At some point when Jerod is passing close by Gerard Vere raises a hand slightly, catching Jerod's attention.  As Jerod stops and looks interested Vere murmurs a quick word to his father and walks over towards Jerod.

On his way to pick up a decent glass of scotch, Jerod slows his pace long enough to let Vere catch up.

Vere falls into step beside him, and says casually, "I did not have a chance to mention one other small matter earlier.  His Majesty will always do as he will, of course, but all possible information regarding the matter you brought to my attention has been passed on to him, along with a very persuasive voice whose feelings on the matter agree with ours."

"Excellent." Jerod says, collecting his drink.  "I sincerely hope that it doesn't come back to bite us in the ass for waiting too long."
            He pauses to purse his lips.  "I've been thinking about absent friends.  And that lost ship of yours.  A pity we could not have more time to chase it down...to find our lost friends."

"Agreed," Vere says, with a grim edge to his voice.  "I had hoped to be able to devote time to this matter.  The lost ship especially.  They went out on my orders, and I have been able to do nothing to locate or avenge them."

"Given the chaotic conditions in Shadow at that time, I have wondered if perhaps they did not encounter what prevented Solange and I from returning." Jerod says.  "It may be nothing more than an accident.  Though if the opportunity presents itself, I will see what I can find.  Do me a favor.  Have one of your staff send me a copy of the ship's information, including crew.  You never know what you can stumble across in Shadow."

"I have already prepared such a report," Vere replies.  "Both Marquess Maritime and His Majesty have copies.  I am certain the Marquess has read his copy."  A very small smile crooks his mouth underneath the hood.  "A copy will be delivered to you tomorrow."

"I look forward to reading it." Jerod says.

Vere inclines his head in acknowledgement, and offers quiet thanks to a servant as he takes another pear cider.  He takes a small sip, smiles slightly, and murmurs "Autumn...."

Jerod looks at him curiously, though he does not say anything, letting Vere decide whether or not to expound on his comment.

Vere seems lost in reverie for a few moments, before coming back to himself.  "I should not take any more of your time right now," he says.  "Do let me know if there is anything I can do to be of aid in the current tension with the Rebman delegation.  It must be..." he pauses a second, "...interesting to be one of the points of intersection between the two courts."

"Keep an eye on Brita and company." Jerod says, responding to Vere's first comment.  "The situation is not what it seems to be.  Not even close.  And they do not have the resources with which to determine the facts of the case.  Not without blundering around and causing more damage to both sides."

Vere accepts that without comment or a change of expression.

Jerod trades his empty scotch glasses for something much milder.  "I think as far as intersections go, you would know what it is like.  Your return to the Isles will place you squarely in that position once again between your mother's Court and Amber.  The difference between you and I is I had more exposure to both Courts early on.  Both my parents had a hand in my training to deal with them.  You were not so lucky I would think."
            "I do not begrudge the life I have though.  It punishes those who wear rose-coloured glasses.  But to those who can lift the blinders, life is much clearer."

"Our talks always leave me with something to think about."  Vere inclines his head.  "Prince Jerod."  He takes a step away, nods once more, then turns and heads back in the direction of Gerard.

"I've been called many things, but never a topic for intellectual perusal." Jerod says with an amused expression.  "Have a good evening cousin."

The Huntress strides across the Grande Hall toward the garden doors on what is probably another of her 'escape to open air' breaks.  Her bow is tucked away and her hands are swinging freely at her sides as her stride bounces her whitened hair.  When suddenly her green eyes catch something amidst the glittering swirling crowd of the Masquerade, and she practically screeches to a halt on her silver sandals.  The girl cranes her head and a curious croon emerges from her lips.
            Then a nearby mountainous swirl of hair and veils shifts again, and yes!  There in a far corner of the crowd.  The woman -- what *was* her name?, Robin remembers being introduced some eternity ago, something about welcomes and dresses.  The ranger remembers that Lady.... oh something that begins with F, smelled nice in an artificial sort of way and wasn't as bad as the rest of them.  Though what she's wearing tonight – phew!  The ranger's glad she's not in *that* get-up.
            The man, however, hah!  Despite the drinks in his hands and the flirting, nothing can disguise that long drink of water from Robin.  The exuberant hunting call of a hawk pierces the air of the Grande Hall before Robin even knows she's let it loose.  Her face lit with joy, eyes bright and raptor sharp.  Like a falcon over the trees, the Huntress is all wings, talons and speed as she stoops across the crowds of the Masquerade.
            Vista's about to be snatched up into the hug of his life.

Vista smoothly hands off both of his glasses to the lady he's standing with and accepts Robin's embrace whole-heartedly, picking the girl completely up off the ground, laughing.
            "Robin! Sweet green, we thought we'd lost you when we left!"

Laughter and tears paint Robin's face and it's a while before the croons and whistles shift to actual words.  "Vista!  Vista, vista, vista."  Okay, not real sensible words.
            Robin's joy is incandescent as she bumps the man under the chin with her head.  Her grip on the ranger is strong and in his arms, Robin obviously has no relationship with the ground.  "Missed you.  Missed you soooo much!"

From across the room an oriental dragon turns his head from the lovely sunflower he was chatting with at the strange sounds that echo through the Great Hall.  He watches the embrace and understands, and turns back to his conversation with a warmer smile than before.

Vista certainly doesn't notice the dragon. It's hard for him to notice much of anything other than the girl he's embracing. He hangs on to her for longer than propriety probably dictates he should before releasing her and holding her at arms' length.
            "Look at you," he says. "All grown up. Prince Julian must be so proud."

Smart man! Vista is obviously an experienced Robin wrangler.  By holding the Ranger out at arm's length, the girl is limited to an answering nose-scrunch and tongue-sticking-out, as opposed to a thump in the upper arm.  But she's laughing merrily.
            "Ah, you're just happy you're off diaper-duty, Vista."  She teases merrily.  There's something familiar about the phrase, like an old joke shared between old friends.

Remembering his manners, he says, "Do you remember Matthew, out of No-Sun, who died in the burning? Lady Hardwind here is his mother's sister." He indicates the woman he's been speaking with.

"Sure.  Matthew."  She smiles to Vista's companion.  "Wry sense of humor.  Terrific whistler.  Very sneaky."  Then her face falls, "Brave man.  We all miss him."

"Lady Hardwind, this is Prince Julian's daughter, Lady Robin."

"Lady Hardwind."  Robin bows.  "Pleased to meet... uh, have we been introduced before?"  The girl's brows furrow as she tries to track down those elusive memories from the gray times.

The woman makes a little laugh as if Robin has made a joke. "Solange introduced us, but she may not have used my title. She calls me Aunt Felicity; my sister Grace was her foster-mother."
            She adds, "I'm pleased to renew the acquaintance, Lady Robin."

"I'm pleased to renew the acquaintance as well, Lady Hardwind."  The Huntress shakes her head ruefully at herself.  "Please forgive me my memory.  Those days... I wasn't... the Castle can be a little overwhelming at first exposure."  Robin finishes with a bashful shrug.  Not much she can say, that's the way it was.

"Many people find it so," Lady Hardwind says sympathetically. "I remember when I was presented to King Oberon; I was so terrified that dear Fleet had to tell me afterwards what I'd said."

Vista laughs at the thought. "Oh, I can't imagine that."

"It's true," she says, laughing with him, and turns back to Robin. "You'll get used to it in time. At least His Majesty is a little less intimidating than his father was."

"I'll have to take your word for it, Lady."  She smiles with a bashful chuckle.  "About both the time and the His Majesties."
            She cocks her head, bright eyes looking between Hardwind and Vista.  A grin spreads across Robin's face.  "If I may, how long have you known each other?"

"I met Vista through my dear sister Grace," Lady Hardwind says, and looks downcast for a moment.

Vista adds, "She was talking to Admiral Worth this evening, and it seemed a fine time to renew the acquaintance."

As Lady Hardwind saddens Robin nods with a flat line to her lips.  The burning, it scarred all it touched.  "Well, at least there seems to be some renewing at this coronation."  The ranger finds a hopeful smile from somewhere inside herself to share with Lady Hardwind.
            Then she raises a speculative eyebrow to Vista.  Friends outside of the rangers?  Imagine that.  And she's been outed anyway.  Well, maybe if she takes it slowly.  But what does one *do* with someone who isn't a ranger?  "Do you... hunt, Lady Hardwind?"

"I don't get out to the country to do that sort of thing often any more.  But I used to hawk a little in Garnath, and we'd ride to the hounds occasionally. It's not something I suppose a Ranger would think much of, but it was an amusing pastime for those of us who come from the city," Lady Hardwind says.

"Hawks and hounds are good in any quantity." Robin smiles.  "What kind of wing did you fly?" Besides struggling for small talk, the ranger is actually interested.  This is something that she can actually talk about.  For hours.

Lady Hardwind can talk about it for quite a while as well. What she thinks of as hunting is closer to aristocratic fox-hunting than what Robin and Vista are used to doing. Unlike modern fox-hunting, however, the sort of hunting Lady Hardwind is used to does actually result in food on the table, as does her hawking.

Vista's comments indicate some familiarity with the kind of hunting Lady Hardwind is describing, but not enough to suggest he's done a lot of it, especially recently.

Robin's seen hunting parties like that, so she contributes as she can, much more so on the actual care and use of hawks, falcons, etc.  Robin tends to larger raptors herself, though she's familiar with smaller birds as well.  As she talks, she occasionally slips into whistles and calls to illustrate a point.
            Her familiarity with hounds is less than her familiarity with hawks (the ranger doesn't bark or growl when discussing canines) but she still has a prodigious knowledge base.
            After a long while talking though, Robin starts looking for an opportunity to dance with Vista without making Lady Hardwind feel as though Robin has pried him away from the her.

Which opportunity Lady Hardwind contrives to make for Robin about two seconds after she decides it's time to dance.
            "Is that Harmony Vesper I see over there? Dear me, it is. I absolutely have to tell her how lovely Solace looks this evening. Do excuse me, Lady Robin, Vista. I'll have to catch up with you later." The last seems more particularly addressed to Vista.  And then Lady Hardwind is gone.

Leaving Robin blinking, startled, at the sudden vacuum.  She turns to Vista with an amazed laugh.  "Do I have 'Dance with me' tattooed on my forehead, Vista?"

Vista's looking after Lady Hardwind with a smile on his face. "To her, probably." He offers Robin his arm. "It's not so merry as the dances we have in Arden, but I'm willing to try what they do here."

"It's not hard."  Robin laughs, linking arms with Vista.  "Weeelll, actually it's hard not to just leap out of the patterns, but I'm learning."  And with that, she practically tows her friend out onto the floor, a big grin on her face.

Vista is an energetic, enthusiastic dancer once he gets the shape of the formal pattern down. He will take several turns to do so, and then is amenable to any conversation Robin may wish to have, or with merely enjoying her company if she wants to concentrate on the dance.

Robin plays with the dance and with Vista, learning the shapes with him, laughing at her own missteps, calling up fond shared memories with gestures and foot-work.  There's something almost gamine about the girl, comfortable as she is with an old friend.  She gambols, she cavorts, she frolics.  She laughs, chuckles and chirrups with abandon, thoroughly enjoying herself.
            The girl's 'conversation' seems to be occurring mostly in the free and happy movements of her limbs.  She is happy, happy to be with someone she knows and trusts and remembers.

Vista is also happy to share the dance with Robin. Unlike the strange dwellers in this drafty grey dungeon, he understands the young ranger's language. He gets her jokes. He's not as quick a study of the dance as Robin, but he does catch on, and he doesn't care if his steps aren't perfect either.

When Jerod is not busy cornering people on his "to do" list, he spends some time to mingle with the crowds and talk, dance, eat, drink and enjoy himself.
            With regards to the crowd mingling, Jerod has no restrictions on this.  He's reasonably sure that selected individuals amongst the nobility that he might have rubbed the wrong way aren't going to be too interested in talking to him, but if someone in that category actually does show an interest, he won't ignore them.  He is also curious to see who is brave enough to approach.
            The eat and drink part go without saying, though not enough to come close to taking the edge of his focus.  This might be a Masquerade, but for him it's just warfare in disguise.
            For the dancing part, Conner has the lead on that one, and Jerod has a similar mindset.  There are many a nervous young lady who have been dolled up by overly eager parents supremely convinced that they can snare their parents a hold to a higher noble perch, all the while the young lady not really sure what to do and probably not too eager to be there anyway.  While Jerod would never take advantage of that, he knows what it is like to be in that situation.
            Anyone he picks to dance with is going to know that Jerod is here to dance and is a perfect gentleman.  He makes very sure that they enjoy themselves, does small talk with grace, and is never ill at ease no mattering how embarrassed, excited or nervous his partner might be.
            If any parents are eager to try to pawn their daughters off on him, I'm sure he'll have a few choice comments on that - sufficient to make the parents wince without causing grief to the young lady (and hopefully never having her to be forced to go through such a silly meat market experience again).

Vere takes one of his infrequent expeditions away from Gerard's side at a point when he sees that Reid is currently unoccupied, and approaches to within a few feet before stopping and waiting to be noticed.

Observant is Reid's middle name. Not that he has a last name, per se.  "Cousin. How is the evening treating you?"

"Well, Lord Reid," Vere replies.  "Although I confess I am not at my most comfortable in large social situations.  I trust you find the evening pleasant?"

"More pleasant than most. It is good to see the family in such good spirits. Celebration seems to suit us, I think." Reid casts his eyes about the room and takes in the sight of his cousins and their parents enjoying themselves. "How fares your father?"

"Little changed," Vere replies.  "After speaking with Princess Fiona I better understand his situation.  I do not admit defeat, however."  He pauses for a moment, then continues on a different topic. "You have traveled widely and seen much, I wondered if you might offer your expertise on a particular matter?"

Reid is intrigued. "My council is at your service, for whatever worth it may hold."

Vere tilts his head slightly to one side and regards Reid as he asks, "Have you ever heard of a race, almost but not quite human, with sallow skin, angular faces, and somewhat bony frames?  In addition, they might be hairless, although this latter trait may merely be an affectation of their priestly class."

"Sallow skin, angular face, bony frame. You've just described a dancer I used to know. As I recall, she had hair, though." Reid grins wickedly for a moment before continuing.
            "Your description is a bit vague, but I seem to recall some monks that might be a match. After Eric's mum got Oberon by the crown jewels, the lady-folk of my bloodline left for a shadow friendly to them. I spent some time there, and there were some interesting looking characters. They weren't locals, but seemed to fit in well enough."
            "Why, have they made it to Amber, or another shadow within the Golden Circle? The shadow of which I speak is long forgotten, so for one of their kind to find his way through would be curious indeed."

"I came across them while researching the history of the Paresh.  It is barely possible that there might have been a connection."  Vere pauses in thought for a few seconds before continuing.  "It would seem that, like much of Amber's history, they are but the ghost of a memory."

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Reid apologizes. "I've probably forgotten more encounters and experiences than you've even had. Religious zealots I may have seen a millennia or two ago don't necessarily make the cut."

"Of course," Vere replies, waving the matter away with a slight gesture of his hand.  "That you do not remember them with any special vividness tells me that they are not a concern on the level of, for example, the Moonriders.  I can put them from my mind."  He bows slightly.  "I thank you for your time, Lord Reid."

Paige returns to the hall alone. She acquires a glass of mixed wine and finds herself a convenient target in the sultan who seems to be discussing some sort of syncopation with a musician currently on break, the cigarette in hand an impromptu prop in the explanation.
            By the time she's crossed to meet him, she's looking for another glass of wine, should a steward happen by. "An exquisite costume Lord Sultan, and attractive accessories," she says indicating the Queen.
            "It takes a bit to pull off an outfit like that." Conspiratorially she adds, "I should know, I've still got one or two somewhere."
            "I couldn't impose on you for a cigarette?" she asks.

"Of course.  My compliments on your taste and your costumer."  He smiles as the musician, a horn player named Stem, fumbles for a smoke to offer to her.  "Our costumes were Vialle's idea."

"She's wonderful, yes," Paige agrees. "Ying and I plotted the idea and she just made it come true." She takes the cigarette with a smile and accepts fire from where ever it might come from.
            "If Vialle had been far-thinking, I'm sure she could've harangued you a few more harems girls from somewhere," she chuckles. "Of course she might be trying to say something subtle, by not."
            Paige slips her arm through the King's allowing him to lead her toward the champagne fountain to refill her obviously empty glass.
            "I've heard that several of the family had things to do on the morrow. I was wondering if there were new things in store for me?"

Random leads her as if he could find the fountain in the dark.  "Old things, I expect.  I need you to keep the wheels of justice squeaking along."

"Suppose I'll have to play nice with Sir Pirate this evening then," Paige nods in Octave's direction. "I can see it now," she says with a chuckle to hide her disappointment. In a low sultry voice she continues, "Shiver my timbers, Cap'n?"
            Filling her glass, she draws on the cigarette gently. "It's good to know you've faith in me, and you're not just giving into Julian's demands that I be kept at home."

"Julian is second on the list of 'Royal Brothers who are not allowed to date'  only to Corwin.  The Royal Will for the King's bench is 'be just between citizens and merciful when the crown can be merciful'.  Vialle will handle any appeals that have to come before the crown, but I'd rather not see it get that far.  She'll be busy."

Paige nods, "Understood." If it's a little flat, perhaps it's just the bubbly, of which she's finished another glass.
            She draws on her cigarette again before continuing. With a exhale of thin smoke that sounds more like a sigh, she says, "For the record, it's over between us, and I don't see anything in the next few millennia that will change that. Nobody should have to worry over his ex- creating problems for him."
            "I love him enough to be happy that he's happy, whoever he ends up with," she says sincerely.

"Is he happy?  I get mixed signals on that."

"I'd like to think so," she hedges, taking another drag.
             Finally, "Yes, I think he is. He's just a discreet man, while not too concerned about his own rep, he's always been concerned for the lady's."
            "And it's not exactly the model relationship you two share, not yet. He's going to hold his cards close to his vest with you for a while," she says without judgement.

He smiles.  "I shall have to appoint you Minister of Understatement. He's a good kid, and I certainly owe him his autonomy, but our relationship isn't what I'd like. How can we improve it?"

"Whatever role I can serve in, I'm more than willing, but I'm sure the desert sun has gone to the Sultan's head if he thinks this dragon can advise him on relationships with his son," Paige chuckles.
            "But if I were going to offer a suggestion it'd be this... give him time to say what he will before accusing him of... well anything and remember that he's smart enough to learn from his mistakes and strong enough to survive them." She fights a quiver in her voice and covers it with a sip of champagne.
            "Beyond that, it'll happen on his timetable, when it suits his purposes," she concludes. "How to improve it, I really can't say, other than to treat him as he is, a Prince of Amber. He might belong to the younger generation physically, but where it counts, he's an elder, a Prince."

He smiles.  "Hmm.  I used to be one of those.  They're not all they're cracked up to be.  Heh.  'Elder'?  Is that what you all call us?  That's great.  I'll have to pass out canes and walkers at the next family meal."

Paige laughs, genuinely. "I don't think your harem girl will allow it," she offers. "Concerns of offending the Charioteer, you know."
             "A dance, later perhaps?" she asks. "The swan told me you were wonderful..."
             "A wonderful dancer that is." Her smirk is playful but harmless.

Random's smile is genuine and devoid of artifice.  "She is quite the talker.  We'll see if she remembers how to tango.  Or me, for that matter.  I'll save one for you.  I've got a few in mind."

Paige bats her eyes innocently, "A few *what* in mind? I do hope you're not looking for harem girls again."
            She's obviously enjoying the conversation and her spirits are noticeably better than when she first acquired the cigarette she's now finishing.

"Dance steps, dear girl, dance steps.  I try not to do card tricks in public anymore.  Beneath my so-called Royal Dignity."

"Wonderful," Paige smirks. "A spin or two around the floor later, and we'll trade card tricks in private... when your harem's not so full."
            "I'd be pleased to be beneath your Royal Dignity."

"If there's anything beneath my Royal Dignity, I haven't found it yet."
            Random looks over at the musicians, who are looking at him.  He blows out the smoke from his cigarette.  "Gotta run, I promised the lads I'd sit one in.  Pretend I'm not there..."  He smiles and backs towards the back of the orchestra pit.

The Emerald Dragon smiles and nods as the sultan takes his leave, a smile less forced than the one she had when the conversation began. She notices the wine glass in her hand, as if it were the first time she had seen it. Setting it beside the fountain, she shakes her head and heads to find a snack before the next set of dances.
            "What was I thinking?" Paige whispers, her hand absently stroking the green scales covering her stomach. "I'm sorry."

Marius makes moves to speak with Aisling when they both are available. Marius attempts to signal Aisling subtly, more in a playful, "Want to dance?" as opposed to, "Help, the maenads have me!" manner.

The Viking moves towards the musicians, pauses briefly to scan the dance floor, and moves on.  He nears the clutch of dragon-birds near the bar, but does not pause as he continues on towards a sea-maid speaking with a flame goddess.  He maneuvers slowly around these ladies, still apparently intent on some other goal or lost in his own world.  He stops, almost back where he started, near the buffet room.  He again scans the dance floor. 
            The Pavane has ended and, some decision made, the Viking heads towards the departing Emerald sorceress and her vulpine partner as they near the garden doors.

The lady puts her arm on her companion's arm, as if to ask him to wait a moment.

The Fox, who looks as though he had been about to say something, caught sight of the Viking and would have paused even without the priestess' touch.
            He does take the opportunity to look the Viking up and down as he approaches, and when he arrives, the fox wears an appropriately foxish quirk to his lips.  "...Sir Viking," he greets him.

Done playing games (as if that is possible for an Amberite), the Viking nods, "Cousin. Mother, a word outside perhaps?" and gestures to the garden door.  The gesture and invitation do not exclude Brennan, but to make sure, the Viking adds, "and you, Sir Brennan? Will you join us?"

"Of course.  You seem troubled, cousin."

"How could one be troubled at such an elaborate party?  I do find the mass of people a little more Chaotic than expected, however...", the Viking grows silent as the three move out into the gardens.

The three find a somewhat secluded fountain, not too far from the Grand Hall.  The sound of the water falling helps to mask their conversation.

"Of course, when I say 'Chaotic' I mean that with a capital 'C'", Brita says as she drops her gruff accent. "There is a Chaotic presence at our Masque tonight, beyond what one would expect from our Cousins Aisling and Merlin." Brita turns to her mother. "I was unable to truly pinpoint the source and was wondering if you have or know of... other means."

Fiona's brow furrows. "You're certain? Of course you're certain; you have your father's gift."
            She looks at Brennan, then back at Brita. "Much of what I could do to find our intruder would be--unsubtle. Unsuitable for use in a crowded environment. Active sorcery generates visible paradox in most cases. We must do whatever we do with a minimum of disruption, or we'll have a stampede among the guests."

Brita expels a breath.  "I had hoped it would be easy..." She glances back at the lights from the Great Hall then turns back to Brennan, "Cousin Robin's methods of tracking might be even less subtle than Mother's, but she should be put on guard.  Cousin Vere would probably know if there was anyone... extraneous or unexpected at the party if he tuned his eyes to the matter at hand.  We should alert Cousin Lilly and perhaps Cousin Jerod to be on the alert.  Mother, could you do something out here, perhaps utilizing Cousin Merlin or Cousin Aisling, to ensure there are no escape routes?"

While Brita is saying this, Brennan is looking in over that portion of the ballroom he can see over Fiona's shoulder and through the garden door, scanning, as though he could pick someone out by some imperfect action.  He looks back at Fiona, and his eyebrow asks a question.  "Aisling?"  He says.  "Ben?"  Both reasonable choices of who to ask about unwelcome Chaosi.  Then his eyes narrow, and his gaze snaps back to the ballroom.  "Merlin," he says in a low voice.
            Fox mask, or no, anyone who fought with him on the field that happened to see his eyes could tell by them that it's not the Fox looking in over the ballroom, it's Brennan.  And he's not smiling.

It is impossible to tell any details about what is passing in the ballroom from Brennan's current location.

"Tell Bleys," he says.  "Mention Merlin.  He'll understand.  And Lilly and Jerod, too.  That should get the information spread right, swiftly."
            He looks back at Fiona.

The red-headed sorceress answers Brennan's eyebrow with a slight shrug. "Aisling is no sorceress. If our uninvited guest departs by sorcery, Bleys or Merlin or I might attempt a counterspell. A passive block would be obvious and costly, and could be circumvented by a Trump in any case."

From within the Hall, Brita and Brennan might barely be able to hear that the rhythm of the music has changed, and is now in 3/4 time. Brennan, who is looking back towards the hall, sees a white-winged figure emerging, followed closely by a figure in red.