Amber City
2nd January
When he said "It's better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all" Alfred Lord Tennyson didn't know what in Hel's name he was talking about. Loving someone you can never have is infinitely more painful than never loving at all. Now it's happened to me twice. It makes me want to rage against the world. Either that, or take my rage out against someone else. Maybe I'll get the latter chance given the amount of war and violence kicking around just now.
* * * * * *
"Artur?" she says, her eyes narrowing, as her servant escorts me into her morning room, "you've got a nerve coming back here?"
'She' is Gisela, my wife...ex-wife...shit, why did I even bother to make that arrangement given what's happened in the last few days. What we had may not have been a deep, romantic love, but at least we were friends. But she was hurt when I finally filed the divorce paperwork. And now it's all been for nought.
And this was a stupid idea. Before, we could talk, even if our relationship had never been particularly physical after we lost that baby, so many years ago. Now though. Apparently she isn't the forgiving kind.
But why aren't I surprised? She is, after all, the Dominion Germany Party Chairman, and she didn't get there by being a wallflower. Her ability to get things done, whatever the cost, almost matches mine, which is why we were so good for each other. Now I've probably made her an enemy.
I look at her, look at the servant, and then turn on my heel and walk out. Moments later, I hear her heels on the floor behind me, and turn towards her.
"You've got some nerve coming back here, Artur Acker," she says, calmly, "I hope those great plans of yours, which didn't have room for me, are going to shit."
"You'll be delighted to know that that's exactly what's happened," I reply.
"And you came here to tell me that?"
"I came here to apologise. I treated you badly."
"Yes you bloody did," she answers, hotly.
"I was wrong. I should have stuck with our arrangement, but I didn't. I'm sorry."
"Are you offering me the hand of friendship again?"
"Would you accept it?"
"Ask me again in a year," she answers, and then goes back into the room and slams the door.
* * * * * *
The Ice Bar suits my mood perfectly. The coldness in my heart towards the woman who led me on and then betrayed all of us...has spread, and now it's hard to feel anything else. So I'm sitting here alone, a pitcher of beer by my left hand, and a plate of food in front of me. Around me I see the notices about the culinary theme of the week: Norse. And just how ironic has that proven to be?
I'm sure, if I'd asked him, Armand would have come to help me drown my sorrows. But he's off down in Chaos being heroic. Again. The implications of the eldest son of the King of Amber, and one of Amber's most talented generals, fighting under the banner of the King of Chaos, are going to be interesting down the line.
For now though, it's a canny political move on Ian's part. On the one hand, it reminds our various kin of his position at the other end of the universe. On the other, it makes sure that House Helgram still appears to be onside with Swayville, despite its refusal to send troops directly to fight Ostia Borel Hendrake.
It's also fascinating to see who has joined his coalition. Before this, I would not have foreseen any circumstance when Lucius and Gregor would fight on the same side. Nor one when Ian and Thrawn would take the field together, given the events surrounding Lucius's retrieval from Corwin. And with the Lady Glorianna, as well as a representative from Channicut, in the form of Jericho, joining the festivities...
Whatever political statement Ian is making, it's an interesting one.
* * * * * *
I look up and see Erik coming in. Sometimes, on the spur of the moment, you find yourself doing something which seems a good idea at the time. But then, in the cold light of day, you realise how foolish you were to succumb to temptation. Erik is the living symbol of one of mine. And yet, I imagine he's hurting after recent events. More than me, he will have been her victim.
And that's another difficult remembrance which once again makes me think of the woman who hurt us both. Their children have been born now, I hear. I wonder what future they will have with the Council of Asgard broken, and their mother a very short distance from being declared traitor to the King. I rather doubt that any form of relationship between myself and his daughter will happen now.
Perhaps we should drown our sorrows together.
* * * * * *
Well, what a happy group we make. Myself, Erik, Lucius and Matthew. Matthew seems keen to talk about lighter things...about his friends, and the last game I played with the group on Antilla, and so forth. Usually I enjoy the escape that gives me, but just now, I can't muster the enthusiasm.
A man comes in, looks around the bar, and heads in our direction. Military by his bearing, and with definite purpose. I assume he wants either Matthew or Lucius, being the great military minds sitting having a beer (well, white wine in Matthew's case) around our table. But he doesn't. When he stops and salutes, it's me he's addressing.
"Herr Gruppenführer," he says, which immediately gets my attention, "the Führer's compliments."
Okay, from the rank, the Führer in question has to be Dieter, not Heydrich.
"What is it?" I ask.
"He has asked me to inform you that he has been given information that Sebastian Beyer is in Amber."
Just when I thought nothing could make my blood run colder.
Images come to my mind: the trial where the man tried to have Armand hung; the problems afterwards when it became clear that he not only knew about, but participated in the same past times as the man who had almost destroyed me when I was a child; his dismissal and disgrace; and his later appearance outside the Wewelsburg, hand in hand with the perpetrators of the coup against my Führer.
I look at my companions, all of whom are watching our exchange closely. I know there will be questions once the messenger has gone.
"Did he give any indication where Beyer is?"
"On his instructions, I took the liberty of pursuing enquiries before bringing you this message. He is at the Boar's Head Tavern, buying drinks and making friends."
"Please convey my thanks to the Führer for this, and assure him that I will deal with it."
"Yes, Herr Gruppenführer," he answers smartly.
"Dismissed."
He turns and leaves, and as I return my attention to my beer, I feel my companions' eyes on me. When the questions start, I keep it simple. Beyer is someone I know of old, and an enemy of myself and Armand, and that he was involved with both the Lynx Cult and the coup in Germania. And as I speak, I feel a spark of inspiration in my heart, and I come to a conclusion. This ends now. Beyer has to die.
And strangely, I have the impression that my companions know what I'm thinking almost as soon as I do.
* * * * * *
He's leaning against the bar, dolling out drinks to his sycophants with the largesse of a recruiting officer trying to bribe an army. Some of them I recognise...some of them I don't. Erik comments that the ones he's currently talking to work at the Treasury.
Something has changed in me since I last saw him: maybe eighteen months ago Amber time, but more than thirty years in my own personal timeline. Whereas before, the associations with Hölzer would have paralysed me, now they stoke my hatred. I just need to pick my moment.
We find a table, and then I offer to buy a round of drinks for my friends. Lucius and Matthew settle back to watch the entertainment, while Erik heads for the bar with me.
"Don't forget. Your father won't be pleased if you cause any trouble here," he says quietly to me, and I nod to acknowledge that I've heard him. I have no intention of listening.
"Hello Sebastian," I say, as I walk over to him. I see shock on his face as the recognises me, and notes the blade at my right hip, before he quickly puts back his genial mask, and he's the affable guy buying the drinks once again. Part of me is amused that I now top him in height by a good three inches.
"Artur Acker. How nice to see you," he says, with fake geniality which doesn't get anywhere near his eyes. I watch him weighing up the fact that I'm not the frightened little boy from the Lebensborn Centre...or even the loyal follower of Dieter at the Wewelsburg. And I see the moment when he decides he can force me back into that position. When he continues, his tone is patronising. "Who's your little friend?"
"I'm Erik, son of Geran," comes the answer, and he turns to the two Treasury officials, "and I will be informing my father of this."
They almost tug their forelocks in their haste to be somewhere else.
"Why are you here?" I ask Beyer.
"I'm just looking for a new place to live."
"And you chose Amber? That was a bold choice."
"You know how it is...land of opportunity. New beginnings. That sort of thing."
I order drinks, wondering if Beyer will pay for them - he actually does - and then I put a friendly arm over his shoulder.
"Then in the spirit of new beginnings why don't you join us for a drink."
I press slightly, imposing a little of my will on him, just to see if I can. He turns with me, and we walk towards the table. Lucius and Matthew look up at our approach. Matthew seems uncertain, but I see a wolfish grin cross Lucius's face as he savours what he guesses are my intentions.
"Who are your companions?" Beyer asks, more nervously.
"This is my Uncle Lucius...and my Uncle Matthew. My cousin Erik you've already met. Now sit."
"No...I...I should be going."
"But I insist."
I impose a little of my will on him once more, and he sits beside me, and nervousness becomes fear. However, I keep the friendly arm on his shoulder
"And here we are. Five friends, just having an informal chat."
* * * * * *
Physical contact always makes it easier to dominate another person's will and read their very thoughts. And if you have a strong mind, as I like to think I do, then that contact doesn't need to involve forcibly holding their chin and staring into their eyes. We sit, and we drink beer, and between Lucius, Erik and myself, we read most of the plots and schemes right out of his head. And more to the point, he knows exactly what we were doing, and can't do a single thing to stop it.
Does revelling in that make me a bad person?
But there's one train of thought he keeps coming back to. "This is Amber. The Mayor won't stand for trouble. These people won't hurt me in public. I'm perfectly safe."
I smile in inwardly. How very, very wrong he is.
* * * * * *
Finally, I look at Lucius, and from his expression I think he agrees that we've got everything we can out of Beyer. Lucius removes the friendly arm from over my enemy's shoulders, and I see a look of relief cross Beyer's face.
"I must be going," he says, obviously trying to tell whether we're going to stop him. However, if he sees what I see, he sees four friends relaxing around a table, about to say goodbye to a fifth.
"This has been a very useful chat, Sebastian," I say, pleasantly, making no move to stand up.
As intended, it lulls him into a false sense of security, and he gets to his feet. I let him take two steps before I uncoil in one smooth movement, drawing the blade which Geran made for me when I decided I needed to be armed in Amber, and lunge.
In fencing, it's amazing how often people are surprised at the reach you can achieve, even when you stand six feet two and are lanky with it. I feel the blade cut through his back like a hot knife through butter, stopping only when it catches in the front of his ribcage, and I have to say I'm impressed with its sheer cutting power. Around me I hear gasps, and then a combination of shouts and screams. From the table behind me, I hear a voice...I can't tell whose.
"Shit. Ian's going to be pissed."
I lower my blade and let Beyer fall to the ground, blood welling out of his back. The expression on his face is one of pure disbelief, as he gurgles and gasps for breath. As for myself, the release is positively cathartic. Suddenly, I feel so much better. So alive. As if there are flames rushing through my veins.
Fuck Morgana. Fuck Gisela. Fuck everything.
As I centre myself, I realise that people are calling the constables, and I remember that Ian really doesn't take kindly to members of the family murdering people in cold blood. I look down at my bloodied blade and then at Beyer expiring loudly on the floor.
No body. No murder.
I trigger a stasis spell, and Beyer's gurgles stop. And then I call Dieter.
"Herr Führer."
"Artur."
"I wanted to thank you for your message. It was very timely."
"And."
"And I have something for you."
I pull Beyer vertical, leaving a small puddle of blood on the floor, and I see a wolfish grin cross the Führer's face. Just in that moment, he looks a lot like his brother Lucius.
"He's currently under a stasis spell," I comment, "I'm not sure if it'll hold once I pass him through to you."
"Now wouldn't that be a shame," he answers, and reaches out his hand. He takes Beyer and drops him in an ungainly heap on the floor. I can't see if he immediately starts bleeding.
"Thank you, Obergruppenführer Acker," he says to me, with a smile, "and have a very Happy New Year."
A promotion as well as revenge? This is going to be worth whatever reaction Ian has to the news. I match his smile.
"And you, Herr Führer. May the greetings of the season light your way in all the dark places."
He nods and breaks the call. Privately, I rather doubt the Solstice gods are going to bring me peace when Ian finds out about this. But it was worth it.
I grab a towel from the bar, and clean first my blade and my hands. The blade I slip back in its scabbard. The barkeep wisely says nothing.
I look over at the table, where the others are sitting in...stunned silence, perhaps? Matthew looks slightly green around the gills. Lucius and Erik just seem surprised. And I become aware that the silence has extended throughout the bar. I slowly turn once around, reading the faces.
"The constables is coming," calls someone from over by the staircase.
Well, that was inevitable.
"So 'oos goin' to pay 'is bar bill?" says a voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the bar.
"I will," I answer, and cross to the barkeep. The crowd parts around me as I do.
Still somewhat in a daze, he holds out his hand and I give him the towel.
"Another round for my friends. And what's the reckoning for both the damage and the inconvenience?"
He mumbles a figure that's probably about twice the size it should be, and I pay it without demur. Then I pick up the drinks and return to the others.
* * * * * *
I'm sitting with my feet up on the table, listening to Lucius and Matthew baiting each other. I never can tell how much of the needling is real, and how much is brotherly good humour. While I was buying drinks, Lucius had broken the tension at our table by playing the coin drop game with Matthew. I never did see how the latter managed to pick it up without Lucius noticing.
The constables have been and asked their questions. As I listened to them speaking to the other patrons, it was obvious that the story was becoming confused in the telling. I watched with amusement as they got more and more frustrated as they tried to piece together the truth. They got to our table in the end...if I didn't know better, I'd say they saved it for last. A little to my surprise, my companions closed ranks around me and didn't give the constables anything they could use. The last time that happened, was back at the Centre at Armand's trial.
I looked calmly up at the constables and smiled. They knew damned well that I had murdered a man in cold blood in front of fifty witnesses, and they knew I knew. But when it came down to it, the lack of a body meant that however much they wanted to arrest me, in the eyes of Amber there was no case to answer. Just a bloody puddle on the floor. Eventually they gave it up as a bad job. But no doubt there's going to be a scathing report on Ian's desk in the morning.
I sit back, sip my beer, and listen to my companions chatting about money, and industry, and somewhere called Dragonways with a statue of Jericho that shits gold coins. The now-dry pool of blood doesn't get mentioned. And for the first time in a long while, I realise I'm actually relaxed.
I listen to them for a while, drifting away on their nattering, occasionally making comments so that they know I'm listening, but in the end I decide to leave them to it. I drain my beer, get to my feet and wish them good night, then head back to my rarely-used quarters in Amber Castle to sleep.
* * * * * *
The banging on the door of my quarters wakes me up. It surprises me, as no-one normally bothers to disturb me in Amber. Especially in the desolate wasteland of the NW Wing. The banging in my head from last night's beer keeps me awake as I drag on a robe, and go through into the lounge to open the door. Outside, his hand raised to thump on the wood once more, is a man in the Lord Mayor's livery.
I suppose that was inevitable, too.
"Your Highness. His Grace the Lord Mayor has asked me to relay the following message. He requires you to present yourself at the Guildhall at your earliest convenience."
"Tell him I'll..."
"Begging Your Highness's pardon. He told me to inform you not to even think of stopping for coffee first. And if I might say so, sir, he seemed mighty agitated."
Bugger. Just how did he know how hung over I'd be?
"Inform His Grace that I'll be with him shortly."
"Yes Your Highness."
He departs, and I lean on the inside of the door as I close it, cursing inwardly. German is a great language for that.
I've heard Wolf's stories about Ian's temper. I've also heard Ian's stories about Wolf's temper. But despite our problems and our differences, I've not really been on the receiving end before.
With a heavy heart and a pounding head, I slowly get dressed. I pull on a pair of dark trousers, some soft leather boots which come up to the knee - very suitable for Amber in winter - and a dark grey, open-necked shirt. Then I buckle my sword belt at my waist and pick up the leather jacket I'd cast to the floor the night before. Time to face the music.
* * * * * *
Why the Guildhall, rather than the Mansion House...or even back on Tenterden? The Guildhall is his place of business. But then, now I think of it, the summons was from the Lord Mayor, not from my father.
I stride in through the main entrance, and as I do, I feel eyes on me, and realise that everyone in the entrance hall has stopped and is looking at me.
"I have an appointment with the Lord Mayor," I say to the pretty girl on the reception desk.
"He is in council at the moment, Your Highness. But I can take you upstairs to wait."
In council? Making me wait after denying me coffee? I think a number of uncharitable thoughts about what I'd do just then if we were still on Dominion.
"This way," she says, a little nervously, and leads me up the grand staircase.
I know Ian's office is off to the right, but instead she takes me to the left, and stops outside a wooden door, bound with sturdy nails. When she knocks, the door makes a hollow sound, before being opened from the inside. I see an oval, wooden table, covered in green leather, with a dozen chairs around it, all of them occupied. The walls are panelled, with a blazing fire in a huge fireplace in the left hand wall, and behind Ian - seated at the opposite end of the table from the door - is a rich stained glass window.
He gets to his feet as the receptionist indicates for me to enter. As he does, I note that there's a light bandage around his right hand. Has he been casting some form of blood ritual? And if so, why in Hel's name hasn't he healed it? Taking his cue, the others also start to stand, and as they do, I recognise most of them. Two or three of the major local lords, plus several of the key City figures including the Ellis twins: Richard and Geoffrey. The heads of the City Judiciary and the Militia, respectively.
"Gentlemen, give us leave," he says, and I wonder at the formality of his words, until I recognise what he's actually saying. "Prince Artur and I must have some private conference. But be near at hand. For we shall presently have need of you."
Oh. Scheisse. I recognise the quote, as he obviously expected me to from the slightly mocking expression in his eyes. Equally obviously, he expected it to go over the head of his councillors. First point, Ian.
The council starts filing out past me, and as Richard Ellis walks by, it's obvious he's not a happy man. His brother, the last man out, throws me a look that shoots daggers, and I don't see if he shuts the door behind him. I walk to the opposite end of the table, and then lean on the back of the chair. But one glance at Ian's face, and I automatically stand up and assume parade ground rest. I've never seen him look so angry.
"What were you doing?" he yells at a volume which is going to be audible outside, whether or not the door is shut.
And I realise this is why he's summoned me to the Guildhall. To prove to his main advisors that even his son isn't above his wrath.
"Have I really displeased the gods so much that they should use my own son to undermine everything I've been trying to do here? I spend my entire life trying to calm the ruffled feathers of both lords and commoners when arrogant Amber Princes go round causing trouble and mindless violence. And what do I find when I get in this morning? A report that my son...MY OWN SON...has committed bloody murder in a crowded bar, in front of fifty witnesses. Goddamn it, Artur. Even that fuckwit Malcolm kept it to just a handful."
The weight of his anger is palpable, and I realise I'm subconsciously trying to shield myself from it by gripping hard on the back of the chair. Especially as he shows no signs of stopping for breath.
"I try, I really try, to hold myself to standards higher than those of my cousins, who use Amber City as their personal playground...as somewhere where they can drink, and brawl, and whore, and embarrass themselves. Where despite being of the Amber Royal Family, they act like a bunch of dangerous frat boys and don't care who gets in their way.
Wolf understands it. Armand understands it - because when he wants to let his hair down, he makes a point of getting the Hell away from here. And you. I never dreamed of the fact that you, of all people, would do something as mindless, and stupid, and downright bone-headed, as this."
I watch as he walks around the table towards me, and stand frozen as he grabs me by the collar of my jacket. It's probably only the fact that I have a couple of inches of height on him that stops him lifting me up by the scruff of my neck, and leaving my feet dangling.
"WHAT...THE FUCK...WERE YOU THINKING?"
He pushes me backwards and I stumble, although as much from surprise as anything else, and he gives me a resounding slap in the face. Which is when I hear a gasp from outside, and realise that the door is, indeed, still slightly open. Somewhere in my brain, I realise I could have stood my ground if I'd actually tried, but the speed and violence of his movement caught me short.
Ian looks at me, almost white with anger, and then turns away from me and stands in front of the fireplace, hands gripping each other behind his back.
Slowly, I raise my hand to my cheek and feel the heat from where the blow struck, and realise that I am suddenly as sober as the day I was born.
"Do I get any chance to explain myself?" I ask, quietly, "or are you just going to accept the reports as writ."
He stands there, motionless, for a good few moments, before finally turning back towards me. When he speaks, the anger in his voice is cold, not hot-blooded.
"Gods, Artur. I know you and I have had our differences, but I would never have expected you to be the one to make a great big, steaming cock-up like this. I have spent the last four years trying to show the people of this City that I'm someone who can speak for them. Who will listen to their grievances. Who is trying to make things better here, despite the efforts of my cousins to bring everything down to the level of a playground brawl."
He steps towards me, and I can hear the heat coming back into his words.
"But now, how the Hell am I going to persuade people of my authority and my good will towards the citizens of Amber, when my own son, while obviously pissed out of his gourd, has thrown away his princely privilege and proven himself just as volatile, and just as uncaring as the likes of Dave or Malcolm. About the only saving grace of this whole fucking mess is that it was you, not Wolf, who cracked first."
I retreat a step, and am ready for him the next time he raises his hand. I catch it with an ease that surprises me, and hold it there for a few moments. We lock eyes, and I can feel him trying to force his anger on me another way, but I strengthen my shields and hold him off.
"Let me explain," I say, coldly but quietly, and release his hand, "and I shall thereafter be more myself."
He breaks first, and looks to one side, then crosses to the door and pushes it closed.
"Right now, I have to deal with enemies within or without," he says, with his back to the door, "Richard Ellis called me back from Chaos because of this, so I've had to leave Armand holding things down there for me until I get back. And at the same time, I have to try to find a way to stop Marcus being destroyed to bring Oberon back. Something which apparently my sister Morgana was involved in all this time, along with the White Fucking Queen, the Harridan from Hell, and my dear Uncle Magnus, who suckered me into helping him by pretending he'd given up on his plan to boil Marcus in oil for forty days to restore Asgard. Apparently, according to Wolf, it's now become obvious that co-operation with the other 'gods' was nothing more than a smokescreen to allow him to undertake some fricking vow to bring back his father.
But why the Hell am I telling you this? When it turns out that in a single night's debauchery you, my own son, have brought trouble to the one place I thought was stable, and where I had a lid on things. You might as well go join the pro-Oberon cause...or the rebels in Chaos...and then I'll know just how far you've fallen."
I look at him, wondering if he really believes that. Just then, I want to punch him in his sanctimonious face, and before I realise it, he's stepping back holding his nose. He grabs a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and tries to stop the bleeding, before it drips down his crisp white shirt.
"What the Hell..."
"I asked you to let me explain," I say, coldly, "But no. You prefer to believe the reports, and suddenly I'm your enemy and no better than Ostia and her rebel scum. If I was Wolf, you'd give me the benefit of the doubt. But I'm not, am I? I'm just Artur. The unthought-of son. Prince Hal to Wolf's Hotspur. Always second in your estimations to my oh so damaged brother."
He stands there, looking at me, and finally I have a chance to say my piece.
"Believe me. I didn't do what I did to piss you off. I didn't do it to ruin what you've been doing here. The man was dangerous, and cruel, and needed to die."
He looks at me, incredulous.
"Do you even know who the victim was?" I ask.
"The constables didn't say. Hell, the constables wouldn't have even been sure there was a victim if you hadn't stabbed him in the back in front of fifty witnesses."
"His name was Sebastian Beyer," I say, quietly, "He was a Lynx. And he was one of the Germania Coup. And many, many years ago, he tried to have Armand hung for protecting me."
I pause for a moment, and let that sink in before I continue.
"Before I did what I did, the group of us interrogated him to find out why he was in Amber. He was trying to establish network of agents in a variety of walks of life. Embed himself here to run it. I haven't had a chance to dump all the details to crystal yet, but I will. He was also interested in getting people into the Amber Treasury. He was talking to two of Geran's people when we first arrived."
"How did you know he was here?"
"Dieter sent me a message, and I went to see if he was really that stupid."
"And the others? Erik, Matthew, Lucius?"
"They were with me when I got the message, and tagged along to see what would happen."
"Ah crap."
He pulls out the chair he's leaning on, and sits down. I cross to the one beside him and do the same.
"Let me look at that," I say, quietly, and reach towards his face.
He lets the hand holding the handkerchief fall to his lap, and I survey my handiwork. Bruised...maybe broken.
There's a trick I've seen him do sometimes. A form of healing which seems separate to magic, and I wonder if it's something I can do as well. Very gently, I reach out my hand, trying not to hurt him any more than I already have. That doesn't stop him flinching.
"Relax," I say, quietly, and begin to concentrate.
It takes a while for anything to happen, but eventually I feel...something. It's not something I've ever felt before, even with my extensive experience with magic. I concentrate on that feeling, and then visualise Ian's unbroken face in my mind. However, it's strange. My instinct is telling me I want to hurt him, not help him. I force that thought back down and concentrate on the opposite. Next I know, he's gently taking my hand and moving it away.
"I didn't know you could do that," he says, surprised.
"Neither did I."
I take the bloody handkerchief from him and then, almost without thinking, impose my will on it and it bursts into flames. In moments it's consumed, leaving nothing but a slightly red mark on my hand.
What in Hel's name?
"Neat trick." he comments, looking at me, although I imagine I look as surprised as he does. What did I just do?
"I'm the seventh son, of a seventh son, of a seventh son," I say, trying to recover "And now I've had my eyes opened to what that might actually mean."
"How."
"I had a long talk with Morgana before...before everything went to shit."
"Bleys said you'd been there when she asked for custody of Fergus."
"Indeed."
"What was she to you?"
"A dream that could never be," I say, quietly, "which seems to be my lot in life."
"What about Gisela?"
"I screwed that up as well."
He gently extends his arm, and lays his hand on my shoulder, his expression sympathetic. We sit like that for a moment, the only sound being a loud conversation from the other side of the door. Obviously his lords are awaiting his pleasure, taking his 'presently have need of you' comment literally.
"What did you do with the body?" he says, finally, as he sits back in his chair.
"I gave it to Dieter. He was a traitor to Germania, and I figured that my grandfather would like to make an example of him."
"Hard to make an example of a dead man. A head on a pike is about all you can do."
"He wasn't dead. At least, not at that point. I put him in stasis before I gave him to Dieter."
"Gods, this is a crap-fest."
He sits and leans his arms on the table and puts his head in his hands, then stays that way for a few moments before sitting back up.
"The constables' report has got out - probably helped by all those bloody witnesses. I have people gossiping in the streets about how my son stabbed a man in the back in a bar. A man who'd been making friends by buying drinks no less. And half of them are convinced that I'm not going to punish you, because you're my son and one of those 'bloody Royal yahoos'. And now you're telling me he isn't even bloody dead."
"In fairness, he probably is now through one means or another."
"Not helping Artur."
"What would you have me do? He was a Lynx. I fight the Lynx. He was Armand's enemy. I protect my friend as he protected me."
"What happened back there in the Lebensborn Centre?"
"I assume that by now you've heard of Hölzer?"
Ian nods.
"He was a paedophile. In fact, though I didn't realise it back then, he was part of a circle of paedophiles at the Centre who also dabbled in ritual magic. Beyer was another one, who covered up for their coven when anyone asked awkward questions. They enjoyed bothering little boys."
"You were one of them."
It's a statement, not a question, so I look at him and nod.
"Armand killed Hölzer, and was put on trial. However, he didn't want to explain why he'd done it. He took it all on himself. He got away with self-defence, just, and while nothing was ever said in open court, the incident caused an investigation that even Beyer couldn't stop. He wriggled out of being directly implicated, but he was dismissed from the Centre, and never again put in a position of authority over children."
"But this was on Tenterden. How did he end up in the Germania coup?"
"I don't know for certain, but my guess is that the coup plotters reached out to him through their Lynx contacts. As Kasimir Ritter...Dieter...was to blame for his dismissal, he would have had a grudge that could be easily stoked."
"What the Hell do we do now?"
"He was a Lynx and a traitor. It was a justifiable execution."
"By my son, in my City, flouting my laws in the process."
"Bleys may not believe in the death penalty for treason. But you do, and I do, and Edward does. I just cut out the actual legal forms."
"You executed vigilante justice. Literally."
"To protect my friend. The Lynx still want Armand. They want him very badly indeed. One of the other things Beyer was doing was looking into Helgram bloodlines, and whether anyone exists who is a pure blood member of the House. I'm not sure whether they do or not, given the interbreeding between the Houses. But Armand is a lot closer to that than most of us. He's Fiona's grandson by one of the Helgram Dukes, and great grandson to both Bleys and Brand. I'm not going to let the Lynx get him again, Ian. And if stopping them means you have me hanged, or punished with forty lashes, or just throw me in the stocks and have people pelt me with vegetables and sour beer, then so be it."
"I need to think about this."
"You know where I'll be when you've decided."
"I really don't."
"I'm going to be in the Castle for a few days. After all, you asked me to come here and be around if Bleys needs me."
"Just do me a favour, and don't kill anyone else while you're here."
"It isn't my intention."
I'd swear he mutters a prayer under his breath at that, before finally looking back up at me.
"Okay. So what you need to do now, is go and have a long conversation with both Edward and Marcus. And dump out whatever information you got from Beyer, and give it to them. If he really was the traitor you say he was, then actually getting that publicly known might put at least some of the rumours to bed."
"I will." I pause, looking at him, and then ask "where do we stand? You and I?"
"One hefty slap to a broken nose, I believe," he says, but his tone is lighter, "and an apology. You're right. I should have let you say your piece before going ballistic. I don't even have a good excuse for not doing, except maybe stress. I'm being pulled in so many directions just now that I don't know if I'm coming or going."
"Can't you take a couple of days off in fast time?"
"Tried that. Bleys ordered me home to deal with Fergus and Donal."
"Cinth's kids?"
"Yep. So add organising an adoption to my list of shit that's hit my desk lately."
"What's going to happen to them," I ask, remembering standing beside Morgana as she asked for custody of her brother.
"They will be brought up in House Helgram. I've agreed to be their guardian as Bleys wants nothing to do with them."
"I can understand that."
"Those women have really screwed us over, and it's going to take a while for the fallout to settle. Please, don't pile anymore doom on my plate for a while."
"I'll try not to. Are we good?"
He looks at me and smiles.
"A hundred thousand rebels die in this: thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein."
I'm trying to remember an appropriate answer when, there's a knock at the door, and Ian's Principal Private Secretary, William something or other, opens it with some degree of trepidation.
"Your Grace. The Council are wondering if they should depart and reconvene another time."
He looks at me and I shake my head.
"No, William. Prince Artur and I are done. Just give me five minutes to get a cup of coffee and we can reconvene."
"Yes, Your Grace."
He gets to his feet and I do the same. Then he gestures for me to lead, and he follows me out. I walk out through the gauntlet of curious councillors, but this time, I know Ian's behind me, rather than waiting in front of me.
Once we're clear of them, he falls into step with me and we head for his office. He pours two cups of coffee from the flask beside his desk and hands me one. I take it gratefully, and pretty much down it in one. He does the same, then pours himself a second.
"I need to go back and discuss road repairs and street lighting in the Lower East Hill District. If you want a second, help yourself. But don't forget to go and see Edward."
"I won't."
He looks at me again and smiles.
"We'll talk later," he says, and then heads back towards the council room.