Time Under Chaos | TimeUnderChaos / Treading Hot Water

Index | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Treading Hot Water

It seemed the porters would take some time to gather up their luggage, so the three would have some time to talk as he led them through the halls.

Following behind, Amba was quite silent as she took in the opulence of the castle. But no matter how she looked around, she was sure to keep Helena in sight—and Damien. Whether that was because she wished not to get lost or for some other reason was not readily obvious.

If this watchful caution gave Damien pause, there was no sign of it.

"Damien. And are you a relative as well?" Helena asked. Her voice was calm, though her body had lost none of its tenseness.

"Indeed, although I hope you'll forgive me for withholding my genealogical particulars, as well as my rather catty reply to Morgan. He has been harping on me about stabbing my former student, Johann, all day now," Damien said with a sweeping gesture of his left hand, palm up.

Helena looked at him sideways, wondering why it was so important to Damien to keep his 'genealogical particulars' a secret. In Chaos, your lineage was everything. Perhaps he was ashamed of it.

"Is that common here in Amber—mentors stabbing their students?" Helena asked. Although she strove to keep her tone light, a certain edge crept through nonetheless.

"Unusual in the extreme, at least if we ignore labor disputes amongst the lower classes—cutlers are a rather hot-tempered lot, in my experience. No, Johann was rather fixated on killing your father and overturning the government. He sought to enlist me for aid—to handle all the details in his plan, while he cavorted around recklessly. He and I had long passed the point where I was willing to clean up his messes for him... Obviously, this whole matter reflects poorly on me as a tutor, but I have sought to make amends as best as I was able," Damien said with a sigh.

"Goodness," Helena replied. "So why was this Johann aiming for Mandor? Why not Merlin, the King?" She had already formulated an answer, but she was curious how Damien would reply.

"He had political reasons, reasons related to the likely successors as well... But more importantly, Johann held...holds...him responsible for his mother's death during the invasion. I imagine his father will feel the same way about me, once he hears of this," Damien remarked as his smile wavered for a moment. Before she could ask, he supplied "Caine."

"And you, Lady Amba? Are my eyes mistaken about the line of your nose, or are you perhaps another cousin?" Damien asked politely.

Amba had been listening, attentive but silent, so that when Damien turned his line of conversation to her, she was not surprised by the change in subject—only a tightening around the eyes revealed how close to home he had struck. A realization came upon her then—one of the reasons why the Baroness had kept her out of political machinations up until now—the Machiavellian sort tended to be more perceptive of nuances than those that choose the sword.

Damien watched Amba's response with a twinkle in his eye, and a touch of a smile on his lips.

To his question she answered, "My 'genealogical particulars' are not so that I could classify them that easily, though it is safe to say that Amberite blood does run deep," she replied.

To which he nodded appreciatively at what he took as her intentions to keep such information to herself.

"Speaking of blood, I take it by your use of tense that your student is still alive. Might it not have been...cleaner...to finish the job at the time?" she riposted. "After all, if you couldn't stop him from making the attempt, the Throne has no other option than a messier end. One last clean up perhaps?" she asked, her attention now solely on Damien.

"The law must win the day... not a 'jealous ex-lover,'" Damien replied, with an indication of how seriously he thought that title applied to him at the present moment. A certain hardness around the mouth, however, hinted there was a grain of truth to it.

"He'll be no martyr after the trial is done, and in the end, resolving the matter of Johann Payne will be a political 'coup'," Damien said as his boot 'accidentally' bumped his rapier such that it produced a jingling of buckles and rings, "for both Lord Mandor and myself, Morgan's crypto-homophobia aside," Damien concluded.

As they rounded the next corner, Damien glanced in both directions and saw that there was no one else in the hall then led them up along the wall to a particular wall hanging. He held one finger up to his lips, looked each woman in the eyes to insure they had noted his sign. His right hand extended so that his well-manicured nails all but brushed against the wall, he slid aside the edge of the tapestry to reveal a reasonably well-concealed secret door in the stonework. Damien allowed the curtain to fall back into place without breaking stride, and continued to lead them down the main corridor.

Helena's expression was carefully inscrutable at this revelation, though her color heightened slightly. She glanced quickly at Amba, then concentrated her attention on the window at the far end of the hallway. After a few strides, she asked smoothly, "Do you play poker, Damien?"

Just as carefully expressionless, Amba nevertheless caught Helena's eye as they glanced at each other at the same time. Her mouth quirked only a slight bit at Helena's question as they continued walking.

"Indeed... I wasn't aware it had made its way South, though I can make a few guesses as to who might have imported it."

Eyes still forward, Helena replied, "Yes, my mother introduced the game—it has its own following in the Courts. My stepfather is particularly fascinated with the psychological aspects."

From the twisting of Damien's smile, it seemed he was mistaken in his speculation, but intrigued by the answer nonetheless.

"I'm sure you consider it an Ordered game...the cards and wagers stay the same as the game is played, the rules do not change...and yet, there is much room for nuance," Damien said with a smile, and a perhaps superfluous glance back towards the wall to indicate an Ordered castle had its own...nuances.

"Do you cheat at poker, Damien?" Helena asked suddenly, turning to give him an uncomfortably discerning look learned at Fiona's knee.

"Have I, or would I? That depends entirely on the stakes. Were they high enough, I should hope you wouldn't hesitate to cheat either. You would, wouldn't you?" he asked as he looked at each of them.

"It would seem better not to get in a game with stakes that high," Amba replied simply.

Helena smiled at Amba's reply, amused.

"Then you should go home, or into shadow," Damien said levelly, and more softly than before.

"We both have business in Amber, and while we're here, we'll take your what I'm sure was 'well-intentioned advice and not a threat' into consideration," Helena replied, a part of her enjoying the conversation, another part rather surprised by the first part. There were some things she was finally beginning to understand.

"As I intended," he said with a nod and a sad smile.

"What is your position here at court, Damien?" Helena asked idly as they walked, wishing to diffuse the situation somewhat. "Is there a title we should be using?"

"That you should be using? No... You're family. If I wished to stand on protocol, I suppose I'm entitled to 'Skylord Remmington', or something a bit longer, but as they are shadow peerages, it is also somewhat degrading to one of the blood to try to use them. I may have an official position some day, but not today," Damien said with neither pride nor shame. He was smiling again, and indicated they should turn left.

"Are things always so informal here? I noticed that Morgan called my father 'Mandy.' He allows that?" Helena asked, rather incredulous.

"In some respects, yes. Morgan is irreverent to a fault, while our cousin Larissa is capable of comporting herself as well as Flora herself when the mood strikes her. Flora, of course, is always Flora... And as we are all a family, it is uncommon to not speak on a first name basis," Damien explained.

"Informal, yes," Amba replied. "But...for such a bastion of Order, the place seems rather...chaotic."

"Rather ironic, isn't it?" Helena said, smiling wryly at Amba over her shoulder. She turned back to Damien. "Nevermind our remarks. You had an assassination attempt earlier. We also have been through strange and trying events recently and it's made me at least somewhat punchy. I don't mean to take it out on you or your home."

There's a tension in Helena's shoulders that has not gone away since she arrived, no matter her smile or light remarks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they walked, her attention once again focused on what was ahead.

"Bastion of Order... Hmmm. Perhaps in some metaphysical way it ceased to be a bastion of Order when the Pattern was damaged," Helena mused, her tone somewhat wistful. "Did you walk it, Damien? Or is that too personal of a question?"

Damien got a far-away look in his eyes. "I have walked it. I am one of those old enough to remember Amber of Old, to have seen the Black Road grow until it reached Eric's door. I saw the invasion, the storms, and what has come after... do not judge Amber in a day," he said distantly, his mind on a ghostly vision of Larissa.

Helena turned to look at him. "We would like to hear those stories sometime, if you would like to tell them," she said softly.

Damien had slowed to consider her earlier question, and was about to answer, but instead cocked his head to one side. Those weren't the footsteps of porters. His right hand crossed his body to touch his sword, and he moved to position himself between Helena and whomever it was with the wall shielding the left side of his body so that an approaching right-handed swordfighter would foul their thrust up against the wall. There was still plenty of room for Amba and Helena to maneuver around him, or to retreat down the hall in the opposite direction.

And as they reached the door to their rooms, they could hear the sound of footsteps behind them... the tread of a man and a woman, the woman's steps stopping abruptly as they came into view behind the group.

Alert now, Helena turned and stepped back by Amba.

She could see that Amba had a mild expression on her face, and had made no moves towards defending herself—well, no more than usual. She smiled reassuringly, knowing that the steps were not of someone coming for combat.

It was Clytemnestra and a page, and Cly was standing almost rigid at the turn of the corridor, as if she suddenly might flee.

Damien's hand moved away from his sword immediately, and continued on to retrieve a perfumed handkerchief. From Clytemnestra's perspective, there was little amiss about his movements, but Helena and Amba had had a plainer view.

Helena caught her breath and stared at the woman at the corner. And then she swallowed. "Ness?" she called out in the sudden silence, her voice cracking.

Even without Helena's confirmation, Amba would have known this was her friend's twin. They looked alike... Well, physically anyway. But not just in dress, but in carriage, they were completely different. Even dressed alike, there would be no mistaking the two for each other.

Amba drew back from Helena as she spoke, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She suddenly didn't know what to do—especially at Helena's reaction to seeing her twin. She exhaled softly, forcing her heart to slow down—though it was true that they were in no physical danger, Amba wished they were. Combat never felt so...dangerous. She noticed she was holding her breath, but this time couldn't force herself to exhale, so stood there waiting...

"Lena," Cly said, almost a breath. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the light of the corridor. "It's you."

She stepped away from the corner, towards the group, her arms extended towards Helena.

Helena smiled and rushed to her. She embraced her sister tightly, smelling of wyvern and leather and laughing as the tears spilled down her cheeks. "Ness! Damn, it's good to see you!"

The return embrace was just as tight. "I can't believe it's you. I can't believe you're here." Cly suddenly angrily wiped at the tears on her own face, said, "Damn him, anyway. How? What happened, that you could come?"

Amba stood there, happy for Helena, but at the same time, somehow cold. A detached part of her mind labeled what she felt—what she feared. She crossed her arms, warding the chill, trying not to let her own insecurities intrude on this special moment. But it was hard to ignore the voice in her ear, and harder still to trust that things would be the same. Logically she knew that her fears were irrational, and that the little voice spoke only lies. But logic had no place here.

She forced a smile onto her face—forced her feelings into a place that she thought abandoned and obsolete. But the lie came easily as she forced herself not to look away from the twins embracing.

Damien had discretely averted his eyes at the touching scene and emotional display. Instead, he regarded Amba. "Here is your key," he said quietly as he offered the baroque brass instrument, first with one hand but soon with the other cupped underneath as he recalled a detail about her possible ethnicity. He indicated which door was hers, and added "There is an interior door between the two rooms, lockable from either side."

Helena released her twin and stepped back, astonished. "He invited me. Didn't he tell you? Said something about now being old enough that certain agreements no longer applied."

With Amba's attention fully engrossed in the scene, Damien managed something that few did—he surprised her. This was not a bad thing, for it pulled her from a very frightening place, back to the here and now. She started, then quickly recovered, looking at the proffered key almost as if it was a life preserver, which to some extent it was, as it allowed her sufficient excuse to direct her attention anywhere other than Helena and her sister. "Thank you," she said simply, not meeting his eyes as she took the key.

"You're welcome," he said with a smile she could hear in his voice. Not amusement at her embarrassment, but rather joy at the refreshingly new.

"He just said that you were coming," Cly said. "To get ready for you, and, er, your friends..." She took Helena's hands in her own. "I've missed you terribly. But I knew that someday... someday..." She glanced away.

Helena squeezed her twin's hands. "We need to sit down and catch up, just the two of us," she said in a soft voice, meant only for Clytemnestra's ears. "I have things I need to tell you."

Then she continued at a normal volume, "Ness, I'd like you to meet one of the women that accompanied me to Amber." She tugged on her sister's hands and brought her over to meet Amba. "This is Amba, of House Heldt, and my dearest friend. Amba, this is my older sister by about twenty minutes, Clytemnestra."

Helena beamed as she introduced the two women to each other.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Clytemnestra," Amba said with a slight bow. "And I'm pleased to see you two meet again," she said, ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth.

Cly hesitated slightly, then extended a hand. "I am honored to meet you, Amba of House Heldt," she said. "Any friend of my sister's is a friend of mine."

Amba took Helena's sister's hand just as tentatively, the lie still on her face. In contrast to her friend, Clytemnestra's hand showed none of the callouses of combat, and that difference was just as jarring as her visual appearance.

Cly's hand was, however, warm and familiar, with long, manicured nails, and her grip was friendlier that what Amba would otherwise have expected.

Damien took a step back to remove himself from the scene, and instead busied himself with seeing their luggage delivered and inspecting the rooms for sabotage, defect, or danger. He was near enough that he could answer questions and requests, and far enough to provide some privacy. Through the open doorways, Amba and Helena could see that the rooms were very well appointed.

Cly smiled. "Good to know the pages managed to listen to me for once..."

Damien added something to Amba and Helena's bags (the same in each):

• a small pouch with some local coinage

• a sketched map to a home at a specified address in Corwin's Folly w/ directions

• a quickly (but neatly) printed note, written in pencil, which says:

Cousin—should you find yourself in need of assistance, or simply discrete conversation or advice, please feel free to drop by my home at the attached address. I'll leave my staff appropriate instructions, should you arrive in my absence. Also included is a bit of coinage, so that you aren't passed any wooden nickels in your first days in Amber.

Helena's key is with her stuff.

There was a sudden crisp step in the hall, the rustle of skirts—and suddenly Flora was approaching down the corridor, beautiful and correct as purpose.

"Helena, my dear! And Amba of House Heldt, I presume ... unless you are Lady Tasha Minobee? You must forgive us—we did not expect you so soon."

Amba greeted Flora in the traditional manner of her home shadow, with a low, graceful bow, both hands pressed together, holding it an appropriate length for one of her station before rising. "You were correct the first time, Princess," she said, instantly recognizing the lone daughter of Oberon left in the castle. If Clytemnestra made her flustered, Flora was that much worse in her perfected beauty. But she continued, "I am honored to meet you."

Flora was beautiful, even more so than her mother—beautiful in a dazzling sort of way that took Helena's breath away. She was suddenly acutely aware of her smelly riding leathers and untidy braid. Ah well, nothing to be done for it now. She had her reasons at the time for wanting to ride on a wyvern.

"As am I, Aunt Flora" she managed, taking Amba's lead. Helena inclined her head. "The rooms are lovely, I'm sure. I'm sorry for any inconvenience we caused."

"Not at all," said Flora graciously. "But I'm sure you'll be longing to have a good, hot bath and a chance to change into some fresh clothes... Thank you, Damien. That will be all.

"Now, Helena, how is your dear Mother?"

Damien emerged from the rooms where they were gathered and delivered something between a nod and a bow, smiled to all family assembled, then continued off as if it Flora hadn't just dismissed him like a servant.

Color settled on Helena's fair cheeks. She was caught between wanting to thank Damien and feeling the responsibility to answer Flora, though talking about her mother was about the last thing she wanted to discuss right then.

Damien had already turned away so Helena inhaled and turned to Flora. "Mother is doing well, all things considered," she replied brightly, hoping it was true. "Now that you mention it, a bath and proper clothes sound wonderful right now. Don't you think so, Amba?"

Helena raised her eyebrows at her best friend.

Amba had been prepared to acknowledge Damien's help, but Helena's question made all thoughts of that dissipate as he left. "Yes," she said, smiling. "Definitely."

Helena smiled back at Amba—thank the Serpent they knew each other well enough to almost read minds—and turned back to Flora. Her smile grew to blazing proportions. "It's been lovely meeting you, Aunt Flora. I'm sure we'll see you at dinner tonight."

Before Flora could say anything, Helena leaned over to hug her twin again. As she kissed her on the cheek, she whispered in Clytemnestra's ear, "Come by later."

Cly's head leaned forward and she smiled, and Helena was likely the only one who noticed that this was really a nod of agreement.

When they broke, she said, "Father arranged for tea and for dinner—I'll see you all there."

Flora smiled.

"I will come and help you dress for dinner," she said. "First impressions can be so important here at court, and we wouldn't want you to have any difficulties, would we, Clytemnestra?"

Dress her for dinner? Did she look that bad? Difficulties? Flora's presence was overwhelming enough just in the hallway—Helena couldn't imagine what it would be like to have her in attendance when she was in nothing but her underwear. She swallowed a bit nervously.

"Of course not," Cly said. "In fact... I could take that off your hands, Aunt Flora, if you wanted. I daresay I have clothes in the right size." She smiled.

Perfect. Helena perked up and beamed. "Well, that's all settled," she said before Flora could say no. "Thank you. Your clothes should also fit Amba—we often swap clothing.

"We'll see you in a little while, Ness. And we'll see you at dinner, Aunt Flora."

Wanting to end her encounter with Aunt Flora as quickly as possible and secure herself and Amba a much-needed retreat so they could recover and regroup, Helena hooked arms with Amba and pulled her toward her room.

"Certainly, my dear. I know I can depend on my sweet Clytemnestra not only to see you both well-turned out, but also to ensure that you will be sufficiently well-informed to avoid any of the...ah...social slips to which visitors might be prone."

Her expression seemed not to alter one iota. And yet...

"I'll leave you now," said Flora, and she glided serenely away.

Cly turned back to Helena and smiled. "And I will go and make arrangements," she said. "I'll send some servants ahead, and be here myself with a veritable mountain of clothing to choose from..."

Helena nodded her thanks. "We'll see you then."

Once her sister had left, she finished pulling Amba into her room and shut the door behind them.

(Amba and Helena continued in Alone Together)

Treading Hot Water - Damien, Amba, and Helena