The Chronicles of Amber

“What are you really doing here?” I asked. “Your instructions were clear. You were to stay in Shadow until the danger is past. Nothing has changed. We are still under attack.”

“And,” said Aber, trailing us, “Dad's going to be furious when he finds out. He picked that Shadow especially for you and Pella.”

“Do not prattle on,” she said to him. “This is neither the time nor the place for such a—”

With an expression of annoyance she turned and hurried back to her luggage. A servant had been about lifting a large crate one-handed, and she took in from him and set it down.

“Careful with this one, Sahin!” she said. “It is filled with glass!”

Aber rolled his eyes. “Perfume, I bet!”

“She hasn't changed a bit,” I said with a smile.

Sahin threw himself to the floor. “Yes, my goddess,” he whimpered. “Forgive me! Forgive me!”

“Rise. Finish your work. Take more care. You have my blessing.”

“Thank you!”

Rising, he lifted the trunk with greater care. Freda watched him for a moment, then wandered back to join us.

“There is much yet to be done, I see,” she said to me. Her eyes swept across the remaining trunks, then fixed on Aber. “Make us all drinks in the library, please. Travel is thirsty work, and there is still much I must do today.”

“Yes, Freda,” he said meekly, and he hurried into the library. He always ended up doing as she asked, I'd noticed, though sometimes his cooperation seemed grudging.

She waited until he was out of sight, then pulled me into a secluded alcove. It seemed she wanted a private talk. She had never confided in me before, and it took me a bit by surprise now.

“Where is Father, really?” she asked in a soft voice. “I must know!”

“He went for an audience with King Uthor. He didn't come back.”

“I cannot believe—” she began. Then she stopped herself. “He did not tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?”

“Where he went afterward? He would be back here by now; it does not take so long to see the king. Who did he visit next? Where did he go?”

“I don't know—do you?”

“I… have a suspicion.” She turned away, eyes distant. “There is a place he goes when he is unhappy or sad. A Shadow…”

“There's a woman involved?” I guessed. “His lover?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I do not know… only that she is a powerful sorceress. She has given him things… objects of power… and helped him to master the magics he now commands.”

I frowned. “If she's so powerful, he should have gone to her as soon as war started in Juniper. Why didn't he?”

“I do not know. Perhaps she is not in a position to provide military assistance. Or perhaps he is guarding her safety.”

So, a woman was involved… suddenly Dad's actions began to make sense. If he meant to protect her, then he certainly would make sure neither Aber nor I—nor anyone else—knew her location.

She continued: “What else has happened here? You mentioned several attacks?”

Quickly I filled her in, from Rhalla to the lightning in the garden to the serpent-creature scrying on my bedroom.

“I'm not sure what's happening outside,” I added. “King Uthor's hell-creatures searched the house yesterday. They were looking for something specific, something small, but I don't think they found it. Any idea what it could be?”

“None. How about you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Now, what brought you back here, really?”

“That I must share with Aber, too. It concerns us all.”

She turned and led the way to the library. After we entered, she closed and bolted the door behind us, then crossed to the far wall, pushed on a high-set sconce, and opened a small door that had been cunningly concealed as a wall panel. A hidden room or passage—I couldn't see which—lay beyond. She glanced in, then closed the panel; apparently it was empty. I heard a soft click as its latch caught.

I glanced at Aber.

“I didn't know it was there!” he said.

“There is a lot you do not know,” Freda said.

“We have been spied on constantly since we arrived here,” I told her. “Aber tried to put up spells to protect us, but we aren't sure they worked. What can you do to help?”

“Wait. I will check.”

She gathered the folds of her dress and sat at the table. Then, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and seemed to go into a light trance. I saw her eyelashes flutter, and several times her hands jerked, but mostly she remained silent and still.

“Whiskey?” Aber asked me in hushed tones.

Nodding, I accepted a glass from him. He filled it, we clinked glasses in a silent toast, and then we both sat back, sipping, to wait for Freda. I had never seen her do anything like this before; how long would it take?

Finally, after what must have been ten or fifteen minutes, Freda suddenly opened her eyes.

“A nice job,” she said to Aber. “I only found one hole, and I do not think it has been used.”

He smiled with obvious relief. “Great!”

“Did you fix the hole?” I asked her.

“Yes. No one will spy on this house again without us finding out. That I can promise.”

“I told you she was good!” Aber said smugly.

“Red wine, please,” she told him.

Drawing a small deck of Trumps from the bag at her side, she shuffled them and began to deal them out in front of herself. I recognized my picture, Dad's, Aber's, and the rest of our family. She included her own, too. A circle began to form, with images looking in toward the center.

As she worked, Aber poured a goblet of red wine and set it to one side. Then he topped off my whiskey as well as his own.

“I hate to drink alone,” he said.

I did not know how the Trumps worked for Freda, but they helped her see the future—or possible futures— and that was exactly the sort of information we needed. Leaning forward, I watched her flip the last Trump and set it in place in the exact center.

Drawn by Aber, it showed Locke in a quite unflattering portrait: a disagreeable-looking, puffed-up man in silvered chain mail, with a slight pot belly (he hadn't had one in real life) and a look of indigestion on his face.

“Well?” I said.

“It is… inconclusive. Let me cast the future again.”

Frowning, Freda gathered up the cards. I got the impression she hadn't liked what she saw and shifted uneasily in my seat. She shuffled twice, had me cut the deck, and began to deal them out a second time.

Aber and I continued to watch in silence. This time, the cards played out slightly differently—though once more Locke ended up at the center.

“So?” I prompted, as I slid into the seat opposite hers. “What news? Any predictions?”

For a long moment she said nothing, studying the cards. I remained patient, though every fiber of my being demanded immediate answers.

“You do not know yet,” she finally said, “do you?”

“Know what? Something you saw in your cards?”

“Locke. He is alive.”

“Impossible!” Our brother died in Juniper, I knew. I had seen him in his tent after the battle, being tended by physicians. I had watched him die.