The Chronicles of Amber

and his name is linked to treason.”

I gave a quick nod. “Thank you.”

Aber produced a Trump, and the three of us returned home directly.

We were all tired, but took a moment to linger in Aber's bedroom, where his Trump had brought us. I looked around at the clutter. Half-painted Trumps lay out on the desk, several dozen full-sized paintings, including several portraits of Freda, leaned up against the walls, and stacks of brushes and jars of paint and pigment lay everywhere. Even the carpets underfoot were dotted with spots and spills of paint. It had a very comfortable, lived-in feeling.

Aber cleared paintings off two chairs for Freda and me while he perched on the edge of the bed. When we all had our seats, Freda was the first to speak.

“The situation does not look good for Father,” she said. “His flight has only served to convince one and all of his guilt.”

“I imagine so,” I said. “Do they have any idea where he went?”

“None,” Freda said with a sigh. “He can apparently mask his trail. I also received a warning. If Father returns, we must notify King Uthor's counselors immediately. If we do not, we will be judged accomplices and dealt with accordingly.”

Aber swallowed audibly. “Then it's settled,” he said. “It's going to be Dad or us. We have to choose.”

“No we don't,” I said. “At least… not yet. He hasn't come home yet. And if he never returns…”

“Then all we have to worry about is whoever is trying to kill the rest of us,” Aber said. “Great.”

“Perhaps the death of Ulyanash will end the attacks,” Freda said. “If he planned them“

“He was involved,” I said, thinking back to the tower of skulls, “but he was not the one in charge. Our main enemy is still out there.”

Later, in my room, as I was preparing for bed, I felt a strange presence. Someone was trying to contact me via Trump. I figured it had to be Aber, so I opened my mind.

“What is it?” I asked. The image before me flickered, but did not come clear, as though something interfered with our connection. “Who's there?”

A low, unpleasant, and somehow familiar chuckle followed. “Don't you recognize your brother? You left me behind in Juniper.”

“Locke?” I guessed.

“Very good.” His voice had a mocking quality. I shivered; it sounded exactly as I remembered it.

“Locke is dead,” I said, wary now. “Who are you?”

The mists between us parted a little, and I saw my dead brother standing there.

Chapter 26

My eyes narrowed. It certainly looked like my half-brother, from the arrogant turn of the lips to the swaggering stride. He took two steps forward, staring at me in turn.

“Locke is dead,” I said. “I saw him die. We burned his body on a funeral pyre.”

“And your head is made of thicker stone than I'd thought. If anyone else there had a shred of sense, I'd be talking to them now. But you're the one who can help. Do you want to find out who's killing off our family, or not?”

I bit back an angry reply. This person certainly sounded like Locke. When we first met in Juniper, I had wanted to pound him into the ground with my fists. He had been rude, arrogant, and dismissive of me—a typical Lord of Chaos, apparently.

“Of course I do,” I said. “But I need proof you're who you say you are.”

“Ask Freda. She will tell you.”

I shrugged. “She is convinced. I am not. I was with Locke when he died.”

“That wasn't me.”

I paused. “Then who was it?”

“I don't know. I was drugged, taken from Juniper, and held prisoner. Those who took me… well, to make a long story short, I escaped and most of them are dead. I've been preparing to act. I'm going to need help, though —your help, Freda's, everyone's. The time is almost right.”

“Right for what?”

“An attack. I know who our enemy is. It's King Uthor.”

I hesitated. That mostly matched my own theory. If Locke was telling the truth—if this really was Locke—then a lot of changes were coming. And I wasn't sure they'd be for the better.

“Where are you?” I said.

“I'm in a distant Shadow. Time moves faster here… much faster. I've had six months to raise an army. We can help each other, Oberon. I'm going to conquer the Chaos and make myself king.”

“Is Davin with you?” I asked suddenly.

He hesitated. “No. He's in the field with our troops. Why?”

“We lost him in battle… his body was never recovered.”

“He helped me escape.”

“And Fenn and Isadora? They left to get help in Juniper, but never made it to the Courts of Chaos—”

“I don't know where they are.”

A chill suddenly went through me. I knew he had contacted Fenn. Therefore, he was lying. This couldn't be my brother. If he knew personal details about Freda, then Locke must have shared them with someone… perhaps Taine or Mattus. The information could have been gotten from either of them through torture. Which meant he was in league with the serpent in the tower of skulls.

“Very well,” I said without a bit of hesitation. I couldn't let him know I suspected anything. “Where shall we meet? Here?”

“No. Your house is being watched.” He frowned, forehead wrinkling. “I have to go to the Courts of Chaos tonight. Maybe you can meet me then. I have allies who are going to help me seize power when the time is right.”

I nodded. “That's right, you're a full-blooded Lord of Chaos, aren't you? So you can make a legitimate claim on the throne?”

“Yes.”

I nodded. “Where?”

“Tsagoth Square. Do you know it?”

“No, but I'll find it.”

“Here.” His hand jerked, and something white flew threw the air at me. Instinctively I caught it—a Trump, showing an unfamiliar courtyard, surrounded by dark and foreboding buildings.

“Tsagoth Square,” he said. “Come alone in one hour.”

Alone… so I would be an easy target. I forced a smile and nodded. And then contact was gone.

I brooded on what to do and finally decided to do nothing for the moment. The fake Locke said our house was being watched. That couldn't be true, or he would have known about Fenn being here. Aber's protection spells must be working.

I would go, and I would have answers—or kill him trying to get them.

Then a question occurred to me. He had contacted my by Trump. Where had he obtained it? I frowned. As far as I knew, Aber had only made two, one for Freda and one for his own use. Though if Dad and Aber could make Trumps, perhaps others in our family could, too… I would have to ask Aber about it later.

Taking out the set of Trumps my brother had loaned me, I pulled out our father's. Slowly I focused on it. I felt a distant stirring, and then contact… a voice, but no image came to life.

“What is it?” he said.

“It's Oberon. I need to talk to you.”