made of you so we could stay in better contact. Folly is who I had in mind, but I never had the chance to follow up on it. And second: What sort of tricks can a skilled mirror artist use that might be relevant here? Assume I'm cagey enough not to preen in front of every mirror I see, unless I want to be seen. Because we're getting close to the point where the rubber hits the road, I think."

"The technological level in Avalon now is out of my hands; I don't expect firearms to be involved, though. I would think anyone from my Paris would try that first," Corwin says. "If you've seen no sign of that influence, I'd say there isn't any. Are there religious folk? Klybesian-influenced? Because we know some of them here were."

"Avalonian tech is mostly pre-industrial. Gunpowder weapons would stick out like sore thumbs, and I'd report them to your brother immediately." Who would probably smile faintly in anticipation of a new challenge, Brennan doesn't say. Maybe that leaks through. "The only unusual weapons development I've even heard of-- from your brother, actually-- is a kind of sticky fire for naval warfare, which as far as I know is unrelated to any of this. I'm alert for it, though.

"Religious folk... yes," he says warily. "A group called the Maghee, who I think have been subverted by Moire. A situation I am trying to rectify. They do have a tendency toward masks, which I do not love--" at all! "--but the masks fit with what I've read of their scriptures." Brennan looks like he might say more, but checks himself, hard.

He leaves the subject of Trumps to Celina, the proposed subject, and Folly, the proposed artist. Mirrors are completely out of his purview, apparently, because he has no answer on that either.

As does Brennan on both counts.

Celina looks at Corwin, Brennan, Conner, and Folly each in turn, and sighs, "Well, I do want a Trump from Folly, but can only sit an hour for a sketch."

"I can work with that," Folly says, and smiles at Celina.

Celina looks grateful.

[Celina]
Then back to Conner. "Silhouette and Ossian are scouting Klybesians who tried to turn Reid into a science experiment. Rebma regards these monks as enemies of the Family at this point. Does everyone here know your puzzle solving regards Chantico and Dara? It seems pertinent, somehow, when talking invasions."

"Well it is little more than a data point but I do not believe I have shared it," Conner admits. "Some time ago I attempted to keep tabs on Dara by means of sorcery. I saw her and another woman I did not recognize at the time conversing but before I could hear much they started looking around the room having detected a magical eavesdropper. As it happens, it wasn't me, but Celina having the same idea at the same time using mirror work. The unknown woman disrupted Celina's scrying with a jet of flame and I ended mine before they had a chance to notice me too. When we related this story to Ambrose, he identified the other woman as Chantico, daughter of Brand and a fire goddess of Shadow Uxmal."

"Random and I stand behind Celina on the point of the Klybesians being enemies of the Family," Corwin says. "They are dangerous, and you'll have whatever support you need that we can get you to deal with them. Chantico is a little more tricky, as is Dara, because they're family, and we all know Random's rules about family. But if they're backing Moire, they need to be," he pauses and considers his words, "dissuaded, or removed from the playing field.

"Are you going to need assistance, Brennan? Can any of you here--not Celina, obviously--go to Brennan's aid?"

"Possibly, if it is needful," Folly offers. "Although I suspect for the time being I might be more useful to his cause on Trump duty, or seeing what I can find out about Moire from our captive." She looks to Brennan for his thoughts.

Brennan sucks on his teeth for a moment. "I-- don't know," he concedes. "I'd be a fool to walk into that sort of firepower alone, but my gut tells me to worry more about a two pronged attack on Rebma-- the Faiella-Bionin and the Kelp-- than to worry about my personal safety. Dara was once here, but there's scant evidence so far she still is. The Chantico angle is even thinner. I may have a clearer idea once I know who Syke really is.

"There's also one unrelated factor people should be aware of before final decisions are made." He hands the increasingly-worn copy of the sketch of Maeve and the mystery man through the Trump connection, and indicates people should pass it around. "In case anyone has not seen a picture of her, that is the Queen of Tir-na Nog'th. I don't know who the man is, but I'd very much like to. This sketch is in my hand, because I saw it in a dream and it seemed terribly important. Later-- much later-- I pieced together the relative time flows and understood that it came to me about the time of Cambina's death. When I showed it to the King's brother here in Avalon, he voiced the thought that she-- the Queen-- is searching for a new host. His words. I discussed the idea with Fiona later and she did not dismiss it out of hand. Our considered opinion is that females strong enough to survive the Pattern but who have not yet tried would be her targets of choice.

"Well, it's an opinion, anyway. You can keep the sketch-- it was my dream, and I've stared at it enough I can make another in my sleep." Brennan shrugs at the gallows humor. "I figure Paris or Xanadu will afford more of the right people a chance to see it than in my pocket."

Conner opens his mouth to speak but closes it again as Celina voices her question.

Celina registers a pang of guilt that reverberates through the Trump contact at the mention of vulnerable young women that have not walked the Pattern. She says nothing. She memorizes the sketch of the Queen of Tir-na Nog'th.

Folly also takes a long look at the sketch, not just to make sure she would recognize the Queen if she ever encounters her, but also to see if she can detect any clues as to the man's identity (such as, perhaps, family resemblance to anyone she might have previously encountered in person or in portrait).

Folly does not recognize that person.

Celina moves a half step closer to Conner. "I recently offered aid to Amber, trying very hard not to insult the Regent or demean Amber's future. Are the Moonriders pointed at the old City? Does anyone know the status?"

Conner shakes his head no.

"I've heard nothing recent, and if Caine thought there were Moonriders pointed at Amber, I would have heard. So would Bleys. But I'll contact him next, just in case," Corwin says, by way of soothing everyone's nerves.

He looks at the sketch but clearly doesn't recognize the man. "Llewella?" he suggests to Celina.

"Yes, I suppose so." Celina says. "I'll make a copy of both of these to take back with me. I don't expect the Moonriders to come through Rebma though I know of no reason that they might not if it allied with the moves of my Mother. So in that extreme case," she looks at Corwin, "I would take it well if you were to give Conner any pointers in using his skills to work against the Moonriders."

"We actually touched on that in recent conversation." Conner mentions. "I also spoke with Edan about his recent battles with the Moonriders so I have some forewarning on the Sorcery front as well."

"If they're pointed anywhere, I would expect it to be either Avalon or Xanadu, as a means of getting to Tir-na Nog'th," Brennan says. "By way of clarification, I have seen exactly nothing while in Avalon to suggest anything imminent on this front. But this business about searching out a new host..." he shakes his head, with an expression somewhere in the neighborhood of contempt and revulsion. "It seemed too important to keep to myself, or having people committing to action without knowing about it," he flicks a glance toward Folly.

Folly gives a nod of acknowledgement. She looks a bit grim. "To the extent that 'close' is quantifiable in this context, do we know if the Moonriders were close to any Pattern realms or their major trading partners when Edan encountered them?"

Corwin shakes his head in the negative, and adds, "No idea," for Brennan's benefit, in case he didn't see it through the connection.

"Majesty," he says, addressing Corwin, "now is not the time, but may I call on your advice later, if I receive King Random's permission to go to Tir?"

"Of course," Corwin says. "You are welcome in Paris, Sir Brennan." It seems to be some sort of formal announcement. Maybe there's even some power behind it. Hard to tell with Corwin sometimes.

Conner nods to himself. "Brennan, I think I should join you in Avalon. If this turns into a hunt for Moire, you'll need all the help you can get. If not, I think my best chance of finding this route through the Kelp is to start from the Avalonian side."

Celina adds nothing, but smiles her acceptance at Conner's choice.

"Conner, Brennan, should I summon anyone to send with you? There are a couple of knights whose loyalty in the field it might be useful to test, and they might know useful things. One is Sir Firumbras, and the other comes, I think, from Brita's shadow. She goes by Regenlief."

Celina's expression quiets to neutral. It may be easy enough for Conner to read that she is puzzled by this addition by King Corwin.

Brennan's face goes cool-- it's a smooth enough mask of some reaction, but not smooth enough to be invisible.

"I know the Valkyrie Regenlief," he says, "She's a strong arm in a fight. Sir Firumbras I don't know, but he comes well-recommended." He glances at Conner, offering him the chance to object if he wants, but nods to Corwin: "If they're willing, yes."

Conner nods in agreement. "I have no objection."

To Celina he adds, "Sir Dignity remains in Rebma, Majesty? Whenever you and I speak next, I'd like him to join me as well, and any other Knights of the Ruby as happen to have made their way to Rebma."

Celina only nods, as it is only right that the Knights of the Ruby shall have free passage through Rebma. She knows that Conner and Brennan can now make whatever arrangements they need without her. She waits to see how the agenda shall break down and if the timing will include some personal time with Folly.

"I'll call for Firumbras and Regenlief then. If there's more I'm needed for, let me know," Corwin says, and drops out of the contact. The group in Paris are aware of him going to the door to send pages to summon the two fighters, and to have travel gear for them and Conner brought.

Brennan holds his flat expression for a moment after Corwin departs, in lieu of a glare, before letting some expression back into his features. "I have very recently learned that Regenlief," he explains for everyone's benefit, "is Ossian's mother. That was going to be the topic of our conversation, Folly, but it seems overcome by events." He pauses, then adds, "She is a very good person to have on your side in a fight."

"Ah," says Folly, who had clearly picked up on Brennan's discomfort through the contact, and just as clearly was trying to work out the reason. "Well, that part is good news, at least. And for the rest of it... I suppose your team is also picking up a diplomat, if you need one." She smiles wryly, but not unkindly. "Good luck, and let me know if I can be of any assistance."

"Unrelated to any of this, if anyone sees any of Robin or Brita or Martin, I'd enjoy hearing from them." Brennan says.

Celina listens with attention. She expects that Conner and Brennan will want some private time, or that Conner may want to discharge news. But she appears willing to wait on those and give Folly the time for sketching.

"I'll pass that along to Martin when I speak to him next, and the others if I see them," Folly says. She looks at Conner. "Are you ready to go through now, or do you need to go gather or send for your things?"

Conner just needs to grab a few things them his rooms and then he is ready to go with a smile for all his family and a hug or manly hand clasp of farewell as appropriate.

Celina's got nothing more, except the traditional word to Conner: "Please be careful."

Celina is damp at this point, but the towel she's been using as a mantle for her hair is soaked. She leaves it at the doorway of the room Corwin has indicated has good light for a sketch session.

Celina settles herself on a spindly white piece of furniture with silver traces. It seems more solid than it looks. Still it seems less practical than something her Father would like, so she thinks of Alice and Flora and which one moves what furniture around in the palace.

Celina looks to Folly. "Oh, what joys you have had, gone such a short time. How is your daughter?"

"My daughter is glorious," Folly says with a wide grin, "and very much her parents' child. She's got her daddy wrapped around her little finger." She has settled cross-legged onto a cushioned bench of similar design sensibility; her pencil moves over a page in her sketchbook in long, fluid, confident lines. "It's been much more time where we are than in other places, I think, so she's already walking and talking. And surfing."

She falls silent for a moment as she concentrates on a detail she wants to get just right; when she speaks again, her tone is more subdued. "Our goal was to keep her away from court -- any court -- for as long as possible. Not just to let her have a normal-ish childhood, but to try to keep her away from the scrutiny of those that might use her. But all that talk of queens in exile on the one hand, and queens looking for a new host on the other...." Folly gives a little shudder. "You've studied... metaphysical techniques, I guess you'd call them... beyond just Pattern and Trump, right? Do you know of techniques that might be used to find someone of our bloodline even if that person were unknown to you?"

Celina radiates happiness, her thoughts of the thrill of shepherding young Lark, but it dims when the questions start. Celina considers how Martin is so much more qualified to answer, and yet her friend does not ask a redhead or a blonde this time. "Well, I think you'll be disappointed. Family Blood is like the Center, and around us build up reflections or echoes of truth, whether we think that way or not. Metaphysics fractals as we stay in a place, I think. Less so if we just pass through. So no, the best I have for you is logic and patience and discipline to assist finding a path to a Blood unknown. While a true Master of Pattern might get some small advantage to finding an undiscovered relative, I think it is like more like singing cetacean opera to a shark. It does not entertain the shark and reminds him he is hungry all the time." She offers her palms to Folly with a look that says, 'I know, not helpful.'

"That's... kind of comforting, actually," Folly says. "I mean, for all that it would be useful for us to track down certain of our relatives, I'm glad to hear it would not be so straightforward for others to use those tricks to find my daughter. And I think in this analogy I'm married to the shark, so...." She gives Celina a lopsided smile.

After a moment, her expression grows more serious. "So... am I completely mad for thinking maybe I should try finding your mother without bringing an army to back me up?"

"No," Celina offers simply. Her face sets into a complex emotion that is not worry or confidence, but something shaded between hope and bitterness. "I've tried to imagine how I shall reconcile with her. So it is not mad at all to open some diplomatic overture. The madness starts if she doesn't think she has leverage against Florimel unless she gets Martin (or Corwin) on her side. If she took you prisoner to parlay a defense with Martin or my Father, it would not sit well. Someone could get dead."

And because she thinks Folly already knows this, she just adds, "Lucas did something very bad. Maybe there were complications in what he tried and Moire thought he was going to kill her. If Moire has some version of events that we should hear, it is more likely you would get it and get out than almost anyone I can think of."

Folly is quiet a moment, thoughtful, as she works carefully on some small detail of her sketch. Then she says, "Though it happened after he left Rebma, I suppose she knows what happened to Martin. It's not out of the question that she could've thought Lucas meant her harm, at the very least, even without 'complications'. And from what I understand of her nature, a preemptive strike in response to a possible threat like that certainly seems within the realm of possibility." She gives Celina a querying look, inviting her opinion on that point.

Celina runs her fingers through her drying hair a few times. She's obviously working on describing her mother and it is not easy for her. "She's as old as many of the Elders of Amber, except she's a planner, unlike what history seems to say about my father, and some other princes. She certainly has the experience not to make impulse decisions. I have no clue why Lucas thought he would not be caught at what he was about, but yes, in such a dire case, she would be quick. She was quick.

"What I mean to get across is that she is not preemptive as a matter of course." Celina tilts her head and adds with much warmth, "I would not support you talking to her if I thought she would overreact to threats. For half a hundred reasons, I would not expect it. I threatened her once and she just grinned at me."

Folly can't help but grin at that herself. "Well, I can think of half a dozen ways she might've reacted like that, and not all of them necessarily imply that I would be safe... but on balance, that's comforting." She hesitates, thinking, then asks, "Do you think she intended that you would succeed her as ruler of Rebma? Assuming she didn't just expect to rule forever, that is."

"She ages," Celina responds even though it badly answers the question. Instead she forges ahead. "Yes. Moire expected to train me; did train me in her own cursed fashion. But you should understand I would have been one of her plans, perhaps not the main one. I was a plan that was not ripe. And whether a lie or a cloud of squid ink left behind by Mother's departure, there is a prophecy Queen Celina shall not live out the year. Moire shared it." Celina shows the shadow of a grin, "Loreena tends to use her sharpest words when she's most angry. She'll be pleased to dance in my shrine and water my remains."

Celina flips her hand as if to say, 'nevertheless'. "Moire has reason to think she'll be safer where she is, but needs to be ready to return in triumph upon my death."

"A prophecy," Folly repeats with a frown. "Does Moire cast cards as we do, or something similar -- which, as you know, can be difficult to interpret exactly? Or is this from some other source with a more direct and unambiguous line on what the future holds?" She pauses in her sketching and focuses on Celina, watching her body language as much as she listens to her words.

"Prophecy by Mirror is not a part of my learning," Celina says. "Nor would I want to have spent years chasing fleeting images of other possible Celina's. The few I've seen have been enough for me." Her body is anything but tense. It appears she could talk to Folly for days and days.

"So, whatever is glimpsed is just one possible future, you think?" Folly asks, to make sure she's following. "Which means the sharing of it was meant to warn you or rattle you, or maybe both...?"

Celina watches Folly's hands and smiles. "Such would not be useful unless you could steer into better possibilities. So as the crafter pursues images, you find those with more focus, additional layers that make them more probable, easier to find. So yes, it is a possible future, but at the point where you are acting upon it, it is a refined image, collecting hints from the various possibles." Celina adds, "Of course, Loreena shared it because it fit best with her own vision of the future, while taking away from me any chances of making Rebma thrive through my actions. What she did not consider was that knowing my life may be short, I have found greater faith in Rebma being whole for whatever time I have."

Folly smiles, looks down at the sketch, and adds several long, strong lines. "So, one possibility is that 'Queen Celina does not survive' -- which, with that phrasing, could imply merely a loss of title rather than personal death -- but either way, Moire lies in wait to return in the wake. But you spoke of imagining how you might reconcile with her. If you could make that happen, what do you think that compromise would look like? And how would you try to talk her into it?"

Celina doesn't quote Loreena's hard words on Celina's death since it was more than possible that her words were chosen in anger. Yet, Folly has put a finger on the high threshold for saving the situation with Moire. Celina gestures as if sculpting a plan out of the air of Paris, "She could not hope for forgiveness of the military, nor many of the families. For all the Huon did, he's managed well in Rebma's justice, so something like that could work for Moire. Since there is the matter of Flora's vendetta, it might work that Moire is in service at Xanadu rather than Rebma. King Random may have the greater claim and larger reason to make two and twenty years of service stick." Celina looks at the ceiling, turning more ideas into words, "But it might actually help Rebma more if Moire were to take a lesser role, and swear to release all Tritons, Children of Lir, and Llewella from previous oaths. I could see Moire as Special Archivist. Hmmmm."

"And what do you think would be the best way to convince her to submit to such justice, in either scenario?" Folly asks. "Would she only acquiesce under force or threat of force, or are there gentler appeals to reason that might work?" She hesitates, then continues, "I think I'm really asking what you think are her primary motivators The approach -- not to mention the chance of success -- is rather different if she's mostly motivated by a desire to wield power, or a love of Rebma, or...." She lifts her pencil from the pad and draws curlicues in the air as if they were invisible blanks to fill in. "Or maybe," she adds in a faintly ominous tone, "she does what she does for metaphysical reasons. Which... is a lot of why I want to talk to her."

Celina pauses a long time.

"I fail at every turn to understand her. She likes that." Celina cannot take the bitter edge out of the words, though she makes an effort. "Her reasons are her own. But I have learned that Moins was a much more fearsome figure. So you can imagine that power is quite important to Moire. The children of abusive ruthless people are shaped to defend themselves."

Whatever question or comment Folly intended to follow up with dies on her lips at that last sentence. She goes a bit pale and stops sketching to look at Celina, her expression grim as she sorts her thoughts.

After a long moment's silence, she flicks her gaze about the room as if to make sure they really are alone and unobserved. Then she says, hoarsely, "Martin doesn't know what happened to his mother. Neither does his father -- but I do. What I don't know, though, is was it by her own volition? Or did your mother put her up to it?" She watches Celina's expression closely to see if they're on the same page.

Celina looks a bit wary, "You know? He doesn't?" She pauses then sorting the phrasing and the defensive look about the room that Folly made. Celina reaches into her gown and tosses three crystals on a nearby tabletop. The crystals begin to release their power to scintillate, rising slowly into a glare that fills half the room.

Folly watches with interest; when she understands what Celina has done, she gives a nod of appreciation.

Celina gets up and crosses to Folly then, sitting the floor at her feet and putting a hand on her knee. "It was, I believe, of her own volition. She was counseled against it and would not listen. She would not be stopped any more than Khela. If she was driven to have that Power by circumstances, then yes, you can blame the Queen for the circumstances. In this Family, you can always blame the Throne. But no, I do not think Moire planned to discard Morganthe in such a way."

Folly blows out a breath that she probably didn't realize she was holding, and lays a hand over Celina's. "Thank you for that. I hope it will help me face Moire with more sympathy and less anger if and when the time comes. It's not so much that I thought she would intentionally cause her daughter harm; but I had wondered if she might've put her up to it because she thought it would work. Since it's a power she cannot master herself, I believe she lacks the insight to know whether others can do so. If there were any reason at all to suspect her daughter might have a chance, I figured she might've risked it for the good of Rebma -- but I can also well believe Morganthe might've come to it on her own."

Folly hesitates, and stares upward for a moment as if gathering her thoughts; her lower lashes seem to glitter in the glare of the crystals. "I hinted to... to Random a while ago that I knew something, but this is the first time I've come close to saying it out loud."

"My mother is pretty good at finding ways to make people angry, I think she figures it puts her ahead," responds Celina. "Do not let her discover so much about you. Be politic but not political, I suggest. If Moire has already committed to alliance with Chaosi or Moonriders, she may be more bold than you think."

Folly nods and squeezes Celina's fingers. "I'm not the poker player some of our relatives are, but I try to play my cards close to the vest... right up to the point that I think laying them on the table gives me more of a tactical advantage. With Moire, though -- and her supporters -- I shall try to be careful to reveal them sparingly." She seems on a more even keel now; she leans forward and lays a sororal kiss on Celina's forehead.

As she straightens, Folly asks, "If I do try to use Bend as a path to Moire, what other advice do you have?"

Celina frowns, "Bend is mortal. I find that in the Court of Rebma, the long vision of a queen may be understood as pure ruthlessness for the sake of power, hence I think that Bend and her brother only emulated what they felt were the strengths asked of them. Were they full of the will of Moire. Yes. Did it change them. Most certainly yes. I think Bend would do anything for Moire, and that gives advantage to you, if you can sail in that wind." Celina speaks more softly, "If Bend thinks you bring advantage to Moire, she will make sure you get there safely. If she thinks you represent a danger, she will never aid you."

"That may be an argument in favor of laying at least some of my cards on the table," Folly opines. "My own personal agenda should not be seen as any sort of threat, and I may be the least likely of my cousins to take an invitation to tea as an opportunity to raise an army to further my aims. But the bit about Bend's particular brand of ruthlessness is good advice; it sounds like perhaps I should work through some worst-case scenarios ahead-of-time, along with options for how to navigate around them."

She casts a glance at Celina's scintillation crystals to make sure they are still active. "On a completely different topic, I have one other thing I wanted to make sure to mention to you. It's about Caine, and the Klybesians. There is a possibility he could be involved with them: According to Corwin and Flora, way back in the time of Cymnea and Faiella he was involved with a religious order that eventually got kicked out of Amber, and that got him kicked out of the succession over his activities with them. And also, apparently he knows how to use Trumps to spy on people. So... until we know more, perhaps be careful what you tell him about any Klybesian investigations -- as well as what you talk about over trump, particularly to anyone whose card would be in his possession."

"Hmmm," Celina frowns, "good to know. I just offered him assistance in keeping trade moving to Amber. He did not seem particularly interested. So if there were old secrets there, the Monks may already know routes into Rebma."

"What were his interests, if I may ask? Assuming he showed any, that is." Folly gives a wry smile at the poker-faced ways of their elders.

Celina lowers her voice, they are sitting so close now. "I told Caine what the Monks had done to Master Reid and Marius. He seemed to know. I told him the Monks were considered enemies of Rebma. He was interested in caviar. Especially if I could send the sort Dem Harga'rel used to set aside for him. It could have been a code."

"...Or maybe he just really likes that caviar," Folly counters with a wry smile before they trail too far down what could be a rabbit-hole. "Still, it's... curious... that he should speak of the relations between Amber and Rebma by calling to mind a high-ranking Rebman who was murdered at a coronation in Amber. And what he misses is the caviar, not the man who sent it." She frowns. "Was trade with Amber part of Harga'rel's regular duties? Were he and Caine just really great pals? Or was he trying to stay on Caine's good side?"

"Yes, it made me curious," Celina agrees. "Enough so that I want my people to ask those questions. But also, I want them to do so without my hearing about it from the Families of Rebma, or from my Family of Amber/Xanadu." Celina smiles, "Because I'm not enamored of the entire throwaway comment being there as a measure for Caine to see how good my intelligence capabilities are. If you see what I mean..."

"Yes, and that does seem exactly like something he'd do," Folly agrees.

Celina nodded at the tiny glaring spheres, "The beads are about to fail, is there more? I can set out some additional..."

"No, that was the most important bit. I'm glad -- but not surprised -- to hear you are already exercising some caution on that front. I'll keep you posted if I learn more... but perhaps by some means other than trump. Speaking of which...." Folly smiles conspiratorially at Celina and taps the end of her pencil against her own nose. "Perhaps we should discuss what you would like your trump image to convey, if you have any thoughts on the matter...."

This last appears to catch Celina by surprise. "Well, it should convey me marrying Rebma." She gets up and sits by Folly. "What cautions do you have?"

"About trump images?" Folly asks, then continues, "Mostly that regardless of the style or the pose or the costume or the surroundings, it should in some way reflect your unchanging, core essence -- not just who you are now, or who you hope to be, but the you that is still you regardless of your circumstances, if that makes sense. So to your response, I ask: What is Rebma to you, and what about Rebma is deeply part of your essential being?" She grins. "You know, to start with an easy question."

Celina spends some time thinking. Finally she sighs, "I'm still learning about Rebma. However, I think there is something about both of us that is the same: at the moment of trial, when it seems the light shall be overwhelmed, we reveal our reserve of strength."

Folly's eyes sparkle. "I am suddenly reminded of the day we met. I plaited your hair and we talked of the symbolism of keeping one's power hidden until the correct moment. I don't think either of us could have predicted just how portentious that turned out to be."

She takes Celina's hand and squeezes it gently. "That gives me a pretty good idea what direction to go with your trump image, though."

Celina nods once. "Good. Has Lark said anything about me?"

"I think in her mind her education about things Rebman is still a jumble of fact and fairytale," Folly says with a fond smile. "But she knows you as a friend." Celina can hear the unspoken implication that that probably isn't true of all things Rebman. Maybe not even most things Rebman.

Celina nods slowly, thinking that it would probably be nice to think of Lark as a friend as well. Her expression gets a bit sad but returns to a pleasant calm. "Good. If you don't think the request odd, let me know if she has any dreams about me. But don't bias things by mentioning I was interested. If Lark mentions me or Rebma, just take note."

Celina can tell she has Folly's attention. "I take it you have some experience with that sort of thing?"

Celina puts her hand on top of Folly's. "My dreams are busy, yes, but not nice things like Lark showing up for a chat. However, children have far ranging imagination and boundaries. So I thought it would be prudent to warn you. Also, Lark talked to me during my Pattern walk, and it was probably the nicest thing that has happened to me recently, so I feel obligated to her."

Folly blinks, and a wistful smile spreads across her face. "She talked to me during mine as well, though she wasn't even conceived yet. How did you know it was Lark?"

"She had questions for me," Celina replies, "and I demanded she identify herself before I would trade questions with her. She was the granddaughter of my dead sister through her father." Celina pats and strokes Folly's hand. "How did you know it was her in your walk?"

"She called me 'mama'," Folly replies. "That was the biggest clue. And she had hair the color of straw." She chews her lip, remembering. "She chastised me for being in love with the sky. Which made sense at the time."

"I think she is going to be a survivor," Celina offers. "When you think it might be needed, if ever, you tell her she has my blessing in all things."