Chapter 2 – Rich and Strange
Salt.
That was the first overpowering stimuli to assault Random Barimen's senses upon his painful drift back into consciousness after the previous night's bender. The salinity and other 'atmospheric' substances that were a basic part of existence in Rebma always exerted an outsized influence upon outsiders upon first coming to the city, and the stimuli was thankfully dulled in time by the same brain processes that allowed one to live next to the ocean but never smell it so long as one didn't venture further inland and then come back. At the moment, however, in his current condition, the strong taste of it upon waking was nearly enough to make him nauseous. He groggily rolled over, squinting against the relatively dim light in the room – the green fire low in the grate, the wall torches burned out-
Against the legs of a pair of currently-worn fishscale trousers, and a light divot in the mattress made by the party wearing them. A fall of soft dark hair cascaded down, tickling his chest as she bent down to kiss his face.
"Good morrow, Husband – you're hairy!" Vialle exclaimed in surprised delight, feeling the rough stubble that had grown there overnight lightly with her fingertips, caressing his jaw.
Random's head pounded with her voice, yesterday's activities flooding back.
"Not so loud just yet, doll," he whispered, wincing his eyes back shut, rolling over on his face, wishing he could just will it all away… feeling her delicate hands upon his shoulders, rubbing them. She was pretty good…
"Sorry, Husband; I will whisper until you are feeling better," she smiled deviously at his predicament. "We slept past morning and it is nearly midday. I know you do not feel like it, but you should eat something to help you recover more quickly. I have not ordered breakfast, but we still have the oysters – it would be a shame to waste them – and you can have a drop of liqueur with the water."
Her hands went away and he felt a shift in the mattress as she got up and felt her way over to the bar, bringing back what was necessary, sitting down on the left side of the bed and commencing to crack the shells open. The prince gritted his teeth at the noise.
"Sorry to be a pain, babe, but do you think maybe you could do that… elsewhere?" he pushed up, slowly, into a sitting position.
Vialle quietly laughed. "Of course, Husband – I'll just take them across the room to the table. Go ahead and care for your bodily needs; you need not worry about my seeing you," she carefully scooped up the bowl and the crackers, walking away.
That fact alone was likely going to be his saving grace here, Random coolly decided, gingerly sliding to his feet and locating the covered agarpot – yet another peculiar Rebman invention: the brick of seaweed gel helped keep unwanted substances where they were placed. Already used – one of the traditional 'joys' of married life in this shadow: shared facilities. The sound of the shells being opened still irritated his ears but not as badly as before; he looked up when he was finished, seeing the darkened blue-blurry outline that was his wife, working dexterously and industriously to swiftly kill all those little animals, freeing their meat for his consumption. He briefly reflected upon the fact that if he tried to do that in the dark he would likely lose a finger! She soon was walking back, carry the end result amidst a pile of spent shells. Setting both them and herself down upon the bed, she managed to locate the liqueur bottle, placed one oyster back into a half-shell, and poured a little over it, offering it to the prince.
Random smirked and crawled across the sponge to her, accepting it from her waiting fingers. "You're all heart, doll," he slurped it down, chasing it with a few more and another water flask, watching her eat her share more carefully. He frowned; the blindfold still bothered him. "Do you really bind your eyes like that all the time, or are you just doing it for me? Were you told to?"
And then a thought so dreadful that it nearly brought back his nausea suddenly hit him: talk about buyer's remorse! There went what little appetite he'd had!
"Uh, babe… you… have eyes, right?" he queried uneasily.
Vialle scrunched up her nose at that, her small lips pursing into a rueful smirk. "I have eyeballs, if that is what you are asking, but you would not wish to look upon them: they are ugly. I usually spare the world the sight of them. I would rather that you imagined me with whatever eyes you find attractive."
"Oh, it can't be that bad! It's just that that stupid thing covers half your face! I feel like I can't even see y-… gods, you married me without ever even seeing me!" he was thunderstruck, momentarily forgetting what he himself had been plotting not ten hours earlier; awkwardly he took her hands and brought them up to his face. "Here, go on, it's alright."
But Vialle shook her head, laughing, stroking his stubbly cheeks. "I already amended the situation last night while you were sleeping," she blushed lightly… then started to trace him again anyway. "You must have your father's nose and brow; King Oberon is said to have strong features… but you have your mother's mouth and cheekbones. Do Lander-men usually grow facial hair so quickly?" she smiled, running a thumbnail across his chin.
"You think this is hairy?!" the prince laughingly scoffed. "You should feel the mounds of fur growing on some of my older brothers' chests, backs and forearms! It takes me a few days just to start growing a proper beard. You only like it 'cause it's novel, babe; most women find them too scratchy whether they say so or not." Her fingertips had started to wander lower down the column of his neck – but he pressed a flask into her hands, not quite up to being groped just yet; she turned away with a little private smile, taking the hint.
"Actually I was thinking we should get you a clam-razor; body hair is difficult to keep clean in Rebma, and hair on the face can become a health hazard to its owner in a very short span of time if you plan on going out-of-doors at all." She brought the flask to her lips, quickly sucking it dry, then sifting through the shells, finding just one more oyster that was hiding, putting it out of its misery between her teeth. "You know, your sister Princess Llewella is graciously offering us bed, board, and her private retinue for up to half this ngan if we wish it – she is quite generous and I am grateful – but if you do not object, I am going to try to turn her down; it's been a wonderful wedding celebration, but my practice and patients are waiting. I really should be getting back to work tomorrow."
Of all the things Random had expected to come out of this girl's mouth, that was certainly not among them! His eyes widened at the thought, the implications…
"You're a doctor?"
His wife smiled patiently at his incredulous tone-of-voice. "I only lack sight, Husband; I am not otherwise physically or mentally incapacitated." She was silent for a moment, as if thinking. "Sometimes it happens that when the gods take a sense from someone they pay generous recompense for it. I have been sensitive to people ever since I was a little girl; I can literally feel their emotions, and also their physical and mental pain. My parents decided early on that I might be trained as a healer of sorts because of it, and saw me apprenticed to one once I was the proper age. I excelled at my training to sufficient degree that I finally took over my mentor's practice when he died of old age, although most of his patients subsequently chose to look elsewhere for a more… experienced physician," she politely self-censored, knowing she didn't have to explain. "It is mostly 'family medicine', you would call it, although I can perform most normal surgeries through supervision in cases of emergency."
The prince was stunned, and, if he was perfectly honest with himself, possibly more than a little intimidated! She was that talented, that smart.
"Well, I'm glad for you, that you're able to support yourself so well, doing something you're good at," he did his best to sound positive, nodding out of habit – then caught himself; that would take some unlearning, he thought irritatedly.
Vialle pushed the bowl of shells aside and felt in his direction, finding his knee, rubbing it a little. "It isn't all that lucrative, Husband – quite a number of my current patients are poor; I have three now that can only afford to pay me in service. I never turn anyone away. I do get a small stipend from the queen every so often, to help make ends meet. I am not well-off, but neither am I destitute."
Random just shook his head. "You are all heart," he covered her hand, stilling it. But I," he made a face, "I can't help but hope nobody's taking advantage of you, pretending to be worse off than they are. How would you even know they're who they say they are? I'm not trying to be nasty, doll, I've just seen too much out in Shadow to not be jaded when it comes to trusting strangers – there are some real assholes out there… and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're married to one now, too, you realize?"
"It is a fair concern," she conceded, deliberately ignoring his commentary at the end, "but I always insist on performing facial recognition and a full examination of anyone who is coming to me for the first time with more than a minor infection or parasite. And I can always sense when extra people are in my small office: this was attempted a few times early on in my practice, but it got about that I was not easily fooled – nor robbed – and the more troublesome visitors basically stopped. I also rely upon my sighted neighbors for secondary verification and background information on needlessly strange clients on rare occasion. Sometimes small amounts of odd supplies go missing, but the occurrence is the proverbial drop of brine in the deep. I know how to look after my business."
The pause – the silence that followed – felt awkward, the unspoken acknowledgement of two completely different people, a trench that would be difficult to bridge. Vialle bravely soldiered on, forcing a smile. "Why don't you tell me something of yourself, Husband. What are you like? What are your interests?"
The prince uttered a sharp humorless laugh. "You can't be serious, doll! You're not deaf; you've heard at least the palace reports by now."
"I know enough of prejudice firsthand to not believe everything that I hear about someone I have never met. I would rather hear what you would have me know yourself," she turned her covered hand over, grasping his – but he pulled away, getting up…then stopped, turning.
"I think I'm going to test your little system, babe," he mischievously stated intent. "How can you really tell just by 'feeling' what a new patient's occupation and status is, if you're not convinced by what they say?"
Vialle crawled toward the edge of the bed, following his voice, standing up on her knees, facing him as he walked back. There was a little smile playing about her lips. "You might be surprised. You give me permission to do this?" She was suddenly all business and it caught him a little offguard, but he recovered his composure quickly this time.
"Sure. Paint me curious."
"What?"
"Just… go on."
Random watched, mildly amused, as his wife reached forward and found his chest immediately – and those delicate fingertips of hers flew across the slight musculature there and below about his abdomen like lightning, almost tickling him! They floated past his shoulders, down the muscles of his arms – she was being very mindful of avoiding more sensitive or personal areas – until she came to his hands: these she held, slowly pressing about the palms, the digits, the wrists.
"Not overly athletic, yet not entirely out of training," she began to pronounce. "You show no evidence of the over-exaggeration of development of certain muscle groups over others as can happen in repetitive manual labor… but your hand muscles are far from wasted, and the meat of your thumbs in the palm is strong, also your wrists, perhaps the forearms, but that is very slight. It's an unusual variance."
"And what, pray tell, would be your deduction from the clues, Sherlock?"
She smiled a little uncertainly. "I can only guess as to what you are referencing there, but apart from possibly a somewhat strenuous hobby with which I am unfamiliar… I can tell nothing," she knelt down again.
"Exactly. Bull's-eye. You've been forcibly harnessed to a profligate, babe – I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you; you're smart enough to handle the truth. I've never done anything but cause trouble. I drink and I smoke and I gamble and I whore, I – doll, I've spent ridiculous amounts of money on aeronautical machinery out in Shadow so I can go flying around in the sky just for the hell of it, because I can! My 'native' name should be Irresponsible-Bastard-Doesn't-Give-a-Shit! I still don't know what Moire could've possibly been thinking when she thought us up! Unless she thinks she can reform me somehow – and, doll, I'm sure you're a wonderful person and all that; you make a pretty good argument on that count, and you're cute, too – but I have yet to meet a woman who could pull that one off, and I've been with plenty. And – full disclosure as long as you've gotten this far – I'm putting up with this situation right now because I think Corwin is going to win the crown, and he's given his word that if I play nice with you there will come a day that he will arrange to be absent from the kingdom for a while and he's going to leave the keys to yours truly: it's the closest I'm ever going to get to the throne. So… I know that probably isn't what you wanted to hear, but…"
"No, it is alright – thank you for being honest with me, Husband," Vialle uttered calmly, formally, "it is good to know where we stand in regards to one another."
"I mean, I'm going to try not to cheat on you while we're together, but-"
"I understand," she cut him off, exhaling, lounging back on her elbows; oddly enough, she looked more at ease. "I wonder, though… I know you are the youngest official prince, but are you youngest of all your siblings?"
Random had hoped that this particular conversation would not come up for a long time – if, indeed, ever – but he begrudgingly admitted that this also was part of his dirty laundry, and that he had just aired most of the rest of it himself just now.
"I had a younger sister – Mirelle – but she kind of went wild when she hit puberty, kind of like our mother was, and she… died. It was a long time ago."
Vialle pulled him toward her by his hands, to sit with her again. "I'm so sorry. May I inquire as to how it happened?"
The prince mentally squirmed. "Can we just say it was an accident of sorts, and leave it at that?" he tried to wheedle.
Vialle was having none of it. "Like the 'accident' that befell your mother?" she pressed seriously.
"I'm not really comfortable talking about this," Random tried to brush her off.
His wife would not be brushed. "Most people aren't, especially with two suicides in an immediate nuclear family; I had known of your mother's tragedy, but not your sister…I think I understand now, why you have chosen to live as you do, why you were both attracted and repelled by Princess Morganthe – she reminded you of them, didn't she?"
"Never speak that name in my presence again!" the prince answered coldly. "What are you trying to do, anyway, psychoanalyze me?"
"Yes," she answered quite bluntly, taking him by surprise. "If I am to be your wife, I must be able to anticipate your personal needs. Just… will you promise me one thing, Husband? That if you ever feel you may be prone to such an accident yourself, that you will tell me of it first? That mayhap it can be prevented?"
Random was currently floating between laughter and feeling stricken. He'd just admitted to this girl's face that he saw her solely as a means to an end that likely didn't even include her at all, and here she was concerned with preserving his life! What was it about this child?
Oh, what the hell. "I promise – insofar as premeditation might be involved in the process, but I've never felt that particular itch as far as I know consciously. I mean, I'm kind of a daredevil when it comes to certain things, but I've never looked Death in the eye and thought he looked friendly enough to willingly shake his hand. Usually I face him to give him the finger – go ahead and make that one personal on a Freudian level, I guess – but really it just boils down to the fact that my greed and lust for life are too strong for me to end it knowingly. But if that ever changes for whatever reason and it's not a split-second decision, you'll be the first to know… at least for as long as we're together," he carefully amended.
She squeezed his hands, nodding earnestly. "Then we need not speak of it again… unless you want to."
"You know I still want you to take off that stupid blindfold – it obscures most of your face, for crying out loud!" Random forcibly shuttled the conversational birdie back to her court, in desperate need of distraction.
"You are not going to see my eyes."
"Then keep them closed for all I care! Just do it already!"
Even the prince could feel the sudden visceral change, like a current in the water. The girl had raised her face in his direction.
"You would… command me… Husband?" she tilted her head playfully to one side, the faintest ripple of excitement in her voice.
Thoughts of some of the less harmful variants of bondage fetish flitted briefly across Random's synapses, but he irritatedly swatted them away: there was no way in even Rebma for this young waif of a girl to possibly be that worldly and corrupt!
Yet."If you don't, I'll rip it off myself and continually hide anything you could use as a replacement!"
Vialle made a face, but she was sitting up.
"Yes, Husband," she quietly complied.
And with that she proceeded to untie the careful square knot that held the kelp leaf in place beneath part of her hair, unwinding and unwinding until the bare skin of her face was in view at last, her eyelids closed, the leaf folded in her hands. "Well, Husband? Do I pass muster?"
She wasn't just cute: she was lovely. The slight bridge of her nose had been obscured completely by the binding, along with her cheekbones. Her eyelashes were long and dark, her brows thinly sculpted. Everything about her was so delicate, everything. She looked like a painted porcelain doll; with her darker hair-coloring, the effect was almost a little bit Oriental.
Random couldn't resist moving closer, right in front of her, reaching out, tracing the planes of her previously hidden features, watching her small lips part as he did so; he deliberately leaned in, letting her feel the warm current of his breath on her cheek as his fingertips curled to the backs, drifting past the curve of the edge of her jaw, on into the hairline, the sensitive skin of her nape, knowing what effect it would have. Vialle lightly shuddered, and just for a split-second her eyelids involuntarily fluttered open-
She suddenly gasped, shocked, turning sharply away, the lids winced closed tightly as any oyster shells.
He had seen thin slivers of white.
"That was a cruel trick, Husband," she coldly rebuked him – but he would not be put off.
"Any woman could look like that in the throes of passion," he murmured persuasively in her left ear, "the eyes can roll back sometimes, unfocus. You're no monster, dollface, you're just blind. For whatever it's worth, you're one of the most compelling women I've ever seen in my life. And I've seen blind eyes before. Just turn and look at me, babe – why is this so hard for you?"
"I could not bear to think that you thought I was ugly!" she all-but sobbed.
"Vialle," the prince purred her name, watching her body respond, her breath deepening, "open your eyes."
Random held his own breath as the lids reluctantly lifted a bit, as he caressed her, then a bit more…
There. The dark-brown irises floated tracklessly up toward the top, half-hidden by the upper lids – he'd prepared himself for that much – but the little he could see of the pupils were a stark white… and as she turned, the colored part caught the faint light in the room, suddenly shining luminous as any fish's. And they were larger, too. He'd seen at least one mermaid with irises like that as a boy. Mortals were known to drown for those eyes unmarred…
"There now – that's not so terrible," the prince pronounced matter-of-factly. "In fact I'd like to see them in better light sometime; the colored part is actually quite striking, and the size…"
She self-consciously closed them again, but with a small lip-smile. "I've been told by the few who have seen them that I have cursed mermaid's eyes – even sighted it is considered unlucky as well as extremely distasteful by Rebman standards." She suddenly smiled fully. "You only like it because it is novel, my Lander-prince," she playfully echoed his previous sentiment, reaching for his own face, his roughened cheek.
"But is it in your bloodline for real?" he pressed. "I've heard of stuff like this happening, but I've never seen the results firsthand."
Her eyebrows raised. "It is said to have happened on my mother's side eleven generations ago. More often a child has been born to my family with an unnaturally beautiful voice. I just got something unusual instead. There is said to be a price for mortals who dally with supernatural beings."
"You don't say," the prince observed coolly.
Vialle gasped. "I… I didn't mean… I wasn't talking about-"
"I know," Random foxily cut her off – paying her back for cutting him off before, a petty occurrence the girl likely didn't even remember, "but it might behoove you to examine the draught you are attempting to swallow, sweet physician," he wryly warned her. "Too much of me might make you ill indeed," he backed off the bed, bringing her with him, and damn if she didn't need functioning eyes to pull off that expression of total innocent trust! The fact of it made him feel uneasy – and she was still holding the kelp! She moved to put it back on but he stopped her, catching her wrists gently. "Come on, what's a smart girl like you doing wearing produce anyway?" he teasingly chided her, wrapping her hand in the crook of his arm instead, starting them walking toward the door.
But she resisted, hard. "I cannot go out into your sisters house looking like this! And that genus of kelp has antimicrobial properties: it is safe to leave snugly against delicate tissues for a few days before having to change it. Please allow me to make myself presentable again, Husband – I would not disgrace the princess."
"Have you been forced to do this your whole life, kid?"
"Yes, of course. What else am I to do? I would be publicly shunned if I did not!"
"There's got to be something better, though…" The prince's gaze shifted to one of the nearby decorative bowls of tactile shells, many brilliantly patterned or colored and in a myriad of shapes, sizes and species; he casually sifted through the pile mostly by feel until he came across a couple smooth mussel shells that were of similar size and shape, each about one-by-three inches. The sculpt of them was almost uncanny… "Hold still for me, babe – I want to see something," he verbally warned her before holding them up to her face, gently covering each eye. They looked amazingly like modern shades; turned the other way pointy-side-out, it was a funny mimic of the cat's-eye style rims that had been 'in' on Shadow Earth about a decade ago, local-time. Nah, the other way…
When Vialle felt what he was doing, though, she laughed. "And you think I look ridiculous with my eyes wrapped! They aren't pearls! I can't wear those things right next to my eyes – they will get dirty, microorganisms will grow on them!"
"Not if I can get them coated in colloidal silver," her husband answered in all seriousness, "and we can have a pair sanded and shaped so that they fit comfortably. Landers have been known to wear eye-shields like this in many shadows, although they're usually made of tinted glass; certain refractions of the lenses can even correct moderate eyesight problems – that type is known in Amber. So alright, it bothers me that you feel you have to hide your face in a society that doesn't even hide tits for gods' sake – that's considered half-naked most other places that aren't so hot that the creatures can stand to be clothed at all! You're pretty enough that you shouldn't have to hide. I want these perfectionistic idiots to see what they've been missing all this time," he lowered the shells, transferring them to his left palm.
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Random was pretty sure that the girl was blushing – she did have good teeth; they were currently bared in another self-conscious smile. She was kind of cute in a distinctly dangerous sort of way, he lightly mused, placing her hand in the crook of his arm.
"I do not doubt your usage of the silver, Husband; a couple of my own medical probes and other implements are similarly plated, but they all cost me dearly – I couldn't possibly afford such an unnecessary extravagance!"
"Oh, kid," Random laughed a little at her own honest well-meaning naïveté, opening the door for her, "you've got a lot to learn when it comes to dealing with my family. Rule number one: never, never heave a bargaining chip on the proverbial gaming table, especially when it's yours free and clear. Llewella will never say as much to your face, but she'll be only too glad to have me out of her big green hair two weeks early – that was your plan; you've even got honorable reasons for wanting what you want, which is usually a rarity for me. Don't be afraid to bargain against the expense she would've incurred on her hospitality on this one – she's really the one getting the deal; I would drain all the fermented slime in her cellar in another fifteen days and she knows it!" he carefully led her down the hall, down the stairs.
"But… that's almost a threat!"
The prince sighed. She really was too sweet. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as the princess drifted into the room – and smiled up at them archly, seeing it, as he knew she would.
"Listen and learn, doll," he whispered in his wife's ear before leading her over to talk with his sister.