Winter's a long way off yet, though the days are dark. Some days after
the abortive excursion to Virga, Martin decides to have a little word
with the Steward's Aide, self-styled Purity. He sends for in the
library, where, as has often been observed, the best stuff is kept.

Purity enters the library in a whisper of velvet, quietly closing the
door behind
her.

Martin doesn't look up from where he's sprawled on the couch. His brow
is furrowed, his expression tense as he gazes into the shadowy aisles
across the room.

Purity curtsies at the door. Straightening, she says, "My Lord, you sent
for me?"

Martin acknowledges the girl with a vague gesture. "You talk to Henden?"
he says, rather than asks.

Purity nods. "Of course," she affirms in her low voice.

Martin continues to stare moodily into the middle distance, says
nothing.

Purity considers his silence, and quietly, deliberately, moves into his
line of sight as she approaches the young lord.

Annoyance flickers over Martin's expression.

Purity pauses, and considers the brooding lord.

Irritably, Martin begins drumming his fingers along the back of the
couch, his frown deepening.

Purity says "My lord?"

Martin meets her eye, waits, fingers drumming.

Purity drops her gaze. Clearing her throat softly, she says, "When you
summoned me, I assumed it was because you wished to speak to me of some
matter."

Martin drums fingers, stops, considers. "I need some air," he says
abruptly, rising to his feet. "Out." Without another word, or glance at
Purity, he heads towards the door.

"Out?" Purity backs up hurriedly, "of course, my lord." She curtsies as
Lord Martin passes her, and follows him uncertainly to the door.

Martin heads out the library, across, down, and out into the gardens,
following the paths 'til they bring him to the secluded Garden of
Curiosities, with their private nooks and courts and shielding
hedge-walls.

Martin strides along the leaf-littered paths of the garden, crunching
leaves underfoot. His tension seems to have lifted a little, here in the
open air, but a frown still creases his brow, and his left hand still
dances irritably over the hilt of his sword.

Purity follows a respectful, uncertain, distance behind. Velvet skirts
swish over the leaf-strewn path as she hurries after the quick steps of
Martin.

Gazing around him at the odds and ends accumulated in this garden,
Martin remains silent as he strides through the garden, gradually
slowing to a walk as each twist and turn in the path takes him further
and further from the palace.

Purity, likewise, slows her pace to match Martin's, and in the silent,
sun-dappled gardens, becomes increasingly aware that the Lord is leading
her far from the bustle and activity of the palace.

Near the moondial, Martin stops, considers his surroundings.

Purity pauses a short distance from the young lord, and waits.

In the green, thick silence of early morning, nothing stirs in the
ancient garden of hedges and mazes.

Martin nods, mutters, "far enough." He points to a bench. "Sit."

A tiny white squirrel darts across the path, disappearing into the
nearest hedge.

Purity makes no reply, but moves to obey. She brushes aside the yellowed
leaves from the stone surface, then sits as instructed. Resting her pale
hands on her lap, she waits for Martin to continue.

His back to her, Martin appears to be studying the moondial, running a
hand curiously over its old and pitted surfaces.

Leaves fall, another squirrel appears, testing the stillness.

Uncertainly, Purity says, very quietly, "my Lord?"

The query hangs in the long silence, unanswered.

Purity's hands flutter momentarily on her lap, frustrated and
bewildered. She looks away, back down the path that they came.

Quietly, without preamble, Martin asks, "How did you come here?"

A small frown passes over her face. "How do you mean?"

Martin turns to face her, unsmiling. "Don't play stupid with me," he
warns. "How did you come to Amber?"

Purity's gaze lowers to the fingers interlaced upon her lap. "I... I was
brought here, my lord."

Martin's expression tightens. Voice low, he demands, slowly, "Who
brought you?"

Purity doesn't look up. Barely whispering, she answers, "His highness,
Prince Brand."

Silence - cold, edged.

Martin already knew, wanted to hear it. "Brand," he repeats.

Purity looks up, uncertain, and quickly drops her gaze again.

Martin nods to himself, "so Brand brought you here, to Amber." He turns
away, says nothing. Abruptly, he demands, "WHEN?"

Purity starts at the force in his voice, stammers, "my lord, I..." She
catches the look in his eye, says quickly, "Perhaps fifty years ago."

Martin considers, silent, glaring at the girl. Then "WHY?"

Purity shakes her head, lifting one pale hand to her lowered face. "I...
I cannot say, my lord. Of those things -"

Martin takes the answer like a slap in the face. Glaring at her, hand on
hilt, he almost shouts, "Why did he bring you here?!"

Purity starts again, and hesitating, placatory, she says "M-my lord?
Truly, I cannot say why. It... it was always the way with him -"

Martin steps up to her bench, leans close. In her ear, he snarls, "Once
more, and I cut out your lying tongue. Why did he bring you to Amber?"

Purity protests helplessly, "It was a long time ago, my lord! I..."

Martin holds up one finger, shushing her in mid-sentence. He catches her
gaze, holds it, drops one hand to the hilt of his sword.

Purity stares, her eyes wide, unable to look away. She starts to say,
very softly and frightened, "my lord..?"

Martin says, warns, "Thrice now I have asked. There will not be a
fourth." There's the faintest  as Martin thumbs his blade loose
of its scabard.

Purity turns at the sound, eyes rounding with fear and disbelief.
Looking up into Martin's dark expression, she seems unable to speak.

Martin's words are low, barely heard over the breeze in the hedges.
"Once more," he reminds her, cold anger in his words.

Purity says "I... My lord," her voice is small and frightened. She seems
genuinely bewildered by his anger. She swallows, and begins again.
"There is no lie: I cannot tell you what was never told to me."
She tenses then, as though expecting Martin to strike her.

Martin blinks, recovers, turns away back to the moondial, stops himself
from saying the first things that come to mind.

Purity lets out a long breath, glad for the unexpected respite. Her hand
at her mouth, she watches Martin warily, half afraid he'll leap at her
again.

Before the moondial, Martin says, "You're telling me you don't know why
Brand brought you to Amber?" He turns to regard her, suspicious,
disbelieving.

Purity shakes her head, her gaze on Martin. "It's been so long... he
just... his reasons were ever his own."

Now it's Martin's turn to shake his head in disbelief. He laughs without
humor, "Right. Sure." He tightens his grip on the hilt of his blade.

Purity gives a little shrug of frustration.

"You were lovers," Martin sneers.

Purity glances up surprised, and... hurt? She shakes her head, "No, my
lord. Not so."

This wasn't the answer he was expecting at all. Frowning, he demands
"What, then?"

Purity doesn't answer. She composes herself, not looking at Martin,
before answering, "I do not know. He... he was my friend."

Martin spits, "Brand didn't keep friends."

Purity asserts, "Not so!" Surprising herself by her own vehemence.

Martin's expression darkens, hardens. "You're lying."

"No!"

"YOU"RE LYING!"

"Why should I lie? What would I gain by it?"

Martin snarls, "You tell me! You're his bitch!"

Purity glares at Martin, a sudden flash of old pride, old anger, in her
eyes. "He was my friend," she repeats in deliberate, measured tones. "Of
all you Princes of Amber, he alone gave me back my life, and he alone
gave me a purpose and home where I had none before."

Martin's expression remains unconvinced, unforgiving. He considers the
girl, says nothing.

Purity lowers her gaze to her hands again, continuing in a softer voice,
"Whatever you and the others say of him, I recall only the good and
gentle Prince of long ago, before the dark days."

Martin says, "So you admit you're his."

Purity sighs, exasperated. The fear and confusion have been replaced by
a weariness of the whole matter. "What would you have of me, Lord
Martin? I was dying - he restored me. I had no home - he gave me one. He
was kind to me, by all the gods!

"Do you understand kindness, my Lord? Can you? Do you know what kindness
means to one whose life has been darkness?"

Martin doesn't answer, glowering.

Purity stands, refusing to submit a moment longer to this. "I was
grateful to him! I trusted him! And I would have died for him!

"And it wasn't enough! In the end, it still wasn't enough for him!"

Purity sits down again, her anger gone as suddenly as it came. She
gestures helplessly. "I gave him everything," she repeats softly.

Martin says "Are you finished?"

Purity glares at Martin. "You don't understand."

"No. I don't care"

"What do you want from me?"

"What you're not telling me."

Purity shakes her head, "What would you have me say? That I loved him?
Or that I hated him? Both are true."

"I want to know why he brought you here."

"I don't know."

"Not good enough."

Purity lets out a small cry of frustration.

Martin looks up suddenly, at the path, draws away from Purity.

Purity covers her face with her hands, distraught.

Footsteps sound on one of the paths in the garden - running, someone
calling.

Purity glances up, listening.

Somewhere in the gardens, someone is calling "Lord Martin? Lord Martin!"

Martin mutters under his breath. He glares at Purity. "I'm not through
with you yet."

Then he heads down the path, disappearing from sight.

Purity rises to her feet uncertainly as Martin leaves.

A little later, Martin can be heard calling out "Over here!" from a
different part of the garden. The runner finds him. There is talking,
then silence.

Purity peers out warily onto the path.

There's no sign of Martin, or of the messenger, anywhere within sight.

Purity gazes round her at the empty court, and resolves not to wait. She
brushes down her dress, tucks a loose strand of hair back into place,
and, taking a deep breath, she sets off for the palace and doesn't look
back.