“What is it?” I asked wearily. Couldn't the routine matters of state wait until morning?
He dropped to one knee. “Visitors are here from Chaos—waiting in the main hall—”
“What!” I cried. Conner and I exchanged a startled glance “Who is attending them?”
“Lord Dworkin. He said—to bring you—at once!”
I frowned. “Who are they? Relatives?”
“I do not think so—Sire! They are—soldiers—come under a flag—of truce—”
“When did they arrive?” I demanded.
“Right after you left! They asked for Lord Dworkin. They have been behind closed doors ever since!”
“Where are Freda and Aber?” I asked.
He wrung his hands. “Gone! Fled!”
“What! Why?”
“Your father told them to, Sire!”
I didn't know what to think. Should I be alarmed? Afraid? If Aber and Freda fled…
“Any ideas?” I asked Conner, who was staring thoughtfully off into space.
“None.” He looked as puzzled as I felt.
“All right,” I said to the steward. “Take us to them. Quickly!”
“This way, Sire!”
Turning, he hurried inside, down several corridors, to the closed double-doors to one of a private meeting room. He fretted there until, with a sigh, I stepped past, threw open the doors, and entered. Conner followed me in.
I found Dad seated at a long table with his back to me, facing three men I did not recognize. All wore silvered chain mail. The one in the middle had a thin circlet of gold around his head; the other two had horns and vaguely reptilian scales. Wine and half a dozen banquet dishes lay before them; clearly they had eaten while awaiting my arrival.
For a second I wished I'd had time to order a crown for myself. A true king needs all the fixtures when entertaining.
Conner stopped beside me. I whispered, “Is that Uthor?”
“Yes.” He sounded stunned. “I can't believe he's here!”
“Watch my back.”
He nodded gravely, one hand dropping to rest lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Advancing, I took a position next to our father. There I crossed my arms and set my feet.
“Good evening,” I said, giving all three a polite nod—but no more acknowledgment than that. “News of your arrival just reached me. I am Oberon.”
The three men rose with languid grace. The one in the middle gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
“We were not expected,” he said. His voice sounded deeper and more melodic than I had expected. “We are pleased to find you here. Your father has been kind enough to entertain us while we waited for your return. He has… a most refreshing wit.”
All three chuckled at that. I left my own expression carefully blank, but surreptitiously studied Uthor. When he smiled, I saw that his teeth had been filed to needlelike points. It wasn't pleasant. I could easily believe he had killed my brothers—and so many others.
Despite their beautiful armor, neither he nor his men bore any weapons. They had probably left them behind under the flag of truce. Still, I knew well that they could summon their swords using the Logrus faster than I could draw my own.
“May I present my son,” Dad said without bothering to look behind himself. “Oberon, this is King Uthor of Chaos.”
I felt my hackles rising. This was the man who had destroyed Juniper. This was the man who had helped kill so many of my friends and family. More than anything else, I wanted his head on a pole over the castle gates.
Somehow, I managed to control my temper.
“An honor,” I said, forcing myself to be polite.
“Of course it is,” Uthor said. He gave a formal bow. When I returned it, he sat back down heavily.
“May we offer you the hospitality of Amber?” I asked. That seemed the most appropriate thing to say.
“Thank you. Dworkin has made us quite comfortable. You may leave us.”
“I am king here,” I said, putting an edge in my voice and leaning forward. “You will talk to me or not at all.”
“King?” Uthor said, smirking. “How… charmingly presumptuous.” He raked his gaze up and down my travel-stained clothes. “You wear your title well, sir.”
“At least I have the manners to accompany it.” I folded my arms and gave him an icy stare.
“Of course you do.” He actually smirked.
“May I remind you, Uthor, that you are a guest in my home?”
He sighed. “We are not here to challenge titles, no matter how trivial.” I bristled at that. Uthor leaned back in his seat. “Your father has told us something of your making, after all.”
“Oh?” I glanced at Dad. My “making”? That struck me as a curious turn of phrase, but I did not comment on it. Perhaps it was some sort of Chaos formality when talking about new kings; I had little schooling in court etiquette. I'd ask questions about it later, in private.
“Uthor,” I said, deliberately leaving off his title, “I am a man of plain words. All that has happened—here and in Chaos—has given me little cause to like or trust you. Either get to the point or leave.”
“Your honesty is most refreshing,” Uthor said. He toyed with the stem of his goblet. “An excellent wine, by the way. Worthy of a king.”
“I am not here to discuss the merits of table wines.”
My father cleared his throat. “Patience, my boy. King Uthor is visiting under a flag of truce, after all. Hear him out.”
“Very well.” Easily I slid into the seat next to my father. Conner continued to stand behind us. To Uthor, I said, “I'm listening.”