Chaos and Amber

by John Gregory Betancourt

  "Lie back," she said. Soft hands pushed me down onto the bed. "You are still sick," she said, and she began to rub my chest. Her hands were warm as blood. I felt myself relaxing, sliding back toward sleep.

  "It's this place…" I whispered.

  "Yes," she said, "it is." Then she pressed a small goblet to my lips and poured. "Drink this, my lord. It will make you feel better."

  It was warm brandy, and it had been spiced with something like cinnamon. The taste did not excite me, but liquor was liquor so I gulped anyway. What the hell. If I had to dream, I might as well enjoy it.

  The brandy had a bitter aftertaste. She had added something else to it. An herb? Some medicine?

  I didn't know, but almost immediately I felt its effects. My vision clouded, and I felt myself sinking down, down, down, borne away on a river of darkness.

  I slept the sleep of the dead.

  The next time I awakened, I felt… different. Weak and lightheaded. That was the first thing. And the second… complete disorientation.

  I lay on my side, staring at the wall and the desk. All the confidence and strength I had felt the night before had fled, and now the world drifted around me. The bed seemed to be rocking like the deck of a ship at sea. The walls slowly oozed colors, and the faint light from the lamp on the desk, its wick turned low, dribbled up to pool on the ceiling.

  I blinked and tried to sit up, but I couldn't do it. With a sigh, I fell back on the pillow. A gentle touch steadied my arm, then moved to caress my cheek.

  "Horace?" I asked, voice rough from sleep. What would he be doing in my bed?

  "Do I look like a boy?" asked a woman's soft voice from beside me.

  ELEVEN

  I sat up suddenly, then gulped as the room pitched unexpectedly to one side. My head swam.

  Moving only my eyes, I followed a pale hand to a slender arm, white as alabaster, which led to a shapely elbow, then to the soft curve of a shoulder, then to a delicate neck, and finally to a face so beautiful it still took my breath away.

  I knew her. The woman who, only yesterday, had shown me the way to Dworkin's floor…

  It took a moment for the fuzziness of my thoughts to clear. I never forgot a beautiful woman's name, and hers finally came to me.

  "Rèalla?" I said.

  "Yes, Lord Oberon." She smiled and stroked the line of my jaw with her fingertips. Her scent, strange and spicy, made my heart begin to race.

  She lay next to me under the covers. Her gold eyes met and held mine for a heartbeat, then coyly turned downward. I noticed her slightly parted lips, behind which lay perfect pearls of teeth, her delicate nose, slightly upturned, and high pale cheekbones, which accentuated the lines of her face. I had seen few women who equaled her beauty.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked softly, dumbfounded. A beautiful woman was the last thing I would have expected to find next to me when I awoke.

  "I would have thought that obvious," she said, snuggling closer and laying her head on my chest.

  "After all, you did want me here… didn't you?"

  "Yes," I whispered. It was true. I had wanted her since the moment I saw her in the hallway.

  I peeked under the sheet. She was naked, as I expected-and, if it was possible, even more beautiful from the neck down. I lowered the sheet and grinned back at her. I had awakened to many worse things over the years.

  "So…" she giggled. "Here I am."

  "Then you must be a goddess…" I began with a smile.

  "I am no goddess, Lord."

  "Then you're here in disguise?"

  That line usually made a woman blush, and with Rèalla it did the same, a rose color blossoming across her cheeks and neck. I saw the twist of a smile at the corners of her perfect red lips.

  "You are sweet, my lord."

  "Call me Oberon."

  "As you wish, Oberon."

  I swallowed hard, trying to think back to what had happened last night. Had we done anything? I remembered lying down alone; Rèalla certainly hadn't been here. The last thing I'd seen was Horace as he sat on his stool at the foot of the bed, watching me.

  Surreptitiously, I glanced around the room, but I didn't see the boy anywhere. Where had he gone? Probably back to his room as soon as Rèalla got here. He had enough sense to know when he wasn't wanted or needed.

  But… more pressing… why didn't I remember anything of last night?

  I frowned, thinking back. Maybe I did remember. Somehow, I had a vague impression of her having been here with me… of her body pressing tightly against mine… her lips hot on my mouth and chest…

  And then the ghost of last night fled. I knew nothing more about it… could not even be sure she had actually been here with at all. Everything had a distant, confused quality, like a half-remembered dream.

  Could I have been asleep when we made love? Or maybe I had been drunk. Vaguely, I remembered sipping brandy from a cup in her hand…

  And then the memory passed and it was just the two of us in bed again. She continued to stroke my face and nuzzle against my chest. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I drew her close. I felt warm and comfortable, and I hoped this moment would never end.

  "You are not like the rest of your family, Oberon," she told me. "There is a kindness in you… a warmth… mmm . I do like it, very much."

  "About last night, Rèalla…" I said, brow furrowing.

  "You do not remember it," she said with a light laugh. "I know. Do not worry."

  "Was I that drunk?"

  "A little drunk, perhaps… but I gave you a sleeping draught. Before, when I first came to you, demons plagued your sleep. You moaned that the room was moving, and you cried out that we were being attacked-"

  "Nightmares," I guessed. "Hallucinations."

  "Yes, Oberon." She sighed. "You said hell-creatures were attacking us… and you called me Helda."

  "Helda!" The name went through my with a jolt. Helda… my lovely Helda, who had been murdered by hell-creatures in Ilerium. She had been an innocent victim. If not for me, she would still be alive today.

  "That is right."

  "I'm sorry, Rèalla," I said, trying to remember. Very little of it came back to me. "I don't remember…"

  "Shh, it's not important." She gave a little shudder. "Let us talk of more pleasant things."

  "Of course." I gave her a light kiss on the forehead. "Thank you."

  "It was nothing." With a long, sharp fingernail, she traced a pattern in the bristle of hairs on my chest. I found her touch sensuous. The smell of her, the musk she exuded, surrounded me like perfume. I breathed deeply, head swimming. "I was told to watch over you," she continued, "in case you… needed anything."

  "Anything at all?"

  She smiled in reply, and reading an invitation in that smile, I kissed her lips, her cheeks, and then her eyelids. Her long lashes fluttered against my skin like the wings of a trapped butterfly.

  "And now?" I asked. "What do you think I need most?"

  "This."

  Without warning, she leaned over and kissed me, long and hard and passionately. I responded without hesitation, pulling her closer. The world and my family and the Courts of Chaos be damned, right now I wanted her as much as she seemed to want me, and nothing else mattered.

  Some time later, as we lay exhausted atop a tangled mess of bedding, I felt a deep contentment spreading through me. Rèalla still nestled against my shoulder, her breath warm and soft on my cheek, and I realized how much I had missed a woman's touch and companionship. It made me feel less alone in this world, more a part of something greater than myself. I sighed, sated, happy on some deep level.

  "You are more than well, I think," Rèalla said finally. She slipped like water from my grasp and left the bed.

  Rolling over, I propped myself up on one elbow to watch. She had draped her robe and undergarments across the desk's chair, and now she reached for them.

  "Not so fast!" I said.

  "What, Oberon?" she asked, puzzled.

 
; Swinging my legs to the floor, I leaped forward, caught her arm, and pulling her gently back to the bed. I kissed the insides of her wrists and elbows, gazing up at her beautiful face.

  Smiling, she swayed closer, breasts at my eye level, enticing, teasing me, her scent filling my nose and throat with a heady perfume.

  Inhaling deeply, I pulled her down on top of me. I had to have her, could not live or think or breathe without her, and for a second time we became a tangle of hands and tongues, fingers and mouths.

  This time we made love slowly, the haste of first-time lovers satisfied. She was even better when we could relax and explore each other's bodies fully. Few women had ever excited me as she did, not even my beloved Helda. I never wanted to leave Rèalla's arms again.

  At last, breathless, she pushed me away with a happy laugh, gave me a final kiss on the cheek, and began to dress. I admired her from the bed, counting myself lucky she had been the one chosen to look after me. My father had good taste in women, it seemed.

  And, I guessed, Dad must have returned if he'd sent her to me. Sucking in a big, contented breath, I sprawled back on the pillows. A glow of happiness filled me. With Dad back, a beautiful new lover, and my health almost completely restored… yes, things were definitely looking up.

  When she finished dressing, Rèalla blew me a kiss, then started for the door.

  "Must you go?" I asked, watching her. She might have come to me as a nurse, but she was more than that now. I did not surrender my lovers willingly.

  "You are an animal!" she said with a laugh. "Are you never satisfied, my lord?"

  I chuckled, then patted the mattress beside me. "Come back and see!"

  "I cannot. The morning is here. I have many duties."

  "Who cares? Stay with me! I'll make it all right." I gave her a wink. "I do have some influence here, you know."

  "I know, Oberon. But even so…"

  Standing, I took her in my arms and kissed her long and passionately. She responded, and we stayed that way for a long minute.

  Finally she broke away.

  "I will come back tonight, if you wish… now please, Oberon. I must go." Smiling a bit wistfully, she pulled free from my arms. "It is long past time."

  "If you must…"

  With a reluctant sigh, I let her go. It had been too long since I had been with a woman like her, a woman I could grow to care about… even to love. And, somehow, I knew we would never again capture a moment this peaceful, this perfect. They were far too few in my life.

  She hesitated in the doorway, gazing back at me. "Until tonight," she said.

  I took her delicate white hand and gave it a lingering kiss. "I need extra care. You can tell my father that."

  "There is no need to lie, Oberon. You are as fit as any man here. I will return soon… as long and as often as you will have me."

  "I would… I will!"

  She smiled again, then eased the door closed. I caught a glimpse of Port's disapproving face in the woodwork, but he quickly vanished. An unwilling voyeur, no doubt-he could hardly leave when our lovemaking grew noisy, after all.

  I felt more amused than anything else.

  "Port?" I said.

  His face appeared, the expression still reproving.

  "Yes, Lord Oberon?" he said.

  "You are to say nothing about Rèalla's visit here to anyone, and especially not to my brother or father. Is that understood?"

  "Are you sure that is wise, Lord Oberon?"

  "Oh, yes." I chuckled to myself. It was more than wise, it was beneficial… I knew my father and brother wouldn't approve of my bedding the servants. Rèalla's and my relationship would have to remain private, at least for now. That seemed the wisest course.

  "Very good, Lord," Port said unhappily. "Was there anything else?"

  "Do you know if my father returned last night?"

  "No, Lord. He does not sleep on this floor."

  "Very good. That will be all."

  With a frown, Port's face vanished into the wood again. I had no doubt that he would follow my instructions to the letter.

  Yawning and scratching, I turned to the looking glass and studied my reflection. The first thing I noticed was a strange red welt on my chest, just above my heart. Odd… I hadn't noticed it last night before bed, nor had Rèalla or Horace commented on it.

  Frowning, I leaning closer for a better look. It had a single blood-red dot in its center, like the mark a bee's stinger would leave. When I touched the welt, it felt hot, but not painful. An insect bite? It had to be. But what kind of insect would leave a mark like that… or that large?

  Though no more color had come back into my cheeks and my skin remained a pasty white, overall I felt stronger today than yesterday, and much less like a man on his deathbed. My hands barely shook, and when I walked about, the floors and walls no longer seemed to move against me. Yes, I was definitely doing better.

  As for the bite mark on my chest-well, I wasn't in Ilerium any more. Who knew what sort of insects lived in the Courts of Chaos? If the welt bothered me later, I'd ask Anari to find a poultice for it.

  At the wash stand, I filled the basin with tepid water from the pitcher, made a lather with the block of soap, and scrubbed myself clean from head to heels. When I toweled dry, I felt a lot better, more like a civilized person again. A straight razor sat next to the wash basin, and I stropped it on a little leather strap hanging from the right side of the stand. Then I made a second lather with the soap and shaved off my four-days' growth of beard with minimal blood loss. After my experiences in Juniper, where a demon disguised as the castle barber tried to slit my throat, I planned on doing my own shaving.

  Next I opened my wardrobe and explored the contents. Several dozen suits of clothing hung inside, and boots, shoes, and neatly folded undergarments sat on the floor. He seemed to favor dusty blues and grays. Finally, after much thought, I selected a pair of soft gray deerskin pants with a matching shirt embroidered with a gold phoenix on the chest. That's how I felt right now, reborn from the ashes of my old self. Gold braid decorated the cuffs and collar, and I thought it added a distinguished look.

  As with the last set of Mattus's clothes I'd appropriated, this one fit me admirably well, as though it had been made to my exact measurements. When I examined my reflection in the looking glass, I gave a nod of satisfaction. Rèalla had me interested in my appearance again, and biased though I might be, I had to admit I cut quite a handsome figure.

  Satisfied, I went to Horace's little room and found him snoring softly in his own bed. So much for watching over me last night. Aber would skin him alive if he found out the boy had deserted his post. Just as well Horace had-I didn't particularly need or want an audience for my love-making.

  "Time to get up," I told him. "Horace? Horace?"

  He snored on, oblivious. Poor kid, he was completely exhausted. He'd probably been up most of the night looking after me. Good thing Rèalla had come along to relieve him.

  Even so, I needed him up now. Duty called, and he had to learn what that meant. In the army, I'd missed more than my fair share of sleep. You got used to it.

  I bent and shook his shoulder.

  "Horace!" I called. "Wake up!"

  It took a minute, but finally he opened his eyes and sat up, looking groggy and confused. He yawned widely.

  "Sorry, Oberon!" he said, staring up at me through bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. "I must have fallen asleep."

  "Are you sick?" I demanded. "I couldn't wake you."

  "No, Oberon," he said with another yawn. "I tried to stay up with you last night to make sure nothing happened, like Lord Aber said." Then he gulped, and I knew he remembered my brother's threats.

  "I appreciate your effort," I said, "but it wasn't necessary for you to stay up all night. I didn't have any more problems, and I feel much better today."

  "If I may say so, sir, you still look sick."

  "It's not how I look, it's how I feel."

  "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Did you carry
me in here? I do not remember falling asleep. The last thing I remember, I was sitting on the stool, watching you…"

  "Don't worry about it." I smiled to myself, realizing the truth: Rèalla must have carried him to his bed before waking me. Good thing he did fall asleep; I didn't need to be guarded from beautiful women.

  "You did fine," I told him. "I'm more than satisfied."

  "Thank you, sir!" He seemed greatly relieved.

  "Have you explored the house yet? Do you know the way to the dining hall?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Get dressed. You have five minutes. Then you can show me the way."

  Happily, breakfast here seemed to be quite a subdued affair, in a relatively normal room and with relatively normal food. From the lamps flowed a thick golden stream of light that covered the ceiling, but I was rapidly becoming used to it. It seemed as much a part of this place as the angles that did not quite mesh with my perceptions.

  Apparently I was the first one up today; though large trays of food sat ready on the sideboard, they hadn't been touched yet. Lifting the lids, I peeked into each. About half the food was recognizable. I helped myself to eggs, chops of some kind, and small honeyed rolls. To drink, pitchers of iced juices sat to one side, but I motioned a serving girl over and instructed her to find me a bottle of red wine, and this she did immediately.

  Just as I was settling in at the head of the table, Aber strolled through the door.

  "Good morning," I said.

  "Hi," he said. "Bad night?"

  "Why does everyone keep asking that?" I said, thinking of both Horace and Port. "I couldn't have slept better."

  "You look awful."

  "I feel better, though."

  "That's good."

  I thought of Rèalla and hid my smile behind a bite of a honeyed roll. She, more than anything else, had to be responsible for my quick recovery. Nothing like love to raise a man's spirits.

  Licking my fingers, I changed the subject. "Have you seen Dad this morning?"

  "He's not back yet," Aber said. He began heaping his plate with egg-shaped purple fruits, tiny pink berries, and some kind of stringy cheeselike dish.

  "What! Are you sure?"

  "I'm quite sure."