The Chronicles of Amber

Ivinius.

“What’s done is done,” I finally said, “and cannot be changed. I thought I made the right decision at the time.”

“And now you’ve come to me?”

“Aber seems to think you might have a certain… insight into whatever plots are going on around us.”

“Hmm.” She leaned back on the couch, drumming her fingers on its arm, eyes distant. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. There has never been much love between Aber and me, you know.”

“We don’t need love. We need cooperation.”

She looked me in the eye. “You are quite right, Oberon. This is not a petty squabble among siblings. We are all involved, and we are all in mortal danger. If we are not careful, we will all end up dead.”

“Do you know anything about Ivinius?” I asked.

“He performed his job well and faithfully for many years. He was married. I believe his wife died about a week ago.”

“Murdered?” I asked.

She shrugged. “When a woman of seventy-odd years dies in her sleep, who questions it? Not I.”

“I suppose not.” I sat on the chair opposite her. “Of course, Ivinius’s wife would have known immediately if someone began impersonating him, I bet they killed her to keep her quiet.”

“A hell-creature impersonating Ivinius would need help. A stranger could never sneak into Juniper, replace a skilled tradesman, and impersonate him perfectly without some assistance. It had to be someone with a knowledge of the castle’s routine, who brought him here and coached him on what to say and what to do.”

I reminded her that the body had been removed from my rooms.

“That narrows down our list of suspects.”

“Not really,” I said. “The door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have walked in, found Ivinius’s body, and escaped with it.”

“Anybody might have slipped in,” she said, “but no one saw a body being carried out. I would have heard. You cannot hide a death here… which means whoever took the body used a Trump.”

“A family member?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I concluded,” I said. “Someone who knew I arrived in need of a shave and a haircut. You, Freda, Aber, Pella, Davin, and Locke all saw me. I don’t know whether any of the others did.”

“And then you found Locke’s Trump in the hell-creatures’ camp,” she said, frowning.

“Yes. But Aber doesn’t think he’s the traitor.”

“Locke is guilty of many things, but he wouldn’t plot with our enemies. They planted that card for us to find.”

“That’s what Aber said, too. But if not Locke, then who?”

“I think I know.”

“Tell me!”

Blaise shook her head as she rose. “Not yet,” she said firmly. “I have no proof. We must see Father first. This cannot wait.”

She hurried me out and down a series of back staircases and plainly furnished corridors through which a constant stream of servants moved until I had quite lost all sense of direction. Juniper was big. But when we pushed out into a main hallway, I realized we’d taken a shortcut and reached Dad’s workshop in about half the time it normally would have taken from my suite.

Now that she had a purpose, she moved with a speed and determination that surprised me. Who did she suspect? As Aber had said, there was more to her than I’d thought.

She swept past the two guards, with me still trailing, and knocked on our father’s workshop door.

Dworkin opened it after a heartbeat, peered up at the two of us, then stood back for us to enter.

“This is an odd pairing, I would say. What brings you here together?”

“Tell him,” Blaise said, looking at me.

So, for the third time that afternoon, I repeated my story, leaving nothing out. Then I told him our conclusions, down to our having a traitor in the family,

“I know I should have come to you sooner,” I said, “and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know who I should trust… so I trusted no one.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing,” Dworkin said. “We will get to the bottom of this matter.”

“Blaise thinks she knows who the traitor is,” I added.

“Oh?” He looked at her, surprised and pleased.

“That’s right, Father. It can only be Freda.”

Chapter 17

“Freda!” he and I said as one. I couldn’t believe it.

“That’s right.”

“But—why?” I said.

“Who else could it possibly be?” Blaise said. “She has more Trumps than any of us except Aber. She’s said several times that we cannot win the coming battle. And she refuses to name those who have set themselves against us.”

“I am not sure refuses is the correct word,” Dworkin said. “She cannot see who they are.”

“She has named the guilty often enough before,” Blaise said, folding her arms stubbornly. “Why not this time… unless she is helping them?”

“No,” Dworkin said. “I cannot believe it. Wild accusations prove nothing.”

“Then how about proof.” She leaned forward. “Freda went into Oberon’s rooms yesterday morning… after he went downstairs to see you. She went in alone, and she didn’t come out.”

“How do you know this?” Dworkin demanded.

“One of the scrubwomen told me.”

“A spy?” I said.

She smiled at me. “Not at all. I simply asked some of the servants to keep an eye on you, in case you needed help. She noticed Freda going in after you had left, and when Freda didn’t come out, it struck her as odd. She mentioned it to me this morning.”

Dworkin turned away, and when he spoke again, his voice shook. “Summon Locke,” he said. “And Freda.”

We had quite a little gathering in Dad’s workshop: Locke arrived with Davin in tow, and Freda came with Aber. No reason had been given, just that our father wanted them.

I had to repeat my story a fourth time for Locke’s benefit, and I went through the details quickly and surely. When I mentioned finding his Trump hidden in the bedroll, he leaped to his feet.

“I had nothing to do with them!” he said.

“Sit down,” our father said. “We know that. They clearly planted the card there, hoping to discredit you.” He looked at me. “Continue, Oberon.”

I finished up with the discussion Aber and I had, where we agreed that the hell-creatures were trying to get Locke removed.

“See?” Davin said to him in a whisper. “They fear you.”

Then Blaise told how Freda had been seen entering my rooms… and how she hadn’t come out.

I stepped forward. “Unfortunately, eyewitnesses don’t prove anything,” I said. “Remember, the hell- creatures are shape-shifters. One of them could easily have disguised himself as Freda.”