The Chronicles of Amber

A pang of guilt touched me, but I pushed it away. He was the one who should feel guilty, I told myself. He was the one who had lied to me, denied me a normal childhood, and now planned to deny me everything else.

I had lived too long in Shadow. Never again. I would not be denied my birthright.

Whatever it took, whatever it cost, I would master the Logrus. I vowed it to myself.

Distantly, I heard a bell toll.

“Time for dinner,” Dworkin said softly. Then with a touch of almost bitter irony, looking up into my eyes, he added, “Time for you to meet the rest of our happy little family.”

Chapter 10

To my displeasure, I needed Dworkin’s steadying touch on my arm to navigate the corridors. Luckily, by the time we reached the dining hall, much of my strength had returned. We paused outside, looking at each other, and I shrugged his hand away.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I said bitterly. Silence stretched uncomfortably between us.

“You cannot help your nature,” he said simply. “You were always a rebellious child, never content.”

“You make me sound ambitious. I’m not. I only want what should by rights be mine.”

“I know,” he said, “and I do not blame you, my boy. It is a lot for me to ask… but try to fit in, and try to be a part of this family. I know it will be difficult—none of us is perfect, me least of all. But… we are all worth the effort. I have to believe that. It keeps me going.”

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll… try. For now.”

“Thank you.”

Turning, he pushed the door open and we entered the dining hall—a large oak-paneled room with a crystal chandelier over the table. Logs blazed, snapping and popping cheerfully, in the fireplace against the far wall, and they took the dampness and chill from the air.

The table had been set for fifteen, though only ten had arrived so far: Freda, Aber, Pella, Blaise, and six others—four men and two women. All twisted in their seats to stare as I came in. Aber grinned happily and waved.

I forced myself to smile and gave the whole table a polite, “Hello.” No sense letting them know how I felt right now; our problems should stay private between Dworkin and me. Freda’s warning echoed in my mind: trust none of them. If any of the others found out what had happened between us in Dworkin’s workshop, they might try to use it against me. No matter how I felt about my father, I wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Locke and Davin I recognized from their Trumps, and from seeing them in the courtyard earlier that day. And, of course, I’d already spoken with Freda, Pella, Blaise, and Aber. The other four were strangers. As I looked over my siblings, I noticed again that all bore a striking resemblance to Dworkin… and to me.

“This is Oberon,” Dworkin said heavily. He started to put a hand on my shoulder, hesitated, let it drop to his side. I caught Freda pursing her lips—she’d noticed, and she didn’t like the tension between us.

“I’m pleased to be here,” I said in even tones. Be bland, be harmless, I told myself. One of them may be trying to kill me—I wouldn’t let on that I knew. “I hope we’ll all grow to be friends as well as family.”

That got a snort of derision from Locke, which he tried to hide behind a quick cough. I gave him a cool appraisal as if to say: I know your type. You will not get to me.

Dworkin did a quick round of introductions, starting with my half-brothers: Locke, of course, tall and stout, with a full black beard and a brooding expression; Davin, a year or two younger than me and slender as a reed, smooth-cheeked and serious; Titus and Conner, clearly identical twins, both as short as our father and both with his eyes and wary expressions; and Fenn, who was taller than Dworkin but not as tall as me, with blue eyes and a hesitant but honestly welcoming smile, Aber came last; he gave me a quick grin.

I nodded and smiled at each in turn. Be calm and polite, reveal nothing, I reminded myself.

As for my half-sisters, I had already met Freda, Pella, and Blaise. That left Isadora and Syara, as alike as two peas in a pod: reddish hair, pale complexions, broad cheeks and eyes, and the slender figures of goddesses. Clearly both shared the same mother. Had we not been related, I would have lusted after them. As it was, I could now only admire them from afar as objects of feminine perfection.

“I want you at my right hand tonight,” Dworkin said to me, starting for the head of the table. “We have a lot of catching up to do. Locke, slide down for Oberon.”

Locke tried to hide his annoyance as he rose to make room for me. Luckily the seat next to his was vacant. As the eldest son, clearly he was used to the place of honor next to our father, and clearly he resented my taking it. So much for our getting off to a good start. If he truly feared my replacing him, as Aber claimed, this would only feed his paranoia.

I gave a mental sigh; surely he would realize that I couldn’t control our father’s whims. And, I had to admit, it seemed only natural for me to sit next to him tonight, on my first evening in Juniper.

“Locke, you may have my seat,” Freda said, rising. She had the place to Dworkin’s left.

“Are you sure?” he asked. To my surprise, he seemed hesitant. I would have expected him to leap at the chance… though perhaps he knew Freda’s motives too well and expected to pay some later price for her favor.

“You and Father need to talk about military matters,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I will sit next to Oberon tonight. I think it best.”

“All right. If you want it so.”

Locke still looked a bit puzzled, but he traded places with her quickly, before she could change her mind. Being one seat closer to our father seemed important to him. I reminded myself that he had grown up knowing his noble heritage… and playing politics in the Courts of Chaos. Perhaps having the right seat at dinner was important, and I simply didn’t have sense enough to realize it. I definitely would have preferred a spot at the far end of the table next to Aber.

I glanced at my father. Better to sit with a friend, even in exile, than with an enemy. No, I had to correct myself, not an enemy. A tired old man, sad and out of his element. Dworkin wasn’t meant for war, I realized suddenly, thinking of his workshop and all his experiments. He should never have been head of our family… he should have been tinkering and building and playing with his toys.

And I knew, then, why Locke commanded the army instead of him. Everything—our family, our plight— began to make sense in that context. Dworkin was weak, and our enemy had to believe we made easy prey. Weakness had often been the cause of war, I knew from my studies of Ilerium’s history… and the history of the Fifteen Kingdoms, which had once numbered twenty-seven before conquest and consolidation had dwindled their number.

Try as they might, Locke and Davin would not be able to win this war, which clearly had already begun. And from the look of things, we were far outclassed.

I gave Freda a sad little smile as she sat to my right.

“You’re looking particularly lovely this evening,” I told her sincerely.

She all but preened, smoothing her dress and looking entirely pleased. “Thank you, Oberon. You cleaned up rather well yourself.”

“Thanks to you, dear sister. You sent the barber up, didn’t you?”

“Me? No—it was probably Anari.”

“Probably,” I said blandly. I took a glance around the table to see if my mentioning Ivinius’s visit had gotten a reaction, but apparently it hadn’t. Side conversations had sprung up, and only Locke and Freda and our father were paying attention to me—Locke pretending not to, of course, but I could tell he took in every word as a man too long in the desert takes in water.

I chatted amiably enough with all of them over the first course, a cold creamy soup made with some kind of yellow pumpkin, telling one and all a bit about my childhood in Ilerium. And, in turn, I learned more about