“Because,” I said, “we're going to be busy. You're going to announce me to all and sundry as Dworkin's new heir, come to the Courts of Chaos to walk the Logrus and claim my birthright.”
“But you can't—”
“Can't I?”
He nodded. “It is your right.”
“Play it up. Sell me to them. My name must be on everyone's lips. They must all know who I am before this day is over!”
“You're insane!” he said, staring at me.
“Maybe I am.” I smiled, lips thin and hard. “First, though, there will be a party for me, hosted by… I don't know. Someone you know and trust.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“It doesn't matter.” I waved my hand grandly. “Pick someone. Anyone. Make sure they accept. Don't take no for an answer.”
“But Dad“
“Has nothing to do with this,” I interrupted. “I want to be seen tonight by everyone who matters in the Courts of Chaos. I want each and every one of them, from the highest noble to the lowest slave, to know I've arrived here… and that I'm not afraid of them!”
“This isn't wise.”
“Wise?” I laughed. “If you're afraid to live, you're already dead!”
“Then I must be dead,” he muttered.
“Oh, no.” I seized his arm and propelled him toward the stairs and his room. “You've just awakened, dear brother. We've all been asleep far too long here. I'm not going to sit in this house and wait for death to find me. It's time to move—time to leap feet-first into King Uthor's court. We will renew ourselves… and our family.”
“I don't understand,” he said.
“You don't have to. Leave everything to me. Now, get those Trumps, and be quick about it! We have lots of work to do before the party.”
My enthusiasm seemed to be catching. Taking a deep breath, he bounded up the stairs three at a time.
We would need new alliances to replace the ones Dad had let slip away. If Ulyanash could do it, why not me? New friends and new allies… yes, I could play this game. And I would win.
“You realize,” Aber said, “that your plan won't work.”
“Why not?” I asked.
We sat in the library, surrounded by books and scrolls. He had brought down a large, intricately carved wooden box packed to the top with Trumps, many showing people and places I had never seen before. Most were distant relatives, he assured me—cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents from our father's various marriages. Aber had drawn them over the years and squirreled them in his room until needed.
“Who is this?” I held up a Trump showing a handsome man with moustache and beard. His eyes reminded me of Freda's.
“Vladius Infenum,” he said. “Isadora's grandfather on her mother's side. He's dead, I think.”
“Murdered?”
“By his wife.” He pulled out a different Trump, this one showing a skeletal woman with upturned tusks. “Here, Lady Lanara Doxara de Fenetis. I think she'll do.”
“Who is she?”
I regarded her image casually, trying not to stare too hard lest I make contact with her. Her small black eyes had a ravenous quality that made me uneasy.
“Our great-aunt. Dad's mother's oldest sister.”
“That's right—you mentioned her before. She taught you to paint, didn't she?”
“Yes.”
“Is she well connected?”
“She used to be,” Aber said. “She stopped entertaining a decade or so ago, due to frail health… though I think that was just an excuse. Her guests tended to overstay their welcomes and eat her out of house and home. She's still well remembered at court, and I think retirement has bored her enough that she might well leap at the chance to help you. Family is important to her.” He smiled fondly; I could tell he liked her. “She was a great painter in her day, and she used to give me lessons…”
“I thought Dad was to blame for that.”
“I inherited his talent. Aunt Lan taught me how to use it. She always said I was her favorite nephew. Dad would more happily have drowned me than taught me anything.”
“She sounds ideal for our purposes,” I said, changing the subject before he could complain about our father. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Go ahead and ask her.”
This just might work. There would be a certain novelty value in dragging an aging Lady back into the social light. People who might normally pass on such an invitation—especially to launch someone unknown into society—would attend just to see her.
He picked up the card, moved to the far side of the room, and stared at it. Over his shoulder, I saw the old woman's picture ripple and start to move. Her hair whitened; her tusks yellowed, and her skin grew as wrinkled as a raisin.
“Aunt Lan!” he said. “It's your nephew, Aber. May I visit you for a few minutes?”
She replied with something I couldn't quite catch, and as I watched, he reached toward her image. In the wink of an eye he disappeared, taking the card with him.
I sat impatiently, hoping it wouldn't take long. I had a feeling our enemies wouldn't be sitting around waiting for us to move. Finally, after perhaps ten minutes, I felt a nagging at the back of my mind and knew someone was trying to reach me via a Trump. It had to be Aber. Opening my thoughts, I looked up.
An image appeared before me, only it wasn't my brother. It was Great Aunt Lanara herself, dressed all in black, regarding me with those dark and hungry eyes set deep in that much-wrinkled face. Her upturned tusks, if anything, had grown longer since Aber had painted her.
“So you are Oberon,” she said. Her lightly accented voice held a mild quaver. Slowly her gaze traveled down to my boots and back up again. She seemed to be looking through me to my soul, and I found her scrutiny made me distinctly uneasy. I tried not to show it.
“That's right,” I said. I folded my arms and returned her frank stare. “I'm pleased to finally meet you. Aber speaks very highly of you and your work.”
“My… work?”
“Your paintings.”
“He is a good boy.” She smiled, lips pulling back in an awful rictus. “He informs me of your own ambitions in court, and that you need an introduction into society. He says you aspire to greatness and wish to be known in the Courts, to wield power and influence as, in fact, I once did.”
“As you still do,” I said politely. “Or we would not have come to you.”
Turning her head slightly, she addressed someone I couldn't see: