Rebman Art: Chadwick and IslainIndefinite shapes cascaded down the walls, seeming to defy gravity in the Lesser Hall of Arts. A lesser hall that arced far above Chadwick as he took in some of the statues that spoke of life beneath the sea. Most of them were, like those on the walls, representations of something greater. The floors looked like polished coral, and Chadwick was overwhelmed with the sense that everything was so vibrant here... it was like being in an art gallery on land where everything was made of wood and sky. And then he noticed... Mother had left. Islain watched the young man for a few moments, attempting to judge his reactions to the gallery itself, and to the lack of Flora's presence. She had been keeping an interested eye on Flora and Chadwick during their visit to Rebma, and had been intrigued to see just how close his mother kept him. Islain had always liked Flora. She was an exquisitely good player. All the same, offered the chance to discover what Chadwick was like when not tied to her apronstrings, Islain would take it. "They call that 'The Lights of Lir,'" she said quietly, approaching him and gesturing to a particularly vibrant and yet luminous sculpture which seemed to be made of twisted coral and moonlight. "When I was a little girl, I wanted very much to own it." "It's... it's lovely," Chadwick said as he gave it deeper consideration. "I can understand not selling it." He let moments pass... "You wouldn't have, um, noticed where my... where Flora went, would you?" "I believe she was called away for a brief meeting with Llewella. Something about ambassadoral parties. I'm sure she'll return soon." Islain smiled, a slow spur. "Does it make you that uncomfortable to be away from her for a few minutes?" Chadwick looked around... "it's not normal. She says it's not safe. I'm not sure... people seem like... well, like people. But it's best to listen... she wasn't wrong about armor!" He looked embarrassed that he had suddenly spoken so loudly. "Sorry." She nodded, smiling tolerantly. "All, the same you should be quite safe here with me for a few minutes. And then she'll be right back to collect you. You do remember me from the state affairs she brought you to earlier this week? I'm your cousin Islain." "Oh! Of course! I... well, I've been introduced to so many people this week," he said as he blushed. "How are you? What do you like? Gosh... you're family!" He was smiling broadly. She slipped her long fingers into her thick curls and returned the smile, adjusting her silvery gown so that her feminine curves were obvious but did not seem to be arrayed just for him. "Of course," she said in her soft sultry voice. "I am very well, thank you Chadwick, and I like art and music and dancing and most things women like. What do you like, my dear?" Chadwick took no notice of her curves or curls as he thought about his various interests. "I like drawing. Mother says that I have a knack for it. I can play music, too. Mostly I like to help people who are hurt or are in danger... I don't get to do that much anymore, but mother wants me to help prevent people from getting hurt, which is better in the long run." "And how does she wish you to do that? It seems a rather tall order." Islain cocked her head to one side and sized him up for a moment. Then she said, "If you like drawing, I should show you the gallery at the Palace some day. They say it is one of the finest in existence, rivalling those in Amber. What sort of music do you play?" "I don't play the ballroom music... just the sort that you hear echoing along the Fluren before dayfall. I guess you could call it River Music." He took another sip of wine. "Oh, and I got asked to play for the Dunlins once, an instrument... like a harp. The regular player had fallen sick... Makwee, his name was... and they couldn't have the autumn festival without music." "Of course not," Islain agreed. "What type of music do you like to listen to?" "I used to like all sorts of music," she said, her expression growing dreamy, "but between centuries in Amber and nearly a full century here in Rebma, my tastes have grown more rarefied. There is a school of music in Rebma called kel'mer'a which is my recent favorite, though the full orchestras, string quartets and operas of Amber will always hold a special place in my heart. The place of memory." Chadwick's expression widened from surprise. "Are you really that old? You don't look... I mean, you certainly wear it well." He faltered, wondering if there was some special respect he needed to show an older cousin... suddenly he missed his mother. Her laughter was deep and golden, and indeed, she did not seem so old as all that, unless one looked, really looked, into her eyes and then it was possible to see a hint of inhumanity, of very old pain. "Why, thank you, Chadwick. I'm glad I don't look over two hundred, but you will find, if you live so long, as you very well may, that the blood of Oberon means the shadows - and even Reality itself - will twist themselves around you. It is an immortality, of sorts, though of course we can die. But shall I show you some more of the museum? There is a room devoted to old musical instruments, and another of paintings and sculptures all designed with your mother in mind." "Oh, yes, please," he responded, "the styles are fascinating. It's far more subtle than most of the work I've seen, and it all... flows." Chadwick looked about for the exit to another room. "Mother would be pleased, I think. She probably knows about it, of course, but she does like to be reminded when people think well of her." Islain nodded as she gestured with one graceful, bejeweled arm for Chadwick to precede her through a gilded and ornate archway decorated with tritons and mermaids. "She has always been very popular here in Rebma," she agreed. "We appreciate beauty and taste above all things, and Florimel does have both." Chadwick stepped through the arch and nearly gasped. "Wow," he whispered at the displays of Flora inspired artwork. "I had no idea." He turned to face Islain with a certain amount of pride for being associated with someone so loved. "It's gorgeous." Islain could not help but smile at his open, honest pleasure. She gestured around the room. "Which one do you like the best?" "So hard to pick just one," he gushed with a broad smile. He whirled around and gave each one a glance before settling in front of something that was interpretive of Flora dancing. It made her look like she was floating, and that no background or surface could touch her. The sculptor had no doubt spent many an hour creating the illusion of her not touching any surface... and everything dazzled, but Flora radiated. "This one," he said quietly. She nodded, considering the piece herself for a moment. "You do have an artistic sense, Chadwick," she said finally. "The sculptor who created this masterpiece is legendary in Rebma. When your mother was young, she came here for a birthday party for my mother - and legend has it danced one dance with Eilon gVaed, who later spent nearly fifty years perfecting this piece. It was his first triumph." Chadwick took it in, standing in the shadow of the statue before turning to Islain. "What about you? What is your favorite piece?" "I don't think you'll like it," she laughed, "but I'll show you." She led him down the long hallway and through another elaborate arch to a small alcove containing a piece of art which seemed to be half portrait and half-sculpture, containing a painting of Florimel surrounded by melted looking gold sconces holding various colored candles which burned somehow underwater and gave off a wide variety of scents. At first the portrait seemed simple - Flora in a low-cut red dress with her hair on her shoulder, laughing. And then, one shifted slightly, took in the scent of cinnamon, could almost taste cookies in the oven, and her hair was back except for one loose strand, and there was a streak of flour on her cheek. And then the scent was sharp and acidic, and there was a brief jolt to the consciousness, a loss of something - and Flora was naked and her mouth was wide... and it continued... Initially Chad smiled, and the streak of flour made him laugh. He couldn't imagine his mother like that. And then, as it turned more serious, more... he couldn't... he backed away, shocked. Horrified. "You were right," he said quietly. "I don't like it." She gently took his arm and led him from the alcove and away from the vaguely narcotic effect of the smoke. "The idea," her quiet voice soothed, "is to show someone in all aspects of their life - the beautiful, the humorous, and eventually the horrible. Of course, what is beautiful to one may be horrible to another. This particular artist has made paintings of most of the royal family of Amber and of Rebma. I'm always particularly amused by my own. But Flora's has... a certain special charm to me, as it reminds me from time to time that she, too, is a complete person with joys and hopes and tragedies." "I don't mind the hopes and joys," he said, "but I've always felt that art should be uplifting... hopeful. I can't..." he gulped and looked again at the work, briefly. "That's not something I could do..." Islain looked briefly curious, but stifled the obvious question. "Let us move on - to the music room, perhaps?" "Oh... oh, yes," Chadwick said with returning cheer. "Music would be lovely. I've only a little talent in the field, and I'm sure that hearing other work could only improve me." Islain nodded and put out her hand for his arm, a perfectly natural gesture, one she did not seem overly aware of. He accepted without a thought as to what the culture he was in might think of it. As they moved across the room bearing its many images of Flora, through another archway, this one decorated entirely with images of Chadwick's mother, she said, "There are only a few instruments in this gallery which will play themselves, but some of them are very artistic simply to regard - and I can play a few. I'm certain you could as well. Perhaps we shall play together." The gallery she led him through on the way to the music room seemed to be devoted to Bleys and Llewella, perhaps half and half. Some of the instruments that were devoted to Bleys managed to raise an eyebrow from Chadwick. They didn't look very... practical. "That would be lovely," Chadwick responded to his cousins suggestion that they play together. "What is your favorite instrument," he asked casually, before realizing that the last time he'd been exposed to something that she favored, it had not been what he expected. Islain's smile became a touch more sanguine as she watched the expression in his eyes change, and she said, "I promise, no more of that kind of surprise. I'll show you only what I think you'll like. Here. Rebmans are famous for various types of harp - this one is called the moalivh. It is meant to be played by at least two people - or one person with at least four hands." She gestured to an immense, beautifully tooled and elaborate harp, created so that it had two settee like seats, one on either side. Chadwick sat down, naturally curling his fingers in the way that one might in order to pluck at the strings of a harp. He hesitated, and looked at Islain, "is it... is it alright, do you suppose?" Islain smiled, gracefully folding herself onto the opposite bench. Her long cunning fingers seemed barely to touch the strings and a rich, haunting sound filled the room. It seemed strangely deep and almost more like the sound of a horn than that of a harp. "It is quite all right," she said. Chadwick touched it as well, gently. A low and beautiful resonance echoed about the room, and he plucked notes that took flight against the backdrop. Like sparrows they darted along the deep water of sound. Islain began to gently pluck the strings on her end and then strum them, and a sound rose reminscent of siren song, low and deep and beautiful. Strangely, their playing together was as if two different instruments were being played at the same time, but with a melding in the middle that made it difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. He played over her, sending gulls along the waves. Where she was deep, he remained light. He smiled and chuckled as they played... and playing it was. Chadwick's childlike innocence was voiced through the instrument. Finally he slowed. "It's beautiful," he said with some awe. "Tell me, where can I get one of these?" "I will arrange for you to have one in your rooms here, and my mother and I can ship it wherever you and Aunt Flora go next. But will you have anyone to play with you?" Islain strummed the harpstrings fast and there was a shimmering rainbow sound, and then she let her hands fall to her lap and the color died from the music. "This instrument produces a much poorer sound with only one player." "I can keep it here, I suppose," Chadwick answered. "But I could also come down here and play... the one I keep in Amber could be for musically inclined guests." There was a hint of a blush as he said this, his cheeks rising in color just enough to be noticed. It faded as he thought of other uses, "and you and I could play whenever the mood struck us, of course." "I would like that very much," Islain said warmly, pretending not to have noticed his blush. "So, you'll come and visit Rebma again, then? Mother will be so glad to hear that. As I am." One finger slid down a harpstring, making a soft bell-like sound. "Oh, yes. Mother said she wouldn't be concluding any time soon," Chadwick responded, happy that they were talking about something he was on firm ground with. "We should visit often." He seemed hesitant to touch the strings while he spoke. Islain had no such hesitancy and indeed her long fingers seemed unable to remain still, caressing the strings almost absently. "Oh, good," she said. With a dreamy look in her eye, focusing on Chadwick's chest instead of his face as she spoke, she added, "What exactly is Flora 'concluding', do you think?" Chadwick noticed her eyes, and their focus... elsewhere. ~I'm boring her,~ he thought. "I... she didn't say. She does love her little mysteries," he responded, hoping he wasn't being more dull, he gave her a quirky half-smile. "What kind of business happens here?" Islain raised her eyes to his own for a moment and winked. "Every kind. The good, the bad, and the horrifyingly beautiful. It is a kingdom, after all, whatever little concessions Mother might have to make to keep us autonomous. Does business interest you at all? Your pardon, but you don't seem the political type." "N-no." He gives a pause before continuing, "mother says that I'll learn of it. I just want to help people," he said, "but it's not as easy as I think. Some people don't want to be helped..." He let the train of thought drop off. It wasn't that he was stupid, but it didn't seem right that a man on the street who was starving couldn't be helped with a good meal. "That's not precisely it, is it?" Islain said, but then she shook her head and didn't finish. "Do you do business? Politics?" He wasn't sure, but she might just be the political type. It was the way she had spoken her words, the right lilt at the right time. Still, better to ask. "I do," she nodded. "Most of the royal family of Rebma has some political duties here, but I've taken on as many as Mother will allow. In Amber, I had even more political power and influence, but my nets here are ... rusty..." "I could help, I think. You seem nice enough," he didn't think about her preference for the statue of Flora, and its darker side. He'd tried to set that image deep within his mind, and away. So far, it was working. "I'm sure mother would approve, and that you only want what's best." "Of course," Islain assured him smoothly. "My only goal is to do what is best for Rebma and my family, which of course, includes you, cousin. Thank you for your offer. I would very much appreciate your assistance, in some small ways. Just to talk to a few people and tell me what they say to you, or what they ask you, would be invaluable. Would you be willing to do that for me, Chadwick?" He smiled in response, nodding. "Oh, yes," he said, "that sounds like simple duty enough... are you sure I can't be of more help than that?" There was a look of hope that he might be allowed to do something important. Islain considered him, her eyes sparkling. "Of course," she said again. "Would you like to accompany me to court tomorrow? There are a few very important ambassadors who have arrived recently, and we're attempting to strengthen our trade ties with them - to send them our music and our art. I am certain that they would prefer to speak to a Lord of Amber than to me." Were it possible for a look to emit a squeal of pure, unadulterated joy, the one that Chadwick gave Islain would render her eardrums useless. "I... are you..." He tried to contain himself, if nothing else than in the hope that this momentary reversal of fortune did not change. "I'd be... honored," he said. "Wonderful," Islain said, clapping her hands together once. "Then I'll come and fetch you at your rooms around nine then?" "Yes, please," Chadwick responded anxiously. "I look forward to it." He let her have her space, assuming they were done speaking for the time being. Islain had come for Chadwick promptly as she said she would, and she looked... different when he opened the door. Regal. As if she were taller somehow, and her eyes were brighter, her features more clean and pure. She almost seemed to radiate confidence. "Come," she said. "Court will begin in a few minutes, and you ought to meet the players of the Great Game before it does." Chadwick answered his door ready for duty. His suit was sharp and crimson, cufflinks of gold. His hair had been masterfully prepared for the moment... just casual enough to be friendly, not so informal as to be insulting. Regardless, he was counterpoint to her, in that he excuded uncertainty. "O-of course." He followed her, watching her every step and not setting a natural pace for himself. After a few feet of walking thus, Islain stopped and looked at him, raising an eyebrow in a way she'd learned from his mother. "Chadwick, sweetheart, please walk normally," she said quietly. "I need your help today, truly, and you will be a very strong asset if you believe in yourself. Can you try for me, dear, please?" He nodded solemnly. "Sorry," he said as he assumed a more natural stride. "Much better," Islain said approvingly and again led him down the hallway. When they reached the throne room, she slid the door open easily and let him enter first. He found the room mostly empty, set up with a few chairs in a half-circle facing the throne and it's dais. The only other people present was a Rebman master of ceremonies and a sharp-faced, black bearded man in a long purple robe. "Ah, Lord Eldridge," Islain said. "Have you met Prince Chadwick of Amber?" Lord Eldridge turned his piercing gray eyes on Chadwick with a measuring stare down his rodent nose. Chadwick felt assaulted by the scrutiny and leaned backward, while extending a hand and a nervous smile. "Pleased to meet you, Lord Eldridge," he said with the hope that the glint in the man's eye was not malice. "The pleasure is all mine, your Highness," Eldridge replied in an oily tone. His hand too was somewhat fleshy and his shake limp. Making up for the easiness of those two aspects, his eye remained diamond-sharp. He turned that gaze on Islain. "Your Highness did not warn us that a Prince of Amber would be joining our little... meeting. I'm sure we all would have dressed appropriately." Wherever the barb was in that sentence, Islain felt it. Her gaze went suddenly cold and her chin tilted slightly upwards. "Prince Chadwick believes, as I do, in the new trade agreement, Eldridge," she said. "It will be in your best interests to assist us in convincing Countess Argravine. After all, stagnation is the cause of most disease." Eldridge's mouth twitched at the corner and he turned back to Chadwick. "You have an interest in whether or not Variath stagnates, Lord Chadwick?" "Oh, absolutely," Chadwick responded with fervor. "I don't think anyone should favor stagnation. It promotes disease." He nods with a sympathetic smile. "In water, at any rate," Eldridge said with deceptive sweetness. "Come, dear boy, sit with me and tell me your thoughts on the trade agreement." He beckoned for Chadwick to join him in a few chairs to the left of the throne. Islain did not seem about to rescue Chadwick. She watched with some interest, in fact. "Trade," Chadwick began slowly, "is the basis for relationships between entities." He wasn't sure where he was going, but he found himself sitting next to Eldridge a few moment after having been beckoned, and saying these words. "It is in the best interests of parties to agree to set prices, subject to market fluctuations, to both enjoy economic benefits as well as encourage political stability." "Yes, yes," Eldridge waved a hand as if all this was entirely beneath his level of competence. "But what's your *interest* in it, my boy?" Chadwick was, however, saved from an initial response if he so desired, for at the moment, the trumpets blared and Queen Moire glided into the room in her usual state of bejeweled undress, with attendants, soldiers, and a train of rather more covered people who must be the ambassadress and her party. Chadwick responded appropriately, hoping that his mothers training was serving him well in the royal presence. Also, he figured that watching Islain would help. Moire did not enter alone. In her wake came a formidable figure (in appearance and girth as in reputation) - Moire's sister and closest advisor - and a name that was known and feared through Rebma and beyond. The Princess Maub. Chadwick's response was not the quailing of a coward... no, he'd never heard of her. He kept his focus on Moire and proper protocol. His bow was deeper than Islains, however... the woman seemed too comfortable to be a guideline to good manners. Watching Islain might or might not have helped. As Eldridge dropped an oily, exceptionally deep bow, Islain's reaction was a deep nod and a smile for her mother, a similar nod and a quite different smile for her aunt Maub, and a smaller nod with a cooler smile for Ambassadress Argravine. Moire proceeded on her graceful way, gliding through the throne room. Maub did not exactly glide in her wake - the tactful might have talked of it as stately, but there was a definite disturbance in the currents as she passed. She paused by Islain and pinched her cheek affectionately. "Ah, my little stingray! And who is this delicious shrimp that you and Lord Eldridge have been squabbling over?" There was, in Chadwick, the tugging sensation that words like "delicious" usually preceded types of food. He couldn't help but look slightly panicky, even with his tendencies toward heroic action. He looked about, in case he hadn't noticed an actual shrimp somewhere in the room. No such luck. Islain, smiling brightly now, said, "Oh, I had forgotten you two haven't met yet. Aunt Maub, this is Lord Chadwick, son of Princess Florimel. Cousin Chadwick, this is Princess Maub, my mother's sister. Chadwick is here to help with the trade negotiations." Eldridge seemed to have a sixth sense about his name being said because when Maub mentioned him he turned and offered a perfect bow that somehow kept himself further from the Princess than he had been before. The Ambassadress curtseyed deeply to the Queen once Moire had herself, and found her own chair on the right side of the room. She was a pretty woman, as were all the Variath ambassadors, but in her current company it was difficult to even notice her. Maub, with a smile that a basking shark might envy, drifted away from them to take up her own seat behind the Queen. The conches were sounded - a strange, rich note in this undersea kingdom of which the air-based form was a mere degraded imitation. And the court came to attention. Islain took a seat, just below the dais, in an ornate chair that faced the others arrayed before the throne.
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