But I did so. I denied everything.
“Freda made it all up,” I said. “It’s a joke, a hoax, designed to hurt Locke’s position in the family. I don’t want to rule in Juniper or anywhere else. I’m too young to settle down. And now that I’ve seen the way you can all travel through Shadows… well, I want to do it, too!”
“But you must!” he said. “Everyone wants to rule!”
“Not me.”
“And Freda saw it—”
“No, Freda said she saw it.”
“You’re calling her a liar?”
“No.” I shrugged. “All I’m saying is this: I don’t believe in the power of Freda or her magical future-telling cards. Since I don’t believe, I don’t feel bound to live by their forecasts. I have no intention of taking lands, titles, or armies away from Locke… or anyone else.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked. I could hear the awe in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Then you are the best of us all.” He bowed slightly. “And you may be the only one of us who actually deserves to rule.”
“Nonsense.” I gave a dismissive wave. “Leave that to those who want to rule.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “I mean it, brother… I’m happy you’re here. And I hope we can be friends.”
I clasped his shoulder, too. “We already are.”
“Freda was right, you know,” he said, releasing me. “You are the prize of the family. I see it now. Locke has every reason to feel threatened, whether you admit it or not.”
“Then let me ask you this—if Dworkin prizes me so much, why did he abandon me in Ilerium all these years? Locke’s opinion be damned. If he’d wanted to, he could have gone and fetched me at any time.”
“I don’t know. Ask him.” He glanced toward the main corridor. “He’s waiting… we should go.”
“Answer one more question first.”
“All right.”
“Truthfully—what’s all this about? The war, the killings. How did it start? Who’s behind it?”
He frowned, and I could tell it troubled him.
“We have hereditary rivals in the Courts of Chaos. Enemies for generations. Somehow, one of us—Freda thinks it’s Dad, but she isn’t sure—did something to rekindle one of those old feuds…”
“And it can’t be laid to rest? What about the King in Chaos? Couldn’t he stop it?”
“Perhaps. But we have our pride. We’d never have any power again if we ran crying to King Uthor.”
“I see your point,” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible?”
“No… just that it’s someone very powerful. Whoever it is began the war by trying to kill off our whole family… everyone in Shadow has been attacked in one way or another.”
“To what end?”
“Destroying the bloodline, I guess. That’s the ultimate revenge, isn’t it?”
“That’s more than a little pissed off.”
A sudden, horrible realization hit. Dworkin had been right—the hell-creatures in Ilerium had been after me… and me alone. The whole invasion had happened just to find and kill me.
He had said the hell-creatures would leave our country alone after he had rescued me. No wonder—they had no reason to continue the fight if I wasn’t there any more. By simply leaving, I had probably done what King Elnar and all his men had been unable to do in a year of fighting.
“I think Freda’s right about you,” Aber went on. “You won’t take Locke’s orders blindly, the way the others do, and that’s worth a lot. If you’re even half the warrior I think you are, you could end up heir.”
“Even if I wanted it—which I don’t—” I gave a sweep of my arm, taking in all of Juniper. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Juniper?” He chuckled. “This is just a Shadow, and you could easily find another like it, if you wanted. I meant heir to the family. To us… to our position within the Courts of Chaos. Dad holds a title there, and of course all the rights and privileges that go with—”
He broke off when the heavy oak door before us opened suddenly. From inside, Dworkin squinted up at me. He seemed older and much more tired looking now, as if our adventure over the last twenty-four hours had taken their toll.
“I thought I heard you,” he said, taking my arm and pulling me inside. His grip still felt like iron. “You certainly took your time getting here, Oberon.”
He closed the door in Aber’s face.
I found myself in a cluttered, windowless, musty-smelling workroom. Long wooden tables lined every wall; they held a confusing jumble of papers, scrolls, wooden boxes, oddly shaped rocks, countless crystals of varying sizes, and many other less readily identified materials. Dusty racks on the walls contained neatly labeled jars; doubtless they contained ingredients for potions and spells, I decided. At one table, he had been wiring a skeleton together from sun-bleached bones. It had at least four arms… and possibly as many as eight. At another table, candles warmed strangely shaped bottles containing liquids of various hues, some of which gave off curiously spiced scents. Ahead and to the left, narrow doorways led to additional workrooms, these just as cluttered from what little I could see.
“Come on, come on,” he said impatiently, turning and leading the way. “I have wasted enough time on your rescue already—we have work to do, and it is best to get on with it.”
“All right,” I said, falling back into the patterns of my youth. All the time an inner voice told me to stand up to him right here, right now… to demand answers to everything that had happened.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. He was still Uncle Dworkin to me, still the mentor I admired and respected… and obeyed. All the years of leading men, all the years without his presence, seemed to have melted away. I could have been ten years old again, following his instructions without question.
We passed into the next room, which was filled with unshelved books and scrolls, more than I had ever seen in any one place before. There had to be thousands of them.
He didn’t stop but led me into yet another room, which held larger machines he had obviously been building. Odd bits and pieces lay half-assembled (or half-disassembled, I couldn’t tell which) on the floor and the worktables. Some had pipes and wires leading from large stones to what looked like corroding copper spheres, the largest of which had to be at least four feet across, the smallest no more than a hand’s width. Others looked like fairy tale castles built from spun glass, and pink and white and yellow lights flared or pulsated briefly within them. Across from us, in a giant fireplace that took up the entire wall, liquids bubbled in three large cauldrons, though no fire heated them that I could see. These potions or brews let off a curious combination of smells—something like the air after a thunderstorm had just passed, but slightly sour. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck start to bristle. Against my will, I shivered.
Dworkin—Dad—noticed and chuckled.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked.
“Distilling.”
“Brandy?” I guessed, but knowing it couldn’t be anything so simple.
“Life forces.”
“Oh.” I didn’t quite know what to make of that.