Hearing that the archivists will be staying in Xanadu a few days to rest and recover, Folly consults briefly with Carina about their needs and then sends a page with a message that rooms need to be readied for them and for her kinsman Huon, if they have not been already.
While they await word on those arrangements, she turns back to Huon. "Do you feel up to catching up a bit while we wait for your room to be readied? I think family tradition dictates that I share first before I start peppering you with questions -- which in their most concise form pretty much all amount to, 'What the hell, man?!'" -- the tone of the question is good-natured, if a bit bemused "--but you've got me at a bit of a disadvantage in that I don't really know what you know. So what do you want to know?"
She asks with a gesture whether he'd rather sit here to talk, in the room with the archivists, or go elsewhere.
"Thank you. I think I've seen enough of hospital rooms for the moment. I would be happy to be somewhere with sky, if that is an option."
Folly leads the way to a sitting room with a window that can be opened. Standing close to the window gives a decent view of the bay and the growing town below; but the main view from most of the chairs and sofas in the room is a little of the surrounding terrain, and sky.
Huon makes small talk as they walk, commenting on the portraits and style of the Castle, generally favorably, as a guest might when moving through someone's mansion. Once they go to whatever place Folly leads them, he answers her questions.
"Now, what do I want to know? I prefer Bacon's approach: 'I have taken all knowledge to be my province', but more specifically, I'm immediately interested in you. I discovered a surprising number of third-generation children, but I don't really know much about any of you."
He looks around and stretches. "I don't care for family protocols. They've done nothing but put me in the wrong for hundreds of years. I'd rather just talk. Ask me anything you want, whenever it makes sense." He grins. "You may start with 'What the hell, man', if you like."
Folly cracks open the window a couple of finger-widths to let in a little air and the scent of the sea. It is cool but not unpleasantly so, a bit like a Texorami winter.
She takes a seat, kicks off her shoes, makes a quiet clicking sound with her tongue, and brings her feet up to sit cross-legged on the chair. "I think maybe we should start at the end before we work our way back around to the beginning," she says. "As I understand it, you were wreaking quite the swath of destruction across Shadow in the quest for vengeance against your brother. Are you out of the vengeance-against-family business, at least for the time being?" She gestures at the space around them and adds, "It's a new castle, I don't really want to have to clean blood out of it if I don't have to."
As she speaks, a large black-and-white cat appears from somewhere, sniffs Folly a couple of times, and then meows loudly and a bit scoldingly until she leans down and scoops him up into her lap.
"So hard to clean bloodstains if you let them set. You wouldn't get your deposit back." He looks at her and her cat. "Yes, I've agreed to quitclaim my vendetta in exchange for peace with the family." He looks over at her, appraisingly.
"My brothers think I got out of my shadow-confinement when our father died, but you should have a pretty good guess as to why that can't be true."
"...Or at least is very unlikely to be true," Folly says, "unless maybe after you got out you annoyed a Moonrider who sent you back a couple of decades to get rid of you. Or you will meet a Moonrider who sends you back to break yourself out, but you overshot." She spends a moment pondering that paradox -- something about it seems to amuse her -- but then brings herself back to the conversation with a little flutter of her fingers.
"So then how did you get out, how did you end up in Texorami, and... then, you know, what the hell, man?" She grins.
Huon moves over to the window and leans against the wall where the sun can shine on him. "You don't escape from that kind of prison, or I couldn't. Outside assistance was required, which is an important part of a good cell." He's got a storyteller's knack for speaking, and the cadence of a good performer. He'd probably have made an excellent actor if he weren't a prince.
"I spent a long time not able to get out, in a place called Cayenne. It wasn't too bad, although it had been a prison colony before I was there. I did many things in the years I was there. I was governor twice and president once, but also many other things. It was never perfect, or even what I wanted it to be, but it became pleasant, which is to say that having little else to do, I shaped it into a cell of my desire.
"I attended my own funeral several times, and inherited my own fortune more than once. You and your mother never got to experience this, but it's an occupational hazard of not dying and not visibly aging.
"I'm afraid it did achieve the King's goal. King Oberon, I mean -- my father. I learned to have patience and see the long-term consequences and advantages of things. I don't recommend prison for anyone, but staying in one place is a surprising learning experience for any of us.
"Once I got out I went to ground, as it were. I needed someplace off the beaten path so I could be sure I wasn't being hunted, or that the enemies of the man who helped me escape weren't looking for me next.
"We like to think that we only cross the paths of shadows once in a generation, but somehow, that's not true. We keep running into the same places. How many people ended up in Texorami in just a few generations? Julian, me, Random. Maybe others. It can't just be chance." He shrugs.
Folly, who has been listening in rapt attention as she pets Thelonious, nods at this; she's noticed, too, and has ideas about it.
"But in any case, I met Brij and Pelle at a party. They were quite a pair." He pauses. "How much do you want to know about your parents' sex lives? I suspect they never really told you much about their tastes."
"It wasn't really dinner-table conversation, no," Folly says. "But on the other hand, I suppose I must get it from somewhere." She smiles a bit and arches an eyebrow to suggest he's unlikely to tell her anything that will shock her. She gestures for him to continue.
Huon shrugs. "It's nothing shocking, but so many cultures are funny about how they treat sexuality, especially their parents'. Given that I was Oberon's son, that wasn't really an option for me." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Pelle was the one who approached me. He later described that as their 'hunting technique'. I wasn't very difficult prey to hunt, of course."
Folly smiles, a bit wistfully. "That... is rather a comfort, actually. I'd wondered for a long time if he knew, but my teenaged self could never come up with a good way to say, 'You're my Papa and always will be, but you know I'm not actually your biological kid, right?' I'm really glad he wasn't in the dark about it."
"Pelle was probably more interested in me than your mother, actually. At first. Those were the roles they'd worked out." He sighs. "When nobody can have kids, it's easy to do whatever makes you happy. But even ad-hoc triads can lead to difficulties and eventually I was out so that they could concentrate on not breaking their relationship. Brij is many things, but 'good at backing off' isn't one of them." Huon shrugs. "They moved on from me and I moved on from Texorami."
Folly smirks in recognition, or maybe sympathy, at the comment about Brij. In fact, there's a lot of recognition and understanding in her expression about all of it.
"My generation thought we couldn't have children. Even though we were wrong, it still used to be rare, although somehow something changed. Probably Father was saving up all the fertility for himself.
"I'm sorry to say I didn't even know about you, or that you were Brij's child, until I got to Bellum. It was part of re-thinking things. That and eventually talking to Brij. So now, you may or may not have two infertile fathers."
Folly's smile grows wry at that. "She knows you're here, by the way. I'd give better than even odds that she's listening outside the door as we speak, waiting for the right moment to make the most dramatic entrance possible." Her eyes flick briefly toward the door before returning to Huon.
Huon looks skeptical. "I don't smell her perfume." Neither does Folly for that matter.
"So, I'm trying to work out the trajectory. Do you mean got to Bellum in your recent vendetta campaign across Shadow, or before that? I think we'd all assumed you broke out of your confinement and immediately set out to build up your army. How did you get from fun sexy times that apparently eventually pissed off my mother to fun revenge times that pissed off rather more of the family?" Her tone is not judgmental, just curious.
"Let's start with 'breaking out of confinement'. I couldn't escape on my own -- and I tried for years. Father freed me. Because Bleys had betrayed him, which he was surprised and interested in learning more about, but also he needed options. I was his hole card, and I was willing to make a deal for freedom. I went to hide out in shadow and before I knew it, Father was dead and Bleys wasn't and I was trying to fulfill his last wish, as I saw it.
"I didn't find out the truth until later."
Folly nods, but her eyes narrow in scrutiny. "How much of that truth were you able to find out, and from whom?" She has gone very still; Thelonious bats at her hand, wondering where the petting went. "In particular, do you understand why your stunt in Rebma with the blood bomb has you on a number of people's shit lists? I mean, above and beyond the grievances against you for rampaging through several of my cousins' home shadows, speaking of finding each other like magnets in the infinitude of shadow."
He thinks for a moment, and finally shrugs. "I can't possibly say anything that won't sound self-serving and might actually be self-serving. But let me ask you a question. Do you think it would've worked? The blood trick, I mean."
Folly thinks about it for a moment. "It depends what you were actually trying to do with it. Damage the Pattern? Yes, likely. Unmake the reality of Rebma?" She frowns. "That's a harder question. Rebma is weird.
"Do you know whose blood you were using?"
"Yes, Rebma is weird. But I was there when Pinabello died on the Pattern, and my brother's blood was on the floor of Amber's Pattern Chamber and he didn't cause a ripple. His father was either Oberon or Eric, by the way, at least according to my mother. So when I learned the details, I was skeptical.
"But I'm jumping ahead. When the Gatwegans had a way to threaten Rebma, I agreed to their plan, in case my army wasn't enough. When I found out it was blood-based, I assumed the Klybesians had provided the blood, possibly from one of their own. The Klybesians, of course, have long been rumored to be headed by a rejected child of one of my brothers. Not rumored in Amber, but it's a thing I'd heard. Before I was exiled, I took it as a typical shadow lie." Huon shrugs. "That was when we were pretty well convinced we were all infertile."
Folly doesn't have anything to add to those rumors, yet, but she does sit a little forward with interest when he mentions them.
"When I found out what they thought their little living bomb could do, I was already screwed and knew I was going to lose the battle. All I could do was try to bluff and then try to flee.
"I found out we'd used Deirdre's son's blood after I got to Rebma."
Folly nods gravely. "Marius. Whose father is the smith, Weyland. Who, as I understand it, just wreaked his own vengeance against the wizards of Gateway for their part in it." Her words have a tone of warning: not that a threat is imminent, rather that Weyland might decide to hold a grudge.
Huon is unsurprised, and takes that as fair warning.
"But if you don't mind a little detour into metaphysics -- at which I am a deeply interested novice -- or at least into weirdness we haven't figured out yet--" Folly chews her lip, figuring out how to ask the several seemingly-unrelated questions crowding her brain for attention. "Before you got the rescue Trump call, had you met my cousin Brita yet?"
He shakes his head. "I am very curious as to how this will become metaphysical. Brita and Conner introduced themselves to me in Bellum's embassy on Asir Island. She was delightfully direct. I'd met her brother informally when I was nearly captured."
Folly can't help but smile at Huon's description of Brita. "Then you'll understand why I trust her story of having, perhaps a day or mere hours before your battle and near-capture, observed you observing your brother's Patternwalk. In Rebma. Across both time and space, apparently. And without any intentional sorcery on her part." She cocks her head and regards Huon to see if that resonates with any of his memories, or if he has any ideas about it.
"Ah, there's the metaphysics. So, whose sorcery was it? That was many years ago, when I was a younger man, not hours before I had to escape your cousins' wrath. However, if an angry redheaded ice-goddess had been on hand, I don't think I would've forgotten it."
Folly smiles.
He sighs. "I've heard tell of, but never witnessed, a trump contact affecting the nearby, if they're sensitive to it. A certain number of spiritual visitations could be visions of the face of our family, gossiping via trump." He shakes his head. "I can't explain it. What did she say she saw? I can tell you if it's based on what actually happened."
"I suspect it was rather different, but with similar elements," Folly says. "I haven't heard the full telling -- you'd have to ask Brita for that, or Ossian, who was with her -- but in broad strokes I believe she spoke briefly to you from a side passage as you observed your brother, and the conversation made clear you were not in the same time; and then she and Ossian entered Rebma's pattern chamber and saw the Pattern there with the same rift that Amber's former pattern now has, but Rebma's does not. When he got to the rift something went awry and they attempted to rescue him, and managed to get him away from there, but they ended up stuck in some kind of in-between space and he perished or disappeared or was unmade when they exited."
She frowns, thinking. "I don't recall anything about his blood on the Pattern. But they might not have noticed in the excitement of trying to get him away from there."
"My recollection was that he was convinced it would kill him, and let his own worst impulses run amok and tried to flee. In that way that the pattern tests you, he failed the test. He definitely bled, I saw it. I was watching, until he moved out of sight. No one else was there. And it was in Amber, not Rebma."
He looks unhappy at the memory. "If you don't mind, I'd like to change the subject. When I left, everyone was worried about the King. What changed?"
Folly hesitates, as if deciding how best to answer, then says, "Well, the short answer is that he was under a pretty serious enchantment, but it's been broken, and the source of the enchantment has been removed from Xanadu." She hesitates again, a little longer this time, and adds, "The slightly longer answer is that the enchantment was broken because I tried a thing, and it worked. And there's a reason I'm totally not judging you or my parents about your sex life."
Huon looks sympathetic. "If my parents are any basis to go on, it'll all be be legends and just-so stories in a few hundred years anyway. Some improbable tale of angering the gods that ends with 'And that's why water flows downhill.'
"The archivists are already trying to figure out how to bring the news to Rebma. I think I delayed that for a day or so."
"Well, that's good," Folly says. "Maybe by then we will have written the epic song that explains it all, and they can just use that." She's probably joking, mostly. But maybe not entirely. She doesn't bother specifying who 'we' is.
More seriously, she adds, "There are a lot of pieces, and they're still in motion. I think Garrett -- did you meet Garrett? That's my husband's younger brother -- has been tasked with carrying the news to our allies as well. We were all set to talk to his father about the press release, as it were, when we got the call about rescuing cousins from the Klybesians." She smiles wryly. "It has been a very eventful day."
"Well, I'm not sorry to be the second-or-third most notable story of the day. Speaking of which, I was briefly introduced to a Moonrider, which may be even more momentous an event. If ever you need to tell anyone how this Kingdom is different from Amber, that's definitely a divergence."
Folly nods. "There's a lot I don't fully understand about that ancient grudge, but I'm hoping there's enough of us with the will to do so that we can forge a mutually agreeable peace. I'm really looking forward to talking to her."
"They reminded Amber that it was not, in fact, invulnerable to harm. That's quite a burden to carry."
He leans back as a sunbeam plays across him. "I am going to either learn to create trumps so I can import sunlight to Rebma or I'm going to learn sorcery for the same purpose. Rebman sorcerers smoke cigarettes to prove their magical skills. I think I shall work on a suntan." He smiles, and is probably not serious. Unless he is.
"I've never been there, for reasons that might be obvious. But I may need to remedy that soon, in the interest of signaling continued good relations with Rebma and her new Queen." Folly smiles. "I'll bring you a box of sunshine, if I can figure out how. Or even better, advocate to include you in surface adventures that could benefit from your skills." She sounds as though she might even have an idea or two in mind.
"I am receptive to opportunities to be less of a convenient scapegoat and more of a valued family member. I heard what happened to Brand, and the offer Random made, and I am trying to wrap my head around what it means to have accepted the offer instead of not.
"It's not easy, but I suspect I'm not the only one it's not easy for." He smiles. "And I'm invented to do so by my desire not to be killed.
"Anyhow, yes, make sure I'm kept up to date on the official story and I can probably keep at least some people from going off the narrative. And I'm sure you're already considering how in Rebma you want to position the former Queen as a victim rather than a villainess. It will be easy to convince Rebmans of that..."
"It may even be mostly true," Folly says with a wry smile, "although I suspect it will be some time before we know the whole story -- if we ever do." She sighs. "But yes, I'll keep you posted."
She takes a moment to scratch Thelonious under the chin, eliciting a loud rumble of purr. To Huon, she says, "I do want to leave you time to rest and clean up before dinner, if you wish, but I have one more line of questioning I'm curious about. I didn't arrive in Amber in time to meet your father, and all your siblings save Gerard were elsewhere, mostly fighting a war. They've been more-or-less on their best behavior since then, but by family legend there was more rivalry than love among most of them. Were you particularly close to any of them?"
"It was a strange thing. Each of us was, in our way, an only child. I wasn't, I was raised with Pino. But on the Amber side, I was friends with Ysabeau. Mirelle, briefly. And Llewella, to some degree, but that was later. While my personal place was as a younger son who could never hope to inherit, the princesses had an even harder road, I think.
"It killed Ysabeau."
"How so?" Folly asks. "I know very little of her story."
"She spent most of her life out of her own control, I'd say. She was very dear to me. The only family member who ever wanted to stick with me just for being family, really. She was a very angry woman. Mostly focused on our father, mostly for crimes he was not responsible for.
"She wanted children in the worst way, and I'd say she succeeded at that. She made a deal with a fertility goddess, and eventually the stress of that and the pattern drove her to death. I would not break my promises to Random or Celina, but I'm sure I would find a way to kill that goddess if I knew where it was."
It's Folly's turn to look sympathetic. "Even if it also turned out to be a relative?" she asks gently. "The only fertility deity I ever met was one of Julian's children, descended on his mother's side from Finndo. He died, though, defending Amber from his maternal grandmother." Her expression is pained as she relates this. "That's not the only line of gods and goddesses Finndo begat, though, as I understand it."
If Huon has an answer to Folly's question, he's keeping it to himself. "Finndo was dead long before my time. But our older relatives were not without their appetites. Julian knew more about it than I did. I think he raised one of the daughters.
"And speaking of Julian's son the fertility god, there certainly seem to be a lot of children with ancestry going back to Oberon on both sides. If you're looking for a connection to classical gods and goddesses, that's pretty common in shadow, I think."
Folly smiles wistfully. "Well, that part I certainly understand," she says. "Who else but one of us could keep up as a partner to one of us?" She gives a little shrug.
"They may not be ready to hear it from you yet, but I imagine Ysabeau's daughters might be interested to hear your remembrances of her, eventually." Her tone makes clear that could be a distant eventuality.
He nods. It somehow indicates his willingness and acceptance of her tone. Folly thinks he's more emotionally astute than he's often portrayed as being.
"What would you like to know about our younger generation?"
"Ha! Where to start, with the big or small questions? Let's try this one. How come you can work together when my brothers and sisters, to a person, are so, so bad at it?"
He shifts to keep the sunbeam pointed at his back. It's almost involuntary, and definitely subconsciously driven, like a cat.
"I have a couple of theories about that," Folly says, "although keep in mind my perspective is of one who was never in Amber before the Sundering, and so can only compare our experience to stories of what came before. You might get a very different answer if you asked Eric's son, or Benedict's.
"In the first place, when we first came together, it was to face a common problem -- how to keep a city fed and running with all her usual trade routes cut off, for those of us in Amber during the war -- or a common foe, for those who joined the battle on the other side of reality. I will note the latter seems to have done wonders for your siblings as well, who at least on the surface seem to have been playing nice for the common good since they got back. Although, to be fair, compared to their lifespans it hasn't really been that long -- but I'm hopeful we're building new habits.
"And then...." Folly hesitates, as if choosing her next words carefully. "Well. I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, particularly one I never knew, but I notice that most of us didn't grow up under the direct familial influence of your father." She gives a little shrug, palms turned toward him, that says '...but you would know more about that than I do.'
Huon nods. "I'm not convinced any of my family had a relationship with our father that wasn't complex, and I suspect he preferred it that way. I don't know why. What I do notice is that there was a definite evolution over time. The oldest ones wanted to kill each other, the redheads were very close to each other and their mother, the middle kids were fond of each other, but very independent. By the time you got down to youngsters like me, Random, and Ysabeau, it was clear that we weren't going to ever be in the top of the class, as it were. So we learned how to make friends and allies with each other.
"I wonder if that's true for you all as well. Which is what I've been thinking, but I wanted to hear your take before I spouted off with mine."
Folly nods. "Probably not exactly that, because it seems like there was an element with your eldest siblings of being explicitly or implicitly pitted against one another -- mostly by political circumstance, if I understand it correctly--" she looks a bit troubled at that particular musing "--but maybe also as part of that complex relationship with your father. But with most of us not having been brought up expecting to compete with one another for a throne, or in many cases even knowing such a thing was part of our backgrounds, it maybe made it a little easier for us to just meet as equals."
She gives a wry smile and adds, "Of course, that's kind of my natural bent anyway. One of my cousins who grew up knowing they were the grandchild of a monarch might have a very different perspective."
"Some of it may just be time. Some people get more mellow and relaxed with age. Some people become more brittle. And some reactions fall back into place like bad habits." He doesn't quite say how that applies to himself. Quite.
"If am ever able to discuss this with Brita, I'd value her insight. As long as she doesn't try to glare me to death. Another variable is 'who were raised as Gods, separate and superior to the people around us, and who was raised as a mortal and only found their godlike nature later?'"
"And then to break it down further, for those raised as gods, what was the nature of their godhood?" Folly says. "Like, for someone like Brita I get the sense it was about having dominion over a particular aspect of nature and being Very Responsible to that Sacred Duty, and maybe not as much about being actively worshipped and revered by 'inferior' mortals."
She can't quite suppress a smirk as she adds, "And then there's us Rock Gods, but that's a different thing. Very collaborative."
He nods. "It's a difficult thing, being different, and having capabilities far beyond anyone else you can meet except your siblings. If you're thoughtful, you have to have doubts about our role. We've certainly collectively done stupid and petty and unnecessarily hurtful things, mostly to each other. Which, given what I know of comparative mythology, is reasonably common for Gods.
"It may be easier for those who grow up ignorant of their qualitative differences to blend in and disguise themselves. I also want to know what Corwin's experience is, since he's done this each way. But I don't really want to hear him tell the story. He can ramble on."
Folly presses two fingers to her lips to stifle a guffaw at that last comment, but her eyes sparkle with mirth. "I like Corwin," she says, "but... yes, at times, I suppose. Perhaps you could entice him to write it down so you can just skim over all the flirting. I mean rambling."
She shifts a little in her seat, being careful not to disturb the cat dozing in her lap. "Hey, would you mind if I sketched you?" she asks. "Not necessarily for a trump, although it could be a first study to do one later, if you gave permission."
He nods. "Another thing I did not know you could do. How did you learn to do it? It was all mystery and 'ask the magician, but don't expect to understand the answer' and the expectation that we couldn't, in my day. Oh, and yes, you're welcome to create a trump if you'd like. I'd change clothes, but I didn't bring anything nicer with me from my cell."
"Well, I'm still comparatively new at it, so I may not be able to get enough for a really effective trump in only one sitting on the first day I met you, but it'll be a start, anyway." She carefully rummages in her voluminous pockets and pulls out a pad and pencil, flips to a page in the middle, and begins sketching.
"I learned from the magician in question, while I was pregnant with Lark, on a day that was actually probably two or three months," she says in answer to his question, then adds, "It was on the other side of the Tree," as if that explains it. She draws a few long lines, roughly sketching out a posture, then looks up to study his face. "Did you know he's your grandfather?"
"So I've heard. He was thought mad, and likely to be put away by Father before he got dangerous, but he outlasted me, I suppose. He either said more than he knew or he knew more than he said, with no middle ground between the two extremes." Huon shakes his head as if he can expel the thoughts he's having. Pelle used to do the same thing.
"He was always thick with the redheads, so I wasn't really of much interest to him and vice versa." He looks at her drawing him, as if he could see through the paper. "It's funny to think of my child as one of his favorites."
"Well, I'm not sure I'd go quite that far," Folly says, "maybe more that he took an interest because I took an interest. Although I'm sure it didn't hurt that I think music and maths are kind of the same thing, you know?" She adds a few more lines to her sketch. "Do you have many artistic inclinations, would you say?"
"A few. I had quite a while to invest in contemplation when I was banished, and I'm not very happy unless I'm creating something. There's not really any place for my fiction in the popular styles of Shadow Sarn of the last few hundred years, but I found that my poetry has been somewhat less ephemeral.
"I met your parents at a poetry slam. She was the judge and I was the winner."
"What was the prize?", say Martin, who has appeared in the doorway, with Lark beside him.
Folly's face lights up when she sees them; Martin also recognizes the familiar sparkle behind her eyes from trying very hard to keep in a mischievous comment. Instead of voicing it, she says with a gesture to the doorway, "Huon, I don't think you've had a chance yet to meet my husband and my daughter."
She carefully extracts herself from under the cat, who looks only momentarily annoyed to have his nap interrupted before settling back into the warm spot, and goes to give her daughter a hug, giving Huon a chance to answer Martin's question, or not.
Lark has been dried off and put in her Amber clothes, but her hair is still damp and smells of the sea. "Mama! I went to Rebma and played with Mr Atrios!"
"How exciting!" Folly says. "You know, he looked after your father when he was younger. Was he a good playmate?"
Lark nods enthusiastically. "He knows the best places to hide for hide and seek!"
Martin takes pity on Huon, or maybe he doesn't want to hear that answer. Instead he offers his hand. "Martin." It takes him a moment to realize this is one of the few older members of the family who does not, in fact, know his story, and then he adds, "Random is my father. And our daughter is Lorelei, but she goes by Lark."
Huon bows to Martin in greeting. "Prince Martin, a pleasure to meet you formally, at last." How much he knows or doesn't of Martin's history in Rebma is not something he's giving away with his body language at the moment.
He nods to Lark. "Lark, it's a pleasure. I am your grandfather's older brother, amongst other things. "He raises his eyebrows, not sure if the child knows who he is. "I currently live in Rebma."
Lark laughs. "You must be really old. Older than Random, like thirty or something. Do you wanna see me do a cartwheel?"
"Shoes off first, please," Folly says in a gentle tone that is still unmistakeably a Mom Voice. "Grandpa Uwe has been rather naughty, but he's trying to be better, so we'd rather not accidentally hit him in the face with an errant slipper, okay?"
Martin takes Lark's slippers with the longsuffering look of a father who has learned it's better not to fight his daughter's efforts to do cartwheels. "Also the knife," he tells Lark, and she produces it from under her skirt. "We have a rule about not stabbing people unless we mean it," Martin explains to Huon.
Folly barely stifles a laugh; of course their daughter has a knife up her dress. She settles onto the floor well out of the way of the most likely cartwheel paths.
Her cartwheel is perfect form, possibly a little overstrong, but she has been underwater.
Huon looks pleased. "That was a very good cartwheel, Lark. Have you learned how to do a one-armed Cartwheel yet?" He smiles. "We can ask your grandmother to show you how. It was one of her favorites."
"They only just met last night, but I got the impression -- from Lark, anyway -- that they got on quite well, which doesn't surprise me," Folly says. It looks like she might be about to add something else, but she hesitates and looks at Martin. He gets the impression that she would like to talk with him and is checking in with him about his next move -- and perhaps about how much supervision he thinks their daughter needs in the presence of her recently-homicidal grandfather.
"Yeah, I was thinking we needed to check in with Brij and let Lark say goodbye before we go," Martin says casually, which answers none of Folly's questions.
Huon evinces some surprise. "You're leaving?"
"There's a milk run that needs doing: taking a load of Weir back to Weirmonken from Gateway. They could probably get back on their own, but I told Jerod I'd do it to keep an eye on them. Lark could certainly get herself adopted by a wolf pack."
Lark perks up at the mention of wolves. "Mama, can I have a wolf? Please?" She draws out the last word at to some length.
Folly smiles fondly at her daughter. "Wouldn't you be afraid it would try to eat the cats?" she asks in a concerned tone. "That wouldn't make anyone happy, would it? And anyhow, I think the wolf pack you're going to meet are the kind you make friends with, not the kind you try to keep as pets. But you might learn some interesting things from them."
She looks at Martin as she teases out something he didn't quite say: "Wait, you're not staying for the dinner?"
"I'm still obligated for dinner. I think Brennan and I have straightened out most of the problem, as much as we can, but I still need to talk to Edan. So the dinner party is still on, but we're gonna head out right after that. Gateway's not a hard trek and I'll be happier when we're aboard ship."
It's no secret that Martin's been pushing himself pretty hard. If he were anyone else, another hellride would probably be beyond him.
"Give my regards to the Gatwegians," says Huon. He makes it sounds like a threat.
"I think they're still recovering from the last time they got regards from one of our kin," Folly says with a slight smirk, and then blinks. "Remember what Conner said about his last trip there? It's possible those zombies weren't related to the others you saw, and they're supposedly contained, but... you know, be careful. Nobody wants Zombie Weir. Well, nobody we want to be friends with, anyway."
"There will be No More Zombies," Martin says in the voice of a long-suffering father, just in time to keep Lark, who was perking up at the mention of an apparently favorite playtoy, from saying anything as she concludes her current round of cartwheels.
There's a knock at the door, and Huon rises to answer it. Turns out it's a page. "Lady Folly, Prince Martin, Prince Huon--the Steward has asked that all members of the family be advised that King Random has had to leave the castle on business and tonight's dinner is cancelled."
To Folly, who knows him well, Martin looks like that announcement dropped a load off his shoulders. "Thank you," he tells the page.
Folly's reaction, visible in the briefest flash of emotion across her face, is more complicated: relief on Martin's behalf, but also concern, and maybe a hint of exasperation. She stands and holds up a hand to stay the page's departure. "You'll at least stay for informal dinner before you go, though?" she asks Martin, and he can feel her concern for how hard he's been pushing himself... mixed with other concerns as well.
"Of course, and there are some things we need to discuss as well. Some of it is Card business," Martin tells Folly, and adds for Huon's benefit, "Folly is one of my Knights of the Card. Dad founded his own orders."
Huon nods.
"BO-ring," Lark says loudly. She has turned from cartwheels to somersaults.
Huon straightens. "If you two have matters to discuss, we can pick up our discussion later, Dame Folly." He pauses, "My apologies, I should've asked how you prefer to be addressed."
Folly smiles. "Yes, thank you -- Martin and I do have a few things to discuss. As for address: among family, 'Folly' is my preference; left to my own devices, I'm not very formal. When the occasion calls for it, I usually get 'Lady Folly' or sometimes 'Dame Folly', and either is fine, even if I'm still just a tiny bit weirded out by them. How would you prefer me to address you -- and perhaps more importantly, do you have any preferences for how the little one addresses you?" She does not add "...which she may or may not decide to honor," but he might pick it up from her tone in the unlikely event he hasn't already gotten it from just observing Lark for a few minutes.
Huon stops a moment and thinks. "It's not a thing we think of, when we were raised. It was 'Prince Huon' to others, and 'Huon' to family. We didn't expect to have nieces, nephews, and descendants to worry about."
He looks at Lark. "Or grandchildren.
"In the language of my mother, I'd've been called something that meant ancestor or progenitor, but that's a bit clinical.
"Let's just try 'Huon'."
"Works for me," Folly says with a grin, then holds up a hand in an 'excuse me' gesture as she turns to the page.
She asks the page, "Do you happen to know where our Moonrider guest is now, and which of my cousins or other kin are currently hosting her?"
"No, your highness, but I can find out." The page is quivering like a dog on scent and would be out of there immediately if Folly dismissed her.
Folly taps a finger to her bottom lip, thinking. Then she says, "Start by finding out whether Gilt or anyone else is planning an informal family dinner tonight. If so, find our Moonrider guest and let her know she's invited. If not, let me know where she is and who's currently hosting her. Depending what you find out, I may have more messages for you to deliver after that." She smiles and nods a dismissal. "Thank you."
Martin may have had a load lifted from his shoulders with the cancellation of Mandatory Fun, but he can tell Folly is feeling an added weight of responsibility for the guests in the castle.
"Yes, milady. Shall we send staff to attend on you so you can organize the meal?" Folly remembers from the Amberside days that this will mean a whole set of youths running back and forth making things happen with occasional requests for her from the staff and the kitchen. Random hasn't formally had a chatelaine and Vialle's incapacity has meant the system has been ad hoc all this time, so this is how things get done.
Folly hesitates for the space of a breath, glances at Martin, and then replies, "Let me know if no one else is doing it. I need to spend some time with my husband, and I don't want to step on any toes if someone else is already taking responsibility for the dinner. But if not, I can offer some guidance, if needed." She smiles, and it's genuine.
Huon looks up once the page is dismissed. He's clearly been watching everyone here. "With your permission, I'll be off. I'll be in the castle, most likely trying to keep my wards from devouring Random's library. I'd call the Rebman archivists sponges for knowledge, but that's not a kind thing to say about someone where they're from and I'd only mean it in the proper Amber fashion." He looks at her sketchbook. "Send for me when you're free to continue your work."
She has done a few rough sketches scattered around the page rather than a single coherent study. They are quick and impressionistic, but a good likeness: the posture, the gaze, the tilt of the head and the hands, together capture a magnetic, actorly presence. "I will," she says, "and thank you. In the meantime, please let me know if you or the archivists need anything."
"Bye Granpa Huey!" Lark says brightly (and politely).
Folly smiles and offers a slight bow. "I'll see you soon."
Last modified: 25 September 2021