All That's Best of Dark and Bright

      Mythos decided that her nose itched because she smelled disaster coming.
      Not that disaster hadn't been close at hand, on and off, for these past several weeks... there was the murder of the Crown Prince, the attempted murder of her own mother and Mythos' own role in that. And with her mother swearing revenge on all and sundry, Mythos didn't think she'd be able to bring disaster to heel... but the thing that made her nose itch the most, the thing that most certainly smelled like trouble in the here-and-now, was the arcanely written invitation she had received for tea with Jared's grandmother.
      As hyper-aware and self-referential as Mythos was, she didn't really have a clue how much tea with the High Priestess was frightening her. Mythos never trusted authority figures, of course-- a happenstance which was creating unconscious tension with her mother-- and short of the King (who wasn't really any bit snotty about his authority), the High Priestess was Authority in Amber. Mythos knew history, and she knew what kind of person it would take to rule a church in a place like Amber. She was altogether certain that Her Grace was as snotty as they came. Not necessarily bitchy, like Phoebe, who abused her position because she wasn't secure in it, but with the arrogance of two millennia of ruling.
      Mythos worried, paced and scratched her nose, but dashed off a note accepting the invitation to tea with the Priestess.
      As she scribbled her reply onto the stiff cream-colored paper, she was heard to mutter in an irritated voice, "No, don't kill it; it's as scared of you as you are of it."

      Gwynwyfhar was pacing, which she found irritating, because it wore down the carpets and also let her husband know she was upset about things; this inevitably led to the carpets being replaced far oftener than they should otherwise have been, and also to annoying questions from her husband.
      Jenner always seemed to find it a moral victory when Gwyn lost her composure. "It humanizes you, my dear," he would say with a smile, and wait for her temper to flare even further. She wasn't really all that temperamental, she thought pettishly to the portrait of Jenner hanging on the wall. She just preferred things to go according to her plans. They ended up much tidier that way.
      She spun around on her heel and began traveling the length of her office in the other direction. She almost tripped over an enormously pregnant cat in the process. "Bright," she hissed, and the cat laid its ears back and ducked out of the way, under her desk. Immediately, Gwyn felt idiotic, and stooped down on her hands and knees to reach under the desk and try to make amends.
      "Ah, Your Grace," Seifer said from behind her with studious politeness. Gwyn froze, not certain where she had left her dignity today. "When you are ready, Mythos Logan is here to see you."
      At least she didn't bang her head on the desk. She stood up with utter calm and brushed a miniscule piece of lint from her white dress. "A moment, Seifer, and then bring her in; afterwards, have Gretchen bring the tea."
      Seifer nodded and left. Gwyn twitched her skirts into order, then looked into the mirror over the washstand in her private room. She put her collar back into place, frowned at the dozen silver hairs in her dark brown hair, and then frowned at herself even harder.
      She returned to her office and stood in front of her desk, hands folded at her waist, waiting patiently.
      The door opened. Seifer brought the young woman in. Gwyn felt a small start of surprise at the resemblance.
      She had James Logan's chin-- a smaller, more feminine version, of course-- and she had her mother's height, but mostly she looked like Quentin. Young Quentin. It so struck her, that she was silent for a long moment.
      And it was such a long moment, that Mythos began to look uncomfortable. "Hello," she said, and then, "Your Grace."
      Gwyn stirred herself. "Welcome," she replied. "Do call me..." she hesitated only briefly, "Gwyn. Your mother does. It took her a thousand years to drop the Aunt-- which I never properly was."
      The girl gave a small smile at that, but it was a smile of disbelief.
      "Do come in and have a seat."
      She sat, and Gwyn sat. Gretchen came with tea almost immediately, and it was, "Oh, try a lemon cookie; do you take cream?"
      Then, both with teacups raised to their lips, silence. Mythos' eyes watched the carpet, the fire, took in the portraits of Jenner, Arthur and Caerwyn, watched the cats, but didn't look at Gwyn. Gwyn thought she was shifty.
      Gwyn set down her cup and regarded Mythos directly. She was dressed more conservatively than Gwyn had expected, in loose-fitting black linen pants, a sleeveless white shirt and short bolero-style jacket of a sober color. Gwyn had heard reports of other clothes, most memorably a red dress of no particular modesty. Genevieve had long ago educated Gwyn in certain styles of dress, but what Gwyn would forgive in a long-time friend, she was not so ready to overlook in a girl who had nothing but her family to recommend her.
      "What are your interests, Mythos?" Gwyn asked.
      Unexpectedly, Mythos replied, "I read a lot of poetry. And I write biographies."
      "Really?" Gwyn asked, trying hard to keep surprise out of her voice. "I hadn't suspected that. Who is your favorite poet?"
      Mythos smiled a little sadly, and said, "I doubt you have heard of him, he was a poet of my home shadow..."
      "All good things-- and many bad-- come to Amber in time. Try me."
      "Lord Byron."
      Well, Gwyn shrugged internally, it wasn't the worst choice. Though she found Byron overwrought. She quoted, from memory, the first bit of Byron that came to her:

"She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes."

      Mythos looked pleased. "So, he is known here."
      Gwyn merely nodded, and was about to pin Mythos down with a hard question, when, "And what are your hobbies, Your Grace?"
      "Ah," Gwyn said, again a little surprised. "Well. I keep bees."
      "Challenging," Mythos offered. "Do you smoke them to keep them calm?"
      "Never," Gwyn replied. "The queens and I have an understanding." She couldn't help reading Mythos' expression, which seemed to say, I'll just bet you do. It vaguely irritated her, that this child was measuring and judging her.
      "So, you and my grandson have become friends," Gwyn began.
      Immediately, Mythos' eyes became hooded. "Indeed."
      "You have gotten to know him pretty well?"
      "I wouldn't say that. He's not the sort of person you can get to know well in a very short time."
      "Still," Gwyn said. "You might know him better than anyone else in Amber, save, perhaps, his mother."
      "It is not for me to sound the depths of another person's soul," Mythos said, a slight emphasis on me. "I think it's a bit presumptuous to assume I know someone on such a short acquaintance."
      She's a difficult one, Gwyn decided. Obviously, subtlety was getting her nowhere fast.
      "Do not misunderstand me, Mythos," Gwyn said finally. "I'm not trying to learn to what extent you and Jared are involved. I already know-- to my own satisfaction, that is." She paused to let that sink in, before she went on.
      Apparently, it didn't have to sink very far. "Oh?" Mythos asked. "Well, if you're already acquainted with the intimate details of our relationship, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you care." It came across a little rudely, but Gwyn understood.
      "When I became head of the Church, I had a very sincere vision of how it should all be organized. It would be separate from the Amber royals, and I would forego all my titles in the royal family; the corrupting influence of the royalty would be eliminated. I intended to give up the leadership of the Church in very few years, and pass it back to the populace of Amber. Do you understand that?"
      Through the speech, Mythos had looked briefly angry, but had gotten herself under control again. "Yes, I think I understand, Your Grace. You were afraid that it would become like the Borgia Pope, perhaps."
      "Exactly!"
      "So, what happened?"
      Gwyn looked up at the portrait of Jenner, before replying, "It became clear that if the Church were to continue to be a guiding force for good, that the family would have to stay involved. There was too much thrown at Amber to just allow the Church to fall back to its previous apolitical position. And Geraint would not allow me to forswear my titles, though we are all out of the line of succession."
      When she paused this time, Mythos did not interrupt. Gwyn leaned on the armrest of her chair and continued. "It was most displeasing to me to be in love with a man who was my relative. It made the issue of marriage into an issue of empire-building; it seemed to say that the only way to be powerful in the Church was to be of the Royal family. That was anathema to me then. Now I see it as a necessity. Amber has fallen onto dark times; it needs the constancy of the Church of Light, and the Church needs a constancy of leadership, at least until the dark time is passed. Now, I am glad that Jenner is as seemingly immortal as my self, that we have children who are interested in the work of the Church, who could keep the Light alive and uncorrupted through the darkness."
      Gwyn stopped, lost in thought. There was silence, until Mythos said, "Ooh-kay."
      Gwyn turned and looked intensely at Mythos. "I have patience. But I no longer believe that there is infinite time to settle everything. I need to secure my line of succession. I despaired of ever finding anyone up to the task for a long time..."
      Mythos' voice was uneven. "Jared?"
      "Maybe," Gwyn returned. "I can't know yet, I have not had a chance to assess him fully. But I can't risk losing him to..."
      Mythos finished, "To me."
      "In a manner of speaking."
      Mythos' face twisted, and for a minute, Gwyn was a little frightened of that expression. But then it straightened out, and there was a dangerous half-smile on her lips. Gwyn watched her carefully.
      "While I appreciate what you're saying, Your Grace, but I don't think I'm going to kick him out of bed just yet. If he ends up taking your job, he'll need some fond memories to look back on." Mythos stood up.
      Gwyn, surprisingly, did not find herself to be angry. She stood up too. "Mythos," she said. Mythos stopped. "That's not quite what I meant." She stared at the girl, who was obviously hurting over what Gwyn had said, and obviously, also, wanted to punch Gwyn in the nose.
      "While it is not in my power to approve of the particulars of your relationship," she continued, "I do know that life is a lot easier when you have someone to share the burdens with. I'm not saying that Jared shouldn't have someone. I'm not even saying that it shouldn't be you. I'm just asking you to have a care."
      "I see," Mythos said, in a way which clearly indicated that she did not.
      Gwyn sighed. "No, I don't think you do, but neither do I think that I can explain it any better than that."
      Mythos half-bowed and said, "I thank you for the tea. Good day." She turned and walked away.
      When she was gone, Gwyn slumped ungracefully in a chair. Bright (really, Bright LXXVIII) jumped up on her lap with even less grace, her pregnant belly swaying. Gwyn said petulantly, "Why does no one ever understand what I mean?!" Bright mewed.
      "It's getting close to your time, isn't it, kitty? Well, I have known kittens to work as peace offerings in the past." Gwyn pushed Bright gently to the floor and went to the window. Outside, she saw a dark-haired woman with free and easy stride progress down the walk and out the gate. "'All that's best of dark and bright/ Meet in her aspect and in her eyes.' I suppose Byron's not so bad."

      Mythos went for a walk down in the docklands, kicking stones along the way until she injured a toe on one. "Perfect," she said angrily.
      When she reached the harbor, she climbed the sea wall and leaned over the edge, looking into the oily water. The water was dark, and she couldn't see the bottom, while the scum of oil on the top reflected the sunlight brilliantly, making her eyes tear. She sighed, letting her arms dangle free.
      "I guess it wasn't so bad," she told herself.
      "And, at least my nose doesn't itch anymore."

January 2000
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