DinnerInAmberMerlinIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Dinner In Amber | Dinner in Amber Merlin Upon examination of the seating chart, Tasha was delighted to note that there were individuals seated near her whom she had at least met. Helena sat directly across the table, right next to Jurt. And Morgan, with whom she had shared the meal at Tear’s home earlier that day. As Chadwick escorted her to her seat she offered a smile to all of those seated nearby, with a shy smile offered toward the man whom she recognized as Merlin from his statues. At last, everyone was seated. At the moment, there was an empty place next to Mandor, where Solitaire, Baronness Helgram, should have been sitting. Mandor glanced at Damien, and then smiled faintly. Then he rose to his feet. “On this most auspicious of days, when we have seen the arrival of new friends and family from Chaos, when we have have our lives well-nigh miraculously preserved from murderous attack, let us give pause for a moment to give thanks—no matter what our deities—for our presence here this evening.” He smiled around the table. Flora looked the model of pious devotion as she lowered her eyes. Bleys shifted in his chair and sighed faintly. Merlin stared straight ahead, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The Kashfan Ambassador, after a searching glance at those nearest to him, inclined his aristocratic head in a display of humility. Paloma’s was already bowed, her expression every bit as devout as Flora’s. The Begman Ambassador lowered her head, and then peeped up mischevously through her long dark eyelashes, so strong a contrast with her fair hair. Clytemnestra gave up her moping when her father stood to speak. She was a perfect imitation of Flora during the moment of silence, but for a slight quirk on the right side of her mouth only noticed by anyone watching her in particular. Lord Mandor made his welcome and Tasha was amazed that he would call for a moment of thanksgiving, but she bowed her head, as her Gram had taught her and gave thanks for the food, her safe arrival and her new friends. A minute’s silence—and then Mandor signaled with his right hand. The servitors moved forward ti begin serving the first course … a choice of open ravioli of king scallops with cucumber, fried ginger, and yellow pepper vinaigrette or a sweet potato and goat’s cheese roulade, with smoked paprika aioli, or mache watermelon and radish salad with a honey and papaya dressing or pan fried foie gras with roast peach puree and toasted brioche. Mandor selected the scallops, as did Bleys. Flora went for the salad, while Merlin signaled for the foie gras. The Kashfan Ambassador, after some hesitation, went for salad. The Begman Ambassador exclaimed with delight at the scallops while Paloma watched what Merlin chose—and selected the same. Having given his order, Merlin turned slightly towards Helena. “I trust you had a pleasant enough journey from Chaos?” His voice was a bored, aristocratic drawl. He glanced the other way at Amba, his heavily-lidded eyes lifting a little. “And your companion too… Miss … er… Heldt.” Merlin had turned away before she even had the opportunity to respond and Helena, with visible effort, refrained from rolling her eyes. She chose the watermelon and radish salad both because it was colorful and no one else around her had opted for it. Opting for the ravioli, Amba looked from her plate to the King when he spoke to her. “Yes, thank you for asking. Trumps pretty much assure a short enough journey that there is not much chance for it to be otherwise.” Amba’s natural instincts in this conversation would lead her to ask after the King’s health… But with what she had heard from Ingrey, she thought that was would be fraught with danger, so merely smiled and left it at that. “Trumps,” echoed Merlin—as though this had given him cause to think. He turned back towards Helena. “I do hope Aunt Fiona’s making a good recovery,” he said. “I should apologize for my father, my stepfather that is, I suppose—but really, he’s been pretty much barking since Patternfall.” Amba immediately froze at the mention of Princess Fiona, trying to force herself not to be obvious and try to look beyond the King… Helena’s head snapped to look at him. “What did Jurt tell you about my mother?” she asked pointedly, in a low voice not meant to carry. When the servers came through [Tasha's] eyes lit up at the smell of liver and she licked her lips delicately. She saw that the king had chosen the same and she would have commented on his choice, but he was already talking with Helena and Amba. She took a taste and sighed contentedly. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke to her from her left. Bleys looked across the table to where Merlin had begin to engage Helena and Amba in conversation, and then turned to Tasha. “And have you enjoyed the beginning of your stay in Amber, Lady Tasha?” he asked. She turned her eyes to the elegant man to her side. “Oh, yes! It has been wonderful so far. And this pate is excellent. You should try it.” She offered a forkful in his direction and then blushed, “Oh, but you are probably used to such meals all the time.” The Kashfan Ambassador, Karim bin Maoud (whose strange and guttural title had been amended in Amber to Lord Karim), turned towards Clytemnestra as his salad was placed before him. “I believe,” he said, “that you have expressed some interested in my humble Shadow.” His dark eyes were unaffected by the smile that graced his narrow lips. Ness turned to him with a polite smile. “But of course, Lord Karim. I should think it was only natural to be interested in a shadow ruled by one’s cousin.” Her glittering blue eyes locked upon his dark ones, challenging him to treat her with anything less than sincere respect. The Kashfan Ambassador touched his napkin delicately to his lips. “You have researched something of our country, I see. The theory that his Majesty is a descendant of Amber is, however, not entirely clear. Some would prefer there to be no such association; others desire it ardently.” Ness toyed with her ravioli, but didn’t have much of an appetite. “What disadvantage would there be in such an association, I wonder? Surely it would be another source of power upon which Kashfa could draw.” The Kashfan Ambassador smiled. “To some it seems that it might be more beneficial if our King were able to claim kinship with the new lords of Amber rather than the old. You, of course, my lady, can claim kinship with both.” He seemed aware that he did not hold her full attention—his smile was a little thinner. Amba quickly looked around, though not making it obvious that she was looking at reactions of the others who might be in earshot to see if they had heard the conversation. As she surreptitiously made her visual observations, she kept an ear towards the conversation between Merlin and Helena. She noticed that Ness, though engaged in conversation with the Kashfan Ambassador, was trying to overhear what Merlin was saying. She must have overheard her mother’s name. Amba gave a slight nod of acknowledgment—no more really than a slight head movement as she took another bite of her food. Merlin paused. The expression of indolent boredom was gone; for a moment there was a tension there as if, under his skin, the planes of his face had shifted and sharpened. Not shapeshifting as Helena and Amba had seen it—this was something other. “Not Jurt,” he said to Helena in an equally low voice. “And we can’t talk here—nor walk out to speak without causing a scandal. But as soon as we’re done here, I’ll tell you what I know. Until then … “ He stretched back in his seat and signaled to the hovering footmen. “Bring champagne!” he instructed. “We should be celebrating the visit of our Chaosian friends in style! And the return of sweet little Islain too.” He glanced down the table to where Morgan was feeding Islain tidbits, and smiled. Helena swallowed and followed his glance. She smiled as well, said loudly, “Yes, champagne would be lovely,” and the moment passed. [Clytemnestra] smiled back [at the Kashfan ambassador], and inclined her head in a small bow. “I am fortunate in that respect, in that the old king was my grandfather and the new is my uncle.” “I apologize for my distracted state, Lord Karim. I overheard the king mention my mother, whom I have not seen for many years, and it sounded as if something had happened to her. It must not be too serious, or I would have been told earlier. I’m sure it can wait until after dinner.” “Tell me, please, about King Rinaldo. Do you know him well?” “As well as he permits,” said the Ambassador. “In many ways, he preserves a certain distance from his people. He has not, for example, yet set up his harem. The people grow a little impatient for an heir.” “Is he completely unmarried then? I thought there was an engagement or somesuch, but my sources were unclear how it had turned out.” “A childhood romance, I believe,” said the Ambassador. “Apparently, she died. A sad event, but Kings do not often marry for love. In this he will be no exception, unless, of course, he meets the right woman.” He took a delicate sip of water—clearly, the Ambassador did not drink wine. “Even if he met the right woman, and she were to return his love, she must also consent to be queen of Kashfa. What status do women hold in your country, Lord Karim?” She selected a scallop and ate it delicately. “We regard them as the most delicate and beautiful of flowers,” said the Ambassador. “Our great aim in life is to ensure their protection above all things.” When the first course service was well underway, Larissa entered, in unornamented black and nose firmly planted in a book. She spared only the briefest glance for the seating chart before resuming her reading as she walked to her place, dragged her chair out with one hand while turning the page with the other, and sat. Servants placed a salad before her despite no visible signal, and Larissa began to eat one-handed, showing no sign of having noticed anyone else was in the room. Chadwick offered her a hand with her salad as his own was placed before him. “It’s so good to be surrounded by such wonderful people and family,” he said. It was as though Chadwick hadn’t spoken for all the reaction Larissa showed. He raised an eyebrow, looked about at the others, who seemed to have started their own conversations, and then back at Larissa. “I encountered a marvelous chocolatier today,” he said. “Simply delightful.” He ate some salad and raised an eyebrow to his cousin. She took a sip of wine and turned the page simultaneously. A sly grin spread across his face as he considered tickling her. He looked down the table toward his mother and then returned his attention quickly to Larissa. His fingers curled in preparation… Then [Tasha's] eyes widened as a pretty young woman with a book to her face came in and took a seat. Tasha noted her with surprise. “Rissa,” said Bleys succinctly. “Or perhaps I should be more formal and say ‘the Princess Larissa, younger daughter of the late King Eric, whose usurpurious reign was of mercifully brief duration. Nevertheless, he gave his life fighting gallantly for Amber and died cursing her enemies, which is more stylish than most of us manage. Would you care for some wine?” Tasha lowered the fork at the explanation of the latecomer, and peered across the table to get a better look at the woman being so described by her late father’s accomplishments. Dying for Amber and cursing her enemies made Tasha’s hackles rise and she turned her attention more fully on the man beside her, whom she knew from the seating chart was himself a Prince of Amber. Would he consider her an ‘enemy’? “I’ve never been much of a wine drinker,” Tasha admitted, while shaking her head indicating she did not want any. “But may I pass you some bread?” She leaned forward to reach the basket of bread, coincidentally giving anyone on the other side of the table a very good view of her cleavage. “Certainly,” said Bleys, who was also in a good position to admire as he filled his own goblet with a rich ruby liquid. He stretched out a hand to take a bread roll. “And what, apart from familial ambition, brings you to Amber, pretty Mistress Minobee?" “Who is Islain?” [Helena] asked Merlin. “Eldest daughter of the late King Eric and the very much still present Queen Moire. By all accounts, she rather thinks she should be Queen herself. I can only imagine by what means Mandor has lured her back to the family table.” He smiled again a particularly friendly smile. “Well, Morgan seems to have the perimeter covered on that one … “ He glanced at Amba. “So do you nurture ambitions to be Queen of Amber? Or are you here in support of your friend?” Amused at Merlin’s bluntness, Helena looked down toward Amba, curious to hear her answer. Meaning to tease Amba—one of her favorite pastimes—Helena waggled her eyebrows at her behind Merlin’s back and made small, jerking motions with her head in Merlin’s direction. Amba’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the sudden shift in subject. But it was so quickly squashed that only Merlin himself would have likely noticed it. “The only ambitions I currently nurture are to be queen of my own fate—something that has been more and more out of reach as of late, I’m afraid,” she said. “As far as the other, I support Helena in all areas, though you would have to ask her to ascertain where her goals lie,” she added, raising an eyebrow as she tasted her drink. Merlin smiled appreciatively at this, and turned back to Helena. “I seem mandated to ask where your goals lie,” he said. As Merlin turned away from Amba, she wrinkled her nose at her friend behind his back, smiling at the reversal of fortune, and waiting to hear what Helena would say. Helena spared a quick smile for Amba before turning her attention back to Merlin. The look she gave him was direct, almost challenging, and her chin tilted upwards fractionally. “My goals? Well, I will tell you that they have nothing to do with being Queen of Amber, so you can breathe a sigh of relief in that regard, I suppose.” “Oh totally,” said Merlin. “In fact, I think we should have another bottle of champagne to celebrate, don’t you think?” There was amusement in his eyes—and a certain admiration as well. Helena gazed back at him impassively, then a corner of her mouth quirked up. Larissa maneuvered a chunk of watermelon to her mouth. [Chadwick's] hands rocketed to her, hoping to catch her completely unaware! His fork clattered on his plate and fell to his lap as he did so. “May I help you, Chadwick?” Larissa asked, not looking up from her book. A most unsatisfactory reaction. She did not seem to be squirming at all. He withdrew, his grin fading as she failed to react as expected. “Good book,” he asked. He raised an eyebrow to the Kashfan ambassador and indicated Larissa. A brief interruption occurred as the footman removed their plates and served the next course - a delicious, delicately flavoured soup - a creme du Barry (a very delicate creamy cauliflower soup). "No, not particularly," Larissa said after tasting her soup. "Familial ambition?" Tasha turned to blink in a befuddled fashion, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She smiled with a slight blush, "I came here to study." "But to study what?" asked Bleys. He poured some more wine into her glass. "And, one presumes, to be studied in turn." Tasha wasn't too sure she understood this conversation for it seemed to imply that she was not in Amber to undertake the Logrus Studies that her mother had discussed with her. "Yes, I'm sure Lord Mandor will wish to examine my proficiency... I did come at his recommendation." "More champagne?" offered Merlin. Helena shook her head. "Thank you, no, I'm still working on my first glass." As much as she really would have liked to drink in excess tonight, she knew it would be imprudent. Instead, she took advantage of the lull in conversation to glance around the table. Her attention was caught by the red-haired man across the way talking to Tasha. It could be none other than her Uncle Bleys and she found herself surreptitiously studying him. Full brother to her mother, she could see a resemblance to Fiona in the shape of his face and eyes. She noted he seemed to smile and laugh more than Fiona, though. Not wanting to interrupt his conversation with Tasha, Helena turned her attention to her soup. She could find time to talk to him later. Nevertheless, Bleys glanced up, and smiled at her. A smile more spontaneous than his sister's, there was also something almost rueful in the expression. Helena found herself smiling back, then returned to her soup. The Ambassador lifted the spoon not to his lips but to his nose. He inhaled ... and then began to tatste the soup more conventionally. "My people," he explained to Clytemnestra, "do not drink wine—not any spiritous or fermented liquors." "Interesting," Ness remarked, "my own people—that is, of my adopted homeland—are very fond of wine. But as you are my uncle's guest...." She set aside her own wineglass, and called a footman to bring her water as well. "May I ask the reason for this policy of temperance, Ambassador?" Ness took a delicate spoonful of her soup, the image of polite attentiveness. "Intoxication in a climate such as ours can be dangerous," said the Ambassador. "In the lore of our people, it has become mixed up with prohibitions issued by the gods, and so forth. The core reason was more a public health one. But it has become so strong a prohibition for our people that on the very few occasions when I have tasted a dish containing spiritous liquor, I have become quite violently ill. But please, do not feel that my behaviour must govern your own. "I govern my own behavior," Ness said, "when I deem it right to do so." "I should perhaps tell you that the King is known to drink in the privacy of his chambers. Some argue that change will come to Kashfa." The bleakness of his tone suggested that he, at any rate, might not welcome it. "Does the king desire much change in Kashfa?" "It is not for me to judge his Majesty's mind," said the Ambassador. The implication was that he already had. "But if you are visiting Kashfa soon, I am sure you will be echanted with what you see of the old ways," he assured her. "I will undertake to have special tours arranged for you that you might learn of the heart of old Kashfa." "I would like that," Ness replied sincerely. "I'm sure it would be fascinating." "Poor some champagne in," said Merlin to Helena. "It gives it a bit of a zing." "Only if you do it too," Helena replied, amused again by Merlin and figuring that if the King did it, it would be a forgivable faux pas to copy him. Merlin solemnly tilted his champagne glass and allowed about a third of the liquid to drop into the soup below. As each drop fell it appeared to thicken in the air until it connected with a satisfying plop! in the soup. Merlin looked at Helena and grinned. "Brandy," he explained. "Simple transfiguration. It comes from Bleys' notion of how to rescue cooking. You can't go wrong, he says, if you keep adding cream and brandy. Of course, I have had meals with him where brandy and cream soup has been followed by steak in a cream and brandy sauce, followed by a cream and brandy syllabub... And this soup was creamy to start with, so that's half the battle...do you have the trick of it, or shall I do it?" "You should," she replied, pushing over her soup bowl. "I haven't had time yet to include sorcery in my studies." She paused, as if she was thinking about asking him a question, then waved it away. "What?" said Merlin at once. "You can ask me things ... I don't guarantee I'll answer, or that what I answer will necessarily be the correct answer, but you can always try." [Helena] lowered her voice. "Father—Lord Ishtar, that is—said that you had quite a following back in Chaos. Your former life...before this...do you miss it?" Merlin started to reply...and then, her attention caught by something else, Helena turned to speak to Jurt. Chad gave a little sigh and looked at the others, not showing any interest in his soup. Turning to another nearby lady, he smiled. "And how are you faring this fine day," he asked Amba. Amba looked over at Chadwick. "Fine," she said, smiling. "And how about you?" But even though she remained looking at Chadwick, her attention seemed to trail off at the end of the statement as she struggled to make out Helena's conversation. She frowned, but not at Chadwick, thought it certainly might have seemed that way. Chadwick looked over his shoulder to see if he could find who she was looking at. He ignored his fruitless efforts when he returned his attention to her. "Today was exquisitely lovely," he almost whispered, "but something troubles you?" He was fishing for some response, hoping she'd talk about what held her attention. "So, were you fortunate enough to have missed this morning's excitement?" [Jurt] asked with a casual glance toward his brother. "Yes," said the Ambassadress. "Strange to relate, the Rambling Queen was not one of my regular haunts. Where you there? I don't recollect hearing your name mentioned." "No, while I can admit to being familiar with the boat through my brother's influence, alas I was in Chaos, collecting our newest bevy of visitors." He nodded toward each of the ladies as he indicated them, "Lady Tasha Minobee, Lady Amba Heldt and Lady Helena Sawall-Ishtar." Helena paused in her conversation with Merlin to turn around and gaze past Jurt to the Ambassadress. "Lady Helena Barimen-Ishtar," she corrected, her smile tight. "I'm sure Lord Jurt just unintentionally made a mistake." Merlin looked slightly startled—and then, hearing what she said, grinned and addressed himself to his soup. "My apologies," [Jurt] offered with an almost sincere nod to Helena, before turning back to Emilia. "My niece chooses to use her mother's House-name, possibly prudent as Sawall and Ishtar are likely pursuing vendetta at the moment." "Is it prudent to spread rumors?" Helena retorts to Jurt, a warning in her voice as her eyes flick around the table, noting who might be listening to the conversation. "Nothing has been formally announced." "True enough," the king's younger brother agreed. "But as a member of both families I would think it might be something of a concern to you." He hadn't drawn his attention away from the beautiful Begman at his left to answer Helena, but now offered her a small smile. "Personally I find it intriguing that you would so easily deliver yourself into the Sawall heir's hand when you might become the perfect hostage." Again to Emilia, he offered an apologetic smile for the turn the conversation had taken. "Helena doesn't seem to understand that I'm her ally, ere my father believes I chose her mother's life over that of younger brother Despil's." "I wouldn't know what to understand or not because you wouldn't tell me what happened—even though apparently other people know about it," Helena said coldly, continuing despite talking to Jurt's back. "As for delivering myself into Sawall's hand, my father insisted I come and sent reinforcements to make sure I did, hence the presence of Lord Suhuy in the courtyard. Surely you remember all this? I know there have been women and shiny things to distract you, but it was only a few hours ago." Jurt chuckled and turned back to face her, evidencing true amusement. "Your father was aware and I'm sure that if he wished you to have the details along with packing you off to someplace he considered safe, or at least safer, he could've shared with you. And an accomplished dancer like yourself might've asserted herself a little better if she wished to do something more than her father's bidding. Obviously not." "I imagine he was busy attending to my mother after your fath—" Helena trailed off, swallowing the rest of the sentence. "Well, at least one of us knows the meaning of familial respect and honor." He leaned in and made a show of scanning the faces around the dinner table. "The details of your mother's trials are not something I'd share with a lady over a meal, but if you would like to hear it..." Helena looked fixedly at him, her eyes smoldering. He let the implication trail off as his gaze stopped at his brother abruptly. Merlin was watching him sardonically. From the far end of the table, it seemed that Mandor had become aware of some flurry between his daughter and his brother. "Perhaps we might discuss it later, amongst family." The last word was laced with perhaps more meanings than Jurt had intended. Merlin's lip curled up in what could have been the faintest of smiles. He turned back to Emilia with some sense of finality. "My apologies, Ambassador. As I alluded, some relations in Chaos are strained, moreso than even those here, but I suppose it's not suitable dinner conversation. We'll have to arrange another time to speak." His grin had returned when he added, "With some privacy, perhaps." "That sounds quite delightful," said the Ambassador, who had been giving a more than reasonable portrayal of disinterest in all that had occurred. "Although I presume you might be a little preoccupied later this evening, hmmm?" Helena turned her attention back to her soup bowl and expelled a long breath, her hands in her lap twisting her linen napkin in frustration and agitation as she internally struggled to regain her center of calm. When she looked up, she noticed her sister staring at her from down the table, a look of great consternation on her face. Helena slipped Ness a smile to let her know that things were all right. Well, not really all right, but at least at a cease fire for the moment. She directed her attention back to Merlin and said with forced lightness, "You were about to answer a question for me before I turned away and almost caused a scene that no doubt would have earned me the wrath of Aunt Flora—which, by the way, I hear is a terrible thing to behold." "Dreadful," said Merlin promptly. "Almost as bad as my...your father's. Which will doubtless happen unless we both allow the footman to take away our bowls and concentrate our attention on the delicious sea trout that is coming next. You see, precognition! Actually, I lie—Flora insisted I read the menu yesterday and somehow I seem to have committed it to memory. But it will be delicious—unless you're like Rissa and forswear all carrion flesh unless it comes with vat-grown authenticity. And then you'll have to remind me what your question was again." Jurt overheard enough that he couldn't suppress a subtle roll of his eyes at Merlin's banter, knowing that questions about his days as a Sword Dancer would gain Helena naught. Helena smiled wanly at Merlin and waved the question away. "Nevermind. It will keep. Though I wouldn't mind some more champagne now." continued in Dinner In Amber At Dinner in the Castle |
