FriendlyRelationsFriendly Relations"Ah, William," he says to his reflection once he is satisfied with the drape of the neckcloth and cape. "Each time I see you, I think you have reached the pinnacle of perfection. And yet, each time you look even better. Truly, it is an astonishing gift. Use it wisely, young man." He wags an admonishing finger at himself, then sweeps out of the room. Without much difficulty, William finds himself on the first floor, in the section of corridors and rooms devoted to visitors, especially the diplomatic ones. The Dolomite Room hasn't been used in a while, but its clearly in use now and William reaches its threshold... William raps on the door of the Dolomite Room and waits. There is a pause, and then the sound of light feet scampering across the stone floor. Then the door is opened wide, and a young woman stands there. There is a slightly Rebman cast to her features, and the hand that still holds the doorframe has webbed fingers. But the long hair is fair (if rather untidy for being immersed and then rather roughly finger dried). The dress too, although of good quality, does not fit perfectly - in fact, while not as revealing as a sodden nightgown would be, it has slipped slightly to reveal the curve of a rather beautiful shoulder. Her feet are bare, but her smile is wonderful, dazzling, and it is directed fully at William. "Ohhh," she breathes, "you look even *better* this side of the mirror!" Then, remembering her manners, she extends a long, slender hand to William. "How are you? You shouldn't have duelled with him, you know. But do come in, come in and have some shrimp!" Her other hand gestures to Armas to set down the shrimp and withdraw, but her eyes and That Smile remain fixed on William. William takes her hand and bends over it, raising it almost to his lips while keeping his eyes on here. "The Lady Meriel, I presume," he says to her. He straightens, holding her hand a few seconds longer than strictly proper before releasing it. "You have the advantage of me, my lady, for I am certain I should remember having seen you, had I ere done so afore now." Without any disruption of the meeting, Armas places down the plate of (currently) artfully arranged shrimp, and bows to both, and exits, with a soft click of the door. "No," says Meriel, "you haven't seen me. But I was watching you ... oh, for ages! And then they caught me decorating the mirror, and put me on to watching Gerard instead. And really, that was very dull. Did you know Rebmans could get seasick? Perhaps it was just shipsick. But up and down, up and down all the time, and so many sea charts and maps! It was indescribably dull. I suppose you could say that's a large part of the reason that I ran away. And finding out about my true heritage, of course. Do have a seat. And some shr ... oh, how odd. They're all pink." "Boiled, I should expect," William tells her. "Amberites aren't as fond of raw seafood as Rebmans, I fear." He takes one of the shrimp and offers it to her. "Differing customs. Always catching us off guard in the little things, aren't they?" Meriel sighs. "Pink won't go with your eyes nearly so well, you know. Unless you had one of those nights where you ... Well, you look rather better than that this morning." She takes the shrimp and stares at it for a moment. "Oh well." She pops it into her mouth whole, shell and all. Her lips pucker for a moment and her cheeks move, and then she lifts a hand to her mouth and removes what is presumably the shell, setting it aside casually on a little side-table. "Shall we sit by the window?" She is moving towards the window seat as she speaks. If William glances down at the discarded shell, he will see that not only has the shrimp been cleanly removed from its shell, but all its little legs have been artfully plaited too ... William's eyes flick to the discarded shell and he smiles, then takes the plate of shrimp in hand and follows her. "You offer so many delightful surprises and mysteries, my lady," he tells her. "The hints of watching from the other side of a mirror, for instance. And your mention of your heritage. You have certainly captured my attention." "Oh good!" says Meriel delighted. "You captured mine for long enough. Would you like a shrimp?" She holds them out towards him. "I was a Watcher for ... ohh ... ages," she says. "But you were my favourite." William accepts a shrimp with a grateful nod and cracks the shell with his thumb, then tears the flesh out with his teeth. He winks at her as he tosses the shell across the room with studied indifference, to land exactly next to the shell Meriel previously discarded. "A Watcher," he says. "I confess to you that I do not know enough of Rebman secrets to understand exactly what that title does imply. A Mistress of the sorcery of the mirror, most certainly. But what else?" Meriel's face takes on a slightly rebellious expression. "Not nearly enough else," she says. "Once I aced all the classes, they rushed me through to Watcher duty. They seemed to think I should feel happy and, you know, honoured to spend the rest of my life sitting in front of mirrors watching other people have fun." She heaves a wistful sigh. "You had lots of fun." "Merely watching others live their lives, with no life of your own?" William shakes his head. "How tedious it sounds. You were meant for more than that." Meriel rewards him with a glowing smile for his ready understanding. "Well, I rather think I was too," she agrees. "Well ... I am ... because I hope most of my adventures lie ahead of me. Do you trust the King to keep his word?" "Oh, indeed!" William assures her without hesitation. "Once given, it is sacred to him. Of course, as with every clever monarch, one must pay close attention to exactly what the king has promised, not what one thinks he has promised." He picks out an especially succulent looking shrimp and offers it to her. "What did he promise to you?" She parts her lips to accept it without answering; perhaps, for once, she is pausing to marshal her thoughts. Then, she suddenly smiles. "Not to lock me in a room with only a mirror for company of course!" She moves forward to take the shrimp from his fingers. "Then I think you can have complete confidence that he shall keep that promise," William tells her, smiling as her lips touch his fingers. "And in light of what you said about your heritage... what was it that you have discovered, exactly?" "I'm not sure I should say," says Meriel. looking as innocent as though the faintest of licks had not been applied to those offering fingers. "I 'spect the King will announce it at Court today and he would want it to be a surprise. Or he might wish to keep my identity hidden. Although I suspect he won't as he has no idea of the amount of discretion he can expect from me - he knows about my eyes and not my tongue. And he's far too shrewd to bet on an unknown factor, isn't he?" The shell is removed again, and set down on another of the occasional tables with which the room is perhaps surprisingly well supplied. This time the legs remain unplaited but - in some strange way - the shrimp's usually notoriously inexpressive features have been rearranged to suggest a look of smug pleasure. "You, of course, are tremendously discreet," she continues, " especially, from my observations, when discretion is to your own advantage." The look she gives him is positively limpid. "A gentleman never tells," William agrees. "What passes betwixt lady and gentleman is their business, and no one else's "Mmhmm," she says. She selects a plump shrimp and offers it to him. "We are related," she says. "Distantly. Which really does explain a lot of the problems I was having in Rebma even before they pushed me in front of the mirrors. And they let me think I was just the grey fin of the family." "How distantly?" William asks. "If you are close enough blood, then their are ways to ensure that no one can ever imprison you again." He leans forward and takes the shrimp in his teeth, and then gives a playful shakes of his head as he pulls it from her fingers, rather like a shark tearing flesh from its prey. Her eyes sparkle appreciatively, and then she lifts her hand to her mouth and slowly sucks the thumb and first finger clean. "And would you teach me them?" she asks. William cracks the shell with his teeth, then removes it and lays it on the side table. He chews the flesh meditatively as he watches Meriel. "The secrets of the Blood Royal?" he muses, once he has swallowed. "Dangerous information. If you are not close enough in blood to Oberon they will destroy you, rather than grant you power. But have you not seen any hints of this in your Watching?? Meriel, perhaps unexpectedly, gives a little giggle. "Oh yes," she says. "Hints. Yes." "I do believe I have said something to amuse you, my lady," William observes. "Will you share the source of your amusement?" "No," says Meriel, "for I too can be discreet. But if you will be so very kind as to escort me to the audience, then I shall tell you my own secret. Tell me - did you ever know your cousin Clarissa?" "It shall be an honour and a pleasure to be your escort, dear lady," William replies. He looks thoughtful. "Clarissa. I have heard a few comments about her, nothing to her credit. But we never met." "Mmmm," says Meriel. "That was rather the impression I was given too. Well, perhaps it is a good thing that I won't meet her. She's my half-sister, you see." "Indeed?" William answers. He smiles at her. "That tells me less than you might think, as I never learned exactly how Clarissa was related. At last I find someone who can clear up that mystery for me, if you would do me that kindness." She looks at him with wide eyes. "And have you never felt the smallest curiosity about such things before? Or just no-one who would help you?" This seems to intrigue her. "Oh, curiosity aplenty, my dear lady," he responds. "I am alive with curiosity. However, there didn't seem much likelihood of us crossing paths, and I let that particular point of curiosity await satiation at a later date. I am as patient as I am curious, you see." She nods, and then suddenly gives that glorious smile. "And perhaps I should reward you because - really - you have been such fun for me for so long. It seems that I am the daughter of the King's sister, Mirelle. And my Rebman father of course, but I've always known about him." "Ah," William says with an answering smile. "Now with that information, my dear, I can better answer your earlier questions about how well you can trust the king. He does love his sister greatly, and will be inclined to see you in much the same light, I should think. Dependent, of course, upon the exact nature of your relationship with your mother." He cocks his head to one side, regarding her, and reaches for another shrimp. "You have only recently learned that Princess Mirelle is your mother, yes? I take it you have had a chance to meet her since your arrival here?" "Meet her?" she echoes, her eyes wide. "I thought she was dead." "The king has not told you differently?" William asks in surprise. "Now I wonder why that would be? Yes, indeed, it turns out that your mother was imprisoned, not dead, and has recently been rescued. I did not mean to break such news in so bald a fashion, but assumed you would have been informed." He frowns slightly. "What can our uncle be playing at? Surely he does not plan a grand surprise reunion at court, without informing either you or your mother that you are both here?" Then a smile plays across his face. "Well, yes, I suppose he is quite capable of such a thing. It might amuse him to do so." "And is the news of her ... erm ... resurrection ... widely known here in Amber?" asks Meriel. "And ... what do you think will be her response to having a daughter arrive who she ... left behind?" A wistful note enters her voice; her lower lips trembles ... just a little. "I cannot speak for her, Meriel," William answers softly, reaching out and cupping her cheek in his hand. "But I cannot imagine she will be anything but delighted at how well you have turned out. Do not judge her for leaving you until you have heard her explanation. Life can be very ... complicated." She allows her cheek to rest on his hand. "I don't judge her," she says. "I can understand exactly why she left. I probably would have done the same in her position. But ... will she want me here? Especially when ... well. What if I were like Clarissa?" "What if the sky should fall?" William asks rhetorically. "You aren't like Clarissa, so no point in considering it. As for what she wants... well, let us wait and see, shall we? You have plenty of time. And perhaps the king and your mother will want to see you come into the full inheritance of your powers quickly. Even if not, well then, perhaps you will make friends who decide that you should be granted your inheritance." He strokes her cheek lightly with his thumb. "Limitless possibilities are in your future, and you shall never again be forced to serve at another's whim." She smiles, a little wryly. "That would be delightful, wouldn't it? But I swear allegiance to the King today at Court, and he hinted he has plans. I suspect ... I shall just find a longer chain. But I have his word there will be no bare rooms with mirrors." "A long enough chain can be draped stylishly, and is indistinguishable from jewelry," William observes. He stokes her cheek once more, then sits upright. "Now," he says. "Some decisions from you. Court will be starting soon. Even now, the court hangers-on are gathering to see and be seen, and the more politically inclined of our family will be moving among them, orcas among seals. Do you want to join that part, to see some of the courtiers before they know who you are, and change the way they act? Or do you wish to wait to be seen until court proper? If the former, we should go now. If the latter, I can time it so that we arrive mere moments before the king. Enough for people to wonder who you are, but not enough for them to begin speculating before Random draws their attention." Meriel considers. "It is possible that one or two who arrive early will already know who I am," she says, "and that would rather take away the effect of it. Not that anyone is liable to come running up to me shouting, 'Why, *there* you are, Meriel daughter-of-Mirelle!' At least, I hope not. She looks down thoughtfully at the gown and then shrugs in an attempt to make it sit more becomingly. "I am not sure this is the gown for an Entrance, however. I suppose I could contrive something in Rebman style ... " "Well, let us consider what statement you wish to make." William stands and gestures fro Meriel to rise as well. She looks slightly surprised, but rises to her feet, her hands making little rippling gestures as though finding balance in the currents. "Do you wish to emphasize your Rebmanishness," he frowns, as though not quite satisfied with that word, but lets it pass, "To emphasize it either as a statement of pride or individuality, or do you wish to strike a more independent note?" "Independent," says Meriel firmly. "Always." She regards him hopefully. "Then," William says firmly, "You should wear something with a Rebman influence, but not so Rebman as to immediately place you. Otherwise you will always be Meriel the Rebman to those who see you for the first time today. No, something with a personal style, something the courtiers cannot place immediately, and something that will tell the Family you bear no particular allegience to any style or shadow, only to your own heart and your own path." He looks around the room, then back at Meriel. "But you are a recent escapee, yes? And don't have an extensive wardrobe immediately to hand?" "Just this," says Meriel, "and what I was travelling in. I could take a knife to them, I suppose." William makes a face. "Barbarism is an independent statement, I suppose," he says. "But I do not think it suits you." He looks her up and down consideringly. "How tall are you?" he asks. "Just over five and a half conch," she says. To William she would seem to be five foot seven or eight. "Just a touch over Asteria..." William muses. Then he seizes her by the wrist. "Come on," he urges, turning to the door. "We've very little time. We shall make your introduction to Amber something to be spoken of for centuries to come." Meriel seems inclined to protest this unwonted handling of her person - but then she give the most mischievous smile. "Lead on!" she says. Once in the hallway William shouts to a guard, "We have a tailoring emergency. Seamstresses to Princess Asteria's chambers, at once!" He leads Meriel at a run through the corridors of Castle Amber, into the family wing, past startled guards and through elegantly carved doors. Once in Asteria's rooms he begins throwing open armoires and chests. "Draping," he says. "We haven't time to concern ourselves with a close fit, so we go for loose and flowing, with a belt and a few quick tucks for definition." He gestures at the room in general. "Start searching, my dear, find things that appeal to you. We shall combine, coordinate, and create!" Meriel stands for a second, poised, looking around the room with wide yes. And then suddenly she dives into the first of the armoires and then there are ripples of silk and billows of satin everywhere marking her passage. She seems to be drawn towards the deep turquoise of a summer sea and the sun slowly sets - and the deep purple that sometimes seizes the waters after the sun has set A promising pile is soon ebbing around their feet. "Layers," William says. "I see layers. Flowing, as currents stirred by unseen movements. Gold or silver jewelry? Gold, I should think." "Silver," says Meriel. "Foam riming the water's edge." He nods. "Silver then. I was thinking of the sun reflecting off the rippling surface, but your image is superior." He gestures at the dress. "Lose that," he says. "It would make an awkward line if we attempted to use it as a foundation garment." She tosses it aside onto the discarded pile. It's likely that Asteria's wardrobe will never recover these depredations. It's also clear that Meriel has not bothered to wear any undergarments at all, and seems unaware that this might be a problem. William pauses for a moment to admire her figure, then says, "Sheer silk sliding over bare flesh, velvets moving over silk, this should feel as exquisite to wear as it shall be to those who are privileged to see it." He taps his lips with a finger, then moves to a not-yet-opened chest. "If I recall correctly, she has a belt of silver samite, that should set it everything off perfectly." He glances at the door with an annoyed expression. "And those seamstresses should be here momentarily, we can begin cutting, pinning, and sewing the moment they're here." Meriel nods thoughtfully. "One must do the best one can to mimic the flow of the tides," she says sagely. "Won't the belt be recognised? I can do something about that - if she has a decent-sized mirror hereabouts." It is at this moment that an urgent rapping on the door reveals, when opened, to be two of the seamstresses in the Castle, as William had requested on their passage to his sister's rooms. Alice and Judith, the latter's quarter-Rebman blood reflected in the light green tint to otherwise black hair that she shares with her partner, come in, armed with needles, thread and the other accouterments of their profession. They seem non plussed at the prospect of a strange Rebman woman and Prince William in the latter's sister's quarters, but make quick curtseys and stand ready. "There you are, girls," William says, blowing a kiss to each of them. "We haven't much time. Let's get to work!" As far as a mirror, there is a large one, circular, with a Victorian-style antique knotted silver frame, in Asteria's richly appointed bedroom. Meriel moves to stand in front of it, frowning slightly. Under William's direction, guidance and management, the seamstresses begin to work. Judith takes eye measurements of Meriel as she stands in front of the mirror as Alice begins sewing, hemming, trimming and preparing the material in question. When Judith's eyeball measurements are complete, she smoothly moves in concert to aid her compatriot. They begin to ask William questions about style, design and the requested specifics of what is desired. William's vision is of several layers, from violet so dark it's almost black as the layer closest to Meriel's skin to a shimmering turquoise outer layer. It should all flow, billowing when she moves like currents moving in the ocean, with occasional glimpses of leg, thigh, and breast. And so the Erté-inspired design (or perhaps once should say, a design that will, in shadow, inspire Romain de Tirtoff, starts to take shape. In the meantime, Meriel does find some very minor wards on the mirror. However, these wards are not related to her sorcery, but are rather an anti-breakage charm, and a charm that keeps the mirror clean and polished. As such, Meriel's skills with mirrors allows her to remove these charms without difficulty. And then, with the simple word of her command, the mirror obeys. The frame remains in place as, as if it were converted to quicksilver, the glass of the mirror turns to liquid, and flows down in a shining stream. This liquid glass forms a pool upon the top surface of the dresser that the mirror hangs over, waiting and obedient to Meriel's command. William winces slightly at that, then brightens up when he realizes that he may very well be on a ship on the way out of Amber before his sister realizes he's to blame for it. Meriel watches the preparation of the gown with fascination and - soon enough - approval. Once she has an idea of what William is intending, she turns her attention back to the belt and lifts it above the pool of quicksilver.Meriel watches the preparation of the gown with fascination and - soon enough - approval. Once she has an idea of what William is intending, she turns her attention back to the belt and lifts it above the pool of quicksilver. "Cleave," she says simply. The quicksilver runs, improbably, upwards, like water filmed in reverse. Meriel turns the belt this way and that and the threads of quicksilver turn about it, her face now wearing an expression of fixed concentration - an artist creating. as she works, a design becomes palpable - an arrangement of dolphins seeming to leap as if to escape from the belt - but dolphins in a form strangely reminiscent of Art Deco; Sir Arthur Evans would have loved the design. At last the movement of quicksilver stops.Meriel nods, satisfied, and then turns back to William and the seamstresses, holding out something that seems like a girdle, almost unrecognisable as the original belt. Somewhere in the midst of Meriel's command of the glass, Alice and Judith have looked up and noticed. The former returns to her work with a will, as if shutting out the sight of Meriel's sorcery. Judith on the other hand, watches with the awe of a descendant of Rebma at least dimly aware of some of the power of its scions. "Exquisite!" William enthuses. "Well worth the sacrifice of the mirror, I am sure we can all agree. Now come, my dear, let's get you into this. Shame though it is to cover up such loveliness." He lets his eyes roam up and down her form once more admiringly. "Milady." Judith says, waiting a timed five seconds of William's gaze before interrupting. Alice, too, gives an expectant nod. Meriel hands the girdle to Judith and steps forward so that Alice can begin to fit the gown. And with grace and harmony, the two of them set themselves forward to do so. Once they are done, they stepped back to give Meriel room to see the effect. "Oh ... lovely!" she exclaims, clearly reveling in the sensation. "Do you know, this feels just like those little eddies off the Shoals od Cwmbran when you let them roll against your skin ... oh, so softly!" She gives a little shiver of sheer sensuous pleasure. "Of course, wearing this, you don't get the effect of the little water spouts, but it really is very nearly as nice." Judith gives a nod and a smile. Alice looks slightly more confused but offers a smile. She lets the folds and swoops of the silk settle into place, and then holds out her hand for the girdle. She attaches it carefully, so that it enhances both the dress and the form that it conceals, and then looks enquiringly at William. "With, or without?" she says. "And I think I should fasten my hair." "'Tis lovely as it is, loose and flowing," William replies, "But I think you are correct. Like the girdle of silver and light, arranging your hair will show order and discipline among the flowing currents of your gown." He smiles at the seamstresses. "Alice, Judith, can you also assist the lady with her hair? I know it is not your specialty, but we have little time, and we have confidence in your abilities." Alice looks at Judith. "Alice" Judith says. "Get the combs, the brushes and a hairpin from the kit." Alice heads to the supply bag that the two seamstresses had brought and starts removing items. Judith steps back and regards Meriel. "We can, sir." she says, not looking at William. She steps forward. "Milady..." she begins. "Would you prefer the style favoured by the High Ladies of the Rebman Court? The style of Amber Nobility? Or perhaps something of my own design?" Judith stage-whispers to William. "I've had the honor and privilege of serving your highness' sister, in this matter." "Indeed," William murmurs. "Then you must accept my apology, for I know my lady sister's standards, and if she finds you to her taste you must be skilled indeed." Judith gives a dip of the head. "Yes, sir." she says. Alice hurries backm items in hand. Meriel rubs the palms of her hands together. "Do as you think best. But something original. And perhaps this may help." She parts her hands. The last droplets of the mirror hang from her fingers in the finest mesh of net, glittering in the light of the room. Judith takes the net into her hands. "Thank you," Meriel says to William. "Now I think I may truly make an impression." William grins at her. "I'm going to try to time it so that we arrive mere moments before the king. Makes more of a statement that way. Next thing for you to be thinking of is whether you want to enter on my arm, or separately." He gives a slight bow to her. "I will not be offended if you wish to make a point of your independence by entering alone, but I shall also be delighted if you choose to enter with me. Consider that either will be taken to mean a good dozen completely contradictory things by various courtiers and such like." Meriel looks thoughtful, but says nothing. He winks at Judith, then continues, "Confusing courtiers is one of my chief joys and delights, you know." "Come, Alice." Judith calls, after returning William's wink with a nervous smile. The two of them, like sharks, circle around Meriel. They move in as one, Alice following Judith's instructions without her even voicing them. From William's perspective, they are a blur of activity around Meriel for five minutes. What is being done is difficult to see until the hairpins and brushes are put away, and Meriel's hair is bound in the net. They step away and Judith looks at Meriel and smiles. "I think you will find this suitable, milady." The hair is swept back, highlighting Meriel's face, with a curl and wave very reminiscent, if not for the glittering of the net, of a hairstyle that, on Shadow Earth, was once favored by Grace Kelly.  Alice looks a little nervous. "I don't think there is, ah, another mirror handy to show you. Milady." "Oh I have one," says Meriel cheerfully. She reaches down and almost casually withdraws a broad bladed curved knife from her boot. A wicked weapon, it has a handle made of a substance as iridescent as abalone. She turns it with all the ease of familiarity and regards herself in the mirror reflection of the flat of the blade. "This," she says, "will do perfectly. Thank you. You may go." "Yes Milady." Alice and Judith say, in chorus. They both curtsey to Meriel, and William both. She lets them leave and then considers William. "You know," she says conversationally, "if I walk in to the King's Court on your arm, that will bid farewell to my chances of ever marrying Triton." "Marry Triton?" William grasps at his chest and rolls his eyes, dreadfully overacting a mimed heart attack. "Why should you wish to do such a thing as that? Other than the fact that he's probably easily maneuvered into doing whatever a clever wife wishes him to do, which, I suppose, might be an attraction?" Meriel looks a little puzzled. "But a dutiful husband should do as his wife tells him," she points out reasonably. Then she grins. "Besides - I would hardly have been considered suitable for Triton, even when I was in Rebma. And now I am wholly beyond the saline line!" She gives a little skip of pleasure, and then takes his arm. "So," she says, "which way to the throne room? Does it truly reflect Rebma?" William laughs. "When two mirrors face each other, who can say which reflects the other?" he asks rhetorically. "And as for being beyond the saline line, you are indeed. The daughter of the beloved sister of the King of Amber? You can have your choice of husband. And there is no hurry at all." Meriel nods in agreement. "I should probably have added that to the agreement too," she says thoughtfully. "But one cannot be thinking of everything at once. Shall I see whether everyone is gathered yet, or would that be considered impolite?" "'Tis only impolite to be caught spying upon individuals or private conversations," William explains. "There is no expectation of privacy in public spaces." "Good," says Meriel. "All the same, I would be most awfully obliged if you'll keep watch. One doesn't want to seem too ... well ... cod-like, you know." So saying, she reaches down to her boot again and pulls out the wicked-looking mirror bladed knife, raising it to stare at the blade. "Let's hope there is something reflective in there," she says optimistically. When Meriel concentrates on the Blade, William cannot see anything definitive within the thin bladed surface, however the glints of light that are caught in his eyes suggest that the Rebman can definitely see something, herself. After confirming that he can't himself see anything in the knife William leans back against a wall and watches Meriel with an appreciative smile on his face. From William's point of view, there are at least some superficial similarities to the work of a trump artist in the way Meriel concentrates on the blade. There is no rainbow glow (and unless William wants to try something arcane), nothing more than the gentle flickers to suggest she is doing something odd. But the dedicated stare is evocative of an artist, at least. As for Meriel, her first attempt reveals a large, grand hall, filled with banners, a red carpet, and a dais with a throne. This room, save for a servant in livery, is empty. Her second attempt, however, is much more successful. This mirror looks out onto a smaller, but much more populated room. The room is crowded with people dressed in the formal outfits of the Golden Circle. While Meriel focused most heavily on the Amber Royal Family, some of the Ambassadors and Ambassadresses of the Golden Circle, and the Noble families of Amber and beyond are familiar to her. Here, Krispos Videssos, Ambassador to Amber from Antioch. Over there, Lord Bayle, from the region of Amber known for its wine, talking with another gentleman whom Meriel does not recognize. And there, Ambassadress Ferla Quist of Begma walking toward Martin, and someone...something standing next to him. A strange golem of some sort, standing next to Martin. Clearly his creation, and unlike anything Meriel has ever seen Martin create. "Oh, that's interesting," says Meriel. "I've not seen anything like ... hmmm ... I suppose it would be impractical beneath the waves." She looks up at William. "It seems fairly full. Is there anyone that I should be watching for - as a sort of pen-ultimate arrival, and giving us our cue?" "Aunt Fiona likes to make a dramatic appearance at the last minute," William answers. "But if we wait for her, we run the risk of being a trifle late ourselves. That can make a statement in itself, but not the one I think either of us wants to make right now. If Uncle Gerard is going to attend then his arrival would be the perfect moment to base our departure upon. However, he hates court, and only attends if he's been specifically ordered to do so. So waiting for him runs a risk, as well." He thinks about it a moment longer, then says, "Just tell me whenever one of our Uncles or Aunts arrives, or one of our Cousins whom you recognize. I'll let you know when we need to leave." Perhaps in response to William's words, and perhaps it is simply a singular coincidence. Two more minutes of watching on Meriel's part, and another of the royals does appear. Two of them in fact. One of them is indeed Prince Gerard. The other is the naval oriented son of the pair (and the somewhat physically larger), Prince Castor. Of Pollux, the other son, the diplomat, there is as yet no sign whatsoever. Both Castor and Gerard start wading into the room and begin to greet people. In the distance, Meriel can still see Martin and his golem, the former still speaking with Ambassador Quist. "Prince Gerard is there," reports Meriel, sliding her knife back into her boot. "Shall we go in?" She regards William with lurking mischief. "Excellent well," William answers. "We should have time for a stately descent and a grand arrival. Let us go, it is time to make an impression." Backlinks |
