Winds That Will Be — Aedan's Journal
"No One Burst Into Flame or Anything, So It Was a Relatively Boring Funeral"
Aedan's Journal. Session 1-20-01.
© 2001 Todd Worrell
Bleys is not a likeable man. He's charming, pleasant, and fun to be with—or so I've been told. He tries so hard to get people to like him, but then he does shitty things to them. In the end, he lies about his actions and thinks people believe him.
That doesn't help his reputation.
It was dark outside. We were sitting, alone, in the now-infamous Breakfast Nook. My redheaded uncle was dressed in a yellow silk shirt open at the collar and tight black pants. When he got up to pour the coffee, I saw how scandalously tight his pants really were.
It wasn't a pleasant sight. He had a hideously bony ass. I know I'm skinny, but my ass has some shape to it. Bleys's butt looked like a lumpy bag of rocks.
At least the coffee was good. The rumor was that one of Random's first official acts was to get Corwin to set up a trade caravan to import the stuff. Bleys raised an eyebrow at me over an empty mug.
"Black," I said. He poured. Into his own mug he dumped half a small pitcher of milk. Wimp, I thought, and smiled at him as he delivered my wake-up call to my outstretched hands.
"Thanks," I told him. He nodded.
"So," I said, apropos of nothing, "I heard of your most recent run-in with the Unicorn."
"I came a bit late to the party," he smirked, "but in time for presents."
Yeah, he had taken Werewindle off of Brand's unconscious body. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not.
"Speaking of presents, the Throne is currently unoccupied."
He took my change of subject with good grace.
"Oh?" Bleys said next to nothing.
"The succession seems to be unclear."
"I had thought Martin was filling those shoes," Bleys hid his mouth behind his coffee mug. I sipped mine. It was bitter and scaldingly hot.
"He is, but his ascension isn't a sure thing, given our family's lack of precedent."
"Since we only have the one time that the Unicorn appeared and presented the Jewel to Random..."
"…and that hasn't happened in this case." I said.
"Being as we lack the Jewel of Judgment and the 'Unicorn' is feeling a bit uppity," Bleys looked out the window. "the situation might seem a bit…muddy…to some."
I followed his gaze. The sky was beginning to fade from black to dark rose. Stars were losing their twinkle.
"Yes," I prompted him. "to some."
He crooked his mouth in a pale imitation of a smile and said nothing.
We sat in silence, sipping. Birds chirped. The sky grew pale pink, then began turning blue. I drank the rest of my coffee.
"I don't believe," Bleys finally said, "that the Unicorn is going to present Martin with a mandate similar to Random's."
"It does seem unlikely," I agreed. "And even if it did, I'm not sure everyone would accept it. Many of us saw the Unicorn, as we knew it, die."
"I heard about that," Bleys put his empty mug down. "Who could have engineered such a thing?"
My uncle looked at me, then at the coffee pot. It was my turn.
I stood and walked toward the pot of coffee. I poured the last of the dark brew into my mug and paused.
"Who indeed?" I asked softly, and walked slowly from the room.* * *
Nearly nine years ago, Caine and I had stormed a small tower outpost on the edge of a desert in some distant Shadow. I didn't know why we had, and Caine never told me. We stood atop the parapet, the dead man-things strewn about our feet in pools of their own black blood. I had killed another person—several, in fact. I leaned over the crenellations and tried to catch my breath.
"Well done," Caine clapped me firmly on the back. I whuffed.
"Th-thanks," I said.
"How do you feel?" He asked. I breathed heavily for another moment before answering him.
"Tired," I replied.
"No, not that." Caine let his hand fall from my back and looked out across the desert. The sun hung low in the sky, painting long dark shadows toward us across the golden sands. The air smelled of sage and the stink of dead men.
I thought for a moment, wondering what he meant. My uncle had this way of speaking that was unlike anyone I had ever known. In Gealorea, people spoke rather straightforwardly, especially compared to Amberites.
Caine rarely said what he meant, and he never meant what he said, or at least not exactly. I always had to struggle to figure him out. Sometimes I succeeded.
"I don't understand," I turned to look at him. Tanned and weather-beaten, he continued to watch the sun sink toward the distant horizon. The wind blew his long black hair away from his face.
"You will," he whispered, speaking to the sky, not to me at all.* * *
So I left Bleys alone with his muddy situation and empty coffee pot and went for a walk on the Eastern wall. The sun was a hand's breadth above the horizon now. I could hear morning creeping in to the castle behind me in the shuffling of feet, the closing of doors. Guards exchanged murmured passwords with the changing of the shift.
What were Martin's weaknesses? Aside from his personal character, about which I knew next to nothing, his position itself was weak. As Bleys had said, he was filling the King's shoes, but how far did that extend? Was he a Regent of convenience to the others? Corwin had told me that he no longer wanted the throne, and he was just drunk enough at the time to sound plausible. None of the others had ever expressed much interest, or they had had the opportunity and refused it. Gerard had willingly renounced the throne when Random returned with the Jewel around his neck.
But Bleys was another matter. What did he want? I would let the back of my brain puzzle him out while the front of my brain tackled the easier questions, like how to keep Martin alive.
Random's son would be vulnerable at the Coronation. After what had happened at the Funeral, I decided that someone needed to check up on the Church of the Unicorn. With grim determination, I went down to Gwydion's Lab and meditated.
Three hours later, I had a few new tricks up my sorcerous sleeve, all of them geared toward the Church. Well, all of them except one. I couldn't resist memorizing a surprise for Bleys, should he make a play for the Throne. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it, but I was also curious to see how well it would work.
Study your fear, Caine had said, and take measures to conquer it. For years I had thought he had meant it in a psychological sense, but his own repertoire of spells seemed directed at the things he hated the most. Taking a page from his book, so to speak, I always had one spell racked for my own personal bogeyman of the month. This month that monster looked an awful lot like Bleys.
With that in mind, I trotted out through one of the postern gates on a horse named Bendan. He was a semi-tame palomino, given to erratic bursts of speed that made him impossible to control. Canter, gallop, trot—it didn't matter what you wanted Bendan to do, he moved at his own pace. But he had a keen intelligence and a wicked sense of humor that suited my mood. The stableboys wouldn't go near him unless ordered to. He was known for farting profusely whenever his hooves were cleaned and never at other times. Of course, he whickered and laughed at the lads' discomfort, which accounted for his reputation of both intelligence and trouble. In some respects, he reminded me of Trick.
The city was draped in swaths of black gauze. Banners were tied in knots of mourning. I had promised Martin I would check the city out, so I did. The Fey influence seemed to have faded completely. To the naked eye everything looked pretty much like it had before the elves had invaded and evergreens sprouted in the streets. The cobblestones were loose, and a few rooftops had more than their normal amount of pine needles, but otherwise there was no way to know that we had even been invaded.
And the people didn't remember it at all. I shrugged. That was typical of the Fey. Their glamour hid its presence as much as possible. It was still echoing in the stones, though. I made a mental note for my report to Martin.
The Church of the Unicorn is located on extensive grounds on the Northern side of the City. Somewhere between the Northcliffs and the merchants that serve them. It sprawled across verdant green lawns and low hills. The Unicorn Flag flew at half-staff over the steeple.
I took my time and circled the entire area. Although it was situated in town, the geography conspired to seclude it somewhat. Access to the grounds was limited to three broad roads that I could see. These cut through the elevated ground at the main entrance of the Cathedral, the back entrance to the Kitchen and Dining Hall, and a smaller road that led to a wide gate of white marble and black iron. Between the bars, I saw the telltale headstones and cultivated short grass of a cemetery.
I pushed open the gate. It creaked quite nicely. I walked under the marble arch and into the dead beds.
No one was around except me and the squirrels. I whistled them a somber tune in G minor, which they seemed to appreciate. The cemetery itself was smaller than I would have expected, and it wasn't much to look at: bright green grass kept neat, wide stone paths, healthy trees. It was downright depressing. A good cemetery needed to reek of mystery, of fear. Where were the crumbling tombs, the skeletal trees, the untamed islands of crabgrass? Cemeteries were supposed to be places where death prowled hungrily for fresh souls to devour. This place looked like the spot where death would go to have tea and scones.
Who would even want to be buried here? Tombstones and vaults were marked with the names of the noble families of Amber, but there weren't enough of them to contain all of Amber's blue-blooded dead. Perhaps some of them had exhibited better taste than others and had chosen to be laid to rest in proper surroundings. I ambled over the stone paths and explored.
My meandering had not gone unnoticed. A small cottage on the edge of the cemetery caught my attention when its door opened a crack. I saw a short blond head peek out and spy me. Then she darted back inside and the door closed.
I approached the cottage and knocked on the front door. Almost instantly, the door flew open. Before me stood the slightly familiar form of a young woman, maybe fifteen, her hair in two short blonde braids.
"Hello," I smiled. "I'm on the King's business." Her eyes widened fearfully.
"I'll get my dad," she half-closed the door and called for her father. A moment later a gruff man in his late forties tromped into view. The young woman disappeared into the cottage.
"Yes, m'lord." Dressed in his nightshirt, unshaven, his gray stubbly hair pointing southwest, he breathed a foul odor of rotten cabbage in my face. I stepped back a pace.
"I am conducting a survey of the city for the King," I told him. "I wondered if I might look around."
He looked at me, my garments. His face scrunched up in concentration, then unscrunched in remembrance. He tugged at his forelock politely.
"Of course, my lord. If I can be of any assistance…"
"No, no," I assured him. "I shan't be long. Thank you."
I left the caretaker and made my way toward the more businesslike buildings. Behind one was a large cart, only partially unloaded. I took full advantage of the caretaker's permission and rummaged through the back of the wagon. Laden with trunks, ugly green carpets, and blocky Kashfan furniture, it revealed nothing about the new High Priest except for the fact that he had hideous taste.
Maybe that was a good thing. I hoped it meant he was too concerned with Church business to have acquired many personal habits. I wondered if his furnishings were flammable. Interestingly enough, the stuff had a bit of the Church's holiness about it. It glowed with a sort of righteous pale light when viewed through my witcheye lens.
So did nearly everything inside. I was in the nave of the Cathedral. Wonderful place, Amber's worshipping grounds. High vaulted ceilings crowned with flying buttresses of clean white marble. Rose windows of stained glass dotted the place with color. One window depicted Osric or Finndo (I never could tell those two apart) holding back the armies of our enemies. Another showed the Grove, its spring-fed pool shaded subtly in turquoise and sapphire. A large window depicted the Unicorn rising from a deep violet Abyss, the Jewel of Judgment a red beacon hanging from the tip of her horn.
Maybe I should tell these guys that the Abyss ain't purple, I thought as I wandered, mentally and physically, through the empty hall. Hello, I've just come from the Abyss and did you know that it's black, not purple? Yeah, that would go over real well.
Noises from the back passages led me to the offices. Peering around a corner I saw five men with the darker, olive-toned Kashfan skin carrying on a subdued conversation with a stocky woman in church robes. Okay, they were all wearing church robes, but the woman was wearing the white and gold Amberian church robes. Of the men, the one who stood out the most wore a heavy gold chain over his green and gray vestments. His hair was dark black with many strands of gray in it. It reached down to his collar. He was clean-shaven with long bushy sideburns.
This, then, was the fellow who had inherited the mantle of the most powerful religious organization in the universe—well, in this end of the universe. I wondered how our rites would stack up against the World-and-Merlin swallowing Serpent of Chaos. Probably not too well, as far as spectacles went. Oh well. At least we had won the War.
The crowd was busy discussing the new guy's schedule and hadn't noticed me. I retreated a few paces until I was in the shadows. This part of the building was especially resistant to magic. It made my eyes feel like needles were being heated at the back of my optic nerve. When the temperature reached a hundred and fifty degrees, I dropped the lens. I had stared at the priest and hadn't detected anything un-churchlike, which calmed my fears somewhat. The dampening effects of this room worried me, though. I wanted to cast one of my special spells on the man himself, just to be sure he wasn't a Chaosian spy. I know, I know. It sounds childish, but if I let Martin get assassinated during his coronation ceremony Caine would forever give me that look of his, like whenever anyone mentioned blue glass shards, but I don't want to talk about that now.
I levitated a candlestick on a nearby table. At least, that is what I meant to do. What really happened was I cast the spell, the candlestick wobbled, and everyone in the room turned and stared at me. Wonderful, I thought. What a way to make an entrance.
"Hello," I smiled and strode forward. I shook everyone's hands. "I'm Aedan of Amber, and I just wanted to meet you…." And so on. The new head guy was authoritative, but not too much so. He smiled a lot, which could mean anything.
His name was Father Balin, although technically that was his family name. Maybe they called each other by family names in Kashfa. Would that mean I would be called Lord Amber if I went there? I didn't know, but I filed it away for future reference.
As I filed myself away, as soon as possible. Salvage, Caine said, but escape first.* * *
What did it mean to be a Lord of Amber? History books and Corwin's narrative painted a picture of men who reveled in their power. Cavalier to an extreme, they viewed the worlds as their sandboxes, and all the people in it their toys. Over time, the ones that lived reacted to this pervasive attitude in one of two ways: they either rationalized it, as I believe Bleys had; or they worked consciously against it.
Caine hated his brothers' seeming indifference to the common people's needs, especially their casual taking of lives. He treated his men and women as his equal on ship, but he killed without hesitation as well.
The ones that died never learned their lessons at all.
Ten years with Caine had taught me the most important lesson: stay alive.* * *
I took down a heavy book and carried it back to the low table. Carefully setting it down to avoid kicking up a cloud of dust, I realized that I was getting comfortable with this place. I had spent enough time in the Castle Library that the servants all knew me, and I knew most of their names as well.
I could find most of the texts I needed in a few minutes of directed ambling. When I had set out to research Father Balin, I went to the section of the Library concerned with the Golden Circle kingdoms and wandered the aisles. It didn't take long.
A younger son of a wealthy family, Khaleel Balin came from old money. His older brother had inherited the family business, wine, and settled down to raise a brood of eight children. Lots of information about him, not so much about his younger brother the priest. The older brother, whose name was Jamal, currently headed up the Merchant Guild in Kashfa. That explained why Kashfan tariffs on Amber wines were so high but told me nothing about our new pontiff. I read through everything there was twice, then settled my chin on my hands and thought for a while.
Saevra brought me slabs of bread coated with a creamy brown concoction she called peanut butter. She was a mousy, assistant librarian I had introduced to the wonders of scent-filled soap bubbles some time ago, and she enjoyed exposing me to commonplace wonders I had never known. The spread was delicious and filling, if a bit sticky. Luckily for me (and the books) Saevra had also brought a couple of hot towels.
Maybe it was the long night. Maybe it was the magic-resistant church. Maybe it was the peanut butter. In any event, I napped, right there, my hair splayed across Kashfan history. If I snored, no one told me.* * *
Raj's baritone voice intruded into my sleep. I half-awoke to hear his argument with Magni. I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but Magni asked Raj about Rebma a couple times. If they were loud enough for me to hear them, they had to be in the library. I opened one eye and peeked out.
I didn't see them nearby. Raj's deep voice boomed out.
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"I know," Magni said, exasperated. "That's why I'm asking you."
Didn't anyone ever teach them that it was rude to shout in a library? It upset the books. I pushed myself up from my pillow the table and oriented myself to the sound of their voices.
They were somewhere near the main entrance. As I came closer, I could see that they were wearing tattered remnants of the clothing they were wearing when I last saw them. Splattered with dirt, dried blood, and something that looked like armadillo scales, they were making quite a scene. Half of the library staff hovered behind the main counter, afraid to approach them.
But I wasn't.
"Hey, didn't your mothers teach you guys any manners?" I walked into the middle of their shouting match waving a finger at them.
"My mother died when I was young," Magni said.
"I never knew my mother," Raj said.
"I guess that means 'No,' then." I smiled and ushered them out of the library and into a sitting room down the hall.
"I learned something," Magni beamed proudly.
"Oh?" I settled down into a well-padded armchair and put my feet up.
"Not only are the Fey not bulletproof," Magni pointed out, "but they aren't fireproof either."
He and Raj exchanged hearty looks of self-congratulation. I guessed that their venture into guerrilla warfare had been a success. Magni went on to tell me the details of their ambush and extermination of one of the roaming bands of Unseelie in Shadow. While they were divulging the gory details, Raj had lunch delivered. They each ate about three meals' worth of food.
"Killing elves is hard work," Raj explained.
"Mmph," Magni agreed with his mouth full of sandwich.
Once their bellies were full, Raj mentioned that Llewella's funeral was taking place in Rebma soon and that Prince Martin had asked him to attend. Magni and I convinced him that we should accompany him.
Raj had a trump card of Queen Moire. He had pulled it out and was starting to concentrate on it when I put my hand across the face of the card.
"Don't you think we should change into more appropriate attire first?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," Raj said.* * *
Two hours later the three of us were showered, shaved, and schmoozing the nobility in the Palace of Rebma's Royal Chapel. We made small talk with the Queen's entourage. We sat through the prayers, the eulogy, and Martin's speech. He seemed more relaxed than he had at his father's funeral, and the speech wasn't quite as stilted. Or maybe he was just tired. No, that wasn't it either. I didn't know what it was, but something was different about Martin.
After the priests had said a few more prayers, the services ended. People gathered in the Grand Ballroom to talk and drink. I introduced myself to several people and murmured appropriately remorseful sounds whenever Llewella's name was mentioned. No one burst into flame or anything, so it was a relatively boring funeral.
Aunt Greenhair had been well-liked, but it was also well known that she wielded considerable political power. Some people voiced their suspicions that her death was part of the anti-Amber faction's plan to distance Rebma from her above-ground ally. They also told us that Amber needed to admit that Rebma's position in the Golden Circle should be recognized as more pre-eminent than her sister kingdoms due to the fact that Rebma had a Pattern. Of course, to our faces everyone expressed their heartfelt desire that Amber-Rebma relations would improve. However, I noticed that they kept talking among themselves after we moved on.
I overheard a conversation about the Queen's son. I hadn't known Moire had any children, so I tried to listen while nodding and looking sympathetic for a clump of talkative elderly Rebmans. I learned only that the Prince had never been officially named as Moire's heir. Eventually the elderly gossips all ran out of breath and I made my escape.
Raj caught my eye from across the room and gestured for me to come to him. I nodded once and gestured for him to come to me. He gave me that look of his, but he walked over.
"Have you seen Martin?" he asked.
I hadn't, and I told him so. We had sat near Martin during the funeral oration, but he had disappeared immediately thereafter. I looked around the large room. About two hundred people were milling about. Nearly all of them were dressed in small swatches of purple gauze and silk. It was the color of mourning in Rebma. Sheer blind luck was the only thing I could attribute to the fact that I was wearing my dark violet doublet. Raj had tied a lavender scarf around his left arm. The feminine aspect of the scarf against his massive bicep looked ludicrous, but he didn't seem to notice.
Across the sea of heads I saw Magni's white dome. He was within arm's reach of the bar engaged in an animated conversation with a couple of the triton-men that were so prevalent in Rebma. He finished his story with a grand, sweeping gesture and everyone laughed. Magni noticed that I was looking at him and he came over to us.
He hadn't seen Martin either, so we resolved to go find him. After all, if anything bad happened to him we would probably be blamed. Wasn't Martin supposed to have a cadre of personal guards with him at all times? Man, I thought, that would really suck. I added another reason to my long mental list of Bad Stuff About Being King.
Back in the real world, Raj and Magni had decided that Martin was probably upstairs somewhere. I have no idea how they decided this, but it turned out that they were right. In an upstairs hallway, we came across Martin walking slowly, his arm around a young woman wearing the standard Rebman costume of a purple loincloth and jewelry. From the looks on their faces, they had both been crying.
"Martin," Raj asked. "What's wrong?"
Martin made a face and waved aside our concerns.
"Oh, just…" he shrugged. "You know." The woman at his side squeezed his hand and blinked sympathetically at him.
"Gentlemen," Martin started as if remembering something. He gestured toward his companion, "this is Lady Yvette."
"Yvette, my cousins: Raj, son of Gerard; Aedan, son of Deirdre; and Magni, also of Amber."
Yvette eyed us each in turn. She was rather tall and skinny herself, probably matching Martin at six feet when she stood up straight. Her hair was black and partially pulled back behind a lavender hair band. Strands of it were floating loosely around her head.
"It is an honor to make your acquaintances, Lords."
We all kissed her hand in silence. In some way it was comforting to me to be so polite in the face of Martin's stoic grief.
"Hey," Magni said. "Where do they keep their Pattern around here?"
Yvette cast her eyes down. Martin glanced at her then glared meaningfully at Magni. As the faux pas stretched into an awkward silence, the young lady excused herself from our presence. Martin thanked her and held her hand a long moment before she retreated down the hall. Martin stared at Magni for as long as it took for us to understand that he wasn't going to answer the question. After that, Raj cleared his throat.
"I told Queen Moire that I would meet with her after the services." Gerard's son said quietly. "Would you like to attend?"
"Yeah," Martin said. "yeah, just give me a second."
Martin paced off down the hall twenty paces. He came back looking somewhat more composed.
"Well, shall we?" Magni asked.
"I'm afraid that you weren't invited," Raj informed us.
"But surely her Majesty would enjoy meeting two fine young lords of Amber such as ourselves," I offered.
"No, I think not," Raj insisted. "She's rather…delicate."
Raj and Martin went back down the hall in the direction of the offices. Magni and I watched them go.
"Do you want to go check out their Pattern?" Magni had that gleam in his eye. I thought to stall him.
"Actually, I would bet that Llewella's rooms were around here somewhere."
"Good point. This way." He began to trudge down the hall. After a half-dozen turns, we were back approximately where we started. All the corridors branched at sixty degree angles, so it was hard to tell just which direction we were going at any given time. Following directions from a servant, we stood in front of an ornate door with an elaborate cobalt blue seahorse design on it. The door was crossed by black ribbons in the way constables all throughout the universe try to deter people.
As we were standing there wondering what to do next, we heard Martin's voice.
"Can't I leave the two of you alone for a minute?"
The acting regent was glaring at us, hands on his hips, from down the hall. Behind him stood the servant we had asked for directions earlier. Martin strode up to us quickly.
"I thought you were going to speak with the Queen," Magni said.
"I did." I swear, for a second Martin looked at me with the exact same expression Random had when I had first come through on his trump and told him I wanted to walk the Pattern. It was a combination of jaded surprise and patronizing disappointment, if that was possible.
"We want to go in there," Magni pointed at Llewella's rooms.
"I guessed." Martin sighed. "I want you to know that you won't find anything useful and you'll probably just cause an incident."
"Aedan, help me with this lock." Magni had steadfastly ignored Martin's admonishment and was crouched at the keyhole.
"Okay, okay. Fine." Martin threw his hands up and exhaled loudly. "Just go along with me and we'll pretend it's important."
He waved the servant over and had him unlock the door. We stepped through the ribbons and entered.
We stood in a pale green entry room. Decorated with a shell motif, every chair and table was in its proper place. The whole room smelled of fake flowers and lemons.
"This doesn't smell so good," Magni said.
"…or bode well," I added.
"That's what I meant."
"What are you talking about?" Martin asked.
"This place has been scoured clean," I told him.
"No clues," Magni added.
"So do whatever it is you wanted to do and let's get out of here." Martin's patience was gone. He must have been more upset over Llewella's death than any of us had known.
I called up a lens and investigated. There was a strong residual effect of scrying magics, traces of silver on the floor, but no indication of any kind about Llewella's death.
The rest of the rooms were just as neat and just as clean. We discovered absolutely nothing and left in a hurry.* * *
Swimming uses different muscles than fighting, riding, having sex, or anything else I had done much of in the past few years. I kept myself in pretty good shape, sparring with the guards at least three or four times a week. Even so, my arms were tired. My legs were tired. Hell, my mouth was tired from breathing the damned airy water. By the time we made it to Llewella's, I knew I would be very sore the next day.
Of course, Magni refused to admit that he was even winded, but I noticed that he was gulping down lungfuls a mile or two before I was. By mutually unspoken agreement, we stopped a half mile from Llewella's estate to catch our breath.
"Why are we coming out here again?" Magni asked.
"What else is there to do?"
"Good point."
Llewella's house sat behind a high coral wall. Around seventy people were visible on what could be called the lawn, holding drinks and talking in small groups. People were coming and going through the open front door. Some of them were familiar from the funeral, but most of them looked, well, more common.
The house itself was a high-columned affair of dark blue stone. It looked stately, with more of the shell motif and a few seahorses prominently displayed. Magni saw people emerging with drinks in their hands and his eyes lit up.
"Man, I'm thirsty!" he said.
So we walked beneath the arch and onto the grounds. Just as we were approaching the front door, a young woman dressed in a black and purple gown that left her shoulders bare turned to look at us. She held out her hand. I stepped forward, took it in my own, and kissed it.
"Thank you for coming," she said curiously. "My mother would have appreciated knowing that some of her family was in attendance."
"I am Aedan, son of Deirdre," I said. "My companion is Magni, also of Amber. We are grieved by your loss."
She slipped her hand slowly from my grasp.
"I'm Rowena," she smiled sadly and extended her hand for Magni to kiss. "Would either of you care for something to drink?"
"Yes, thank you. But," Magni lingered over Rowena's hand, "We're in no hurry."
Surprised, I looked back at Magni. He was still leaning over, although Rowena had freed herself from his grasp. He was staring, unblinkingly, at Rowena. Well, then.
I had to admit she was attractive. Standing perhaps five and a half feet tall, with her dark orange and emerald green hair piled on her head in some elaborate beaded net. She looked self-confident and confrontational, like a well-dressed rebel at the treaty negotiations. She had pale blue eyes that glowed with vivacity, even while she looked sad. Unlike the majority of the Rebmans we had seen, she wore an actual dress. It was made of fine damask silk and hugged her curves quite nicely. Around her neck was a black choker adorned with tiny silver seahorses.
"I'll get the drinks," I volunteered. "Would you care for anything, my lady?"
"Yes," she answered. "Have Norren make me an Eau-de-Menthe."
"Whiskey, neat," Magni answered. I nodded and turned to go.
"I don't believe I've ever heard of you," Rowena said to Magni as I left.
"Then we're on equal footing," Magni replied. "For I've never heard of you either."
I went up the front steps and through the wide-open double doors. The interior of the mansion was decorated in blues, with swirling lines of malachite inlaid in the black marble floor.
A portable bar had been set up against the left wall. I waited in line for my turn, then had Norren make Rowena's special drink. It was clear, with a pale green foam on top. I ordered Magni a double and a tumbler of white grape juice for myself.
Back outside Rowena continued to thank people for attending while Magni stood beside her. As I handed them their drinks, they continued their previous conversation.
"My father was an officer in the Rebman armed forces," Rowena said. "It's a shame he couldn't be here."
"Oh," Magni said. "Is he on active duty somewhere?"
"No, he's dead."
I excused myself and returned to the interior of the house. If anything could be found to explain why my aunt had killed herself, it would have to be here. Well, not really, but since I didn't know where else to look, I really hoped it would be here.
I spoke one of the words my mother had taught me in Tir and became like a ghost—a solid ghost, but less visible and loud than a non-ghost. Okay, so I wasn't a ghost. I was still hard to see and hard to hear. I slinked upstairs and opened doors.
Everything was spotless here as well. Given what we had seen at the Rebman palace, that meant that I probably wasn't going to find anything about Llewella's death here either. I didn't. Instead, I found the library.
Llewella's tastes ran to historical romances. She had over a thousand of them. She also had a fairly large collection of children's books. On the middle shelf, prominently displayed sat eleven titles specifically about Emma Eagle. These books had scuffed edges and a few torn pages. In the front of every book, in that inimitable style of handwriting common to kids everywhere, was written "Rowena Nomein." I flipped through several of them. In each story Emma Eagle had a series of misadventures that often included Rilbert Raven. Poor Rilbert did mean and nasty things, but he was really just misunderstood.
My aunt also had a small, eclectic selection of books on sorcery. From the titles and tables of contents, I deduced that Llewella had been interested in enchantments, what Caine called "little girl magic." The books were full of spells to make you seem more attractive, to make other people believe you, to make your arguments sound convincing, to make men fall in love with you, and to make women confide in you. None of them seemed particularly interesting.
On a hunch, I knelt down and put my chin on the carpet. The bottom shelf was elevated above the floor by perhaps two inches. The space under it appeared to be solid wood, but the facing of it seemed odd. I pushed and poked. It felt solid enough until it slid six inches sideways and revealed a tiny, dark slot.
I reached in and pulled out a small book, nearly six inches square. Its cover was fashioned from blue reptilian skin and it was bound with plenty of brass. The book was sealed by a heavy steel clasp. I called up my sorcerous lens and examined it. The tome was heavy with latent magics typical of ritual magic spellbooks, but it didn't have any of the violent aspects of traps about it. I hesitated, then put it in my pocket.
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