The Chronicles of Amber

At my silence, he continued: “You are my favorite brother, after all. That's got to count for something, Oberon!”

“Sure it does,” I said, reaching my empty hand toward him. “Come on through. We'll discuss it over dinner… I know Freda wants to see you, too.”

“Ah-ah.” He wagged a finger at me and grinned. “Business before vengeance.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Business?”

“Well, I had hoped to save it for the banquet… but what would you say to a pardon from King Swayvil?”

I stared at him. “Impossible!”

“If the king offered you and Dad and everyone else in our family pardons, including the return of our lands and restoration of our titles, would you return to Chaos and swear fealty to him?”

“What about Amber?” I demanded. After all we'd done, I couldn't just leave it.

“Amber will become a principality. You would remain Prince of Amber… and continue to rule it, paying homage to King Swayvil of course. An annual tribute, that sort of thing—a token of your allegiance to Chaos.”

It all came clear. “So I would become a puppet for Swayvil.”

“Of course not.”

“Forget it,” I said. If he couldn't see through that plot, he was deluding himself. It might take a year—or five years, or ten years—but sooner or later Swayvil would move against me. Whether it came through slow poisons or a hunting “accident” or an a late-night assassination attempt didn't really matter. I knew without the slightest doubt that Swayvil would try to get rid of the Pattern and the Shadows as soon as his attention moved beyond Chaos.

“Think!” Aber said, leaning forward. “Our family could return to Chaos. Our father's lands and titles would be restored. It would be easy. Take advantage of the king's generosity!”

“It's too easy,” I said. “What about everyone currently being held by Swayvil?”

“Freed.” His voice dropped, low and urgent now. “This is the chance of a lifetime. Think of it, Oberon—it's what you've been waiting for. You'll be a hero.”

“This banquet idea… who do I have to thank for it?”

“Me.” He all but preened.

“Hmm.” Of course, I didn't believe him. He had his devious side, but somehow this plan seemed beyond him. And he really seemed to believe Swayvil meant to keep his word.

“First,” I said, ticking off my fingers on my free hand, “I don't trust you. Second, I don't trust Swayvil to keep his word and not kill me the moment I set foot in the Courts. And third, I am king here… and I will never serve anyone else ever again.”

He sighed and leaned back in his cushions. “Is that your final word?”

“No. Please give Swayvil a message for me.”

In one quick motion, I hurled my knife at his head.

He severed the Trump connection so fast, my throw never had a chance. The wavering window to Chaos vanished. Instead of striking him, my knife sailed over the battlements and disappeared.

Hurrying to the edge, I leaned out and watched it bounce across the ground ten feet from where a small squad of guardsman drilled with swords. They whirled, craning their heads to look up at me.

“Sire?” called the captain of the guard.

“Bring my knife back up, Giras!” I called. It was a nice weapon; no point losing it.

Then I went to find Freda.

Chapter 32

I found my sister in the rose garden, overseeing the new plantings. Drawing her aside, I relayed Aber's message. “What do you think of it?” I asked. She frowned thoughtfully. “It is a tempting proposition.”

“Too tempting. It's exactly what we need.”

“Yes.”

She sighed, then shook her head. “I advise patience. After all, Swayvil is preoccupied now with tightening his grip on Chaos. Leave him to his problems; we will continue to strengthen Amber. That is our best hope for survival.”

“Exactly my own conclusion,” I said.

A week passed. I didn't hear from Aber again in all that time—which half surprised me. He wasn't the sort who gave up easily. But I shrugged and went on with the seemingly endless supply of tasks that required my immediate attention. Blueprints for unbuilt sections of the castle… street-plans for the someday-soon city surrounding the castle proper… land grants for the hundreds of settlers now streaming into Amber, courtesy of Conner's recruitment efforts in nearby Shadows… and of course all the regular duties of an army commander, king, lord of the manor, and general administrator—everything from meting out justice in court to simply signing off on military duty assignments.

I wished, for the thousandth time, that I had more lieutenants to whom duties could be passed. King Aslom's sons, though of unquestioning loyalty, needed many more years of seasoning to be left on their own. And Conner had to be in nearby Shadows, buying whatever we needed, bringing in soldiers and mercenaries and artisans and all the other workers we now needed in great number.

Despite my work load, I never forgot about Aber. Perhaps, I thought at times, he would grow content to stay in Chaos and crow about his heroic accomplishments… If it impressed his friends and the women of the Courts, who was I to object? So long as he kept out of my way, I would not pursue revenge.

Overall, life felt good. As the castle crept toward completion, as the population grew and the army took shape, a sense of pride filled me. This was what I had been born to do. Amber would stand forever.

Busy as my days became, I made sure our family managed to gather as often as possible for dinner.

When the banquet hall was finally finished to her satisfaction, Freda set it up magnificently—long and broad, it had twin columns of white marble to either side of a fifty-foot-long table. A pair of crystal chandeliers glittered with the light of two thousand candles. Tapestries on the walls showed cheerful scenes—hunting stags, epic battles, and portraits of family members in handsome poses. Freda had commissioned one of me in kingly robes with a gold circlet on my head, beaming down at the table. I had to admit it was a good likeness.

She had also commissioned portraits of all our brothers and sisters, even the missing and the dead. I walked down the row of them, staring up at the missing and the dead. Locke… Davin… Mattus… Titus. So many…

A portrait of Aber hung at the very end, where it could not be seen from my seat at the head of the table. I frowned up at it. No, this would not do at all.

I called one of the stewards over. “This one… I don't want to see it.”

“I will have it taken down, Sire,” he said.

“No. Drape it in black.”

“Are we to be in mourning for Lord Aber?” the steward asked, looking puzzled. “Isn't he still alive?”

“Yes… and yes.”

That night, after dinner, Freda turned to me and said, “I need to speak with you.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows and took another sip of wine. Mentally, I sighed. She must have noticed the black crepe over Aber's tapestry; at least she had waited till the end of the meal to bring it up.

“At your convenience, of course.”

“Is it about Aber?”

“Yes.”

I took another sip of wine, studying her over the rim of my goblet. Somehow, I had known this was coming. I had a sudden premonition that he had contacted her again… asked her to intercede with me. She still loved him, I knew. She would certainly prove the weakest link in getting back into my good graces.