Chaos and Amber tdoa-2

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I said, “we're going to be busy. You're going to announce me to all and sundry as Dworkin's new heir, come to the Courts of Chaos to walk the Logrus and claim my birthright.”

  “But you can't—”

  “Can't I?”

  He nodded. “It is your right.”

  “Play it up. Sell me to them. My name must be on everyone's lips. They must all know who I am before this day is over!”

  “You're insane!” he said, staring at me.

  “Maybe I am.” I smiled, lips thin and hard. “First, though, there will be a party for me, hosted by… I don't know. Someone you know and trust.”

  “Who?” he demanded.

  “It doesn't matter.” I waved my hand grandly. “Pick someone. Anyone. Make sure they accept. Don't take no for an answer.”

  “But Dad“

  “Has nothing to do with this,” I interrupted. “I want to be seen tonight by everyone who matters in the Courts of Chaos. I want each and every one of them, from the highest noble to the lowest slave, to know I've arrived here… and that I'm not afraid of them!”

  “This isn't wise.”

  “Wise?” I laughed. “If you're afraid to live, you're already dead!”

  “Then I must be dead,” he muttered.

  “Oh, no.” I seized his arm and propelled him toward the stairs and his room. “You've just awakened, dear brother. We've all been asleep far too long here. I'm not going to sit in this house and wait for death to find me. It's time to move—time to leap feet-first into King Uthor's court. We will renew ourselves… and our family.”

  “I don't understand,” he said.

  “You don't have to. Leave everything to me. Now, get those Trumps, and be quick about it! We have lots of work to do before the party.”

  My enthusiasm seemed to be catching. Taking a deep breath, he bounded up the stairs three at a time.

  We would need new alliances to replace the ones Dad had let slip away. If Ulyanash could do it, why not me? New friends and new allies… yes, I could play this game. And I would win.

  Chapter 20

  “You realize,” Aber said, “that your plan won't work.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  We sat in the library, surrounded by books and scrolls. He had brought down a large, intricately carved wooden box packed to the top with Trumps, many showing people and places I had never seen before. Most were distant relatives, he assured me—cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents from our father's various marriages. Aber had drawn them over the years and squirreled them in his room until needed.

  “Who is this?” I held up a Trump showing a handsome man with moustache and beard. His eyes reminded me of Freda's.

  “Vladius Infenum,” he said. “Isadora's grandfather on her mother's side. He's dead, I think.”

  “Murdered?”

  “By his wife.” He pulled out a different Trump, this one showing a skeletal woman with upturned tusks. “Here, Lady Lanara Doxara de Fenetis. I think she'll do.”

  “Who is she?”

  I regarded her image casually, trying not to stare too hard lest I make contact with her. Her small black eyes had a ravenous quality that made me uneasy.

  “Our great-aunt. Dad's mother's oldest sister.”

  “That's right—you mentioned her before. She taught you to paint, didn't she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she well connected?”

  “She used to be,” Aber said. “She stopped entertaining a decade or so ago, due to frail health… though I think that was just an excuse. Her guests tended to overstay their welcomes and eat her out of house and home. She's still well remembered at court, and I think retirement has bored her enough that she might well leap at the chance to help you. Family is important to her.” He smiled fondly; I could tell he liked her. “She was a great painter in her day, and she used to give me lessons…”

  “I thought Dad was to blame for that.”

  “I inherited his talent. Aunt Lan taught me how to use it. She always said I was her favorite nephew. Dad would more happily have drowned me than taught me anything.”

  “She sounds ideal for our purposes,” I said, changing the subject before he could complain about our father. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Go ahead and ask her.”

  This just might work. There would be a certain novelty value in dragging an aging Lady back into the social light. People who might normally pass on such an invitation—especially to launch someone unknown into society—would attend just to see her.

  He picked up the card, moved to the far side of the room, and stared at it. Over his shoulder, I saw the old woman's picture ripple and start to move. Her hair whitened; her tusks yellowed, and her skin grew as wrinkled as a raisin.

  “Aunt Lan!” he said. “It's your nephew, Aber. May I visit you for a few minutes?”

  She replied with something I couldn't quite catch, and as I watched, he reached toward her image. In the wink of an eye he disappeared, taking the card with him.

  I sat impatiently, hoping it wouldn't take long. I had a feeling our enemies wouldn't be sitting around waiting for us to move. Finally, after perhaps ten minutes, I felt a nagging at the back of my mind and knew someone was trying to reach me via a Trump. It had to be Aber. Opening my thoughts, I looked up.

  An image appeared before me, only it wasn't my brother. It was Great Aunt Lanara herself, dressed all in black, regarding me with those dark and hungry eyes set deep in that much-wrinkled face. Her upturned tusks, if anything, had grown longer since Aber had painted her.

  “So you are Oberon,” she said. Her lightly accented voice held a mild quaver. Slowly her gaze traveled down to my boots and back up again. She seemed to be looking through me to my soul, and I found her scrutiny made me distinctly uneasy. I tried not to show it.

  “That's right,” I said. I folded my arms and returned her frank stare. “I'm pleased to finally meet you. Aber speaks very highly of you and your work.”

  “My… work?”

  “Your paintings.”

  “He is a good boy.” She smiled, lips pulling back in an awful rictus. “He informs me of your own ambitions in court, and that you need an introduction into society. He says you aspire to greatness and wish to be known in the Courts, to wield power and influence as, in fact, I once did.”

  “As you still do,” I said politely. “Or we would not have come to you.”

  Turning her head slightly, she addressed someone I couldn't see:

  “You were right. I rather like him.” I assumed she spoke to Aber.

  “I knew you would,” came the reply. “He's clearly the prize of Dad's offspring.”

  She turned back to me.

  “Tell me two things first, and tell me honestly. I will know if you are lying. If I like your answers, I will do more than you have asked. Much more.”

  “Very well.” I regarded her impassively. “I will answer truthfully.”

  “Who is your mother?”

  “My mother was a woman from a Shadow world. Her name was Eilea Santise, if that is important to you.”

  “It is. Names hold power. Your mother is now dead?”

  “Yes. A long time ago.”

  Lanara nodded slightly. “You are not lying,” she said. “And yet you are not telling me all.”

  “What more do you want?”

  “Everything.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I am a bastard, born out of wedlock. Dworkin did not acknowledge me as his son—though in fact he stayed to help raise me—for many years. My mother lied to me her whole life. So did Dworkin… Dad. They claimed my father was a sailor who died at the hands of pirates from Saliir.”

  “Interesting,” she said, with a mysterious half smile. “So your link to the throne is only through your father. A pity. Two blood lines are always stronger than one.”

  “I am as I am,” I said. “I make no apologies.”

  “I did not ask for any. Y
ou have spirit. I like that… in moderation. I accept your answer.”

  I inclined my head. “And your second question?”

  “How will you pay me for this service?”

  I regarded her thoughtfully. “That is the harder question of the two,” I said. “You have no need of gold or jewels, so I will not insult you by offering them. Nor do I believe you would put much store in promises of lifelong affection from a bastard grand-nephew whom you have never met before.”

  “True,” she said. “Go on.”

  “Therefore,” I said, “I offer you nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she asked, as though hardly able to believe it. She threw back her head and howled with laughter. “Nothing! The whelp offers me nothing!”

  “Nothing,” I continued, “except the excitement your actions will bring you.” I leaned forward, staring into her eyes. “Think of it, Auntie! A house of ravenous guests, plots and intrigue spinning wildly before you, and the very real possibility of a murderer in your company! I have been marked for death, Aunt Lanara, and so has Aber. Rather than hiding in Shadow, we will seek out our enemies so we may destroy them! Help me, Lanara, and you will help us both!”

  “Well spoken,” she said, “and I believe you have told me the truth—at least as you see it, for truth is a flexible thing, with many meanings and many edges. Yes, I will help you, Oberon, but you may well come to regret it for the rest of your life. The price for my help will be quite high.”

  “Name it,” I said.

  “One of my many nieces, born of my sister Desponda and her husband, Yanar, is named Braxara. To be brutally honest, Braxara is ugly, dull, and stupid. Finding a suitable mate for her proved too difficult for her parents, so now the task has fallen to me.”

  I swallowed, not liking the direction this conversation had headed. Aunt Lanara smiled like a spider that had just discovered a plump fly in its web. Slowly, she linked her fingers under her chin and leaned forward. I thought it made her look more than a little sinister.

  She continued, “If I help you in this matter, I will expect you to marry Braxara in one year's time. That will give you ample opportunity for courtship.”

  “Perhaps she would be happier with someone like Aber,” I suggested meekly.

  “I could never wish such a fate on my darling nephew,” Lanara said, smiling pointedly. “And it is you, not Aber, who craves my assistance.”

  One year… it seemed forever. Much could change in that time. I could be dead. Braxara could be dead… or even promised elsewhere, if a better suitor came along. Better to promise now and reap the benefits immediately of such an alliance.

  I bowed my head. “Assuming I live to see my wedding day,” I said before she could change her mind, “I accept your terms.”

  “Good.” She smiled again. “I will prepare everything for tonight. The time is short, but it can be done. Aber, dear boy?”

  “Yes, Aunt Lan?” I heard him say from somewhere to the side.

  “Go back and help Oberon prepare. Come fashionably late, but not too late. And Oberon…” She turned back to me. “I may be old, but my friends are numerous and their weapons are sharp. Your betrothal will be announced tonight, with vows that cannot be broken. Do not embarrass me, or you will not live to regret it.”

  She beckoned Aber to her side, and I stretched out my hand to him. When he grasped it, I pulled him back through to the library.

  “Do not forget, Oberon!” Lanara said to me, voice distant now and fading. “One year!”

  She made a curt gesture, and our contact was broken.

  Aber flopped down in the chair next to me.

  “That was too easy,” he said. He put his feet up on the table and folded his hands over his belly. “Just the sort of plan I like.”

  “Easy!” I snapped. “You just got me betrothed to an ugly, halfwitted cousin!”

  “She's not that bad!” He laughed. “At least, not since she got her tails bobbed!”

  “Tails? Bobbed?”

  “Hers were a little too skinny and ratlike for my taste.” He shrugged. “But I'm sure you'll both be very happy together. Her family are always good breeders. Lots of kids will calm you down. Say, thirty or forty to start with. They do tend toward big litters…”

  I groaned. Somehow, I didn't think he was joking this time.

  “And,” he went on brightly, “Every time you complain about her, you'll hear a little voice in your head saying, 'At least she's not a succubus!'“

  “Thanks… I think!”

  He shrugged. “Oh, you'll be happy enough. You'll get your introduction to society. And thanks to Aunt Lan, you've got your first allies.”

  “I do? Who?”

  “Why, she and her husband. She liked you a lot.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “She's doing everything you asked. If she didn't like you, she would have said, 'No!'—and not quite so politely. Think of it as a present from her. A wedding present.”

  “It's not a present if I'm paying for it!”

  Aber sighed and shook his head. “You don't understand. She did you a bigger favor with that marriage than you realize. Lord Yanar is one of King Uthor's advisors. Marrying his daughter will confer immediate status on you within the court… not to mention a measure of protection. Yanar is powerful and influential.”

  “Braxara and I aren't married yet,” I said with a grim little smile. “And a year is a long time to wait.”

  “Want me to see if Aunt Lan can move up the date a bit?”

  “Not particularly!” I replied with a laugh.

  He chuckled in return. “No, I guess you wouldn't!”

  “I don't suppose you have a Trump showing Braxara, do you? I'd like to have at least some idea of what I'm getting into.”

  “Nope. She's not someone I'd ever want to know well enough to paint!”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered. How bad could my future bride be?

  Port chose that moment to speak.

  “Sir,” he said, face appearing in the center of the door. “Anari wishes to enter.”

  “Let him in,” I said.

  Port swung open, and the elderly head of the household hurried inside, breathing hard. He must have run up the stairs, I realized with alarm.

  “What's wrong?” I demanded.

  “Lords—” he panted. “Lady Freda—has just arrived—and—”

  Before he could say another word, I raced past him and into the hall. Freda, here? It could only mean the worst sort of news.

  Our sister had been ordered to hide in Shadow until we found our enemy and straightened out this whole mess. Nothing short of disaster should have brought her home early.

  Chapter 21

  Aber raced after me, and side by side we pounded down the broad stone staircase to the cavernous entry hall. There, surrounded by a flurry of movement, stood our sister.

  Freda wore a long red silk dress, red shoes, and a matching broad-brimmed hat, now perched at a steep angle atop her head. Heavy gold rings set with large rubies covered her slender fingers and flashed in the flickering light of the lamps. She looked tanned and well, as though returning from a month's vacation at the seaside.

  Around her, more than a dozen servants, dressed in what looked like cloth spun from pure silver, were shifting twenty-five or thirty large wooden trunks. Several guards and household servants helped. All the while, six women similarly dressed in silver milled about Freda, some fussing with her hair, others with her clothes… she seemed more a pampered princess than the mystic fatalist I had known in Juniper.

  “Freda?” I said, reaching the floor. I made way for the first of her trunks, which two men carried up the stairs with grunts and groans.

  “Oberon!” She turned toward me with a cool smile. “I trust you are well.”

  “Yes, despite several assassination attempts.”

  She showed no surprise at that statement.

  “And an impending marriage,” Aber added.

  That got her attenti
on. “Who is the bride-to-be?”

  “Cousin Braxara,” Aber said.

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “That will not do at all.”

  “I promised our Aunt Lanara,” I said.

  “I will see it undone later, after I have unpacked.” She beckoned Anari over. He had followed us down the stairs at a more dignified pace. “Have my usual rooms prepared. I will be staying.”

  “Yes, Lady Freda.” He bowed.

  “Hold on,” I said to Anari. Then I turned to Freda. “You're not staying. It's not safe. People are still trying to kill us.”

  “Bosh,” Freda said. “A well-raised Lady of Chaos does not get into such troubles. Not in the Courts, and not in the Beyond. Do you think me a common duelist?”

  “Ladies of Chaos don't duel, they poison,” said Aber from behind me, his voice a loud stage whisper.

  Freda pretended not to hear him.

  “I have come to see Father,” she said. “Where is he? I have important news. It cannot wait.”

  “He's… not available.” I swallowed. “In fact, he doesn't want to be found. He made it clear when I tried to contact him by Trump. He said he'll be back in a few days.”

  “That,” she said, “is not acceptable.”

  “If you have a better plan…”

  “Of course. Luckily for you, I came back early. Clearly someone with sense needs to take charge of things. How did you ever get trapped into marrying that cow Braxara?”

  She clapped her hands sharply and waved away the women who had been fussing over her. They joined the men dressed in silver, helping shift some of the smaller packs and bags.

  Noticing my nonplussed expression, she said:

  “Good help is hard to find. You sent me to a Shadow where I am worshipped as a goddess; it is easy to get used to being pampered. So I brought a few of the faithful with me. They think this is the afterlife.”

  “A few?” I eyed the throng critically. They didn't seem to be having any trouble acclimatizing to the Beyond, I noticed somewhat enviously. In fact, they all seemed to be happily taking it in stride… though I supposed, if you served a goddess, you must be prepared for such things.

  “Barely two dozen,” she said.