Seventeen Beginnings

I always liked Brand. I’m loathe to admit that I probably started cultivating a friendship simply because Father was unkindly towards him, but it’s likely true. That was a simple way to irk father; how could I pass it up? It’s probably the same reason I always was so sweet to Eric…

Anyway, after a time I came to genuinely like Brand. I don’t know, maybe it was because he seemed more tortured and tragic than I, or maybe because he was equally alone in Amber. But I did enjoy his company. He was a distant person, and often as not was torn by some inner turmoil he wouldn’t share. Eventually his pain melted the ice in my heart and we grew into one of my better friendships in Amber, part-time though it was.

He was an artiste par excellance, and it was common ground between us. His art was illusory, though he lacked the skill to put them to paper. Often he would create his pictures, and I would render them to permanence for him. It was a wonderful meeting of talents, and my creativity was expanded through him. Sometimes, he would produce a piece of exceptional emotion and perfection, and I marveled at the talent in these. It was nearly beyond me to put some of these creations to paper, but I would try my best to capture them, for it pleased him. He was always pleased by my admiration, and over time his smile came to mean more to me than my father’s tears, though both were so very equally rare. I suppose that’s why I grew to love him, which makes life all the more bitter now. I know now that I have in my possession some of the scant remains of Brand’s true art.

It was my seventeenth birthday, as I recall, and Father (who still tried back then) was planning some sort of party. I, of course, was looking for a way to avoid his festivities and spoil his plans. Brand was ever sensitive to my moods, and saw the fireworks coming. He suggested a ride in the hills with a picnic lunch, an endeavor that would keep us out all day. It was incongruous, but I was delighted to accept.

We snuck out of the castle while the servants were still clearing breakfast, our bundles packed tightly and careful to avoid any curious eyes. No easy task in Castle Gossip, but it was like an adventure. A stable hand saw us go so we were careful to leave in a misleading direction, and Brand was ingenious at covering tracks.

We rode out into the foothills of Kolvir, the sea and birds the only noise around. It stands out in long memory as one of the most peaceful days I have ever known. Brand discussed with me the Pattern, asking when I planned to get over my stubborn streak. I told him quite seriously that I’d never give Father the satisfaction while he lived. Brand nodded quietly, understanding, and for that more than anything else, my heart was his. He seemed himself that day, the moodiness lifted, and we chatted amiably as we rode.

Gone but two hours, I felt someone trying to reach me by trump. I resisted, and it faded, but the effort must have shown on my face for I felt Brand watching me curiously. The attempt resumed, stronger, and I reined in my horse with beads of sweat standing out on my brow. Distantly, I felt a hand fall onto my shoulder, and the pressure in my head lessened. The trump contact faded, and I opened my eyes. Brand sat his horse very close to me, his eyes concerned.

"Bleys" he muttered in a voice not quite his own, as the touch faded away, but his hand remained. Exhausted, I slumped on his shoulder. His initial jerk of surprise was quickly replaced by a comforting hug. We sat in silence long minutes, then with unspoken agreement rode again toward the sea.

The picnic was quiet and restful, and we spent some time enjoying wine and sharing sketches of the landscape. After a time I put down my paper and watched him work. He seemed almost happy, sharing one of his rare smiles. The sun slid across the sky, and after some time had passed he showed me what he was drawing. It was a picture of me he had drawn, and to my eye it was far more beautiful than I thought myself to be. There was something innocent and child-like to his face as he smiled again at my delight, and his breath woofed out in surprise at my impetuous hug. A long minute passed, but when I started to release him I found he did not let go. A hand entwined in my hair, gently, and I turned to look into his eyes. Curious, I met his gaze, and for once saw no pain, no mockery, and just the crystal green of the morning sea.

Terrified of the consequence, yet unable to help myself, I leaned forward to kiss him, expecting resistance. He hesitated but a moment, the small smile still playing in the corner of his mouth.

The sounds of sea and sky played a melodic background over the next few hours as the sun fell toward the sand and then vanished, and I suppose Grandfather would have killed us both for how we spent that long afternoon and evening.

Lying on the cooling sand later with my head in his lap, watching the stars, he spoke softly and reluctantly, his voice shy, almost as if he were being prompted,

"I almost forgot, I brought you a birthday present."

I laughed, sitting up, "What, another one?" I teased him.

He rolled over to where his pack was, pulling out a thickly wrapped parcel and handing it to me. I settled back leaning against him, unwrapping the gift. Inside was soft black fabric that unwound into a beautiful black silk tunic, finely made in a style similar to his own. As I examined it, he mumbled something to himself, then handed me a hard black leather case, covered with inlaid gold knotwork.

"You might need this, also" he added. I glanced up at him in delight.

"Open it" he urged, seeming a cross of pleased by my reaction, and a trifle impatient. I had the feeling our day was coming to a rapid close. I opened the case and inhaled in surprise, pulling out a full set of the family’s favorite cards. Father had refused me a set until I walked the Pattern – a battle of wills we perpetuated. But these, I could tell, were fairly newly drawn, and something about them was reminiscent of Brand’s hand, but not quite. I realized they reminded me of his illusions…

I turned, and leaned over to thank him with a kiss, but something in his eyes went hard and icy, and I stopped myself. I knew the wind had changed, and it was better left alone for now. Something nagged inside that I was no longer really looking at Brand, and I shivered slightly and stood up. Trying to recover, I smiled,

"It’s late, and the air’s getting cold. Maybe we should head back?"

It wasn’t my Brand who shrugged non-committally, so I started getting our things together, while he watched me in silence. Troubled, I finished up, and we rode away in silence. I was confused, feeling slightly betrayed at not even getting a full day, but I held my tongue. When we reached a spot just out of sight of the Castle, he grabbed for and jerked my horse’s reins suddenly, startling us both and nearly pitching me to the ground.

"This is where I leave you" he said curtly, "go home. We were seen leaving together, we will not return together."

"But" I started to protest, "no one saw…"

He cut me off instantly, "Always assume you were watched and plan accordingly." The ice in his eyes melted just a touch, and he seemed consumed with his internal struggle. A hint of sorrow came into his expression, and I almost winced as he reached out to cup my chin, lifting my face.

"I’ll be back," he said, "in time. All things in their time." I longed to reach out and hold him, but his eyes shifted, and icy fingers seemed to trail down my spine. I wanted to run, but gods help me, it was far too late. I had quite completely fallen in love with my Father’s younger brother, and even I realized this was dangerous and futile. He dropped his hand, looking like a trapped animal, spun his horse and rode off into the gathering darkness. I sat watching him disappear into the gloom, and sadly turned my horse to home. I contemplated the quicksilver personality that was Brand as I rode home, not knowing then that characteristic was to mark and encompass our relationship over the years. And over time, it would only grow worse. I would come to see, even when he was kind and sweet, trying to be helpful to me; he had a sort of haunted look about him. He often made mention of the tunic, which I wore whenever I could, but never again would he mention the trump deck. I let it go, as he seemed to want.

When I returned to the Castle, Father was incensed, which was a pleasant side effect, demanding to know where I’d been and why I didn’t answer his calls. I smiled enigmatically at him as I noticed Eric watching speculatively from down the hall. I could sense that Father was dying to ask how I resisted his trump calls as well, but would never do so in front of Eric. Never one to lose an opportunity, I moved towards my Uncle, speaking to him as if my father were not there.

"I was celebrating my birthday in style. Would you like to hear all about it, Uncle?" I smiled disarmingly at Eric. His amusement was a tangible thing as he answered, "Of course, whatever the lady wishes to share".

I took his arm, very properly, chatting amiably about my ficticious day shopping and sightseeing as we wandered toward the study without a backward glance. I could feel Father seething behind me. Eric played his part well, always the gentleman, the amused twinkle still in his eye when I bade him good night and retired. It was a day where I’d felt I truly won the round.

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