“She sounds ideal for our purposes,” I said, changing the subject before he could complain about our father. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Go ahead and ask her.”

This just might work. There would be a certain novelty value in dragging an aging Lady back into the social light. People who might normally pass on such an invitation—especially to launch someone unknown into society—would attend just to see her.

He picked up the card, moved to the far side of the room, and stared at it. Over his shoulder, I saw the old woman's picture ripple and start to move. Her hair whitened; her tusks yellowed, and her skin grew as wrinkled as a raisin.

“Aunt Lan!” he said. “It's your nephew, Aber. May I visit you for a few minutes?”

She replied with something I couldn't quite catch, and as I watched, he reached toward her image. In the wink of an eye he disappeared, taking the card with him.

I sat impatiently, hoping it wouldn't take long. I had a feeling our enemies wouldn't be sitting around waiting for us to move. Finally, after perhaps ten minutes, I felt a nagging at the back of my mind and knew someone was trying to reach me via a Trump. It had to be Aber. Opening my thoughts, I looked up.

An image appeared before me, only it wasn't my brother. It was Great Aunt Lanara herself, dressed all in black, regarding me with those dark and hungry eyes set deep in that much-wrinkled face. Her upturned tusks, if anything, had grown longer since Aber had painted her.

“So you are Oberon,” she said. Her lightly accented voice held a mild quaver. Slowly her gaze traveled down to my boots and back up again. She seemed to be looking through me to my soul, and I found her scrutiny made me distinctly uneasy. I tried not to show it.

“That's right,” I said. I folded my arms and returned her frank stare. “I'm pleased to finally meet you. Aber speaks very highly of you and your work.”

“My… work?”

“Your paintings.”

“He is a good boy.” She smiled, lips pulling back in an awful rictus. “He informs me of your own ambitions in court, and that you need an introduction into society. He says you aspire to greatness and wish to be known in the Courts, to wield power and influence as, in fact, I once did.”

“As you still do,” I said politely. “Or we would not have come to you.”

Turning her head slightly, she addressed someone I couldn't see:

“You were right. I rather like him.” I assumed she spoke to Aber.

“I knew you would,” came the reply. “He's clearly the prize of Dad's offspring.”

She turned back to me.

“Tell me two things first, and tell me honestly. I will know if you are lying. If I like your answers, I will do more than you have asked. Much more.”

“Very well.” I regarded her impassively. “I will answer truthfully.”

“Who is your mother?”

“My mother was a woman from a Shadow world. Her name was Eilea Santise, if that is important to you.”

“It is. Names hold power. Your mother is now dead?”

“Yes. A long time ago.”

Lanara nodded slightly. “You are not lying,” she said. “And yet you are not telling me all.”

“What more do you want?”

“Everything.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I am a bastard, born out of wedlock. Dworkin did not acknowledge me as his son—though in fact he stayed to help raise me—for many years. My mother lied to me her whole life. So did Dworkin… Dad. They claimed my father was a sailor who died at the hands of pirates from Saliir.”

“Interesting,” she said, with a mysterious half smile. “So your link to the throne is only through your father. A pity. Two blood lines are always stronger than one.”

“I am as I am,” I said. “I make no apologies.”

“I did not ask for any. You have spirit. I like that… in moderation. I accept your answer.”

I inclined my head. “And your second question?”

“How will you pay me for this service?”

I regarded her thoughtfully. “That is the harder question of the two,” I said. “You have no need of gold or jewels, so I will not insult you by offering them. Nor do I believe you would put much store in promises of lifelong affection from a bastard grand-nephew whom you have never met before.”

“True,” she said. “Go on.”

“Therefore,” I said, “I offer you nothing.”

“Nothing?” she asked, as though hardly able to believe it. She threw back her head and howled with laughter. “Nothing! The whelp offers me nothing!”

“Nothing,” I continued, “except the excitement your actions will bring you.” I leaned forward, staring into her eyes. “Think of it, Auntie! A house of ravenous guests, plots and intrigue spinning wildly before you, and the very real possibility of a murderer in your company! I have been marked for death, Aunt Lanara, and so has Aber. Rather than hiding in Shadow, we will seek out our enemies so we may destroy them! Help me, Lanara, and you will help us both!”

“Well spoken,” she said, “and I believe you have told me the truth—at least as you see it, for truth is a flexible thing, with many meanings and many edges. Yes, I will help you, Oberon, but you may well come to regret it for the rest of your life. The price for my help will be quite high.”

“Name it,” I said.

“One of my many nieces, born of my sister Desponda and her husband, Yanar, is named Braxara. To be brutally honest, Braxara is ugly, dull, and stupid. Finding a suitable mate for her proved too difficult for her parents, so now the task has fallen to me.”

I swallowed, not liking the direction this conversation had headed. Aunt Lanara smiled like a spider that had just discovered a plump fly in its web. Slowly, she linked her fingers under her chin and leaned forward. I thought it made her look more than a little sinister.

She continued, “If I help you in this matter, I will expect you to marry Braxara in one year's time. That will give you ample opportunity for courtship.”

“Perhaps she would be happier with someone like Aber,” I suggested meekly.

“I could never wish such a fate on my darling nephew,” Lanara said, smiling pointedly. “And it is you, not Aber, who craves my assistance.”

One year… it seemed forever. Much could change in that time. I could be dead. Braxara could be dead… or even promised elsewhere, if a better suitor came along. Better to promise now and reap the benefits immediately of such an alliance.

I bowed my head. “Assuming I live to see my wedding day,” I said before she could change her mind, “I accept your terms.”

“Good.” She smiled again. “I will prepare everything for tonight. The time is short, but it can be done. Aber, dear boy?”

“Yes, Aunt Lan?” I heard him say from somewhere to the side.

“Go back and help Oberon prepare. Come fashionably late, but not too late. And Oberon…” She turned back to me. “I may be old, but my friends are numerous and their weapons are sharp. Your betrothal will be announced tonight, with vows that cannot be broken. Do not embarrass me, or you will not live to regret it.”

She beckoned Aber to her side, and I stretched out my hand to him. When he grasped it, I pulled him back through to the library.

“Do not forget, Oberon!” Lanara said to me, voice distant now and fading. “One year!”

She made a curt gesture, and our contact was broken.

Aber flopped down in the chair next to me.

“That was too easy,” he said. He put his feet up on the table and folded his hands over his belly. “Just the sort of plan I like.”

“Easy!” I snapped. “You just got me betrothed to an ugly, halfwitted cousin!”

“She's not that bad!” He laughed. “At least, not since she got her tails bobbed!”

“Tails? Bobbed?”

“Hers were a little too skinny and ratlike for my taste.” He shrugged. “But I'm sure you'll both be very happy together. Her family are always good breeders. Lots of kids will calm you down. Say, thirty or forty to start with. They do tend toward big litters…”