I am not much of a pack-rat.  Every material thing that I need is
kept on my person, and those material things amount to weapons and armor,
precisely.  However, these are the things I need to be a functioning
person; to be a functioning parent, I need a lot more.  I can't even get
it down to a saddlebag full of toys and mashed up carrots, either.  I
begin to see the handiness in Driscoll's ability to conjure.

	The three of us, suddenly united in purpose in far more than just
parenting, packed up two years of accumulation of stuff:  Hary's books,
Iseult's knives, Pax's sunscreen and diapers...  What, you may ask, is a
two-and-a-half-year-old girl doing with a collection of knives?  The
answer is:  she's very careful and responsible with them.  Because she
knows she can't have them if she abuses them in any way.

	"She's soaked up the atmosphere of the Rath," Foster told me, when
I asked what he thought about her preoccupation with things that are
sharp.  My difficult, difficult child.  No pale and fainting lily, she is,
I admit in my heart of hearts, what I wanted in a daughter; she is
contrary and tough, determined and focused, and she wants to become death
on two legs.  It's endearing.  To me.  When I am not being frustrated by
it.  But far be it for me to deny someone with such a passion.  She will
need discipline, and she's not going to find it the same way I did.  I
learned that I had to take care of my siblings, because they weren't quite
as strong or quick as me, and they would need my help.  Iseult isn't going
to have that realization, because there will always be Hary, who has
already taken that role.

	So, we have to be strict in the example we set for her, and
calling the little one "Spud" is not the most prime example -- not to
mention we don't need to make Pax feel any bit insecure about his
appearance.  It's hard to be the odd one out in a family.  I spent years
trying to see how I fit into things, and my coloring isn't even all that
odd.  It was nice to find my eyes in Gramble's eyes.  Alas...Gramble.

	I got together my own gear in no time.  The biggest item was the
army payroll files, of course, but that would be brought through with the
army.  I mused over the inconsequentials, trying not to think about what
having Driscoll in our bed would be like.

	By the time we were packed and ready, my stomach was growling.  I
slowed the Shadow, hefted Iseult and two or three bags of her stuff, and
activated the Trump contact.  We stepped through, hands joined with
Foster's, Foster's with Caitt's, Caitt's with Driscoll's, and dropped the
stuff in a pile in our rooms.  I felt suddenly tired, as if it were the
longest time I'd ever spent away from Amber, and that I hadn't really
slept in two years.  Possibly -- just possibly, that was almost true.

	It seemed to be around noon in Amber, so Foster and Caitt and I
trekked down to the dining hall with the kids, while Driscoll went to see
to his dragon-riders.  A few faces seemed to note the changes apparent in
the kids -- including the new addition -- as we took up one long row near
Ariana and her brood.

	Ariana seemed excited about something, so I took off a glove and
joined hands with her.

	"Riftvan is retired," she said.

	I congratulated her, as best I could, but I couldn't keep certain
feelings away from her.  She looked concerned, surprised...something. 
Before I could say or do anything, Riftvan came into the room, and took
the seat next to her.  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.  All
the little Vetchlings sat a little straighter and looked even more polite.

	I have no quarrel with how Vetch ran his house; turning out proper
assassins can't be easy, and I can see how humiliation may be a necessary
step to bending someone's will to your own.  I can even, and I can barely
admit this to myself, see myself doing something similar if I thought I
had to, and it was the only way.  But what I cannot see doing is taking
someone like Foster, and trying to warp him to fit the assassin's mold. 
When I think of Foster in Vetch's training camp, even knowing that Foster
was probably my age before Vetch used that kind of, uhm, persuasion on
him, I don't see Foster as my age, I see him as a little version of Hary. 
That's enough to raise anyone's hackles.

	In any case, then was when I heard "CLANG!!!" and a mild "ow" with
no pain behind it, as Iseult plunged a steak knife into Foster's leg. 
Well, into Gordon, to be more accurate.  I excused myself, stood, went
over to Foster and exchanged kids with him.  Pax sat on his lap and
giggled while Foster said something into his ear.

	Iseult did want to use the knives, and I insisted that if that
were the case, she had to use them correctly.  I hurriedly replaced my
gloves, just in case.  When it looked like Felix was nearing the end of
his meal, I offered Iseult to him, and finally tucked into my lunch with
the attention it deserved.  Iseult decided that the potatoes on Felix's
plate were to her liking, and kept pointing and calling them "spuds."  At
which point Pax's head went up, as if someone called his name.

	I glared at Foster.  He failed to look innocent.

	Driscoll came in about then, and rescued his son from the bad
influence of my husband.  Speculative eyebrows went up all around the
table when that happened.  I reminded myself that the important parties --
Foster's family, my family, and Driscoll's, all already knew the pertinent
details.

	****

	Lunch over, I had about three minutes to discuss with Ariana and
Usires the location of one Miranda.  She was last noted to be near
Daraways.  I admit to wanting to find her with a certain determination,
because I want this Takaran problem solved.  Ariana seems even more
determined, however.  As usual, though, I guess.  I was pulled away from
the conversation by Pax heading under the table to grab the bunny that was
under there.  I'm not sure, but I think that rabbits under the table
aren't quite sanitary.  Haris fished him out, and we divvied up the
baby-sitting duties for the day.  I wanted Pax, to take him to meet
Mandor; Foster drew Iseult-duty, which left Haris to Driscoll and the
dragons.

	I Trumped Mandor, and he admitted to being unbusy, and we spent a
pleasant hour chatting about children.  He admired Pax, assured me that
his shapeshifting would kick in soon, and then there'd be no stopping him,
no matter what the light-level.  I was a little relieved by this; there's
only so much zinc oxide you can apply to a toddler and have it stick, and
hats work about as well.  Every time Pax reached for something he wasn't
supposed to have, he ran into Mandor's Logrus-tendril, and was soon
airborne.  I commented on how handy that would be with Iseult.  He smiled
indulgently as I regaled him with tales of her stubbornness.  Then he
volunteered for baby-sitting duty the very next day.

	It sounded too good to pass up.

	Pax eventually tired himself out, and as I stood to leave, Mandor
said, "I want you to feel you have a place here, Laughter.  I'm trying to
make Middlecourt a little different..."

	I nodded, not sure how to reply, as I Trumped away.  He
seems...different.  I can't quite put my finger on it, but he is most
different.  I remembered the conversation I had had with Heather but two
days ago, by Amber reckoning...two years ago for me.

	I'll have to think about this...

	Foster pulled me through to Amber.  Felix was with him and Iseult. 
I smiled beautifully at Foster and said, "Iseult is spending the day with
Mandor tomorrow."  Unspoken: "she probably shouldn't call Pax 'Spud'
around him."

	He paled a bit.  Good.  The fear of Mandor will work where the
fear of your wife fails.  He picked up Iseult, and decided to spend some
special time with her.  I went to find Ariana, which, as Foster told me on
the way out, was what she had requested I do.

	*****

	The long walk down to the practice room was long enough for me to
give up most of my secrets.  Ariana seemed to like the idea of me becoming
sexually adventurous.  I reminded her of my paucity of lovers, and I guess
it's a good thing that her jaw wasn't loosely hinged.  "NO one?  No one at
all between Cal and Foster?"

	"I was fighting a war," I reminded her.  I don't know about the
rest of the world, but I have a hard time having sex when I spend
twenty-three and three-quarters hours a day in chain mail and plate armor. 
Besides which, Cal had, as they say, burned me pretty badly, and I hadn't
found anyone else.  The next thing I knew, the war was over, I was in
Amber, and there were three men after me -- Shard, which could have
happened if either one of us had been a little more suave; Driscoll, who
reminded me so much of Cal that I usually froze in fear around him;
Foster, who was supposedly fifteen at the time.

	Who the heck was I supposed to have slept with, anyway?

	Of course, she wanted to know what my reaction to Riftvan at lunch
had meant.  I told her, as much as I could bear to tell her, and let her
fill in the rest.

	So, once her amazement and dismay faded, we got down to the brass
tacks:  could Laughter defeat a woman almost into her third trimester?

	Of course not.  Damn.  Oh, well...  But she allowed that I had
gotten much better, and, well, that was something.

	It was about this point that Bart entered, stage left, harassed by
a bunny.

	The situation, from there, degenerated quickly into a duel between
Bart, in some sort of slavering rabbit-gone-wrong form, and the little
Disc-rodent that belongs to Jaquee.  Jaquee had gone missing, it seemed. 
Ruepert blamed Bart.  Magic started stirring, alarms went off, and at
Ariana's request, I Trumped Meander.  I caught his crow from flying off
his shoulder, too, and managed to aim it at the disturbance, so he could
have a better notion of what was going on.  Mom and Bleys showed up then,
and oddly, didn't seem to do too well against the dumb bunny.  Meander
pulled through.  As soon as we could, Ariana and I left.  Not our fault.

	I went with Ariana back to her rooms, and of course, Riftvan was
there.  I broached the notion with him of being my practice Faerie for a
spell I was working on.  He pretty much refused...and when he patted my
head, I prickled like a cactus.  He pulled his hand away, and said,
quietly, something about that being a clue.

	I took that moment to leave.

	Vetch has an interesting point, that he could die during this
spell, since I don't *really* know the ramifications of it.  I'm not
usually a careless spell-caster; I tend to get into trouble when I make up
stuff on the fly (will-o'-the-wisps will haunt me to my dying day).  But I
*have* researched this spell.

	Well, they're both wrong if they think I'm going to call Vetch to
my service over this.  I haven't forgotten.  And I'm not going to spend it
carelessly.  There may come a point where it is necessary for more than
just my personal satisfaction, that I and all of Amber may need Vetch's
service.  I've saved it for...eleven years now?  Can it actually be that
long?  Yes, in fact, it is...  I was with Foster for two years before
Hary, and almost five years since Hary; prior to that, there were four
years before Foster.  Well, in any case, I've held it this long in my own
personal time, and I'm not going to spend it frivolously.

	With these thoughts, I returned to my quarters.  Felix was there
with Foster, Iseult and Pax.

	Felix said, "Can you come down to the docks, now?  I have
something to show you."

	*****

	She's a beauty, though I know next to nothing about boats, at
least not in comparison to my nautical in-laws.  I deal in land wars.  I
long considered the only thing necessary to know about water is how not to
drown in it.  We spent some time trying to find a name for her ("Just the
Boat of Us"...I still hurt from that one), and settled on "Lady of the
Lake," even though she's an ocean-going vessel.

	That's when Felix and Foster got into a little 'toss each other
off the docks' kind of war, which went on until Gerard threw Felix an
amazing distance.  It was about then that I headed on board to look
around, leaving Pax and Iseult on the docks.  Foster came up behind me and
we discovered the bed together -- after I discovered we'd been cast off by
our loving relatives.  Foster steered us out a little ways.  I felt...a
little odd, not having Driscoll there, but glad, too, because I didn't
think I could cope with that, just yet, anyway.

	*****

	We got back to find all the children in Amber under a certain age
playing together, while Ariana, Felix and Driscoll, with a little help
from other parties, supervised.  Pax was clinging to Driscoll and looking
around with a certain wide-eyed fascination.  He held out his arms to me,
and seemed relieved Foster and I had come back.  Driscoll's eyes met mine,
and I flushed, somehow knowing he knew what Foster and I had been up to.

	The adults somehow managed to herd them all downstairs for dinner
-- Darby, Barton, Morgan, Jalana, Shannon, Vincent, Vivienne, Hary,
Iseult, Pax...  It kind of hurt to realize that Beauty and Nicholas really
should have still been here.  Nicholas, I suppose, never really had a
childhood, not like he should have.  And Beauty, though she had Caitt,
didn't really have one either.  I gripped my sword reflexively, thinking
that I wanted to take them away, raise them, give them what little
happiness and freedom that childhood affords, before letting them grow up. 
I grew contemplative.  Do I really want to raise my children in Amber? 
Where any fool with enough magic can break in and steal or kill whoever
they damn well please?  Is it more right or more wrong to keep them in a
safe Shadow?

	I shook myself, and made sure Iseult didn't take off any fingers
-- hers or anyone else's.  I managed to laugh at the antics of the little
ones, but I did not manage to get rid of that feeling of foreboding.

	*****

	Haris had a lot to say about his cousins, and the day in general,
but eventually his pale blue eyes finally closed and his breathing evened
out.  I smoothed back his hair, and looked down at him with a smile.

	I headed out into the living room.  Foster was reading something,
feet propped up on the coffee table.  Driscoll was relaxing on the couch. 
I pulled out a thick file from the teetering stack on the desk, and began
to look through it.  The promotions file.  I was just growing engrossed
when I realized that Foster and Driscoll were standing over me.  Driscoll
removed the reports from my hands, and Foster picked me up over his
shoulder.  I waved at Driscoll, as Foster brought me into the bedroom and
set me down.  Foster moved to close the blinds.

	I watched them carefully, trying to figure out who was going to
move in on me first.  Driscoll laughed at my expression.  "You have
nothing to fear, Laughter.  Foster you've already had, and Nestra was less
than pleased with me."

	He slowly pulled of his tunic, and I watched with admiration as he
revealed the long clean lines of his form, as attractive in its way as the
bulk of Foster's muscle.  Then I realized it wasn't a strip-tease, but
that he was trying not to injure himself further; he wore a large bandage
over his abdomen.

	"Owch," Foster remarked.  "You've had a long, hard day, love. 
Come curl up and sleep between us."

	I wasn't *exactly* sure if that was addressed to me or to Driscoll.

	The pressure was off, in any case.  I was still a bit nervous to
strip down to nothing in front of someone other than Foster while in
possession of all of my senses.  But I managed it, and crawled into bed,
and slept well...secure in the present for the first time in two years. 
The future could wait till the morrow.

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