TheMidnightCircusThe Day After passed with dizzying speed. Much of the time was spent acclimatizing to the new Amber, as well as the initiation into the Royal Family. The latter was an intriguing blend of wonderment and befuddlement; perhaps more so for those not accustomed to nobility. In effect, the King proclaimed each of the Scoobies as a Lost Egg – be it a sibling or the child thereof. Whichever was easiest on the respective person. They were shown to their ‘old’ rooms – which, for some – was like walking back in time. Picking through pieces of forgotten memories, some jagged, some pleasant. Pelageya, however, found herself in a limbo between ‘guest’ and ‘royal.’ She was provided access to most of the castle, but was quartered with the Baroness and her entourage in the sequestered guest rooms. Only her status as ‘savior of Amber’ kept her from being put under guard, as her Chaosian peers were. In the end, they were all summoned to the Grand Hall at quarter to midnight; attendance being mandatory. The Family, already a chronologically challenged lot, did not find such a late hour as being odd for Dinner. The Grand Hall was prepared for an Official occasion, meaning the guests were expected to arrive in formal wear. For those without such, formal wear was provided – even tailored, if needed. Fortunately, most could wear the clothing they discovered in their new quarters. When they arrived, the King and Queen were already in attendance, as was their daughter – the Royal Princess. Princesses Fiona and Flora had joined them, while Prince Gerard stood by the wet-bar casually discussing something with his brother Caine. While there were several servants – and inconspicuous guards – the King had foregone the traditional presence of musicians. It made the large room somewhat somber. Remaining pent in the Baroness' rooms was not to Joao/Pelageya's taste. She certainly spent some time there, talking with the Baroness and her retinue. However, she also explored the Castle exactly and as much of the Castle as she was allowed. The 'savior of Amber' card was played to the hilt, but she did not overtly try to sneak into forbidden or unwelcome areas. But she counted on the curiosity and interest of the staff and anyone else in one of the savior's of Amber, and learning more about the Castle was something she had wanted since Joao had been dating Princess Caer. She was open to talking to everyone, from guards to servants to royals, if they so wished. At exactly 11:45 she walked into the Grand Hall, wearing a sleeveless red tunic in a mostly High Chaosian style chosen by consultation with the rapidly assimilating Binah, her memories, and advice from the Baroness on attire matters of both Amber and Chaos, with some Rebman touches in the shape of the dress as well. Her shoes were modest heels, and matched the dress in color. Her eyes cast about the room, in curiosity and silent question. Temnal arrived not long after. He had spent most of the day in the quarters allotted to him in the Castle, meditating on what he found there and gradually acclimating to the fusion of himself and his Other. When he entered the Hall, however, it was immediately apparent that he had chosen to wear his Faiella University uniform, complete with the floor-length cape dictated for formal occasions. To accommodate the high collar, his long ivory-white hair had been braided into a complicated coil along the crown of his head and secured there with carved ebony hair sticks. The Chaosians – both by birth and transfiguration – found their reception continually chilly. Their peers were forced to remain back at the Chateau; the unofficial embassy for their entourage. Sekhmet had made a request for Temnal to bring back crab puffs. Pelageya turned at the arrival and smiled. "A formal Chaosian style, or so I have been learning," she said with a tone of approval. Temnal's hearing was as keen as ever. He turned toward Pelageya as she spoke, and nodded. "In origin it's a warrior's braid," he informed her with a slight smile, "meant mostly to keep one's hair from tangling with anything while in motion." [Pelageya] approached Temnal and continued to speak. "I suspect that you have made certain discoveries about what our friend Gillian has done, as I have I," she said. "How are you adapting to it?" As if on cue, Gillian stepped into the room, wearing a copper-colored ball gown. Her fitted velvet bodice was embroidered with gold thread and showed only a modest amount of cleavage. A large opal pendant, set with topaz, glinted with a deep fire against the fair skin of her chest and matched topaz drop earrings. Her brown hair was pinned up loosely on the crown of her head, but a handful of long locks had been let down to curl over her bare shoulders. She smiled and nodded to Pelageya and Temnal, then walked over to pay her respects to the king and queen. "I suppose we ought to do that too..." Temnal noted. "Da," [Pelageya] said, letting her old Rebman accent flower. "We should." She offered Temnal her arm. "Shall we?" Temnal's fingers came to rest very lightly on Pelageya's arm as he accepted the invitation. Pelageya let Temnal lead them both toward the King and Queen. Cole walked in shortly afterward, dressed in the green and gold of his most formal Perondorian outfit. The outfit was perfectly--if uncharacteristically--clean and pressed: upon closer inspection, it was fairly apparent that it hadn't been removed from his traveling chest since his arrival in Amber. The green cape exactly matched his eyes. The matching kilt, though well-tailored, was not a traditional Perondorian style. It was a point upon which his mother had conceded, and Cole wore it proudly. Rhea, stuck at the table, hid her smile behind a water glass when she noticed Cole arrive. A moment later, Random said something she apparently took offense to – giving him a quick glare and hiss of ‘father.’ Spying Gillian, Cole caught up to her in a few quick strides, joining her walk toward the king and queen. "My," he said to her, leaning sideways so he could speak more quietly, "you've come a long way, Little Sister. And to think I was going to try to hire you to pick up and deliver my laundry. Now you have the power of a goddess, and I'm still just a rich spoiled bastard. There's some poetry there, I think." He grinned. She smiled back. "Nice legs. Not the traditional outfit of your countrymen, if memory serves. Are you 'going commando' under there?" "It's a kilt," Cole replied. "If I wore anything under it, it would be a skirt." Flora rose from her chair, walking over to the group. She made the simple act look like floating on silk; the emerald dress flowing behind her in a verdant wave. “Honored guests. Would you be so kind as to join us?” A polite pause – her exquisite gaze drifting over the group, settling on Gillian for a second too-long. “This is an informal gathering, so true honorifics are not required. Even so, please address the King properly.” Gillian had been practicing for a moment like this for a good part of the afternoon and managed to return Flora's gaze without flinching or appearing offended. Of course she would address the king properly--just because she wasn't born as a noble didn't mean she didn't know her manners. She turned to face the table. "King Random and Queen Vialle, it is both an honor and a pleasure to attend this Dinner. Thank you for the invitation." She curtsied deeply. The Queen smiled up at her, extending her hand. “What would this evening be without the brave Ms. Talbot? Please, my dear, sit beside me. I long to speak with you, if you’ll indulge a plebeian willworker’s curiosity.” Random nodded to her politely, “Welcome, Ms. Talbot.” Fiona stared across the table at her; tiny hands laced so tightly her knuckles were white. Gillian glared back, and then smiled. The scared girl that Fiona had kidnapped and threatened had been sacrificed on the Pattern. She turned her attention back to Vialle. "We were all brave, my queen. And I'd be delighted to sit beside you." "Indeed," Pelageya said. Her curtsey was more of a Rebman than a Chaosian style, low, dipping, and graceful. She only barely remembered to primarily face Random, rather than Vialle. "Your invitation and your hospitality, your Majesties, is most welcome, most courteous and most kind," she said once the gesture was complete. The King and Queen smiled at the young woman. Vialle cocked her head slightly, as if confused. Then she gave an accepting nod, “The pleasure is ours.” Flora’s appraising gaze drifted over Pelageya. In the end, a faint frown darkened her lips. “Ah yes. The Rebman man who became a Chaosian woman. A colorful story, which must be shared at some point.” Pelageya gave a nod of the head in acknowledgement to Fiona, but judged it better not to speak. The next to receive [Flora's] gaze was Gillian, “And the Hearth Witch. I’ve heard so much about her from my sister. She smiled softly at Cole, “So good of you to escort this young lady tonight.” It sounded more like an order than presumption. Gillian smiled wistfully. "Ah, just like old times at University with the Princess Florimel Society Sisters. I can see now where they get their delightful charm and manners." She curtsied to Flora and left the group to sit beside Vialle. Temnal, beside [Pelageya], gave the royal couple a palms-together bow of the same depth that he would use to a Chaosian Head of House ... House Barimen, in this case. "Your Majesties, it is an honor." Random dipped his head, “Ah, Ser Temnal. I’ve been looked forward to making your acquaintance. Your reputation precedes you.” He glanced over at Fiona, as if in warning. “Both of them,” he added. Fiona stared at him for a moment. A hint of sadness clouded her apple-green eyes. Temnal ‘remembered’ that look – just before she slipped a dagger into his flesh. “Please, if you and your lady would sit by me?” Pelageya let some of her amusement slip with the slightest of a smile. "It would be an honor to sit by you, Princess," she said. "Princess," Temnal half-agreed, with a deep nod toward Fiona. He resisted the impulse to say 'Sister'; both parts of him had an equivocal relationship, at best, with sisters by blood. He ceremoniously, and quite deliberately, seated Pelageya between himself and Fiona. Fiona’s lips mimicked a smile. “How are you adjusting to this new world?” She was asking both – or either. With her, it was difficult to tell. "Somewhat less disconcerting than when waking up in the Castle from Apathy Syndrome." Pelageya replied. "There are myths and legends about those who make, or find new worlds, but are denied entry into them. It would appear we are the exception to that Story." "I suppose it depends on whether one is of the same order of reality as the new world," Temnal ventured. Fiona nodded, “Those of our Blood shall always be outside Truth. And, yet, always defined by it. Ours is a strange place in Creation.” She smiled faintly, lifting her wine glass. “I look forward to determining how my brother’s abomination fared in this tumult.” "I'm glad to hear we're not standing on formality," Cole replied to Flora. "People here keep addressing me as Ser, as if I were a common knight or baronet. 'Your Highness' or 'Your Grace' would be more appropriate to my ducal status, but it doesn't seem worth the effort to correct them. I really prefer just plain Cole. I'd rather people respect me for what I did, than just because I was born to a queen." "All that aside," he continued, "It's good to see you again, Flora. I hope there are no hard feelings remaining from the tea party incident, all those years ago. Mother was mortified. And I still haven't acquired a taste for tea." Flora slipped her arm through his, patting his hand. “Oh, your mother frets too much, Cole. I’ve had far more egregious tea times in my years. That the mortician wasn’t calledl at its conclusion speaks volumes these days.” She smiled oh-so-perfectly. “You must forgive the common-folk for their confusion. A bastard’s status is a tricky one. But fear not. You are Family, now. Perhaps even more so in time.” She subtly nodded in Rhea’s direction. Cole looked at Flora frankly, and replied in a quiet voice that didn't carry. "You are snarky this evening, Princess. It's unbecoming. You are well established and respected here, and your hospitality is legendary. You needn't cast anyone down--not even your siblings--to elevate yourself." Flora appeared stricken, “Snarky? I simply stated truth, my dear. No slight intended or given. I am genuinely interested in your companions.” She squeezed his arm, laughing gently. “If I wounded with my words, I suggest a thicker skin be grown in short order. In this Family, words can kill – and often have.” A faint pause. “Would you say that is so?” He realized she wasn’t asking ‘Cole’ per say. Cole laughed. "Why, no, Princess, that's a common misconception. In my experience, no matter how venomous the words nor how treasonous the snake that utters them, it still takes a dozen sharp swords at ambush to do the actual killing." "Ah, well," Cole continued, "I have tried to be friendly, but I fear that my friendship is of little interest to you. Sad. I'm very loyal to my friends. My skin is quite thick enough for my own sake, but I'm likely to bite the hand that pokes my friends." She stared at him for a moment – something akin to confusion or hurt. Maybe both. Either way, she said nothing. Gillian turned to Vialle. "Protocol dictates that I should be overly formal with you," she said in a low voice, "but the thought of that wearies me beyond belief. May we just talk? Or am I being too forward?" Vialle’s smile broadened, her hand deftly finding Gillian’s – patting it. “You will learn that my husband prefers a more informal approach to Family gatherings. And I encourage it. Usually. So, please, dispose of the formal titles.” She chuckled. “I’m told that you have an interest in Trump Artistry,” she said, loud enough for Fiona to fume over. Then her voice dropped, “My daughter took a passing interest. We talk of it, but I fear the deeper concepts are lost on me.” Rhea grinned across the table, absently. Her true attentions were on Cole and her Aunt. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, rising to go rescue him from her aunt’s clutches. "Excuse me," Cole said to Flora. "I must speak with someone less tedious." Rhea wrapped her arms around his, pulling him away from Flora. “You do like tweaking noses don’t you? Careful with that one, or you’ll be passing through one of her wolfhounds in an unpleasant fashion.” She smirked, “You look handsome tonight. A welcome change, I think.” "I don't look normally look handsome?" he asked. "You damn me with faint praise, Milady. Anyway, Flora tweaked first. 'Hearth Witch' indeed. That 'Hearth Witch' just repaired the Pattern. She deserves a little respect." Rhea chuckled, “Obviously, your Hearth Witches aren’t held in as high regard. Castle Amber would crumble without Lady Brightrose. She commands more respect than some of my uncles.” She smiled, “Flora, in her way, was trying to be courteous. Gillian has no title. Not yet, anyway.” "I suppose it's possible that Flora lives in air so rarefied that she doesn't know how condescending she sounded," Cole conceded, "but as courtesy and diplomacy are her stock in trade, that seems like an oversight she cannot afford. I'll confess as well, though I don't mind calling myself a bastard, it can rankle a bit to be called that by someone else. It felt like she was trying to put me in my place. Maybe that was not her intent, but there it is." "As for titles," Cole continued, "Gillian may have no title, but she is one with Cybele now, and I recall that her title used to be Princess, the same as Flora's." Rhea nodded, “True. Although that is going to take some adjusting on their part, I suspect. After all, Cybele is one of the oldest of the Family. And Finndo, for that matter. Other than Uncle Benedict, that is. Unfortunately, the Elders don’t adjust well to change. They’ve lived for generations. They get set in their ways.” She paused, “But yes, she was trying to put you in your place. Still, you handled yourself well. It would have been worse if you’d let her walk over you. Now she knows you have some fire.” A laugh. “If only she knew how much.” Gillian smiled at Rhea as she left. The smile was still on Gillian's face when she turned back to Vialle, but it had turned a little melancholy at the edges when she saw Cole and Rhea together. "I'm happy to help instruct her in any way I can," Gillian replied. "Cybele is amazing with trumps. Out of curiosity, do you know where Cwynwyd is? I'm surprised he's not already here." Vialle shook her head, smiling. “If I know my good Lord Cynwyd, he shall be fashionably late to our gathering. It is ingrained in the musician’s soul, I believe.” Random coughed, “Hey, I was here on time.” His wife patted his hand, “Yes, dear. You’re very proper, indeed.” Gillian chuckled and glanced over toward Caine and Gerard. "I think I fancy a glass of wine. Would you care for anything? Sire, more whiskey?" Random shook his head, “I’m swearing off the spirits for the remainder of this evening. But thank you, Ms. Talbot.” Vialle smiled, “There is an ice wine you may wish to try. I believe I will have a glass myself.” "Please sire, just 'Gillian' is fine. 'Ms. Talbot' meant I made a mistake in Professor Advocat's class," Gillian said wryly. She nodded to Vialle. "I'll be back in a moment with the wine." “Gillian, it is then,” Random said. After a handsome smile, he moved to discuss something with his wife. In the meantime, Pelageya gave an amicable nod, while her mind tried to parse and make sense of Fiona's statements. She had remained quiet for a few moments, but finally turned to look at Fiona. "Your brother's abomination?" she asked. Temnal, curious, also awaited Fiona's answer to this question. Fiona wrinkled her nose, as if an unpleasant odor had drifted by. “The Rose Pattern. His crude attempt at replicating our Grandfather’s great work.” She sipped her wine, “I’ve long believed it may have aggravated the situation in Amber after the Fall.” A cold rage lurked under these words. Temnal picked it up easily – he knew her dark tone. . . well. From the same source as that knowledge, perhaps, came the thought, You're just jealous because you've never been able to do it. Aloud [Temnal] said, mildly, "All the evidence we've accumulated so far points at a different brother." Pelageya nodded in agreement at Temnal's words. "Surely, it is too distant to be a factor. Princess?" she said. "More proximate causes, and proximate agents are far more likely." Fiona glanced between them, “Possible. However, my brother created his Pattern whilst my Father struggled to undo the damage caused by Brand’s transgressions.” She lifted her glass, swirling the dark liquid within. “What if he drew away the energies Father required to settle things here? Perhaps, he weakened the Primal Pattern enough that this Dark Hour of yours remained behind? Perhaps, he even cost Oberon his life?” She sipped her drink, “We had enough Patterns before Corwin added another. Let alone one shaped by his insufferable ego.” Gillian took a deep breath and crossed over to the wet bar--only one more royal confrontation left tonight. She kept her chin level and smiled pleasantly at Caine in a I'm-no-longer-your-canary-bitch sort of way and asked, "May I have two glasses of ice wine, please?" Caine grinned right back at her; all teeth and devilish charm. “Gillian! You’ve been holding out on me, you tawdry minx. And here I thought we were partners.” He touched his heart and moaned, pained. “Wounded to the quick.” Gillian raised a dubious eyebrow. Partners? That wasn't exactly how she remembered it. Before she could respond, Gerard’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight to his chest. She disappeared into the avalanche of affection – her head patted by a spade-sized hand. Gillian threw her arms out in surprise. “Sister!” he said, thunderous – although it was his ‘inside’ voice. "Mmmmmph!" came Gillian's muffled reply. Cole looked over at the bar. "Ah, Prince Caine. You know, for a time I thought he might be my father. Apparently he and Mother spent quite some time together in her wilder days. I no longer find the prospect as appealing as I once did. It's certainly not true anyway: I obviously didn't inherit any of your family traits by birth. I would like to say hello to Gerard, though. His visits to our shores were always a source of entertainment." Rhea blinked, “Don’t even joke about that. As if we don’t have enough obstacles without you being a cousin?” She shook her head, “No. You are decidedly not his child. You have a soul under that ribcage.” She smiled, “Yes, I believe oxygen is becoming an issue for poor Gillian. Let us save her.” Pelageya turned her head, briefly from her conversation with Fiona, and noted Gerard's reaction to Gillian with amusement. Joining a House sometimes had unexpected consequences, as relationships developed and grew. She had no place in extricating Gillian from Gerard, and so returned to Fiona. Temnal seemed to have ceded, or stuck, her in the lead position in the Shiver. That suited her just fine. If she kept Fiona talking about other things, she might not have the chance to ask uncomfortable and probing questions. "Have you made a special study of this Rose Pattern, then, Princess?" Pelgaeya asked. Joao's distrust of desiccating alcohol (to the point where he developed a spell against it) still was an abiding component of her personality and biology but she felt the need to have something in her hand. "Since this is a Pattern created in recent historical times, as it were, we may be seeing consequences that are endemic to the creation of a Pattern." She gestured around again with a free hand. "Perhaps the creation of Amber's Pattern similarly was tumultuous, at the time." Temnal quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, they're still talking about it in the Courts, believe me ... millennia after the fact." Pelageya tendered a grateful nod and smile to Temnal and returned her attention to Fiona. Fiona sniffed, “Better that than the destruction of the First City. We Barimen have enough sins to contend with, thanks to my grandfather.” She refilled her glass and sighed, “The Shadow-storms spawned by last night have settled. Paradigms are shredded across the Golden Circle, but truly lasting damage – such as suffered following PatternFall – has yet to manifest. But only time will tell. Shadow is vast. And horrors and enemies are plentiful.” A pause before [Fiona] looked at Pelageya, “I am learned in all the Patterns. And how they interact. Each creates ripples and reflections. All of which conflict or correspond. Like the gravity wells of celestial bodies. The more interactions, generally, the more intense the results. The Rose Pattern is a disruption.” "An unexpected, additional, wild current, in the seas of shadow?" [Pelageya] offered. "Such things are not necessarily bad," Temnal pointed out. Fiona hardened her gaze, “Nor are they necessarily good. There are too many Possibilities lurking between the Threads. Father understood this. And so should you. You’ve witnessed the horrors unleashed by my brother in his moment of pain. How close he came to destroying the city he swore to protect. And he merely invoked a Blood-curse.” Temnal shook his head. "Change will come, Princess. But how it comes is, I think, important. I agree with you in this much: change wrought of rage and pain is not likely to end well." [Fiona] shrugged, “Perhaps, I am too cautious. But True Power in the wrong hands will be our undoing.” Her gaze focused on Gillian – with a hatred that burned. "Sometimes I wonder," Temnal murmured, "if there are any right hands." Pelgaeya shrugged to cover her disquiet at Temnal's point. Fiona exhaled sharply, but she didn’t comment. Perhaps, she couldn’t find fault in his assessment. Cole walked with Rhea over to Caine and Gerard. "Gentlemen," he said, holding out his hand, "it's good to see you again. I never imagined it would be under circumstances remotely like these." Gerard released Gillian from his titanic hug, patting her on the back. “And you, brother. Or so I’m told.” He smiled warmly, extending his spade-wide hand. Cole shook the hand gladly. “Ah yes. Brother,” Caine said, tugging on his chin. “This is a concept I am still struggling with. However, our Elder Brother appears convinced of its validity. And he is seldom wrong.” "Indeed," Cole agreed, pushing down the familiar rush of anger that always accompanied any reference to Benedict. "If I had attended to him better, a reunion like this would not be necessary. He did try to dissuade Osric and me from our path. In the end, he was wise to take Father's side, much though it cost me for him to do so." He sighed. "Seeing our father in his final state appeased some of my anger at what was done to us, but I... Finndo... still feel...." Cole trailed off, confused. He'd begun speaking in first person, but with Finndo's memories, as a way to simplify the conversation. Now he wasn't sure who was speaking, or what he felt. <It's probably a good thing Benedict isn't here in person,> he thought, <but I wonder where he is? For that matter, where is... ah, but here is Cynwyd now.> Rhea squeezed Cole’s arm, comforting him, as if sensing the inner conflict. Gerard nodded to Cole, “Aye. Those were dark times. But our Family is easy to anger and long to forgive. Too oft our stubborn manner is our greatest weakness. Eric and Corwin learned that, much to Amber’s suffering. Hopefully, we can change that trend.” He glanced over at Fiona and sighed. Caine patted Gerard on the back, “Always the optimist, my brother.” Cole nodded, showing a tight smile, but didn't speak. Stretching the bounds of fashionably late, Cynwyd walked into the hall, attired in a long, formal coat with an almost military flair over slacks matched with a high necked shirt. In deference to his own style, the shirt's collar was frilled, which along with his styled coiffure framed and set off his profile. As usual, his clothing was fashionable and tasteful, with enough of a flair to show that he was still his own individual rather than being slavish to the current fashions. What was different, was instead of his normally colourful attire, the tones were muted shades of gray, off-black, and silver- colors of no affiliation to his own House. As was fit, he made his way to pay his respects to the King and Queen. Vaille glanced up with dull eyes, smiling. “Cynwyd. Welcome home.” Random stood up, extending his hand. “Indeed. Glad you could make it. You’re well, I hope?” As the King extended his hand, Cynwyd bowed, making a slight reverence. "Your Majesties, thank you for the invitation," Cynwyd replied. As he straightened, there was a tiredness in his eyes - uncharacteristic for him even in his nights of revelry - though it was more common as of late. "And I'm as well as can be expected, I suppose," he said, quite noncommittally. Random nodded, “I think that’s about as good as we can hope for these days. Please grab a drink and find a seat. We’re about to begin. Or end. I suppose we’ll see which shortly.” Vialle offered Cynwyd a motherly smile, “I’m sure everything will look better once you’ve had a chance to sit down, young ser. You are amongst Family.” Cynwyd's entrance caught Gillian's eye. She watched him briefly, then backed away from Cole's discourse with Gerard and Caine to duck behind the bar and look for the ice wine. Anyone looking in the King’s direction noticed him make a subtle gesture to the servants. Silently, they began filing out of the hall. "Looks like it's family meeting time," Cole mused. "Though we seem to be missing a few siblings." Rhea smiled, glancing back at the main doors. “And one of your friends, if I’m not mistaken.” The tenor of her voice changed, “No one can escape Time; It delivers us all to the same end.” She blinked, and then absently smiled. “To our seats, then?” "Wait," Cole said, staring at her. "What? Who were you... quoting, just now?" Rhea blinked again, confused. “I heard it. In the Ghost City. I think.” She squeezed his arm. This inspired Caine and Gerard to gather their drinks. They found their places at the end of the table. Their sisters fell quiet, looking down the table to the King expectantly. Random slowly stood and nodded to each member of the family. “Thank you for coming. I think we all know why we’re here. We’ll hold off on the pleasantries until. . . well, whatever comes what may.” Gillian returned with the ice wine for herself and Vialle, slipping into her seat as the last seconds ticked off. [continued in Like Mourners at their Own Funeral] |
