The Distant Past: Eric and IslainIslain put down the broadsheet, her long fingernails clicking softly against the polished wood of the chair-arm. Around her, young nobles prattled, boasted and pretended to swoon as they too heard of the newest attack on Jones Falls. Carefully, with a look of infinite boredom, Islain's jade colored eyes swept the room while her right hand lifted and played with her pearl necklace. As her gaze fell upon each face and moved to the next she felt the icy lump in the pit of her stomach grow, felt the pressure rise until it pressed up on her heart and she felt that if she did not betray herself and gasp for air she might choke. It had been a long time since she had felt such fear. Shocking that all it took was imagining one man's startlingly blue eyes and the way his mouth set in a hard line when he was displeased. Part of her had wanted to tell him the day she'd arrived in Amber. Fear had stopped her, but not such fear as she felt now - then she could dismiss it as caution. She had known little to nothing of him, and the tales her mother had allowed told in Rebma did not afford a pleasant mental image. But five years had past, and caution turned to complacency. There never seemed to be a good time, and besides, how would King Oberon react? Those were her excuses, but not the true reason. The reaction she feared was Eric's. It had taken her not even an entire year in Amber to love him. For a woman like Islain, it had taken slightly longer to discover what that feeling was called, because for the first time, she wanted nothing in return. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, she had shifted her goals from furthering her own agenda and that of the Admiral, to defending and supporting Eric. In this case, it was important that it never be noticeable, that it always seem as if it were for her own reasons. But Islain knew the man whose life she had destroyed simply because of a quip he made about her father to cause Prince Corwin to laugh. Corwin was beyond her reach. The jester was not. And now she was going to tell Eric. The situation demanded it. Benedict had made a spectacular show against the Moonriders, and now perhaps it was Eric's turn. At the very least, these desperate times called for all the aid and assistance a Prince of Amber could find. Islain had debated offering her service without telling him who she really was. She had considered stating simply she preferred him of all the Princes of Amber. But one day he would know. And on that day she did not want to explain why she had carried on the pretense for so many years. Her half-smile was bitter, the taste in her mouth like the precursor to vomit. She did not want to make that explanation today either. But she had gone to a good deal of trouble to arrange for him to be in the gardens at a certain time of day - in ten minutes, in fact. It was not a simple thing to do and would be nearly impossible to duplicate. She rose, trembling slightly, waved off an eager admirer who had noticed her discomfort and strode purposefully toward her meeting. The garden was abysmally bright. Far too bright for Islain's state of nervousness. She checked herself in her compact one final time, saw the jet-colored hair framed by yellow roses, the perfect skin, perfect white teeth, perfect red velvet gown. But she also saw the uncertainty in her own eyes, the tension in the set of her bare shoulders, and could not seem to force them away. A deep breath. Another. A shock/shiver of rage as the tell-tale details refused to run away. Islain clicked the compact mirror shut hard and dropped it to the side of the bench on which she sat. Nervous or not, if she had done the job she thought she had, Eric would soon be approaching. And then she heard his step. He was advancing along the path towards her, tall, dark, frowning slightly. He did not look surprised to see her, but he did not look particularly pleased, either. "Lady Islain," he said curtly. "Am I to gather that you have engineered our meeting?" She could not only hear her heart beating, she could feel it in her chest. She rose smoothly, dropped a curtsy for the sake of form and because it allowed her to not look at him for a moment, and said, "Yes, your Highness. You are quite right. I have something to tell you, and an offer if you wish to hear it." Amazingly, her voice did not shake. It sounded as cool and confident as ever. She thought her legs were shaking beneath the red velvet, but that was unimportant, as folds of fabric would cover it. "Thank you," said Eric, and she was aware of a certain coldness in his voice, as though it he had retired behind a thin wall of ice. "However, I fear that your kind offer would be wasted on me, Lady Islain. I suggest that you concentrate your efforts on your current paramour instead." Islain sat back down on the bench, looking at her hands where they lay folded demurely in her lap. Her eyes, of all things, felt unaccountably hot, and her throat hurt. She swallowed hard. "That title is not precisely correct, your Highness. I am recently of Variath courtesy of Admiral Strathe, but I was sent there as an ambassadress." One slender finger teased her thigh through the fabric, running against the grain of the velvet skirt. It was easier to say, she found, if she did not look at him, and so she forced herself to raise her head and meet those eyes evenly with her own. "I come from Rebma. Beneath the waves they call me Princess Islain." He seemed about to say something, but stopped himself. The contemptuous look was gone now; he was regarding her keenly. Measuringly. "You have captured my interest, Princess Islain. Tell me more." In fairness she should have asked him to sit down, but she remembered the contempt of before all too clearly. Some of it, she felt, was fear on his part that she was seeking a romantic entanglement. All the same she felt herself stung. "My mother is Moire of Rebma. I was forced to take this circuitous route because she would not allow me to simply become the Rebman ambassador to Amber. She did not wish me to seek contact with my father." She searched his face carefully for any hint of a reaction. He sat down abruptly next to her, staring ahead. "So," he said. A long pause. "How long have you known?" Islain shifted in her seat to continue watching his face. "I've known your name since I was a child. Mother would tell me nothing about you, however, save hints that you two were no longer at all friendly. So when I came here, I was cautious." She had a sudden desire to touch his shoulder but kept her hands still in her lap. "Did you know? Either that you had a daughter, or that it was me?" "No," said Eric. "We are not an especially fecund breed. I assumed the same of Rebmans. But perhaps she planned it all - it would be like her." He swivelled on his seat and gazed at her, his expression still unyielding, still measuring. "Did she charge you with a message for me, or simply a mission?" "There were no messages, no missions. She did all in her power to keep me from you as a child." Islain smiled softly. "Perhaps she knew that would drive me to Amber. She always was good at manipulation. But if so, her deeper game remains unfathomable to me. I have not seen her for seven years, and when we left it was not on ideal terms. "I came here to see what this side of my family was truly like, and to meet you. I... wanted to prove I could hold my own in Amber before I let it be known I was a scion of the City. Some of your relatives are quite ruthless. Whether I could be used against you or not, I would prefer not to be placed in that position. I might even have waited longer, had this crisis not arisen. "My message from myself ... my offer is simple: I am your daughter. I would like to be your friend. I have skills and talents which you may find useful. They are yours if you will accept them." He leaned towards her and slid his hand so that he cupped her face, his forefinger pressing lightly on one cheek, his thumb on the other. There was slight pressure there, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold her fast - and enough to convince her that he had strength enough to crush her face in his grip if he chose. "And you do not fear me?" he asked softly. She did not flinch. Her expression was softer than she had ever worn at the Court. "Of course I fear you, Father. I fear the look you wore when you met me in this garden today. I do not wish to see that look again." Her right hand lifted and laid itself over her chest. She could feel her heart pounding and yet she smiled. "But this spark - this life - came from you. It is yours to use or to quench, as you see fit." He released her and - for the first time, the stern lips relaxed into a faint smile. "So," he said. "You don't lack wit, or courage. That suggests that you could be my daughter indeed. "And what is the aid that you would bring me?" Islain shrugged. "I can offer you nothing you do not already have, though perhaps I might be vain and say that my skill levels are different from your current operatives. My talents are mostly political, and include diplomacy and investigation. I also know most everything a good princess should know - so I am highly qualified to act as a secretary or personal assistant. I will not begin on the level of you or your immediate family, but I am a very quick study and ought to be somewhat underestimated, for a few more years at least. It will be up to you whether, and when, you wish the nature of our relationship to be known." He nodded slowly. "Very well then. If you wish it, so be it. As yet, you're not my daughter. But when you prove it, then I'll name you." He smiled. "Find out what the redheads are up to. And just to make it harder - do it without leaping into bed with Bleys. If I proclaim you mine later on, it would be a disadvantage for you to have been his mistress." Islain returned the smile, automatically, without thinking. Her response required only an instant's thought. "As you wish, your Highness. I do like a challenge. Are there any further particulars you wish examined?" "Not at the moment," he said. He rose to his feet and held out his hand to her. "When you've concluded your preliminary investigations ... then we'll see." She took his hand gently, expecting to be raised to her feet but not standing on her own accord yet. She took a deep breath and said very quietly, very simply, "Thank you, your Highness." "I hope," said Eric, in a voice that was almost entirely devoid of threat, "that very soon, I shall be able to thank you." Islain nodded. "How shall I arrange to meet you when I have the information you desire?" "Come to Amber," said Eric. "And if your information is good - ask for your father." Her eyelids flickered slightly. She had not quite expected that. Using his hand only slightly, she rose and curtsied again, deeply. "I shall do so, Highness." When she rose again, all smooth grace, she caught his eyes again. But he must be the first to let go of her hand, and then she would exit. That way, if anyone were watching, it would look right. He lifted her hand to his lips, regarded her for a moment before releasing her ... and then turned and walked rapidly away through the gardens. It took Islain a few moments to recover from their conversation. Then she returned to her chambers and began to put her formidable talents to the task at hand. It would be a challenge... She alighted with customary grace, and no sign of the eagerness or the nerves which battled inside her. Her hair had been swept back with ornaments of silver and jade, the gown was long and silver-green and managed to be sensual and artistic and to remind one of waves and waters, and she literally glittered with diamonds and emeralds. The effect was stunning, and also uniquely Rebman, though the gown covered her a good deal more than was usual for the undersea fashion. The doors would not have been closed to her under any circumstances but this time as she entered, she turned to a doorman and murmured quietly, "I am Princess Islain of Rebma. I have come to see my father. Will you tell Prince Eric so he might arrange it?" Her reception this time was somewhat different. No longer was she the foreign Princess of dubious provenance and even more questionable morality, grudgingly admitted in the train of her more illustrious lover. This time there were bows and polite murmuring, ushering her through the state rooms to the family apartments. "If you will wait in the library," said the footman, "I will inform his Highness that you are here." She smiled graciously and allowed herself to be conducted. Her manner, also had changed, somewhat more subtly. There was still that element of icy sensuality, but now it was accompanied by a palpable aura of power, almost of majesty. "Thank you," Islain said. Once inside the library she allowed herself the faintest of smiles, though the battle was no means won. Now she had to speak again to Eric. The door opened and Eric stood there, frowning slightly as he gazed at her with his intent dark eyes. "Well?" he said. "Are you ready to be received as my daughter? What news do you bring?" She rose and closed the door behind him, taking in that strange presence he radiated, a palpable sense of strength that electrified her senses and filled with that uncommon fear. Then she turned and did not flinch, as close to him as she was standing, and there was no attempt at games now as she said, "Do you know of a place called the Courts of Chaos, Highness? I have gleaned that they are going to that place, whatever it is." Eric's expression grew more saturnine. "I've heard of it," he said. He indicated a seat near one of the great oaken tables. "Did you learn how or when they would travel? Or, perhaps, why?" Islain took the indicated seat gracefully, adjusting her shimmering skirts. "I could not determine why, save that it had some political significance to your brothers and sister. When is soon - if not now. And how..." her brow furrowed. "They were to use shadows or a shadowy way. I do not pretend to understand." Eric frowned. "Neither do I, fully." He was silent for a moment, brooding. Then he looked up. "Did they mention Corwin?" She shook her head. "No, sir, there was no mention of him - or of any names of consequence. If he is still in the city, however, I could keep a closer watch on your brother. If you like." Eric shook his head. "A shame. I was hoping you might be to find an answer to that particular rumour. Or at least supply a body for that grandiose tomb of his." "I can search if you like," she shrugged as if she wasn't particularly bothered. "But I haven't any real idea where to start. Or how. Might he also have travelled using shadows?" "Perhaps," said Eric. "But you're right - it's not worth it. And we have more important things in hand. I want to introduce your properly to two of your uncles." Islain smiled, beginning to relax a little. "I'm so very glad to hear it," she purred. "Come," said Eric, holding out a hand to her. "Let me take you to a rather different part of Amber ... " She set her cool hand lightly atop his and the movement as they left the room was something akin to a dance. Despite her suspicion, due to his word choice, that they would be traveling to a poorer part of the city, she made no mention of her elaborate and ostentatious costume or the fact that she was undoubtedly wearing the price of any house in those parts of the city in jewelry alone. It was partly perversity but mostly the fact that she trusted Eric. He led her through the castle and across the courtyard to the stables. Islain made certain to smile beatiifically at everyone she passed, radiating a queenly pleasure at her change in station. Eric selected horses for them based on qualifications she did not precisely understand, and a quiet stableboy helped Islain into her sidesaddle as her father swung easily onto his stallion. The sidesaddle forced them to a walk through the streets of the city, but Islain had the distinct impression that Eric still preferred this to a carriage for some reason - perhaps, from the sidelong glances he sent her, he was judging her riding skills. If so, he could not have been exceptionally impressed, for her seat was stiff and almost precarious. Islain had perhaps fifteen minutes of silence in which to wish she had taken more riding lessons since her arrival in Amber, since Eric didn't seem to feel particularly chatty. She looked from side to side, admiring the scenery and the feel of the sun on her face as they rode down the clean cobbled streets of Clifftop. They passed through the upper tier and down through a bustling marketplace, where they occasioned more than a few looks from passers-by, most of whom knuckled their foreheads or curtseyed when they recognized Prince Eric. Further and further they rode as the residences became smaller and the streets less clean, and the sharp, warm scents of smoke and cooking meat escaped open windows. They were nearing parts of the city that Islain was less familiar with, although she had been down a few times with the Admiral in her first few years in Amber, though never in quite such elaborate costume. Poor residential gave way to warehouses and tenement buildings, and the streets seemed to become more crowded almost immediately, clogged with people looking down and minding their own business. Hawkers on corners called out to everyone but focused in immediately on those who looked to have a few coins in their pockets. Islain instinctively moved her horse closer to her father's. This was Tattersail, the ward closest to the docks. They dismounted before one of the largest warehouse, redolent with the stink of curing hides. Two boys, dressed in grey-blue livery, ran up to take the horses, and to hand then oranges stuffed with cloves for them both to sniff and take away the stench. Eric, with a grin, held out a hand to Islain. "Come," he said. "We'll meet them in the spice quarter - where the smell is rather better. I's take you to Bloody Bill's, but that's more an acquired taste." He led her along several lanes, twisting and turning between the tall warehouses. Some were wide enough for a dray - others were so narrow they could barely walk abreast. Slowly the eye-watering smells of the tanning quarter faded - and even when they set aside the oranges, the air was filled with the rich, heady spices. Now Eric moved to one side of one of the broader streets, where the buildings seemed to have sunk somewhat below the level of the street, for there were steps leading down, cut at the sides of the roads. Down one of these Eric led Islain, and then through a stone arched passage that seemed to have been carved at the base of the house itself. Suddennly they found themselves in a high walled garden, planted with a variety of strange and beautiful flowers. There was a wooden table at the centre of the garden and at this two men were sitting. One was a tall, broad man, handsome and with an expression of easy good humour. The other was slighter, dressed in a greeny-brown leather, soft and supple,. He looked up at Eric and Islain and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, but the other man rose and came cheefrfully towards them to take Islain's hand and kiss it. "My brothers," said Eric. "Gerard - and Julian." Julian nodded again. Islain returned the nod, slightly deeper, as if there was the slightest hint of a curtsy, though she did not quite bend her knees. And she smiled at him. "Welcome, sweet niece," said Gerard. "Does being your uncle warrant a kiss, eh?" The smile went full-force as Islain looked at Gerard, eyes sparkling. She rose to her tiptoes and gave him a chaste kiss on the corner of the mouth. "I'm so delighted to meet you both," Islain said. Her voice was steady, her smile as acetylene bright as the sun on her metallic gown. "To *really* meet you." Gerard smiled at her warmly, "As we are you, sweeting." There was no emotion in Julian's eyes, nor in his voice as he said, "So - what is so important about this information you've brought that Eric calls us into the city to hear it?" Islain's smile faded slightly, and she shook her head infinitesimally. "I suspect that you will be able to answer that question more fully than I, Highness. To me, the news is mainly words without a deeper meaning." She looked at Eric, then glanced at the walls of the garden. "Would you have me repeat them now?" "Yes," said Eric. "They need to know." Gerard seated himself at the table and patted a seat next to himself, encouragingly. Julian simply watched Islain, unsmiling. Islain allowed herself the brief thought, as she took the offered seat, that these two would be marvelous at good cop/bad cop. Then she said, "Bleys, Brand and Fiona are taking some shadowy way or traveling through shadows to a place they call the Courts of Chaos. I believe they have allies or contacts there, but no names were mentioned." Gerard started and looked at Eric. Julian's eyes narrowed fractionally, and he said, "Does Caine know?" Eric shook his head. "Not unless Islain ran into him in Shadow." He looked enquiringly at his daughter. She shook her head. "I haven't informed him. I wanted to tell you first and see what you made of it. There was also the matter of our deal. I would not be surprised if he's learned as much as I, however. Prince Caine is... quite skilled... at determining information." Julian looked at her. "You've met my brother? Or does this come by reputation alone?" "Reputation has something to do with it, but we have met on a few occasions," Islain said. "I have been in Amber for two years now, and when I arrived, it was with Admiral Strathe of Variath. Admiral Strathe is an... associate... of Prince Caine's. Since he returned to Variath, I have not spoken to your brother." "We should speak with him," said Gerard at once, while Julian was looking at Islain with slightly narrowed eyes. "Are you suggesting," he said, addressing his brothers, "that Caine doesn't already know?" Islain's natural instinct for caution told her to keep out of this conversation, but her desire to prove herself to her father rode over that like a jockey with a heavy whip. "It would seem unlikely," she said mildly. "However, if he has not already informed his brothers, he may be in the middle of his own investigation, in which case it might not be prudent to interfere." Eric gave a low chuckle. "Such would be my suspicion too," he said. "But she's my daughter, right enough, to think of such a thing." Islain smiled again. It was stupid how good a simple statement could suddenly make her feel. "Indeed she is," agreed Gerard with a hint of a wink for Islain. She returned the wink, feeling a growing affection for this uncle as well. Julian's cool hostility did not appear to relax at all. Instead he rose to his feet. "Well, I'm for Arden. If Caine contacts me, I'll let you know. If he contacts one of you, I'd appreciate the same." "Wait." Eric rose to his feet too. "Before you leave us - there is something I want you both to pledge to me, here and now." "Hat?" asked Gerard. Julian merely frowned. "That if my daughter is in danger, that if she needs your aid at any time, you will grant it." "But of course!" said Gerard with a chuckle. "My oath upon the Pattern!" Julian was silent for a moment, and then said curtly, "Of course she will have my aid." There were women who would have said something like 'I can take care of myself' at this juncture. But Islain just nodded, a deep almost bow to the formality of the pledge, and said, "Thank you both very much." Julian gave a bow in response, oddly stiff for a man who, essentially, looked relaxed and easy within his body. Then, without further comment, he left them. Gerard watched him go thoughtfully. "A little stiff-necked, even for Julian," commented Eric. Gerard shook his head. "And you didn't guess the reason?" He turned to Islain. "Did you?" Islain suddenly felt her heart seem to slow. "I... don't read him very well, but I see two possibilities. Either he doesn't trust me, which would be understandable... or..." She found she didn't want to continue the thought. It was far too dangerous, so she threw in something which was not what she had been about to say. "Or he's being protective of his brothers. He may suspect something in my interaction with Caine. I don't have the best of reputations at the palace, you see... but all that is going to change now." Gerard was smiling more broadly. "Let's just say that Julian has always had problems in that regard. Eh?" "I think," said Eric, "that he may learn to curnb his enthusiasm. He prides himself on it, in fact." He looked thoughtfully at Islain. "And ... too great a change in your personality will cause too many comments. Once the news seeps out that you are my daughter, you will find a difference in how people treat you, soon enough." Islain considered that and nodded slowly. "The important thing is that now that I am connected to you, I offer no cause for embarrassment. I don't mean personality changes. I mean behavioral ones. I will no longer have the need to go about business in quite the same way." More lightly, as she rose, she added, "But no more of that for the present! Would you handsome gentlemen care to have a drink with me and ... perhaps... tell me the significance of shadows or of the Courts of Chaos?"
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