"Then what makes you think he's alive?" I asked.
She picked up her wine and sipped it. "Because," she said, "I spoke with him this morning."
TWENTY-TWO
"It's a trick!" I said. I rose and began to pace. "You know how devious our enemies are, Freda. They found a way to fool you."
"That's what I thought," she said. "But he knew things… things only the two of us had shared." Her voice dropped. "It was him. I swear it."
I took a deep breath. Enough impossible things had happened to me in the last month… maybe Lords of Chaos really could return from the dead.
"What do you think?" I asked Aber.
He might be childish at times, but he knew a lot, and without Dad here, he was my main source of information on all things magical. Although Freda probably knew more about magic than any of our other siblings, she had an infuriating mysterious streak, and I was always left with the impression that she kept back as much as she revealed.
"I don't know," he admitted. I suppose—"
A light knock sounded on the library door. I motioned to Aber, and he hurried over and opened it.
Anari stood there.
"My lords, Lady Freda," he said. "Lord Fenn is in the dining hall. He asked me to inform you. He wants to see your father."
"What about Isadora?" I asked. Fenn and Isadora had run off together before Juniper fell, in search of help for our armies. They had not returned, nor had we gotten any word from them, since that time.
"Lady Isadora is not with him, sir," Anari said. I glanced at Freda. "You didn't bring him with you, I assume?"
"No," she said, looking puzzled. "I went into hiding with Pella, remember? She is still in Averoigne, awaiting my return. I have not seen Fenn since he disappeared."
"Thank you, Anari," I said. "Let him know where we are and ask him to join us."
Fenn nodded a somewhat sheepish greeting when he entered the library. He was taller than Dworkin but not as tall as me, with blue eyes, light brown hair, and a hesitant but honest smile. He wore dark blue leggings and tunic, with a simple belt and boots. A sword hung at his side. I had not gotten to know him well, but until his sudden disappearance in Juniper, right before the attacks began, he had struck me as trustworthy. Since then, I half suspected him of being the one spying on us.
"It's good to see you all," he said.
"And where were you when we needed you?" I folded my arms and glared. "You ran out on us."
"Where have you been?" Freda asked. "Where is Isadora?"
"She's in Juniper," he announced smugly. "We retook it yesterday."
"What!" Aber cried.
"How?" I demanded.
"I brought an army of my own… trolls. Half a million of them." He chuckled. "You should have seen the bloodbath! Enemy soldiers had occupied the castle and the lands around it. No more."
I shook my head. "Trolls? I don't understand."
"I do," Freda said. "He found a Shadow where trolls are breeding out of control. He offered them Juniper as a new colony in exchange for clearing out the enemy. Think of it… a whole new world for them. Of course, they jumped at the chance."
"Brilliant, right?" Grinning, Fenn took a seat next to me. "Isadora is back there now, helping mop up the last of the invaders. You should have seen her, Oberon! Bodies stacked fifty feet high, and her standing on top, screaming her battle cry, sword in hand! Magnificent!"
There was a reason, I reflected, that Aber had once called her the warrior-bitch from hell.
Now Aber slid a drink across the table to Fenn.
"So you've retaken Juniper," I said. "Doesn't that leave us with, ah, a slight troll problem?"
"Half a million troll problems," Freda said.
"We can bring in giants to take care of the trolls," Aber said.
"And then dragons, I suppose, to take care of the giants?" I said with a annoyed snort.
"Now you're getting the idea!" Aber said with mock seriousness. "And dragons… what eats dragons?" He looked at Freda, who only sighed.
"Maybe it wasn't the best idea," Fenn admitted, "but it solved the immediate problem and got rid of the attackers. We can always find another Shadow like Juniper."
I asked, "Were there any survivors from our men?"
"Maybe, hiding in the woods. If the trolls don't eat them, Isadora will bring them back."
"Fair enough, I guess."
"But," Fenn went on excitedly, "I have more important news than that!"
"Let me guess," I said. "Locke contacted you and told you to come here."
"That's right!"
"What did you tell him?"
"I was too busy—but the trolls worked faster than I thought they would, so I came straight here."
I shook my head. This whole conversation had an air of inevitability to it. Someone—or something—wanted us all in one place. It would make the murders easier. Fortunately, only Fenn and Freda has risen to the bait. The rest of our immediate family remained safely hidden.
Fenn searched our faces. "Has he been in touch with you, too, then?"
"Locke," I said firmly, "is dead."
"What!" He stared. "When? How?"
Quickly I filled him in on what had happened in Juniper, and then here. He shook his head stubbornly, though.
"You made a mistake," he insisted. "It was Locke, and he contacted me by Trump less than an hour ago! I know my own brother better than any of you. It was him!"
"This is a family of lunatics!" I said. "Locke is dead! We all—Aber, Freda, and I—saw his body! You can't deny it."
Fenn frowned. "But Locke said—" And then he paused. "But—" And he paused again.
"Trust me, Locke is dead." I glanced at Aber. "Unless you can think of some way for him to come back?"
"As far as I know," Aber said with a uncomfortable shrug, "death is final."
"It is hard to kill a Lord of Chaos," Freda said, "but once he is dead, he remains dead. I have never heard of one coming back to life. And some have been very powerful."
Aber said, "I supposed it could have been a ghost…"
"Are ghosts real?" I asked.
"Yes," Freda said. "I have spoken with a few of them, as the need arose. But they have no physical form. They could never use a Trump."
Fenn said, "Locke wasn't a ghost. I'm certain."
"Nor was my Locke a ghost," Freda said firmly. "He was as much flesh and blood as you or I. No, there must be another answer. And we will find it."
"Besides," Aber said to me, "where would a ghost get a set of Trumps? I have Locke's here. It's complete… I checked after I took them back from his room. Freda's Trump and Fenn's Trump are both there."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "Remember, hell-creatures searched our rooms. Have you checked his Trumps since then? Maybe they borrowed a few. Or maybe Locke, or whoever is impersonating him, used that Logrus trick of yours—the one where you pull items from distant Shadows—and has them now."
He gasped. "I hadn't thought of that! Let me check." Turning, he ran out into the entry hall.
"It was not a ghost," Freda repeated. "It was a man. I know the difference. And it was Locke. He always was an arrogant bastard. Who else would have dared order me about like a common servant, even through a Trump?"
"What did he ask you to do?"
"He told me to come here. Our father needs me, he said. Forget about hiding in Shadow, he said, and be a dutiful daughter. Come and help."
"So you came."
"Yes. How could I not?"
"It sounds like he tricked you into joining us here," I said.
"What about me?" Fenn asked. "Why would he contact me and tell me to come here? Freda is the powerful one, next to Dad."
"Get us into one place and it will be easier to kill us all."
"Let us assume it was neither Locke nor a ghost," Freda said. "What other possibilities remain?"
"Here's one," I said. I willed my features to change, and in a second I looked exactly like Locke, from arrogant sneer to haugh
ty tilt of the head. I faced my sister.
"Get thee to the Courts of Chaos," I said in a fair imitation of Locke's voice. With a little practice, I think I could have matched it perfectly. "I command you!"
"You are not funny," she said flatly.
"I wasn't trying to be." I let my face fall back to its normal appearance. "Our enemies include shape-shifters. Remember the barber who tried to cut my throat?"
"Ivinius? Yes, I remember that unfortunate incident. But you are clearly not Locke, even when you take his form. I know my brother well enough to tell the difference. I was not taken in by a demon."
I sighed. She could be as inflexible as our father sometimes. And yet… she had a point.
"At least concede the possibility," I said. "The Courts of Chaos are full of shape-shifters, Aber tells me."
"True," Freda said, "but it is considered bad manners to impersonate people. Also, the one who spoke with me not only looked like Locke, he acted and sounded like Locke, and he had Locke's memories. He knew things…"
"What sort of things?"
She blushed and looked away. That was a first; he had known something personal, something embarrassing.
"It was… something that happened when we were children. No one else knows, or will ever know. He offered it as proof."
"Maybe it was him," Aber said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him return. "His Trumps are gone."
"Maybe the man who died in Juniper wasn't Locke after all!" Fenn suggested, sounding excited.
"What!" The possibility shocked me. "You mean… Locke might have been replaced by a demon?"
"Yes!"
It seemed impossible. And yet, our enemies had gone to fantastic effort and expense to destroy us. Would it be so hard for them to replace Locke with a shape-shifter? One who would lead our troops to defeat in Juniper?
"No," I said firmly, remembering Rèalla and how she had looked when we found her body outside. "A shape-shifter would have reverted to its true form after its death."
"Yes." Freda nodded. "We all saw Locke's body. It was not a demon."
"There are other possibilities," Fenn said.
I looked at him. "Such as… ?"
"Perhaps Locke found a double of himself in one of the Shadows," Fenn said, "and left him in charge while he slipped off to safety."
"That doesn't sound like Locke," I said. He was nothing if not duty-bound, valiantly defending Juniper and our family even in the face of impossible odds.
"No, it doesn't," said Freda. "And yet… if our father had ordered him to do this thing… if he had a greater mission, which might save us all… yes, I believe he would have left a double in charge of the army. At least for a short time."
"And he might have taken Davin with him!" Aber said excitedly. "You said he disappeared—"
"No," I said. "I said we never found his body. He and his men lost that battle. We assumed he went down fighting."
"But if he didn't—"
"If he is with Locke—" Freda added.
"We cannot assume it's Locke," I said.
"Nor can we assume it isn't him," Fenn said.
I looked at Freda, who leaned over to study her circle of cards, with Locke in the center. What did she see?
"Locke is pivotal to coming events," she said softly. "I have never seen a reading like this for a dead man."
We all grew silent, pondering the possibilities. If Locke and Davin lived, it changed everything. We had friends… fighters… men of strength to help us. And if they had a secret mission that could help—the possibilities sent my imagination soaring.
And yet, despite Freda's insistence, a nagging doubt remained. Locke and I had made peace between us in those last days before he fell. No double would have done that. No, the answer was obvious. Somehow, though this double had managed to fool Freda, it couldn't possibly be Locke.
"Who else do you suppose Locke contacted?" Aber asked me.
"My guess would be everyone," I said. I shook my head. "I still can't accept it, though. Our enemies want nothing more than to get us all in one place. Locke seems to be doing that for them. We must remain on guard. I don't think we can trust this person claiming to be Locke—or anyone else—until we find out the truth."
A grim silence followed. I looked around at my siblings' faces. Expressions of worry and unease were plain to see.
"I just hope the rest of our family has the sense to stay where they are," I grumbled half to myself.
TWENTY-THREE
"Lord Oberon," Port said. "You have a visitor."
An hour had passed since Fenn's return. I had retreated to my room, a powerful headache throbbing at my temples, to try to think things through. I glanced at the carved wooden face in the door. "Who is it?" I asked.
"A household servant; I do not know his name. Apparently a message has arrived for you. Shall I have him slip it under the door? You look tired."
"That's not the half of it." I sighed. "Let him in."
"Very good, sir."
Port unlocked himself and swung the door open. A man I vaguely recognized as one of the household servants stood outside. "Yes?" I said.
"A runner brought this for you, sir." He held out a small white envelope.
"For me? Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
I motioned him forward. Who would be sending me messages here? It had to be our father. At least, I hoped so.
I took the message, waved him off, and returned to the desk.
Behind me, the man cleared his throat. I glanced at him.
"The messenger is waiting for your reply," he said.
"He can wait a few minutes more. Find Lord Aber and ask him to join me here, please. Tell him it's important."
"Yes, Lord." He bowed, then hurried out.
I stared down at the letter. The front said simply "Oberon" in careful script. When I turned it over, I found nothing more than a blob of dark red wax stamped by a seal in the shape of a griffin.
I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Six lines of the most intricate and flowery penmanship I had ever seen cordially invited me to dine with Lord and Lady Ethshell the following night.
I turned the paper over, but that was it. Brief, to the point, no wasted words.
But… why me? I had never even heard of Lord Ethshell. Why should they invite me, of all people, to join them?
Aber rapped on the doorframe. "What is it?" he said, and swept in without being asked.
I held out the letter. He read it and gave a small, "Hmm."
"Is that good or bad?" I said.
"Oh, it's good. Very good. You must go, by all means."
"Why?"
"Because, dear brother, they want to take your measure." He gave an evil smile. "Unless I'm mistaken, they just received the invitation to Aunt Lan's engagement party tonight. Since their eldest daughter Honoria is still without a husband, and you are, shall we say, husbandly material…"
"But I'm engaged to Braxara."
"That's never stopped true love before."
Now it was my turn to "Hmm." I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. We had so much going on—so many people trying to kill us, or worse—that I didn't want parents flinging their eligible daughters at me.
"You can bring me along," he told me, "as chaperone."
"Maybe she'd prefer your hand, since I'm spoken for."
"I've already been considered, and rejected, as unsuitable husbandly material. Too artistic, I fear. The Ethshells have a strong military tradition."
I looked at the invitation again. "It doesn't say anything about bringing a guest."
"It will be fine. Dad should be the one going with you, but in his absence, any male family member will do."
He took a piece of paper, wrote a brief reply, folded it up, and dribbled a bit of wax on it. Then he motioned for the servant who'd brought the message to approach.
"Here is our reply," he said.
"Very good, sir." He bowed and left.
The moment he was outsi
de, Port closed himself. I turned to Aber.
"What's she like?"
"Honoria? Oh… she's hard to describe."
"Try."
"Two or three extra eyes, half a dozen arms, red hair, and very well rounded. Quite a… woman, I guess you'd say."
"Red hair?" I raised my eyebrows. Some of my favorite lovers had been redheads.
"That's right. Very red, very long, very thick, and all over her body." He chuckled at my expression. "Well, as much of her body as I've ever seen. I can only imagine the rest."
"This does not," I said, "sound promising."
"Dinner will be a small but traditionally formal affair with the Ethshells. No more than twenty people. I'm sure you'll impress them all."
"Traditionally formal? I'll guess that means fancy clothes, boring speeches, and pretentious old men and their wives?"
"You've dined with them before?"
I sighed. "With their counterparts in Ilerium, anyway."
"You'll see," he said with an encouraging nod, "the food alone will be worth the trip. Now, though, we have to get you cleaned up for Aunt Lan's party."
I tried on outfit after outfit, assisted by Horace and Aber. My brother kept summoning fancier garments using the Logrus, and each time I thought I looked magnificent, he would shake his head and try again. Fancy collars, shoes like golden hooves, hats of impossibly complex design—I tried them all on, then tore them all off. The stack of discarded silks, leather, and frilled lace grew high on top of my bed.
When I finally stood back and regarded myself in a looking glass, I had a hard time keeping from laughing. My final costume seemed ludicrous. Crimson leggings, a heavily ruffled red shirt with sleeves that puffed out like over-ripe melons, and a jaunty cap with long flowing red feathers that trailed down behind—I had never seen anything so outlandish in my life.
The sad thing was, Aber took it entirely too seriously. He adorned himself in dark blue, though his shirt had splashes of gold at the sleeves. His hat's feathers were longer and more spectacular than my own—not that I objected, of course.
I studied my reflection in the looking glass. Not bad, I finally decided. Once you got used to the puffiness and color, everything fit me well and flattered my appearance.
New Amber Trilogy 2 - Chaos and Amber Page 16