His name was Gerard, another in the great family to which we'd all seemed a part of. He'd invited us into his tent after Cecily had asked for a bit more privacy than yelling over the sharp winds from the mountain pass, and we began what had become to us a common ritual of explaining how it was that our party had met, come together, and made our way to Amber, along with all of the side roads we'd taken, the friends and enemies we'd made, and the various relatives of Gerard with which we'd communicated. Cecily focused on the fact that we had brought Random with us, since he had some claim as the true King of Amber, and that we'd wanted Gerard's counsel on breaking the curse via the Pattern. Gerard thought on that for a time, then, with a large sigh of his shoulders, said that the issue of the King probably would not be settled without the Jewel of Judgement.
I'd tried to be cautious about just who or when I'd revealed the information that I did; witness the fact that when I'd put Random in the mind-fugue, I never identified that Jewel as the "Jewel of Judgment" (though I'd hope that some of my colleagues would have put it together by now); however, since we'd made it to Amber, and there was just a vibe, something I'd read in Gerard's eyes... I decided I'd let him know that the Jewel was in safe (ha!) hands. He drew those eyes upon me, wondering just who in the hell I was, and so I dropped Caine's name.
"It would figure as much," he said, shaking his head. But I would soon learn that my father was one of Gerard's full brother and well-liked to boot. As we continued talking to Gerard, and made the plans to return to Amber to see what could be done about Random, I observed the man with his troops. This was the first time I had seen a leader command such a presence; although Korbin is the High King in my homeland I had never been to his court nor witnessed him in that role. I decided then that I liked Gerard very much, and wondered if maybe I shouldn't just give the Jewel directly to him.
*****
I'd talked to Gerda for a moment about the return of the others and what could be done to prepare for the defense of this place. I could not understand why she'd ended our talk with "My sister's quarters are down the hall." Now, afterwards, I think I know may know why.
The apology had been perhaps two-thirds of the way out of my mouth before it had been obstructed with Syrana's lips, and there was a moment where time spun out of sorts; and when she'd pulled away there was a pang of longing. I'd most definitely not wanted that to end. She'd looked up at me with large, luminescent eyes, a sly smile playing on her face... until she saw in mine a look of bewilderment.
It is only later that I can tell what happened, and I curse at myself angrily. Here I am, Griffin, Bard of Rose Court, reduced to a speechless dolt from a simple kiss of a pretty girl! How many time had I seen the looks of admiration from my audience, doe-eyed girls enchanted by the music, or stories? I'd always been so practiced in charming -- it was the basis for my magic and my song -- it was everything that the Harpers had taught and what we claimed to be!
Maybe there is some rationale; I'd not been able to lie to someone I'd truly felt something for, and what was my role as entertainer, as Bard, if not to lie to some degree to an audience? To treat them all as my best friend, to raise spirits, to woo the girls... but after the show, it was nothing more than a performance. I cannot do this in Syrana's company -- I care too much. If something were to happen, I'd want for it to be between two "real" personalities -- not the illusion of one of them.
After a difficult attempt to try to understand why or what had happened, Syrana finally said that she needed to talk to her sister, and so I made my leave. It is only know that I see a bit more clearly, and I need to decide if I can get over the past -- not look into Syrana's eyes and see a face that haunted my twenty years ago -- and get on with my true life, to look past hears and what's "acceptable" or not; to let myself try to have what it is my heart would desire. I've decided what I need to do, and what I need to say, and it's not reading from a script or improvising or anything else related to my craft. I have an idea how I can do it, too, and I can only hope... for the best. May my heart, mind, and voice not fail me this time.
But first, I think Fletcher and I need to have a little talk.
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