Anari motioned toward the doorway, and a young man of perhaps thirteen or so dashed forward and bowed to me.
“This is my great-grandson, Horace,” Anari said. “He will serve you well.”
“I’m sure,” I said. I gave Horace a brief nod. He had Anari’s features, but black hair to the old man’s white. “Pleased to have you, Horace.”
“Thank you, Lord!” He looked relieved.
“Call me Oberon,” I told him.
“Yes, Lord Oberon!”
“No, just Oberon. Or Lord.”
“Yes… Oberon… Lord.” He seemed hesitant at such familiarity. Well, he would get used to it soon enough. I needed a valet, not a toady.
Anari said, “The castle tailors will be here after breakfast. They will prepare clothing to your tastes. After that, lunch. You will be fitted for armor in the afternoon… and Lord Davin wishes to accompany you to the stables. He says you need a horse.”
“A peace offering?” I asked Aber.
“Who understands them?” he said with a shrug. “I don’t.”
I didn’t care; I did need a horse.
“It sounds fine,” I said to Anari. “But all must wait until after I see my father.”
“Of course.”
Horace was already making himself useful, laying out clothes for me—a beautiful white shirt with a stylized lion’s head stitched on the chest in gold thread and dark wine-colored pants that shimmered slightly in the bright morning light. They looked about my size, too… certainly closer than the robe.
“These were Mattus’s,” Aber said. “I don’t think he’d mind if you took them.”
“They’re beautiful.” I ran my hand over the fabric, wondering at the incredible softness and the silky texture, unlike anything I’d ever seen in Ilerium. No one there, not even King Elnar himself, had garments such as these.
“They were made in the Courts of Chaos,” Aber said.
“What’s the secret? Magic?”
“Spider-silk, I believe.”
“Incredible!”
Horace had continued his work while we talked, setting out a wide belt, cape, and gloves in colors to match the pants, plus clean socks and undergarments.
“You know where to find me,” Aber said, starting for the door. “I’ll walk down with you when you’re ready. Don’t dawdle… Dad’s still waiting!”
“And growing more annoyed by the moment, I’m sure,” I added with a smile. “I remember.”
Shaking his head, he left, and the few servants still outside the door followed. Anari started after them, then paused in the doorway to look back.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Horace will be fine. I can tell he’s a hard worker. And I’ll watch out for him, you have my word.”
He seemed relieved. “Thank you, Lord Oberon.”
Ten minutes later, I collected Aber from his rooms across the hall and started down for Dad’s workshop. I have always had a fairly good sense of direction, and I unerringly retraced our journey from the previous evening.
As we walked, I asked Aber what had happened at dinner after I left.
“Not much,” he said. “Everyone was too shocked.”
I chuckled. “Shocked? By Taine’s being alive or my being a cripple?”
“A little of both, actually.” He swallowed and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “After dinner—”
“Everyone tried to contact Taine with his Trump,” I guessed. “But it didn’t work.”
“That’s right.”
“So he’s either dead, unconscious, drugged, or protected somehow from your Trumps.”
“That’s how it looks to me.”
We reached Dworkin’s workshop. Two new guards—one of whom I recognized from the dice game in the guardroom—snapped to attention as we passed.
“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked. “Is there any way to just reach through his Trump, grab him whether he’s awake or not, and just drag him through?”
“I wish we could. But Trumps don’t work that way.”
I raised my hand to knock on the workshop door, but it swung open for me. The room blazed with light. I couldn’t see Dworkin for a moment—but then I spotted him on the other side of the room. He hadn’t opened the door, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else present. Ghosts? No—probably just the Logrus again, I realized with a gulp. If he could snatch swords from the other end of the castle, why not open doors from ten feet away?
“Ah, there you are!” Dworkin said. “Come in.”
Disconcerted, I stepped inside.
“Good luck!” Aber said to me, and then the door slammed in his face.
Dworkin sat at a table in a tall-backed wooden chair. The table held a box, and in the box sat what looked like an immense ruby. I must admit I stared at it; I had never seen a jewel of its size before. Surely it belonged to some king… which is what Dworkin probably was in this Shadow.
He chuckled. “Impressive, is it not?”
“Beautiful,” I said. I raised it, studying the carefully faceted sides, which gleamed seductively in the bright light.
“This crystal is special. It holds a replica of the pattern within you.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I… acquired it some time ago. It has unusual properties, one of which may prove useful in your situation. Your Pattern, I now believe, is not a mere distortion of the Logrus after all.”