A Conversation between Constance and Julian

in the Alhambra after his release from Castle Karm

Morgenstern cannot gallop all the way back to the Alhambra because he is limited to the speed of Podaga. But he bears Constance and Julian there smoothly with hardly a touch of the reins.

Asfar and Sorashi are at the gate to greet you. Sorashi directs Asfar to conduct Julian to rooms prepared for him while she takes Morgenstern to the stables but Julian insists on seeing to Morgenstern himself.

Constance stays with Julian and the beast whilst he stables, grooms and feeds him, fetching anything that needs fetching but staying quiet and being unobtrusive.

Julian gives Morgenstern a full rub-down and doesn’t leave until the beast has his nose in a bucket of mash. Julian is then happy enough to be shown to his rooms.

Constance asks Sorashi if some wine could be taken to Prince Julian’s rooms and if Podaga could be permitted to wait outside the entrance to the rooms. Sorashi replies with a semi-joking retort and suggests that Podaga stays in the ante-room appointed for visitors’ demons and Asfar wait on Prince Julian outside his room.

On entering Julian looks around the rooms, which seem comfortable enough, though the plaster is flaking in places and the counterpane on the bed is threadbare. He glances out of the arched window to be greeted by a view of the smaller of the two formal gardens on the floor below.

He flexes his left arm while feeling it with his right through his armour – the last time Constance saw him it was in a sling. It seems better now but must still be troubling him. Aside from that he seems quite fresh – but then he’s apparently spent a considerable time asleep.

Still looking out the window, Julian asks, “What place is this?”

Constance is studying his face as he looks out the window. In response to his question she replies, “You are in the Alhambra, inherited by Sorashi but formerly the residence of House Abal, the last member of which was the intended sacrifice, coup-de-graced by Sorashi on the altar of the Duomo”.

Julian’s face is its usual impassive self but Constance senses the glitter of his eyes as they quickly take in likely points of threat – it also occurs to her that with the single door to the room, the window is the only point of egress in the event of unpleasantness.

“Abal?” Julian turns away from the window as he lapses into pensiveness. “I vaguely recall the name – they were at the forefront in the earliest Chaos wars.”

“Very much so my Lord Warden. They provided the Marshal of their forces in the Patternraise War as well as being one of the most influential of the Rim Houses. But according to the Opera we attended, they fell foul of Court politics. Cursed by their own Leader and clutching to whichever coalition they thought would best raise their House and continue their pursuit of vengeance against Amber.

“They appear to have been ruined by their inability to recognise the failure of their strategy and to find and apply an alternate solution. Hopes were doomed at every turn. Great-grandfather gave us a lesson in why political expediency rarely ends well. Despite the promises made, House Abal never regained their Rimlordship and their House is now in the hands of those they sought to destroy.”

“Indeed! Though I might dispute your conclusion in general, in this particular case it is undeniable.” Still thoughtful, Julian looks up from his contemplation of the carpet. “I do recall Sorashi returning to the Duomo to kill the sacrifice – I am happy to hear she benefited from her act of grace.”

Constance pours a glass of wine for Julian and herself. She passes his glass to him saying wryly, “But I dare say a history lesson on a House of Chaos is not at the top of your thoughts, Father”.

Julian smiles at Constance’s use of ‘father’ – evidently he prefers it to the formality of ‘Lord Warden’ in private conversation. “Knowledge is power, Constance, and doubtless history will prove seminal to our sojourn here.” Julian accepts the wine. “But you are correct; other issues are of greater priority.” He takes a good draft of the wine; the pensive mood is gone. Incisively, he asks, “What of the family? Is everyone well?”

Constance returns his smile with a gladness that lights up her face.

She begins, “I am pleased to report the safe return of Prince Julian of Amber”.

Julian waves a casual hand in a gesture that screams, ‘yes, yes, get on with it’.

Constance collects herself and continues, “I regret to inform you that Prince Delwin died of the wounds he sustained during the fight in the Duomo”.

Julian takes another sip of wine as he takes this in, then nods curtly. “I feared as much. His wounds were severe. A pity; of the two he was the more biddable. How are they taking it – his sister and nephew, I mean?”

Constance considers her answer. “Both were saddened Father. Lord Margrath is a Shaman. He hasn’t been particularly raised with the Unicorn. Spirit is his path and death is a fact of living. Both seemed accepting of her brother’s death. On the surface, she seemed more agitated by the news that he could not be buried until after Grandfather’s funeral.”

Julian raises an eyebrow. “Really? You surprise me. Margrath I do not know but the Sand I knew was a somewhat… intense personality. Of course that was some time ago but I have had the pleasure of conversing with her twice since the battle and our few words did nothing to convince me she had changed in any qualitative sense.”

Julian drains the goblet and refills it before taking a convenient chair by the window. “Exactly how many times have you talked with her?”

Constance inclines her head, acknowledging his point. ”I haven’t at all my Lord. I can only speak from observation and conversations with her son.”

Julian savours his wine while considering his reply. “Your youngest aunt has lost her father and, unless I miss my guess, this will strike her all the harder for the two of them having been estranged for so long. And she and Delwin were as close as…” He pauses as he waits for an example to come to mind, “…closer than, Fiona and Bleys, for example.

“We should offer our condolences at the earliest opportunity, Constance. They are family, after all.”

Constance inclines her head in agreement.

“And the others?”

“Princess Deirdre is alive and well and among us again Father.” She pauses for his response.

“Is she?” Julian quaffs another swig of wine as he considers this development. “Well that is good news. While I cannot claim that we have ever been close, she is my sister and after witnessing her exploits on the battlefield it grieved me to hear she had fallen into the Abyss.” He drinks again. “And, of course, there are some in the family who do hold her in some special regard.

“I assume she was retrieved by some witchery of Chaos? I trust the fee was not too onerous?”

“Yes, Father. I believe one of the Houses retrieved her body from the Abyss and another, with the assistance of Lord Margrath and Lady Sorashi, were able to bring her back to life using some ‘witchery of Chaos’, as you say. I am unaware of the details of the fee. But it is good to have one of our family back among us.” Constance smiles and takes a small sip of wine. She remains standing and still keeps a careful watch on her Father.

“Please be seated, Constance; you are making me feel uncomfortable.” Julian drains his glass but puts it back on the table without refilling it. He seems entirely at his ease and does not look or feel uncomfortable to Constance. “I feel the need for something more substantial than alcohol. Is there any chance of more solid refreshment, do you think?”

“Oh Father”, she apologises immediately. “How remiss of me.”

“There is no need to apologise, Constance.”

“Let me have a word with Sorashi’s demon and see what can be done”.

She goes to the door to speak with Asfar. He bows his featureless head, “Imminently, ma’am!” and glides off to fetch vittles from wherever they may be kept.

Constance closes the door and walks towards a chair near Julian and sits with a soft sigh as she does so. “Food has been ordered Father. I have little idea of what it will be however. Hopefully it will not wriggle too much on the plate”.

She considers before going on to say, “I miss the honest food of Arden. I pray our return there is sooner rather than later.”

“Indeed. And that puts me in mind to ask how stands Benedict’s plan for leaving?”

“It is dead in the water Father”, she replies bluntly. “We cannot win hearts and minds in a place where to get the support of two seemingly aligned Houses instantly and irrevocably loses that of the third. Some Houses retain their traditional dislike of us. The loyalties of others can be bought, but not in quantity enough to make a difference and in any case we lack sufficient currency in advantages or favours to buy them in the first place. Other Houses will appear to look upon us favourably but will vote against us at the first opportunity or use our interest to humiliate us for their own amusement.”

Julian abruptly rises from his chair and refills his glass, throwing back half with a single swig; Constance can tell he’s shocked but she instinctively intuits that her father himself doesn’t quite know why.

“Your words are disturbing, Constance.” His brow creases as if he’s trying to remember something. “For a second there you reminded me of someone else… I can’t quite recall who…”

Then he shakes his head to clear these half-formed thoughts and with a Julianic effort of will he’s suddenly himself again as he returns to his chair. “I can think of no reason to doubt you, daughter, and I value your insights almost as much as Fiona’s – more, in any matters pertaining to Arden.

“It would seem we need a new plan; do you have any ideas?”

Constance pauses, concerned at Julian’s display of emotion. “Father” she says softly. “There has already been so much information for you to absorb as you have been kept from us all. You are no invalid but we need you at your incisive best. There is more to discuss and much of it is challenging and I would not over-burden you with information, much of which has been gained with my cousins if you need a little time to come to yourself again”.

Julian, who indeed now appears perfectly well, raises an eyebrow, a gesture which Constance knows is his equivalent of open-mouthed astonishment.

“I assure you, Constance, there is nothing wrong with me that cannot be cured by a good meal. You are my daughter, not my mother, please remember this. Now I trust you will not make me repeat my question?”

Constance tilts her head towards him and nods. “We are intending to remove Augustus Swayvil from his throne Father”, she says simply.

Julian fixes his daughter with a gimlet eye. “We?”

“We of the House of Amber, Father”, she replies.

Julian’s face betrays not a scintilla of emotion but his voice turns freeze-dried. “I will not tolerate evasion or obfuscation, Constance; you know very well my question was directed at names. Or do you expect me to believe my brothers are all cognisant of this scheme?”

Constance looks chastened and hastily replies. “The lords Darig and William are the likely candidates Father. As to the exact which of the two, I am not aware of a definitive answer.”

There is a slight thaw in her father’s glaciality. “I have little knowledge of either person but that they are both puissant warriors is patent. That Benedict gave Darig command of the entire right wing speaks for itself. Who else is involved, and what is your role in the affair?”

Constance nods in agreement with his assessment of Darig and William. ”Princes Caine and Benedict are leading this plan for our interest, Father. Lord Mandor continues to press its importance upon us when we meet with him. As to my role in it?” She shrugs. “I have yet to be made aware of one.”

Constance frowns outwardly. “No. That won’t do.” She shakes her head to clear it. “Father, I am quite wrong. Too many second hand conversations,” she muses. “I am aware, from a briefing from Lord William, that Prince Caine is leading for our side. Darig has very recently said that he will carry out the act – though in his absence William is as capable and has already said he will do it.”

Constance can read the minimal movement of her father’s eyebrows: Julian concludes, to his surprise, that none of the named individuals, including Mandor, Darig and William, can have passed Intrigue 101; from which he further concludes that Benedict can have no part in the scheme because Benedict wrote Intrigue 101 and would not include anyone in a cabal without a defined role. Yet something about it all still doesn’t make sense…

“Caine is… leading?” Julian seems very unsure about this. “How exactly is the deed to be accomplished?”

“Let me start with the larger how Father” Constance pauses. “There is evidence of factions and therefore cracks within Chaos. We were able to exploit them within House Karm and release you. Prince Caine is working with those Houses of Chaos that desire a new King. Our assistance in this matter should see our safe release. The exact how is that Swayvil is to die.”

“There are additional hints,” she continues. “The answer to Lord Margrath’s question regarding our safe release pointed clearly at a succession scenario. There is a prophesy around Lord Darig’s killing of Swayvil, a scene planted in the Hall of Memories for us to see and of course the libretto of the Opera.”

“Arguably, many of the hints have been planted in a past that may have always been here, time being as it is in this place,” she finishes. Her fingers almost unconsciously bridge across her nose.

“There is much you should know Father,” she consciously catching his gaze.

Julian’s face remains impassive but his eyes glitter with suppressed anger. “Constance, I do not appreciate being treated like a fool, nor does your excessive wordage conceal your evasion of my question.

“Obviously there are things I do not know, that is why I am asking you for information. If you do not wish to give this then please tell me now and I will seek enlightenment elsewhere, and you may seek alternative employment outside the Rangers.

“Obviously Swayvil is to die since merely asking nicely is unlikely to induce him to just step aside. My question was ‘how exactly is the deed to be accomplished’. May I have an answer with fewer words and more information, please?”

Constance’s stance stiffens. “Father. The only part of the plan I am privy to is that it will be done at close quarters.”

“I see.” With these words Julian half closes his eyes as he makes some rapid recalculations. Constance senses him softening slightly as he looks back up at her.

“My apologies, Constance. It was not my intent to embarrass you. But pray, next time you cannot answer a question, a simple ‘I don’t know’ will suffice. There is no need to bury your ignorance in prolixity.” He smiles, thinly but kindly.

“Now, have you any news of your aunt Fiona?” At that moment comes a discrete knock at the door.

Constance looks at her Father to reply but pauses, waiting for his response to the knock at the door.

“Ah! If my nose does not deceive me…” With an alacrity testifying to his hunger, Julian quickly crosses the room, apparently throwing caution to the winds – except that Constance observes his left hand resting on the hilt of his dagger even as his right flings wide the door to reveal Asfar bearing a tray covered with a white muslin.

Julian steps aside and Asfar lays the tray on a side table. He removes the cloth to reveal a variety of aromatic dishes, a basket of fresh flatbread and two bowls.

“Is this suitable, Lord, Lady? Then if you have no other desires I shall leave you to your meal.” Julian thanks him with a nod and the demon withdraws, shutting the door.

“Mmm! Yes, this will do nicely.” Constance hears a rumble from Julian’s stomach as he surveys the offering. “A distinctly Moorish aroma, don’t you think Constance – it puts me in mind of childhood visits to my relatives on the distaff, in Cordoba.”

“Yes. The sweetness of the spicing without the direct heat of chillies. The aroma is delicious” she agrees. “And, even better, it doesn’t appear to be moving.” Constance pauses. “Would you say the Grace – I have missed your voice, Father.”

Julian doesn’t tut but to Constance it is as if he did – probably no one else could hear the note of irritation in his voice. “Constance, I am sure I have spoken before of the desirability of keeping our emotions under control. Your habit of lapsing into emotionality is doubtless your F… your female nature coming out. You must control yourself.

“It has never been my custom to observe the minor religious rites prevalent in the lower classes and I see no reason to start now. But if you feel the need I cannot stop you.”

He takes a bowl and helps himself to what looks like cous-cous and three of the dishes available.

“Now, it seems I have asked many questions of you; once you have spoken of Fiona you may have your turn to ask of me.”

Constance serves herself a little food after her father and then quietly and simply says a Grace to the Unicorn.

“I am not aware of Princess Fiona having yet arrived, Father. Lord Mandor has expressed concern about her whereabouts and believes that she is being deliberately delayed in her arrival to Chaos.”

Julian takes a few moments to mull this over, eating voraciously, giving no sign that this news bothers him at all. “I see.” he comments eventually, “Mandor again – I think I shall have to talk to him.

“So Constance, I have some further questions for you but the urgent ones are dealt with. Do you have any you wish to ask me, since we haven’t talked privily since before the battle?”

Constance acknowledges his invitation with a small smile. “Actually, I have something to give you Father.” She carefully places down her cutlery and reaching into her jacket she pulls out her two Trump cards. She glances at the top one and places Julian’s image back. The other, Havelock’s portrait of her, she offers to Julian.

Julian casts a critical eye over the image as he refreshes his bowl with a different suite of dishes and takes another flatbread. With the initial hunger swaged, his chewing becomes slower and more thoughtful as he savours his food.

“Perceptive!” Julian comments, as if that’s a bad thing, “Who is the artist?”

With his regard, Constance feels the faintest glimmerings of a trump contact. She suspects that her father can’t feel the connection and she wouldn’t either if there were anything to distract her.

Constance opens her mind to the Trump connection. This is the first time she has been trumped. 

Julian promptly leans back, breaking contact. He wipes his hand on a napkin and turns the card over. “Apologies, Constance – it is ill-mannered to interrupt someone at the table, by any medium. It was unintentional, I assure you.” He returns to his food. “You were about to name the artist?”

Constance pauses, acknowledging his apology with an apologetic smile of her own. “The artist is Lord Havelock, Father.”

“Bleys’ son? I thought as much. There is a hint of Brand in the style, though I am pleased to note a degree of gritty realism lacking in Brand.” He chews and swallows another mouthful. “Thank you, Constance. This will aid communications between us – yet please be wary as I am by no means certain the Trumps are secure.”

“That is our concern about Trumps as well Father,” she agrees. Constance places her plate away to one side. “Although there are many other ways of obtaining information in the Courts of Chaos.”

Julian is too busy eating to comment but nods agreement in a vague kind of way. Evidently he’s aware of the existence of other sources but is not concerned with the minutiae.

“One of those ways is through dream Father. Do you recall any of your dreams of late? You and Arden have featured in mine.” Constance watches him for a reaction.

Since this is Julian, reaction is minimal. He considers his answer carefully before swallowing and taking a sip of wine to wash it down. “Dreams come from many sources, Constance: our experiences throughout the day (or at least the equivalent in this place), our memories, desires, fears and aspirations. They tend to be influenced heavily by anything that dwells on the mind, hence it does not surprise me to hear that you dreamed of me while I was held captive, or of our home in Arden.

“For my part, I was kept drugged too deeply to dream – that I can recall, that is.”

“I monitored your Trump, once it was realised that you were being held, Father. But even before that realisation, in dream, you and I were in Arden and twice you said to me ‘Alas Daughter, I am not free to assist in this matter’.” Constance pauses, “Prince Caine interpreted the meaning of the dream and it correlated with warnings around you he had interpreted from Trump readings. Dreams in this place have a far greater currency than one might think.”

Julian fills his bowl for a third time but not so full as previously, obviously choosing from his favourites. “What you must understand about this place, Constance, is that it is the polar opposite of Amber. By that I do not mean that it is simply at the opposite end of our scheme of reality, but rather that its essence is the precise antithesis. Amber is ‘real’ and even Pattern can change little in those parts of Arden within view of Kolvir. But here ‘reality’ is perhaps little more than a dream?”

Constance considers. “Precisely so Father,” she agrees. “Thus Deirdre can be restored, Morgenstern located and Princess Llewella conversed with. But who, or what, is directing actions in dream? Some of the actions and warning felt almost prescient – particularly in regard to my dream in Arden.”

Again that quirked eyebrow suggesting abject surprise is the only expression to cross Julian’s visage – though he does not stop eating. “Why should someone be directing your dreams? Have you or someone else done something you would not while awake?”

Constance considers. “I really cannot answer for my cousins, Father. I know that you led me to Morgenstern in dream – and in that dream I released him and in a subsequent dream I found him. Upon waking I physically scouted for him but he wasn’t in House Karm’s environs. My demon asked me where I had seen him at the end of my dream. I described it and he took me to that place. I could hear Morgenstern for some time before I caught sight of him. It took some work just to calm him down.”

She pauses musingly. “My thoughts were on you. Not Morgenstern. But you were then…” she breaks slightly, “…beyond my ability to assist. Morgenstern is the most real thing I associate with you. Thus that calling through dream.”

“Your use of words betray your underlying thought, Constance, and I begin to realise what you meant by your question regarding direction of dreams. You must understand that it was not I who led you to anything. I was completely unconscious and incapable of influencing you in any way. Your aunt Fiona would tell you that all this was just your subconscious mind finding a way to talk to your conscious self. No one put these dreams in your head – no one but yourself.”

“I really could not disagree with your explanation Father,” Constance agrees. “Except for the small matter of the dream being quite explicit in Morgenstern’s location. That matter is beyond my subconscious.”

“You underestimate the powers of your subconscious, daughter. One of the reasons I asked after Fiona is that I would wish you to have a conversation with your aunt regarding such matters. I have heard her discourse with her brother most eloquently about similar phenomena.

“To look at your hypothesis another way, if your contention that Morgenstern’s location was brought to you by outside intervention is correct, you presumably have some idea as to the identity of the entity concerned?”

“No, Father. I have no idea,” Constance replies. ”There is a House within Chaos called Hierophus that deals with Dream. I spoke with them in the company of Lords Havelock and Margrath. They said that it is possible to tamper with dream if one had access to a Trump of the subject and sufficient skills to manipulate those dreams. Someone as powerful as Mandor or…” she pauses, specifically not naming, “…some of those of our family. But no ‘entity’ was mentioned.”

“Well if Hierophus specialises in such stuff then I must bow to their superiority,” comments Julian, in a tone that suggests there is no superiority. “But if they have been plying your dreams with visions I might ask why you and not someone with more influence and less wilfulness.

“And while I am sure any son of Bleys is knowledgeable about such matters I would truly recommend a conversation with Fiona… or, if she persists in remaining unavailable, Llewella.”

Constance looks up at Julian with a quick smile. “Llewella I have now met and conversed with, Father. Our conversation did touch upon intuition. She said that, like her, I was a Sensitive.”

“That does not surprise me, but it seems you were not ready to listen to her… until now?”

“I need to listen to and trust my intuition rather than seek an external explanation,” she sighs in exasperation.

“Did perchance you speak of… anything else?” Julian seems curious.

“Yes, Father. A number of matters. Why one’s gender may influence how a message is received in Amber.” Constance watches Julian for a reaction.

Julian, as is his wont, gives no particular reaction. One raised eyebrow asks ‘Anything else?’ but he says nothing.

Constance cocks her head to one side and reflects on Llewella’s reply. “She talked about her experience in Amber. How this ‘wilful daughter’ might go about being listened to by gaining the respect of those she would influence rather than being frustrated by her inability to be listened to.”

“That goes for all of us, Constance. Something I think your uncle Random learned only recently, to his credit and gain – and Brand not at all, alas.”

Constance nods acknowledging his point. She smiles slightly, recalling something. “Mmm. Llewella also asked me to tell her brothers that she was managing her hosts perfectly well and she…” Constance pauses again, “…does not require your... assistance with the matter.”

“Me personally? She actually said my name?”

Constance shakes her head. “A collective ‘your’, Father, as in her brothers. Not ‘you’ specifically. You were not singled out.”

“Really? Are you sure? Your words sounded more specific to me.”

“Perfectly sure Father,” Constance affirms. “She specifically asked that the family did not take action against House Chanicut.”

“Yes, I can understand that. Though I am a little surprised she felt the need to say as much. Has anyone voiced a suggestion in that direction?”

“Not in my presence Father – the concern has been focused on your safe return. Thus, the loan of a Pattern blade to Lord Havelock. And, if you consider it, your known incarceration would cause your sister to exclude you from any action against Chanicut would it not?” This last point is put gently.

Julian blinks, hard. “Of course! You must forgive my paranoia, Constance; family history. However your conversation with my sister does put me in mind to ask that you spread the word that no one is to take any sanction against Karm without consulting with me first. No one! I trust I am being clear on this?”

“Yes, of course Father,” she assures him. ”As I trust you will respect my right to take sanction against those of Chaos who have insulted me. Excluding Karm, of course,” she adds.

“Of course, Constance;” Julian seems darkly pleased, “I would expect nothing less.”

Constance mildly raises an eyebrow in response before rising to pour Julian and herself some more wine. “Now Father, I would speak to you about Arden. I have been... anxious about our home in our absence. I know you will understand this more than your brothers.”

“Of course I understand, Constance. Arden is your home; it is where you were brought up and is, regrettably, all you have known. That you are as concerned with the forest as the rest of us are about Amber is only natural – and the fates of the two are, to a degree, bound together.”

“Regrettably, Father? If pressed I would say that although my blood belongs to Amber, my heart belongs to Arden,” she looks quite pensive.

“I chose my words carefully, daughter. Despite being given the gift to venture far and wide, you have never explored beyond Arden. Prior to this current affair, your horizons have remained as limited as the day I brought you back from Faerie.”

Julian dips a flatbread into something savoury and settles back in his chair, making himself comfortable to nibble at leisure. “I had hoped that once the Pattern was at your command you might venture forth. When it became clear you had no appetite for such adventure I might have suggested it myself, but then politics intervened.”

“Perhaps, when we leave this place, and return to our place and establish the nature of the new normality I will be more inclined to venture forth into the new World, Father.”

“Perhaps.” Julian sips his wine and takes another bite of his flatbread. He doesn’t seem convinced, but then he doesn’t seem too bothered either way.

Constance smiles slightly as she has a sip of her wine. Her expression is far more serious as she returns to the subject of Arden.

“So, Father. I have had a number of dreams and a general sense that Arden is in difficulties. There is undoubtedly a subconscious pull upon my dreams but there are some specifics I would discuss with you and some other information that Lord Margrath has brought to the table.”

Julian continues alternating sips of wine with dipping and nibbling his flatbread. “I said I value your insights as much as Fiona’s in matters pertaining to Arden, Constance, and I meant what I said. Please relate your concerns.”

Constance nods and steeples her fingers in front of her. “There were three dreams Father. The first was when I slept in Spectral’s copy of Arden. I was in Arden seeking Amber but when I saw the City the vista was incorrect. I am happy to put this down to my subconscious – I was in a confused space.”

“Incorrect?”

“Yes Father. The actual view was impossible. As I looked the Sun was up high on my left and, if it was the Amber I knew, it would have been Amber as if viewed from the Sea. In my dream, I could just make the sea out to my right.”

“So in your dream you were riding through Arden only to find yourself, in the way of dreams, suddenly at sea, viewing Amber from the Ocean?” Julian’s expression is quizzical, he feels he’s missing something.

Constance thinks and then responds. “No Father. In the dream I was definitely on the edges of Arden viewing Amber.”

“And how did the castle appear? Was it intact?”

“No. No Father,” she shakes her head. “This place, I knew intuitively was not the real Amber. My apologies. I have never sought to mislead you.”

Julian gives the impression of a man labouring to maintain his patience. “So, am I to understand that you saw a city in a dream that was in a place unlike Amber, that itself was not like Amber, and that you ‘intuitively’ realised was not Amber?”

Constance inclines her head to Julian. “As I said Father, I was in a confused space. The second dream was more informative.”

“You said, ‘In the dream I was definitely on the edges of Arden viewing Amber’ – definitely viewing Amber. But you now say that you knew it wasn’t Amber. So what made you say it was?”

Constance steeples her fingers in front of her and her eyes go slightly distant as she works to recall the content of the dream. She nods as if to herself and her eyes focus back on her Father.

“I said it was Amber because, in my dream, I was definitely following the paths that led to a greater degree of reality – which ultimately should mean directly to Amber herself, Father. And more importantly it felt like I was passing to a stronger reality and the only strong reality I know is Amber. Ergo, to me, it was Amber”.

Julian studies his daughter’s face carefully, and continues his regard after she’s finished speaking for a long count of ten. Constance can sense that he’s weighing her words carefully. Then abruptly he looks down and away and gives a miniscule shrug. “Of course, sometimes a dream is just a dream… yet you feel it was of some significance.”

Constance gives her Father a cool look. “Ordinarily, I would be inclined to agree with you Father. But we are in Chaos and things work differently here.”

“I would be surprised if your dream was in any way inspired or influenced by our current condition or locale, Constance. I am sure you would have experienced similar dreams were we elsewhere.”

He washes down a last morsel with a sip of wine. He does not take more from the table but the goblet is still half full. “The second dream…?”

Constance nods in agreement. “The second dream was during the sleep before the skirmish in the Duomo.” She pauses and studies Julian’s face.

Her father reveals no particular emotion beyond polite interest – clearly he wants to hear more before he comments.

“Again, I knew intrinsically that I was looking at Amber. But again the geography was wrong and buildings were missing or changed. No Kolvir. No castle and a river that wound its way through the City.” She pauses and studies Julian’s face again. “It filled me with foreboding.”

“Interesting.” Julian quirks an eyebrow, “But not exactly informative.”

Constance acknowledges this with a curt nod and continues. “No mountain, no harbour. No castle. But there was a fortress built in the middle of the river and the cathedral-like building was shining white with 3 minarets pointing up from the roof.”

Julian stirs slightly in his chair, perhaps seeking more comfort or perhaps irritated at her repetition. “The Cathedral of the Unicorn in Amber has but a single dome… But doubtless”, he continues before she can interrupt, “you saw other details of architecture indicating a connection.”

“What concerned me was the massive silver object that was floating in the air towards a large girded mass of iron that seemed to be moored to the ground but pointed upwards into the sky. Darig later told me it was an airship and the iron pole was its mooring point. Do you know of them Father?” she asks.

“Airships? Yes, they and similar are common enough in certain shadows, some close to Amber – had you ventured more widely you would doubtless have encountered them.”

Again she acknowledges his point. “And then again, perhaps it was just a dream, Father”, she says very sweetly.

“Perhaps. But you say you have dreamed it thrice, Constance, and three times is a charm, is it not?

“So they say Father. But in this case please hear out the third dream and something, perhaps related to it, which came from an altogether different source.” She continues, “In the third, I was riding hard in Arden, pursued by something above me that produced a throbbing sound. I was tracking it by the dappling above me, caused by its shadow overhead. When I caught sight of it – it was an airship. Large and silver, a metallic colour – Argent perhaps?

“I sought a bow shot but it was too high to achieve so I doubled back at speed to avoid it. I did not attempt to shift the environment around me but sought deeper cover under the trees but I could not lose it. I glanced up to see things falling from the front of the craft. I heard the sound as these... darts ripped leaves and bark from trees and awoke screaming as the darts exploded Morningstar’s head on impact.”

“I can imagine you must have found the experience quite upsetting, but beyond that, what do you believe is the significance of your dreams?”

“That Amber is in danger,” she replies simply.

“That is hardly news, Constance.”

“Indeed Father, it is not. But my feelings or dreams are not always just dreams”, she responds levelly. “I felt strongly that I was viewing Amber. An Amber that was different and in which technology, in the form of an airship worked. The only other technology that I am aware of being in Amber of late were Prince Corwin’s rifles. Rifles, until then, were not, I believe, known to work in Amber”, she pauses.

“Regarding the rifles, you are correct, Constance. Corwin managed to make good his threat to bring firearms to Amber despite our best efforts.

“But you persist in calling the city in your dreams Amber. By your own admission it could not be – unless you believe airships might eradicate mountains?”

“And castles?” She sighs slightly. “That City – I felt it to be Amber so strongly.” She shakes her head and has a small swallow of wine. “Maybe an airship can destroy mountains? Maybe a Chaos Storm can destroy mountains? I don’t know. But I do know that Margrath received information about threats to Amber. Technology was one of the three specific threats named.”

“The city you saw cannot be Amber. Amber is immutable, by its very nature. It is the antithesis of this place. Amber is also the corresponding pole to Chaos. There cannot be another pole.” Julian frowns, indicating that he does not have any answers. “I cannot guess the meaning of your dreams, though I am willing to accept that you believe they have meaning.

“From what source does Margrath’s information come? I cannot imagine anyone here knows the state of Amber better than we of the Blood Royale.”

“As a reward for our actions in the Duomo, we youngers were all made members of various Orders within Chaos. These Orders have proven useful in gleaning information and making connections. One of the Orders equipped us with the means to extract you from Karm. Margrath’s is the Order of the Loquacious Nettle. Members of his Order may pose questions to a plant.”

“Really?” replies Julian, totally straight-faced, “Well I have known some very perceptive nettles. What did this garrulous weed have to say?”

“Margrath’s question was, ‘is Amber under threat?’ There was a three word response: Unseelie, Abaddon and Argent,” she finishes. “My knowledge of Argent is through heraldry, and my dream of the airship, which was argent in colour, led me to think towards technology as a threat,” she concludes.

Julian’s air of humour vanishes. “Argent means nothing to me, save as an heraldic colour, as you mention, but the other two names are worrying. “You are, of course, aware that Faerie is divided politically into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts?”

“Of course Father.”

“And I trust you have ascertained the meaning of Abaddon?”

“Yes Father. Though I was unable to ascertain whether Abaddon was a specific entity or a region within the Realm.”

“It is both a province within Hell and also the title of the ruler – perhaps Bleys can tell you who that is. The difference is purely one of semantics, of course – politically the two are the same. If we are to believe the Loquacious Nettle then Amber is threatened by a three-part alliance between the Unseelie Court, a province of Hell and this third entity – Argent.

“Amber once fought off an alliance between Faerie and Hell in their entireties so I am inclined not to worry overly on this lesser alliance, save that this Argent is an unknown quantity. But it is bootless to worry overmuch when we are so removed from Amber, Constance, and I would suggest we put it from our minds until we pass Ygg.”

Constance nods but there is still concern clear on her face.

“Would you like to hear the chatty plant’s answers to the other two questions Father?”

Julian is darkly amused. “My, my! A loquacious nettle indeed – Very well. But beware, daughter, we know nothing of its provenance or verity. If we accept its pronouncements without critical regard we are leaving ourselves open to manipulation and our hosts have no reason to love us.”

“The second question was simply ‘what has happened to Amber?’ – and the answers were Ragnorok, Return and Rebirth.”

Julian considers carefully before replying. “The trouble with all oracles is a tendency to be ambiguous and obfuscatory. Ragnarok might refer to the recent battle, though I understand the term to be somewhat more destructive than anything we have experienced so far – however, we should not count our chickens until we are well away from this place. For the rest, ‘return and rebirth’ sound somewhat heartening to me.”

“Indeed they do. It suggests that there is something to return to at the least!”

“Constance, I have already warned you once, do not take the pronouncements of any oracle as gospel until confirmed by other means. We already know that the Pattern, and therefore Amber, are intact. That should be good enough for us until we can verify things with our own eyes.”

“The last question asked was ‘how can Oberon’s descendents leave Chaos safely?’ The answers were Succession; Election; Funeral, which, all in all, fits with Mandor’s plan.”

“Does it really? That makes me wonder what connections this ‘Mandor’ may have with the talking weed, behind the scenes.”

“I am sure that Mandor has more shoots and leaves than your average Ground Elder, Father. But I suspect that, in common with at least some of the Chaos Lords, he spends more time manipulating. He is very charming indeed and very good at managing his affairs in Chaos.”

Constance takes quite a large mouthful of wine at this point as if preparing.

“So. Father, on another matter, I have had a piece of unsolicited poetry gifted to me and it has raised in my mind that my knowledge of half of my ancestry is imperfect. How...” she pauses. “…Father,” she says quietly. “Who was my Mother?”

Julian shows no outward reaction to this question out of the blue – which, Constance suddenly realises, testifies to how surprised he may be – his legendary self-control is ever to the fore when his emotions are taxed. After a long, pregnant pause, he speaks…

“Your mother was, and no doubt still is, a lady of rank in the Faerie Courts. I would give you a name but I am sure she spoke false when she gave me hers, as is the habit with the Fae, and I have no desire to lie to you… May I ask after the poet…?”

Constance watches him carefully and eventually replies quietly. “Lord Torc, Father.”

She reaches for the wine bottle and refills both of their goblets. She notices that Julian doesn’t bat an eyelid at the name and she suspects he wasn’t even slightly surprised.

“Tell me about her. Please? How did you meet?”

“Politics – a matter of calculation. We needed allies.” Julian doesn’t drink; he’s studying Constance carefully, as if looking for something. “I am sorry to disappoint you but there was no romance involved.”

Constance nods slowly. “I was not looking for romance in the equation, Father”, she eventually replies. “Nor do I mean to ever cause you pain. I am just trying to understand my place in all of this.”

Julian’s mask slips to the extent of showing mild surprise. “Fending off the bite of a giant fish is painful, Constance. This is merely history.”

“Did it take place to counter Prince Corwin? I understand he courted Faerie for an alliance at one point?”

“Yes. Say what you will about my late brother, Eric was a gifted statesman. Though his enmity toward Corwin was more personal than political, Corwin’s threat needed to be curbed. Eric foresaw Corwin’s search for allies and collectively we forestalled him.”

“And those of Amber will sully themselves when it is politically expedient to do so,” she comments without any expression.

“I do not regard myself as ‘sullied’, Constance.” Julian’s tone goes from dry and detached to icy. “Do you?”

Constance’s eyes are over bright. “No. I certainly do not. And yet when met, the surprise in my obvious heritage has elicited that phrase from some within the family Father.”

“Well you must find a way to deal with that as you may – you will find certain members of our family will want to… ‘test’ you – by playing on perceived sensitivities. If you do not measure up be assured you will be ‘tested’ to destruction. Are we done with discussing the distaff?”

Constance blinks to clear her eyes. “Not quite Father. To which Court did the Lady belong?”

“Unusually, I understand the lady moves between the Seelie and Unseelie courts. It would seem she combines a knack for ingratiation with an equal capacity for invoking distrust.

“Constance, when we act or speak out of emotion we are prone to err. Do not allow your emotions to gain the better of you – in this matter if no other. Remember that your mother cast you aside ere you were scarce weaned. She is typical of her kind and your mother in name only, which is why I have never sought to broach the subject before. She is not worthy of you. She never was and never will be.”

Constance gazes at him for some time. “You are my Father and my only parent. I count myself blessed to be your daughter and to have been left in Arden under whatever circumstances.”

Julian acknowledges the compliment with an infinitesimal nod.

“You said that she moves between the Courts – like the Puck and Torc, perhaps?”

“No, not like Puck, and doubtless unlike Torc, of whom I knew nothing before his appearance here. No two of the Fae are alike so she cannot be like them.

“But daughter, I confess that I find myself singularly uninterested in discussing the Fae at this time. I can see that for some reason your interest is piqued but I refuse to pander to this sudden fixation. You need know nothing more if the two of you never meet, which has always been my intent. Let us change the subject…”

“You would like to hear Torc’s poem Father. It makes reference to my Mother and a likely War.”

“I said we shall change the subject, Constance. Mind yourself!”

“I apologise Father. Certainly,” Constance bows her head.

Julian nods, graciously accepting her apology.

“Matters do remain. Some unpleasant.” She continues. I regret to inform you that as a result of his actions around the unveiling of the Zigo painting, Prince Brand has managed to retain a presence on this plane. He seeks a body and the means by which to maintain his spirit in a corporeal form.”

Julian is genuinely startled and Constance glimpses a flash of fear, followed by something more positive, akin to a yearning, before his self-control reasserts itself.

“I recall his shade making an appearance at the unveiling. It is like Brand to persist after the cause of his appearance has been dealt with. I confess I am ambivalent over this news, Constance, which is ever the way with Brand. Part of me fears him profoundly and I confess I felt nothing but relief when I heard Caine had killed him. Another part wishes, just as profoundly, that some way could have been found to bring my brother back into the fold.”

“We have conversed twice since the unveiling Father. Were it not for his reputation I would sincerely work hard to undo his current state for he is not among the living and yet neither is he truly dead. Yet it may be that he has sought me out precisely because of my good nature.” Constance is sorrowful for Brand.

“I know far too little of his situation to offer any coherent advice, save to be wary when speaking to him.”

Constance nods. “He surprised me by his reference to Julian’s ‘secret in the woods’ and said that he had plans for me at one stage.”

Julian goes white and makes no attempt to hide his alarm. “What? What did you say?” Then he recovers himself. “What were the circumstances of this conversation, daughter?”

“It took place on the stage of a place called the Opera. Lord William and I were scouting the stage area. Prince Brand, dressed in black, appeared centre-stage. He appeared to know who I was. He did not know William. He specifically referred to me as ‘Julian’s secret in the Woods’. Prince Caine referred to me by that name when we first met. I hope that Brand overheard it used somewhere else. Elsewise there has been loose talk.”

“I never spoke of you in Caine’s hearing but he is a most perceptive man and I am unsurprised that he deduced your existence even before glimpsing you in the fighting when Eric died. But he is also discrete and I would not expect him to divulge news of you to another of our family without good reason.

“Brand was… is, similarly gifted, and with hindsight it is clear he has sought out younger members of the family in the past. He attached himself to my late lamented siblings, Petra and Morgan, and later to the unlamented Richard and Alyssa. He tried to do the same with Delwin and Sand with scant success so it would not surprise me to learn that he had been seeking members of your generation.

“But beware, Constance. When he finally met with one of your cousins he used him as a handy bottle of Pattern eraser fluid. To hear that he has ‘plans’ for my daughter chills my blood.”

“He said ‘had plans’, Father, but that Martin had been easier to reach. So again, I owe my current grace to your caution. He also said that my time would come later, I hope in reference to usefulness. I have felt like a broken bowstring here at times. Sorashi shape changes to secure a House. I am just an observer. I miss Arden,” she sighs.

With the news that ‘had plans’ should more accurately read ‘had had plans’ Julian seems to recover his sang froid.

“Daughter, it is surprising how someone gifted with such perception and awareness cannot be more aware of her own condition. We are all here as fish out of water – the very environment is antithetical to everything we know. To feel at a loss here is only natural, for all of us.

“You need not feel inferior to Sorashi. She gets her shape-shifting talents from her similarly gifted mother, of course, who doubtless inherits it from our father, born here in Chaos. Perhaps we might all shift our forms, were we to try?

“But Sorashi’s gains are not due to her being a were-cat, rather to her decision to offer the coup-de-grace to the last heiress of Abal and herein is the lesson – it is not what we are, but what we do, that ultimately defines us.

“Regarding usefulness: your value to me goes beyond mere ‘utility’, of course, yet you have most certainly proven useful nonetheless. My freedom is testimony to your efforts and you shall not find me lacking in grace when it comes to reward. This goes for William and Havelock also – I am aware how much the three of you risked to secure my person.”

“Father, as a dutiful daughter, your safe recovery is reward enough. A favour repaid from many years ago.” She smiles a brilliant smile to him.

“Yes, we are now quits,” smiles Julian, ironically. “Yet my action was that of a father for a daughter too young to know better and I assure you that, while it required considerable effort, it was never as dangerous as your entry into Castle Karm. A poor father I would be if I did not recognise a daughter’s valour.”

“There were grave concerns Father,” she replies with a slight smile. “But we worked together and pooled knowledge and resources. It might have been a more troubled outcome if Prince Bleys had not loaned his blade.”

Julian applauds her pun. “Indeed! Bleys must trust his son considerably. The unclean thing that assaulted William was most unpleasant.”

“Now. Are you done with the sound of my voice or would you like an account of the Opera that I played a tiny part in?”

“Opera? I think not – I have never shared Caine’s predilection for that particular performance art – though I am sorry I missed your performance.”

Constance nods at his response and looks as if to reply but holds herself back.

“You are tired, Constance, and I suspect you have allowed your emotions to rule you during my duress, which is not conducive to rest. But before I send you to your bed there is one last thing I would ask you. Your cousins’ names have appeared at several points in our conversation. Obviously they are unknown quantities to me but I think you should have a fair grasp of their characters and capabilities by now. I would value your opinion of them?”

Constance pauses, considering, ”All of my cousins have proved both able and helpful Father. I can and have worked with them. Darig is a military strategist. He seems very straightforward in a military way. I think he is patient in adversity but he does not strike me as a sophisticate. He seems widely travelled. He says he grew up in Faerie and that he is Corwin’s son. I have not worked very much with him.”

Another quirked eyebrow indicating mild surprise. “Corwin dallied with Faerie? Interesting! If so, then they failed to support him against us – but then that wouldn’t surprise me. Yet he shows no sign…” Then something seems to strike Julian. “Of course! Darig is a changeling – so while he may have been raised in, he was not born to, Faerie. Mmm!”

Constance raises an eyebrow enquiringly.

“It suggests Corwin looked to mortal allies so it might be interesting to know his true origins – just for historical accuracy, of course. Since we saw no allies during our campaign I presume our Fae contingents dealt with them beforehand, since the babe wound up in their hands. Next…?”

“Dirk. He is a little overly forward with his female cousins, and lacks the subtlety of his father. I have not had a great deal to do with him but he has been integral in passing messages between his father and us and acting as a timely alarm. He rescued Sorashi from an assassination attempt so he is handy with weapons.”

“Especially knives and daggers, no doubt. Mmm! Of course, he could be less subtle than Caine and still tie the rest of us in knots. Do you know of his origins?”

She shakes her head. “No Father. I will look for an opportunity to find out something more about him.”

“I have a suspicion myself, but I will wait to hear the results of your enquiries. What of our hostess? You mentioned that someone tried to kill her?”

“Mmmmm. There have been two attempts Father. I am not sure of detail but the first was prior to her inheritance and she was attacked by two demons. They killed her House demon and I gather would have killed her if it had not been for Dirk’s intervention. Caine had read of likely danger for her in his Trumps and I knew where she physically was. The destruction of the House Demon had serious consequences for Minobee and Sorashi was transferred to another House.”

“And the second…?”

“Outside her House Father. Again driven off with assistance. I would venture the first was politically motivated from within Chaos and the second an attempt at a land grab whilst the estate was still magically insecure. There a large number of items of value to Chaosites in this House and those who would have them for themselves Father.”

“I see! Fortunate that she is Deirdre’s daughter and a werecat of some sort, like her mother, hardy and fierce. But what is she like in herself?”

“She seems very guarded Father. She admitted with some sort of guilt that she was a shape-shifter. She has a closer relationship with the Heir of Barimen but she may have been manoeuvred into that by her male cousins. She is not an open person.”

“Who is?” rejoins Julian. “But unless I miss my guess, she’ll more difficult than most to manipulate – I recall it was her decision, and hers alone, to give Abal’s heiress the coup-de-grace. And she has given us hospitality, again of her own accord. I think, daughter, that she near matches you in grace. Remind me to thank her in person.”

Constance nods.

“Can you tell me ought of Margrath?”

“Margrath is a Shaman Father. He is knowledgeable about matters of Spirit. He refers to the Great Spirit and seems largely unaware of Our Lady. Our conversations regarding your state whilst under duress... “She pauses briefly, “I will confess caused me considerable alarm.”

Julian says nothing but his quirked eyebrow asks what she means.

Constance pauses, awkwardly deep in memory. “There are ways by which a body may be separated from the spirit which inhabits it. Margrath suggested both body and soul could be imprisoned apart from each other. So that when I could see you galloping in dream it was indicative that your spirit was trapped in Dream.”

She sighs and says more quietly. “It was also about this time that Prince Brand told me that he sought a new body to inhabit. With you held captive, it was a wide step to imagine that yours was the replacement body for Prince Brand. If it was not for the solace of prayer, I would have lost heart Father.”

Again there’s the inaudible tut of irritation that only Constance could hear. “You have let your imagination run away with you, daughter; that all seems most implausible to me. Margrath is Sand’s son, is he not? Well it sounds to me as if he has inherited his mother’s instability. He should have been sent to sea, or to serve in the army or the rangers; to give him a more practical bent.

“Life sends its vicissitudes, Constance, as we have seen. When they arrive we must not drown ourselves in self-pity. We must do as you have done: set ourselves to task, work the problem, take up arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them. Kindly remember that in future, for I deem our troubles are far from over.”

“There was no self pity Father. Never self pity! Abject worry for you, yes. And as to Margrath. He sees the World differently to many of us. He is kindly and forthcoming with potentially useful information and, at the moment, he is the only Sorcerer we have readily available to us,” Constance replies defensively.

“No self pity? If that were the case I would owe you an apology, daughter.” Constance notes the ‘if’. “I am perfectly prepared to accept that he is a fine fellow if you say so, but nonetheless my opinion is that sorcery is no vocation for a male of our blood.

Constance sighs very slightly then smiles at Julian’s ‘if’.

“Havelock?”

“Havelock is urbane and worldly. Close to his Father, whom he refers to as Dad. I have heard no mention of his mother. He has grace. He is good with a sword – nearly up there with Darig and William I judge…”

Julian shifts fractionally in his seat at the mention of William.

“…but lacks their quality to stay the length of the fight. He has completed Trump portraits of all of us. He is a diplomat, using Trump readings to clarify matters, and he sought a means by which to obtain your release. He deals in politics and diplomacy.”

“Indeed, his father’s son – as Dirk to Caine. I need hardly warn you to be wary of that branch of the family, Constance.”

“Indeed Father. It was with some reluctance I allowed him to paint me but I knew of no alternate artists and we needed a way to maintain contact.”

“I recall sitting for Dworkin in my youth – it was an intense experience. The process involves giving the painter a glimpse of your innermost thoughts. But there is nothing to fear if we have nothing to hide.”

“And lastly William, Father?” She pauses.

“If you please, daughter.” Constance gets the impression that while Julian has deliberately left William to last, he is not last in his thoughts – no indeedy!

“Actually Father, I should also tell you that Havelock unintentionally employed Pattern quite recently. The shock waves have reverberated through Chaos. Many of them had forgotten exactly what it is we are capable of.”

“You should choose your words more carefully, Constance. It is not possible to ‘unintentionally’ use the Pattern, since it requires conscious effort. Please be more precise!”

Constance tilts her head to acknowledge his point. “Yes Father. Havelock brought up Pattern in response to a perceived direct threat. The threat was not as it appeared and he dropped his defence. The use of Pattern caused damage to both the fabric of the place he was in and damage to one or more of the members of the Chaos Order he was being inaugurated into.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Only for the Chaosites concerned, Father!” Constance observes.

“Generally speaking,” observes Julian, “misfortune is a relative thing, depending on your point of view – I notice my nephew seemed none the worse for his misadventure, and I’m sure Karm showed him healthy respect as a result.”

“The members of the Orders are drawn from across the Chaos Houses Father. Knowledge of Havelock’s actions and their effect have probably spread widely,” she replies.

“And of course we all bask in his reflected infamy.” Julian smiles – it’s not a very nice smile. “Are we done with the illustrious Lord Havelock?”

“I believe so Father,” she replies.

“Finally, William,” she begins. “I have worked well with William. He is an excellent swordsman and a soldier generally. He is both brave and considerate. I am wary of his sword,” she begins.

“I have already stated my appreciation for his prowess as a warrior but all I know of him is from my governess and from Ben – William was… is… the son of Finndo, by Ophelia of Rebma. He escorted his grandmother back to Chaos after Oberon annulled their marriage and no one has seen or heard from him since. His father made the mistake of challenging Ben to a duel and his mother drowned herself in the Oisen.

“But the way you at first introduced William only to revert to Havelock, tells me that the two gentlemen have something in common – has William also, perchance, caused inadvertent damage with the Pattern?”

Constance acknowledges his question with a quick nod. “They do indeed Father. William was challenged to a duel by one Tybalt of House Karm. During the duel, Tybalt brought up Logrus and William retaliated with Pattern. The house they fought in was destroyed by Pattern. The ramifications continue today.”

“I am unsurprised. I had supposed his function in House Karm to be one of command – he has a certain presence about him, reminiscent of Eric – but your words suggest he was also there to cow Karm. Mmm! I am sorry I could not have been there to see it.” Julian smiles that smile again. “But if the house was destroyed, how did William survive?”

“He was fished out of the Abyss, Father. His Grandmother Cymnea was willing to have him used as a pawn, but not perhaps as a sacrifice. Father, please bear in mind that William was the initial contact to find a way into Karm. He was the beef, Havelock the diplomat and I was the seeker. Either William or I would have stormed Karm to retrieve you but we were mindful of more sensible strategies. He is no idiot and he has had my back on more than one occasion in Chaos.”

“I assure you that I shall not underestimate his intellect, just I never underestimated Eric – and I do not think William was merely the ‘beef’, as you put it so inelegantly. But you did not answer my question – obviously he was ‘fished’ from the Abyss, but when an entire house falls into the Pit, how is it the only survivor is a complete outsider, whom many here would consider an enemy? And what has he been doing since? If I were Cymnea, I would have kept him in quarantine, where he could do no harm to anyone but himself.

“There is more to this story, Constance. Until we know the full truth I would suggest you maintain a degree of caution in your dealings with William – we know next to nothing about him… and his ambitions.”

“Father, I would imagine he was spared because of Cymnea’s influence and because he was too potent a threat to loose. Prince Caine may know more about that as he is resident in House Ascaris,” she replies.

“A dialogue with Caine is long overdue,” acknowledges Julian with a nod. “But you are being obtuse, Constance; you are confusing ‘why’ for ‘how’. I doubt not that his grandmother wanted him alive; but I imagine many of that house were equally valued, yet they are no more. If William could be saved, why not they?”

“I have not discussed this matter directly with William, Father – and I shall do. My understanding is that Ascaris saved William because they wanted him saved, and Diptera removed, and their reward for supporting Swayvil was a Rimlordship. They wanted Diptera out of the way. They intrigued with Swayvil, they were made sure that a rabid younger and expendable member of House Karm would bump into William in Diptera and challenge him. They expected the Logrus to be used and William to respond with Pattern and after the assured destruction of Diptera they had one of the Abyss diving Houses ready to fetch William back up ‘wiser but largely unharmed’.”

“And, where does your understanding come from, daughter?”

“An Opera Father, entitled ‘the Resistible Rise of Magnus Matricide’ and possibly written by Suhuy and Great Grandfather. As to the historical accuracy, I suspect Prince Caine might venture an opinion.”

“I think I have mentioned my distaste for opera. What makes you think the opus was written by this ‘Suhuy’ and Dworkin, if I understand your circumlocution correctly?”

“You have mentioned your distaste, Father. Too much aria and not enough dance. I say possibly for the composer and librettist as I have no direct evidence, only a sense that Dworkin, surely one of the prime architects of change, is ensuring that we know some history and the Chaosites are reminded of it.”

“Even if your assumptions are correct, surely you must know that he has spent most of the last millennium in a state of mental fugue, and in any case he could have little knowledge of the events you claim were portrayed in this ‘opera’. Perhaps all this history is correct, but some innate scepticism draws me to observe that it feels like propaganda to me. How much have you corroborated?”

“The events Dworkin was not present for, Suhuy was, Father. Corroboration is difficult. William will know his part in it but I do recall that when Swayvil awoke near the end of the production he called loudly that it was lies. It was propaganda – but there may be enough truth within to put a question in the minds of wavering houses? Surely its main purpose was to further destabilise Swayvil. Being hosted by the Rimlord Houses, I hope your brothers and sisters have learned more.”

“Constance, listen to yourself! You have offered me a potted history as established fact and now you confess it to be propaganda. Please do not waste my time any further with this.”

“I shall seek corroboration on the known events, Father and report back when I have something worth reporting on,” she replies shortly.

Julian nods curtly.

“My Lord Warden. You need to be aware that there are controls on the movements of the Princes and Princesses of Amber. You should also be aware that once your absence from House Karm becomes known, Chaos will insist on accommodating you in a Rim Lord House.”

“Yes, Constance, I am aware of both matters, particularly of the first, but I suspect and hope that, whichever house I am sent to, it will not prove as restrictive as Karm.

“Now Constance, I think I have heard enough for one… day? Pray, is there anything you wish of me before I send you to your well-earned bed?”

“I would that you were…” she begins but stops abruptly and pauses. “I would that you gave me your Blessing, Father,” she says simply.

“You have that and more… I meant what I said, Constance. You, William and Havelock, you not the least, shall have reward of me. I owe all of you a debt and Julian of Amber pays his debts. Please pass my message on and ponder awhile on what exactly you will have of me – you should be aware that I can offer things perhaps no one else in the family can.”

“I shall do so Father.” She keeps her gaze on him as she waits for her dismissal.

“Thank you Constance – good night and sleep well.”

"And you, my dearest Father." She smiles as she curtsies deeply to him and leaves the room.