CynwydRockAndAHardPlaceThe light of midday finally roused Cynwyd from his dreamless slumber. Someone had opened his windows, inviting in the scents of lavender and fresh rain from the gardens. A new outfit had been laid out; casual and light to combat the humidity. Distantly, Maya's cello played a haunting melody by a Théan composer she'd recently discovered. Anya waited for him in the solarium, sipping a cup of brackish coffee. A spare cup and coffee pot sat beside her on the table. A pile of mail had been stacked neatly there as well, including one letter with the House seal. "Good afternoon, sire. May I fix you some coffee while you enlighten me as to how Prince Bleys's horse came into your possession last night?" Though Cynwyd was in more possession of his wits than other times that the sun had found him abed, the light was no more welcome than it ever was at that time. Normally if not under the influence of spirits he was awake early, so it took him a moment to realize that the fuzziness in his head wasn't from overenthusiastic libations. Sitting at the table beside Anya, he was in the midst of pouring coffee when she asked the startling question, almost spilling the hot liquid over the mail. He regained control of his breathing as he finished filling his cup, before finally looking up to her as he sat across from her. "Prince Bleys' horse, you say?" he asked casually. "How did you come to that conclusion?" Anya smiled in that infuriatingly polite way she'd honed to an art. "Because I get paid to have my ear to the ground, m'lord. According to my sources, a young ruffian—her words, not mine—relieved Prince Bleys of his prized stallion late last evening. The true circumstances surrounding this particular theft remain dubious and outlandish, mostly due to the Royal Prince's extreme level of inebriation at the time. I'm amazed he could remember what city he was in, let alone the loss of a horse. This is why I doubt it shall appear in the local papers. But that's neither here nor there. The fact is your new horse's saddle had the Royal seal branded into the leather. I doubt you would have seen it in the dark. An easy oversight. "If I've read my Amberite law correctly, stealing from a Royal is still punishable by death. Hanging, I believe, is the preferred method." She casually sipped her coffee as if she'd just informed him of the weather. "I... see," Cynwyd replied with a casual air that matched Anya's- though if his was a bit less self-satisfied than his bodyguard's, it could be understood on the basis that he did have a bit more of a personal stake in the resolution of this matter. He sat across from Anya, the only sign of possible distress the loud clanking as his cup resumed its place on the saucer. Crossing his legs, he sat back regarding the woman across from him sedately, a his finger over his lips as if to keep himself quiet as he thought. It was at times like this that the reality of the situation hit him uncomfortably- that though he could trust Anya with his body, his thoughts were another thing entirely. Taking his hand from his mouth and brushing a fleck from his pants, he finally replied, "It seems like quite an interesting situation- rather an uncomfortable position to find ones self in. That is, if it is truly the case." Looking up to Anya, he queried, "If you were to find yourself in such a situation, how would you extract yourself from it?" Anya studied him throughout his thoughtful silence. Every motion, every gesture became a feast for her dark eyes. In many ways, it was as if Father were staring out of those unknowable depths, mentally tallying every fault or miscue with an accountant's efficiency. Her smile never faltered, remaining so perfectly still, as if it had been painted there. "Firstly, you would entreat your father to pay me a more significant salary," Anya said. "Secondly, you can stop making my job so. . . taxing." She sat her cup down, her body relaxing into a casual stance. "I sent word to the King that the horse is currently in our possession. Through the proper channels, of course. Although he would never admit it, the ignoble prince's continuing antics have shamed the family's name. Having lost his prized horse in an assault would only further embarrass the family. How strong can a Prince of Amber be to lose his dearest possession to a mere boy? "King Random can ill-afford this with the eyes of Rebma and the Circle looking on right now. So, he should be willing to brush this incident under the rug, rather than make a public example out of you." She refilled her cup, "Your task will be to convince him of that this was a simple misunderstanding. You have a silver tongue, sire. I'm certain it can please a King out of a hanging just as easily as it can a noble girl out of her virginity." "Interesting assessment," Cynwyd replied. "Perhaps a bit ... flawed. But interesting nonetheless." He sat back, truly relaxed now that he had honed in on his approach, though his attention never left Anya. "First, thank you for your fast thought and action. Your attention to detail is always valued," he said sincerely. "That is why I suppose my father pays you so much for your service." "Approaching him about an increase, however, would seem precipitous at this point; it would insult his sensitivities given that he is the one that negotiated the price, and given my track record, he would know that such suggestions came from you, thereby either binding you closer to his unknowable whims or resulting in your replacement by one he considered more tractable to his will." "Given my close association with you, I have more of an appreciation for the full breadth of your talents, and how vigorously you apply them," he said, his expression sagacious. "So we shall bargain amongst us, keeping things in the villa and leaving the far away Courts out of our dealings." "I can somewhat rein in my inveterate carousing habits in recognition of your efforts on my behalf- It might behoove me to do so in any case, and perhaps diversions can be found closer to ... home. And for extraordinary service above and beyond duty, I could compensate you with bonuses from my own stipend; If I'm to entertain myself here, then such parts of my allowance that were going outside might as well remain here also." "What are your thoughts on that arrangement?" Anya mirrored his studious attentiveness. Her beauty—cold and elegant—never betrayed the thoughts within until Cynwyd mentioned his stipend. She brushed a lock of hair away; an unconscious tell. A faint smile touched her lips. "Well, I will need to consider this rather intriguing offer, sire," she said. "However, it might be best if I provided you my answer after your meeting with the king. If you are hanged, it would make collecting my salary most difficult indeed." She smoothed the cloth over her stomach, "However, Hell-Maiden or no, I do find Amber's climate far more amicable than my previous posting. I shall have to speak to my sister as well. Will such arrangements be made for her as well, sire?" She raised a brow in question. "That goes without saying," Cynwyd said without pause, even as he rose smoothly from his chair. "Discuss it with her, and let me know your answer at your convenience," he continued, his hand held out for hers. When she returned the gesture, he bowed over it bringing his lips close, but not quite touching her skin as he held her gaze. "I look forward to your response." Then straightening, he smiled, picking up his coffee. "And thank you," he said as he made a small salute with the cup before leaving the room. A smile touched Cynwyd's face as he changed into the carefully laid out clothes and made his way towards the stables, and indeed stayed on his face even to the time that he arrived at Sun Street - on a horse other than Corwin of course. Corwin had been a bit put out that Cynwyd had selected a horse other than him, but the horse seemed strangely philosophical about it as he looked at his departing rival with what could seem to be a smirk in his eyes. Cynwyd did not frequent Sun Street often, and so when he did it was a feast for his eyes. Sun Street was not in one of the more cosmopolitan areas of Amber, but did boast a melange of priests, craftspeople, and artists, as the pseudo Aztec community that had sprung up around the locale held religion and art close to its core principles. He casually made his way through the bustling market glad that he, for once, had set out early as the throngs were difficult to force his way through. Many of the wares were intricate artworks dedicated to Huitzilopochtli, Tezcatlipoca, or Quetzalcoatl, outrageous in their colors and use of plumage to draw attention. Because Amber didn't tolerate human sacrifice, scarification became the method by which they entreated the gods, and many of the best known body modification artists made their homes here. But no matter how intriguing the possibilities were, Cynwyd was here on business, and in due time arrived at Kukulcan's, tethering his mount and making his way into the shop. The squat stone building had been constructed in nine subtle levels, a massive serpent descending from the roof on either side of the entrance. Ivy and climbing plants clung to the structure, providing it with a tropical flare despite its alpine location. Colorful mosaics decorated the doorway in a feather serpent motif. Darkness reigned inside the smoky shop, incense and spices hanging heavily in the gloomy air. The tapered roof gave a sensation of being deep within an ancient pyramid. However, the bright candles and colorful paintings dispelled what could have been an otherwise oppressive aura. Food stuffs from far-reaching Shadows lined the many shelves and cases, all exotic and mysterious in design and smell. A woman sat behind the main counter, grinding a mortar and pestle. Her scintillating dress looked like a coating of rainbow feathers. She had light brown skin and a delicately hooked nose. Brown almond-shaped eyes glanced up and a smile blossomed on her lips. "Niltze," she said, brushing off her elegant hands. "May I be of assistance?" "Indeed," Cynwyd replied with a small nod of his head. "I was supposed to pick up a package. The order was placed by one of my retainers." "Ah yes. Kemakatsin, Lord Barimen, I am most pleased to have your patronage," the exotic woman smiled. "I shall fetch it promptly. Please, feel free to take a moment to look around, if you wish." She set her work aside and then went to shelving at the back. She returned with a fragrant package wrapped in colorful banana fiber paper. "Is there anything else I may provide you, sir?" As she returned, Cynwyd studied her with an open smile, enjoying her exotic features. "Not currently," he said, catching her eyes, "I unfortunately have a previous engagement. But perhaps another time?" "Of course, milord," she replied, enjoying his smile. "I shall be at your service whenever you deem to grace my establishment once again. Nimitsittas!" She returned to her work, but he felt her warm eyes on his back. Sketching a small bow, he bid his farewell to her with a wave. "Thank you for your help," he added, heading for the door and his appointment. After a brief ride, Cynwyd arrived at the front gates of Castle Amber. A Royal Guardsman relieved him of his horse, leading it toward the stables through a copse of blue spruce. In turn, he followed another guardsman through the southwest gardens toward the front steps. However, the guardsman promptly turned to cut a path around the jutting bastion of rock upon which the castle sat and followed the northwest wall. They ascended a natural staircase, which jutted from the mountain's side. "I regret to inform you that the King will be unable to attend you, milord Barimen," the thin guard explained. "However, the Queen will be acting in his stead and awaits you in the west garden." The man moved with practiced ease up the incredibly steep stairs, the ascent dizzying within only a few minutes. After hundreds of stairs, they reached a plateau. Although the stairwell continued to wind its way up Kolvir's side, the guardsmen turned from the castle and headed toward a series of gardens. Cynwyd's fascination with the beauty and surroundings were eclipsed only by the rush he received from the dizzying ascent- seemingly into the heavens. Though he could not by any means be said to have a death wish, addiction to adrenaline sometimes was not distinguishable from such, as noted by his almost irresistable wish to jump off the stairs. His self-destructive thoughts were arrested by their arrival on the plateau, and he struggled to calm his breathing before meeting the Queen. His thoughts on that now, he did wonder at the change- not that he was worthy of a meeting with the King, exactly, but the Queen seemed no more a likely one to hear his plea, and the illogic of it all disturbed him. Dutifully he followed the guard, wiping his face of all expression as he did. The sheer scope of the gardens dwarfed the main castle, stretching on in all directions. To the northeast, Cynwyd could see Prince Benedict's famous Japanese gardens; a highlight of most tours. However, the guard turned away from them and headed into a formal knot garden of aromatics plants and herbs. The path of fine gravel led them to a grape-vine roofed pergola, which in turn led to a gazebo roughly the size of his manor. Delicate statuary lined the shaded walkway; Cynwyd recognizing many of Amber's nobility. The guard nodded, "If you would, sir. The Queen awaits." Cynwyd found the Queen beneath the gazebo, her pale hands red with clay. She silently worked on a bust of King Rinaldo, capturing his hard, yet handsome features in perfect detail. As he watched, she dipped her hands into a bowl of water and began working on the statue's nose. Behind her, a table had been set for brunch. Although he could not see them, Cynwyd's instincts told him that watchful eyes kept guard over the blind Queen. Cynwyd presumed to neither inform the Queen of his presence, nor to take a seat at the table. Instead he contented himself to stand and watch the progress of her work, keeping mind of the keepers and confining his appreciation to the bust of King Rinaldo. "Don't be shy, Lord Barimen," Queen Vialle chuckled softly. She turned her blind eyes in Cynwyd's direction, smiling. "Please make yourself a cup of tea and. . ." She paused, staring at him—through him. Confusion painted her delicate features, as she let her hands soak in the dirty water. She smiled unevenly and finished cleaning the clay from his webbed fingers. "Forgive me," she said, white eyes blinking. "I thought you might be someone else for a moment. It is Sir Cynwyd Barimen, correct?" "Indeed it is," Cynwyd replied, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Thank you for your hospitality," he added, still not moving as he puzzled over the question. The Queen gave a relieved smile and toweled off her hands. "You are most welcome," she said. "Your assistant spoke highly of you. Regrettable that we must met under such unfortunate circumstances. However, it gladdens me that you've been most accommodating in this affair. So fear not. This shall all be resolved shortly. "Now, please, sit down, Lord Barimen. I know you've been on your feet much of the day." She stood up unsteadily and crossed the patio to the table. She began pouring tea, placing her index finger over the rim of each cup to prevent overfilling. She set the pot down, staring at him sightlessly. "If you'd be so kind as to provide your own cream and sugar," she said apologetically. Cynwyd took the proffered cup, taking his seat as directed. After sweetening the tea, he sipped it, awaiting the Queen's pleasure- he had the feeling that in this interview, it was better to listen more than he spoke. Vialle sat down and held the cup close to her chest. She smiled vaguely, "I sense your nervousness in this meeting, so allow me to alleviate your trepidation. I have spoken to my brother-in-law on your behalf. The horse is yours to keep, as long as you remain quiet on the issue. And my husband would rather not hang you for one of his brother's. . . uh. . . misunderstandings." She sipped her tea, white eyes focusing on Cynwyd's face. Though his mind consider the thought folly, Cynwyd focused on the Queen's face as if she had been sighted, holding her gaze as he spoke. "I do appreciate this enlightened view," he said, genuinely grateful. "I've become accustomed to the length of my neck, and prefer it remain this way." He paused a moment in thought. "But this could have been conveyed without your taking time out from your day," he mused. "Not that I'm wont to look a gift horse in the mouth," he said, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. "No pun intended," he added self-deprecatingly. Vialle chuckled, "Oh very clever." She continued smiling softly. "But one does have to wonder at the nature of the agreement- and the messenger- what I have done to merit such favour. Or what I will have to do, other than keep my peace?" Vialle's smile faded like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. "How very astute of you, Ser Cynwyd. There shall be a 'hitch,' so to speak, with your acquisition of this particular horse. And the King thought it best that he or I deliver the news to you directly." Cynwyd's appreciation of the Queen's return wit was dampened somewhat by the ominous nature of her impending pronouncement. She set her cup down, her white eyes somehow filled with a deep empathy. "Prince Bleys learned that you are a skilled musician and. . . how can I delicately put this. . .? Your reputation as a roisterer. "Having provided you with a 'gift,' he will now, undoubtedly, take advantage of the Rules of Hospitality. On a frequent basis." Cynwyd's eyebrows raised at this caveat, but he was barely able to keep any sort of expletive from escaping his mouth in his surprise. A sigh escaped her, "My most sincere apologies." "When life gives you lemons," Cynwyd replied philosophically, "you'd best open a lemonade stand." "Thank you for your time, and for your consideration," he said finally. "I am in both of your debt." “You are welcome,” Vialle smiled. However, I do believe you may have received the lesser punishment, in this case. My brother-in-law can be a most. . . taxing individual. I bid you luck in dealing with his idiosyncrasies. A well-stocked liquor cabinet will go far.” Cynwyd smiled at the advice, already wondering how he could balance his earlier promise to limit his nightlife with this new addition. “Well then,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Now that this unpleasantness is out of the way, might I trouble you a moment longer? I would most like to hear of any news you may have from the Courts. If you have a moment to spare.” "I do have time to spare," Cynwyd replied, "but unfortunately little news to fill that time with. Amber is my home now, for better or worse, and it seems that the Courts, or at least those in it, favor me with as little attention as possible." Sadness passed over Vialle’s face. “You have my sympathies, ser Cynwyd. My true home is lost to me, as well. I am a stranger to my people, my lands. When I dare walk those streets now, I feel as if I am but ghost amongst the living. Forever apart. Forever forgotten.” Cynwyd, of course, considered the absence a blessing rather than a curse. But in the face of such grace, admission of such would be at the least crude, so he held his tongue, accepting the beautiful sentiment in the spirit it was given. She tilted her head and sighed. “To ghosts far from home,” she said, raising her cup. "To ghosts far from home," he echoed, toasting her upraised cup before taking a sip of his own. Vialle set her cup down and began to rise, “Well, good sir, I have detained you long enough. If you require anything of the Crown with regard to handling my bother-in-law, please do not hesitate to contact my husband or me. We shall endeavor to make this new burden. . . as bearable as we can. Thank you again for your discretion.” Cynwyd could tell a coming dismissal, and rose at a pace to match her, standing to his feet with more than passable grace. "Such a boon is no match to the one granted to this soul," he replied sincerely. She extended her royal hand, a hint of green coloring her cheeks. “Until we meet again, Ser Cynwyd.” Cynwyd took her hand lightly, bowing low over it. "Until such a day occurs, I bid thee farewell." With those words, Cynwyd considered himself dismissed and looked to his escort from the grounds. Vialle smiled softly, remaining where she stood. An elder soldier emerged from behind a wall of grape leaves. He gave Cynwyd a respectful bow, “If you will follow me, milord? I will take you to the front gardens. Your horse will be waiting for you there.” |
