Without slowing, the carriage mounted a long ramp overlooked by battlements on our right and entered a massive gatehouse, emerging after a right turn in a courtyard paved in red flagstones. It stopped, then swayed a bit as Dworkin climbed down.
Leaning forward, I touched Freda’s arm.
“Mm?” she said.
“We’re here.”
Yawning, she sat up. “Juniper?”
“I believe so.”
Reaching to her left, she pulled a small lever by the door. Instantly it swung open and those delicate-looking glass steps folded out.
I went down first, staring at the crowd that had begun to assemble. It included army officers as well as servants in white-and-red livery bearing water and other refreshments. I also recognized two of Dworkin’s sons from Freda’s Trumps—Locke and Davin. It seemed everyone wanted or needed to talk to Dworkin urgently, for they surrounded him, a dozen voices speaking at once. Locke paid me no heed; Davin gave me a curious glance, but did not address me. Clearly I wasn’t important enough to warrant their attention.
When Freda appeared in the carriage’s doorway, I offered her my hand and helped her to the ground.
Dworkin seemed to have forgotten us. He was busy giving orders—where to move troops, what supply stocks to draw upon, training and patrol schedules—as though he were the general who commanded this army.
“Come,” Freda said, “he will be busy for hours.”
Linking her arm through mine, she steered me toward a set of large double doors opened wide to the warm afternoon air. A steady stream of servants moved through them.
“But if he wants me—” I began.
“If he wants you, he will find you when he is ready. He always does.”
I didn’t argue. I still didn’t know enough about the situation to make a decision. But I
The double doors led to a large audience chamber. Tall, narrow stained-glass windows showing hunting and battle scenes filled the right wall. Similarly themed tapestries lined the other walls. Ahead, on a low dais, stood what could only be a throne, with half a dozen lesser chairs set slightly lower to either side. All sat empty now, but the room was far from deserted—at least a dozen servants scurried about on errands, carrying boxes, bundles of scrolls and parchments, trays of food, and additional items. Other servants had lowered the immense crystal chandelier from its mount on the central roof beam and were busily cleaning it and replacing candles.
“This way,” Freda said, starting for a door to the left of the dais. I hesitated a second, then followed.
Behind us, Dworkin and his entourage swept in, several voices still talking at once. I thought I heard Dworkin called “Prince” by at least one of the officers, which shocked me, but when I glanced back they were heading toward a different door.
As we entered a wide hallway, I noticed how Freda seemed changed here, inside the castle. She smiled constantly, nodding to servants and soldiers who passed us in the hallway. All called her “Lady” and bowed. They all gave me curious looks, but no salutations. And Freda offered them no hint as to my identity.
We turned, turned again, and went up a broad winding staircase to a second floor. I saw fewer servants here, but they seemed older and more polished. They too bowed, and they greeted Freda as “Lady Freda,” as though they were accustomed to dealing with her personally.
At the end of the last hallway we came to a large salon, richly carpeted and filled with comfortable looking chairs and sofas. A stained glass window of yet another hunting scene filled most of the west wall, and the lowering sun gave everything inside a warm, comfortable glow.
“Freda!” cried a woman from one of the sofas.
I studied her. She looked older than Freda, but they might have been sisters. Both had Dworkin’s unmistakable features.
“Pella, you’re back!” Freda said with clear delight, “When did you get in?”
“Last night.”
“Any trouble?”
“Nothing to speak of.”
The two embraced warmly, then Freda pulled me forward.
“This is Oberon.”
Pella raised her delicate eyebrows. “The long-lost Oberon? I though Father—”
“No,” said Freda pointedly. “Oberon, this is my full sister, Pella.”
I wasn’t sure quite what she meant by that. It seemed as though she’d heard stories about me. But how could that be—unless Dworkin had told them? But why would he bother?
Putting on my charm, I took Pella’s hand and kissed it. “Call me Obere,” I said with my most winning smile.
“He is cute,” Pella said to Freda. “I can see he’s destined to give Aber a run.”
“Aber?” I said. “Is he here, too?”
“Of course,” Pella said.
Freda added, “I do not think he has ventured outside Juniper’s walls in at least a year.”
“Not at all?” I asked, puzzled. The castle seemed nice enough, but I wouldn’t want to hole up in here. If not training in the field with the soldiers, I’d want to be off hunting, patrolling the forests, or simply exploring new territory.
“He has been busy chasing the kitchen maids.”
“Oh.” I blinked, somewhat surprised.
Freda said to Pella, “He is such an innocent. He was raised in Shadow, you know. He knows next to nothing of Father or our family.”
“Not so innocent!” I protested.
They both laughed, but it was done in such a kindly way that I couldn’t possibly take offense.
A throat cleared behind us, and I turned to find a new woman leaning almost seductively against the doorway. She wore a low-cut gown of shimmering white, showing off ample cleavage. She was younger, a tad shorter, and far more attractive than either Pella or Freda. She wore her dark brown hair up, and makeup accentuated her high cheekbones, pale complexion, and perfect white teeth. She was beautiful and knew it.
When she gave me an almost predatory boots-to-eyes appraisal, I took an instant dislike to her.
“Oberon, this is Blaise,” Freda said. I couldn’t help but notice the chill that had crept into her voice. Apparently she shared my feelings about this woman.
“Introductions?” came a man’s cheerful voice from behind Blaise. “Someone new here?”
The man goosed Blaise, gave a grin at her indignant glare, and ducked around her with a swirl of red.
“Aber?” I said, staring. He dressed as he had in his card: red from head to heel.
“That’s right!” He gave a laugh, stepped forward swiftly, and seized my arm in a firm grip, pumping it. “And you, I gather, must be the long-lost Oberon.”
“That’s right. Call me Obere.”
“Let me save you from these old hens, brother.”
He pulled me toward the back of the wall, where a cart filled with several dozen bottles of liquor sat. “Care for a drink?”
“Gladly!” I glanced back at Freda and Pella, and beyond them to Blaise. “Care to join us?” I asked politely.
A little sulkily, Blaise said, “Aber knows what I like.”
“Apple brandy,” he said with a grin and a wink at me. “Red wine for Freda and Pella. And you, brother Oberon?”
Brother again. Why did he call me that? I wanted to ask, but what I said was, “Whatever you’re having is
