Lawyers, Swords and Secrets part 12
Title: Lawyers, Swords and Secrets part 12
Author:Tamoline
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Good Wife (Crossover with Chronicles of Amber)
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda
Notes: This is a completely different continuity to Flames of a Different Hue. Really. Do not carry assumptions about characters over.
Summary:
Alicia Cavanaugh is given a job offer she can't refuse after her divorce, putting her lawyering skills to work in a very different setting. And, if you don't count the somewhat antiquated society, the lack of electricity and the completely different universe she's found herself in, it's all going fairly well.
Up until the point where she encounters Princess Kalinda of Amber, that is.
The walk isn't exactly quiet - Bleys makes sure of that all by his lonesome - but it's quiet enough.
Quiet enough and distant enough from the courtroom for me to begin to think.
It can be a dangerous thing, thinking.
Especially for lawyers.
Well, not about the case. That's somewhat expected, to say the least.
But thinking about what it means...
That's something they try and train out of you in law school.
Just think about the client, about how best to serve them.
That's the lawyer's sacred mantra.
And I'm... I'm having some problems with that just about now.
Because...
Because the thought that I've been avoiding, ever since the interrogator took the stand...
The thought that's been circling in the back of my mind, waiting to pounce, waiting until I wasn't concentrating fully on the case, is...
I'm defending a torturer.
Or at least an accomplice, under US law.
And, yes, I know she isn't, under Amber law.
I know that all the pain, the anguish, that the prisoner suffered was completely legal here.
And I know that it's not going to make a difference to how vigorously I defend her.
But still.
It makes a difference to me.
The woman who's grown to like the princess over the last few weeks.
I find my fingernails start to embed themselves in my palm again.
And, this time, there isn't any possibility of a grip on my arm to distract me.
"Oh," Kalinda says flatly, disturbing me from my inward contemplation. "*Here*."
I blink, look, then look again.
I've become so used to Amber's stone-everywhere-and-all-the-time policy that the building ahead of me, emerging from a concealing shroud of trees, produces a slight feeling of unreality, of an out-of-context problem.
On Earth, well, in the U.S., the metal and mirrored glass construction of the exterior wouldn't be out of place. Well, not *too* out of place.
Here?
Here it seems like an extrusion from another world. One that gives me an acute stab of homesickness at that.
This isn't a simple restaurant. This isn't a simple *anything*.
Though, glancing at Bleys, I wonder why I ever thought otherwise.
And once we're inside, it's another world yet again.
My first impression is that of a tunnel of darkness. As the door closes behind me, though, I become aware of pinpricks of light. Many pinpricks. Though, as my eyes adjust, maybe actually just a few. The walls and ceiling - they're mirrored, giving rise to an impression of a constellation of stars flickering around us.
It's beautiful, and in a completely different way to whatever I might have expected from the outside of the building.
It takes me a moment to remember my companions, who, like me, have stopped just past the door.
Kalinda is staring ahead, radiating a complete lack of interest in her surroundings. Whereas Bleys... Bleys is looking at us both with an amused look on his face.
"It's a contrast thing," he says. "At night, they line this corridor with bright lanterns."
That... that would also work.
A moment later, Kalinda starts walking forward again. "Are we actually going to have something to eat?" she asks brusquely.
Bleys shrugs at me, grinning, then catches up with her. "And there was I thinking, dear niece, that you didn't approve of my choice of venue."
"It's very you," she says, in a way that makes it very clear that this is *not* a compliment.
And then she's at the second set of doors, and opens them to reveal...
Light.
I blink rapidly a few times and my vision shifts back, clarifying the scene before me. The multiple floors of the restaurant are built around a central atrium. The roof is made entirely of glass, letting in enough natural light that we might as well be standing under the open sky.
(Given the level of technological advancement, that glass might have cost a king's ransom. No pun intended. To say nothing about the time and level of skill it must have taken.)
I'm dimly aware of Bleys stepping forward to greet someone - the maître d'? - with good humour and effusive gestures. One part of me notes the fact that they actually seem to know each other, even though the Prince hasn't set foot in Amber for four decades - if I recall correctly - and the man doesn't look a day over thirty.
(I keep forgetting about the natives' slow aging.)
I take a couple of hesitant steps forward so I can look upwards, at the dizzying panorama stretching up above me.
Rich colours and richer textures. So many. Too many.
This level, the entryway, is all shades of red and gold and smooth, dark wood. Welcoming curves and enfolding softness, like a well-upholstered matron clutching you tightly to her bosom. The carpet is soft and thick, my feet sinking into it so far I'm half-afraid I won't stop sinking.
(I bet it would be heaven to walk on with bare feet.)
Closed doors bar our way to either side, but across the atrium I can see that the colour scheme is continued all the way around. Low divans and plump chairs are visible lining the central area, some occupied by people lounging, chatting, helping themselves to drinks and foodstuffs from small tables. Uniformed people - servers? - walk among them, occasionally disappearing out of sight behind velvet drapes that hide the rest of the floor from view.
Is this whole floor just one big waiting room? Are those people waiting for tables? For friends? For carriages?
Just how busy does this place get?
I can see people on the other levels, seating at tables, looking over the balcony (even down at me), and generally going about their business, but I'm just not tracking well enough to be able to estimate numbers. But this place is huge.
I snap out of my fugue as someone - Kalinda - steps up beside me, leaning casually against the balcony.
"I thought he said a 'little' place," she murmurs, her voice resigned. I steal a glance at her, but her face is giving nothing away.
I start to reply, but then Bleys is there, smiling, introducing us to the maître 'd as:
"My niece, Princess Kalinda, and her companion, Alicia."
Relationship, rank and then name, I note, somehow unsurprised.
Pleasantries are exchanged. Kalinda is polite, but says as little as she can get away with. And then Zachariah - the maître d' - summons a servant to whisk us through the doors and into a velvet-lined box of an elevator. One side is mostly open aside from a (much too low) safety gate (fastened in place with what looks like a chain of gold, which probably says a great deal about the designers' priorities).
The servant pulls a bell-cord five times, and the elevator start moving upwards.
It's not nearly as smooth as the elevators I'm used to, and my stomach catches a little at the unexpected lurch.
There's no electricity in Amber, I remind myself again. Maybe it's magic. Maybe it's just powered by good old fashioned muscles.
Most people seem to use the stairs, or a gentle ramp that twines around the central shaft, but I can see a few more platforms ascending or descending, their occupants dressed in varied fashions, but always sumptuously.
But they're not what draws my attention. That's reserved for the floors that we're passing themselves.
One looks like something I'd expect to see on Downton Abbey, or maybe in a Jane Austen adaptation. Polished wooded tables and stiff-backed upholstered chairs. Silver candlesticks. Painted walls. Countless little knick-knacks and ornaments and pictures. The palette of choice here seems to be comprised of pastel colours.
Another is almost shocking in its unadorned roughness, seeming oddly unfinished after the polish of the other levels. Bare stone walls and floors, their starkness relieved only by sconces and scattered animal pelts. Long benches of scarred, unvarnished wood are lined up like something out of a Viking feast hall. And, indeed, some of them are occupied by men who could actually *be* Vikings.
(I think my brain breaks a little bit trying to imagine them all traipsing through this luxurious vestibule. The image just doesn't quite fit.)
One of the floors halfway up the building makes me think of nineteen-thirties pulp adventure stories. The Rocketeer, or Doc Savage or something of that ilk. Art deco architecture with furniture to match; un-ergonomic, but oh-so-stylish. Mosaic-tiled floors. Potted plants - big, leafy things that break up the geometric perfection with a touch of the jungle.
A floor built entirely of marble, like a vast mausoleum, with statues lining the edges. Then one of the 'statues' moves. A painted woman? An animate statue? She - it? - heads towards a man eating alone at a table that could easily seat twelve or more.
Something that could be a scene from Ancient Rome, all fluted columns and low couches. Complete with people wearing togas.
Every level is different, every one unique. This place is a riotous clash of colours, styles, decor and atmosphere. It should be a gaudy mess, and yet somehow, like Prince Bleys' ensemble of red and orange, it actually seems to work.
"I hope you don't mind," Bleys says, as the elevator begins to slow, but I took the liberty of choosing a floor. Not giving either of us a chance to express any reservations about that - not that *I'd* say anything; I don't know if Kalinda would - Bleys turns the full force of his thousand watt smile on me. "I thought you might like a little taste of home."
Oh.
Of course.
The elevator comes to a shuddering halt, our guide opening the gate and leading us out onto the floor that Bleys has chosen. I look around, a muddle of feelings warring within me. Deja vu. Homesickness. Unease. A desire to flee, to lock myself in a room and just pretend as hard as I can that I'm back on earth, that I never left, that the past few months have just been the strangest dreams.
I give all those butterflies the space of one breath to flutter hither and thither, then cage them again, making myself study the scene with a critical, analytical eye.
The light is wrong. They've done their best, but you can't mimic electricity with oil lamps and candles. You just can't.
Oddly, that little detail actually helps to steady me.
Belatedly, I realise that I should say something to Bleys.
"Thank you, Prince Bleys." I give him my best pleased smile, the one I used to use at dinner parties when accepting gifts or compliments to 'the wife.' "That's very thoughtful of you."
"Please, call me Bleys," he says. "I'm glad you like it. I'm told it's modelled on the Waldorf Astoria." He leans in a little, lowering his voice. "That was one of Queen Florimel's favourite restaurants when she was on shadow earth. I understand that she was consulted on the design."
"Nice to know that you've had the time to keep track of restaurants whilst you've been in Chaos," Kalinda says.
"Well, one must keep one's priorities straight," he says wryly.
"Quite," she replies flatly.
He twitches a little, then sighs. "Look, I don't pretend to know all the ins and out of your relationship with your mother. But I'd like to get to know you as yourself, not as my sister's daughter. And I'd appreciate it if you gave me the opportunity to be treated as something other than your mother's brother."
Kalinda look at him for a long moment, but doesn't say anything.
"Truce?" he asks, extending a hand.
"I believe you're here because my companion requested your presence," she says coolly, raising an eyebrow.
He lets his hand drop to his side, and turns his attention back to me, ratcheting up the smile. Despite myself, I can't help responding, at least a little.
"Shall we?" he asks, offering me his hand instead.
I look to Kalinda for guidance, but she's just watching us expressionlessly.
Well, I guess it's not like we're actually companions, I think as I allow him to take me by the arm and lead me to our table. No point in potentially irritating a prince, after all. Especially since I can't count on Kalinda's continued protection.
She follows us, but I can feel her silent presence burning my skin almost like a brand.
It's only sitting down that I remember, that I recall, I'm sitting with people who don't have a problem with destroying a prisoner's mind, and my stomach drops like lead once again.
What am I doing here?
And how much longer can I carry on?
I'm not exactly feeling like talking, and Kalinda is, well, Kalinda, so, possibly thankfully, Bleys seems more than willing to take up the slack. He's not bad at it - spinning tales about his deeds and misdeeds off in shadow, and adroitly avoiding any mention of the landmines of Amber and Chaos and Fiona.
Kalinda even smiles once or twice, before apparently remembering herself and composing her face once again.
It's even enough to make me better, from time to time.
It's not until after the meal - which is excellent, if almost painfully nostalgic - that I get down to business.
"So," I say, "What strategies were you planning on using if Kalinda had taken you up on your offer?"
"From what I saw in court this morning, I'm rather glad that she didn't," he says, smiling at me winningly. "In all honesty, I didn't think it likely, given what I knew about her," he continues, ignoring the glower that Kalinda aims in his direction. "I'm not nearly the technical expert you are. My first strategy would have been to rely on my winning ways to charm the judge."
"I'm *so* glad that I would have been in safe hands," Kalinda says.
He ignores that too. "The second would have been to do my best to create an... alternate narrative. Something that Corwin might find more palatable."
"Oh?" I ask.
"Corwin may not like Kalinda - she's been quite the thorn in his side from what I've heard - but she's not his biggest problem."
"The Queen?" I hazard.
He nods. "Given a choice between dealing a blow to Kalinda, and dealing a further one to the queen... well, I'm fairly sure I know which way my brother would leap."
"Of course, I imagine what he'd like to do is bag both."
"Which is why I'd try and make that as hard as I could. Paint a picture of an honest young lieutenant-"
"General," Kalinda interjects. "I'm a general. You've been out of the game far too long if you think I'm a piece rather than a player."
Bleys raises his eyebrows. There's maybe a hint of scepticism in his eyes, but it's gone before I can be sure.
From the way Kalinda tenses, before going blank-faced again, she catches it too.
He gives a one armed shrug. "It doesn't matter for this. The point is to sell the court that you were just a lieutenant, who, when you found a spy that no-one else had because of *certain* policy decisions to relax security to improve relations between the courts... Well, you immediately turned to the man you could trust."
"Wouldn't that get you in trouble with the Queen?"
"I serve a different ruler," he says. "Though I doubt she would be pleased, either." He shakes his head. "Trust me, you don't want to know the diplomatic headaches this whole incident has been causing. Even apart from certain nationalistic elements raising their heads above the cover they've been lurking behind, I've had to personally soothe ruffled feathers over contracts that have been broken between the two courts. Mostly mercantile, but at least one proposed alliance between noble houses has come crashing down."
Kalinda, I note, is looking far from displeased about this news.
"Then why go for this particular approach?" I have to ask.
"Because I was sent up here at the last moment, without any real time to prepare," he says, with some asperity. "I admit, I may be the nearest Chaos has to an expert on Amber Port Law, but a City Law prosecution of a royal?" He throws up his hands. "But, well, as I'm sure that you can appreciate, clients aren't always reasonable."
His gaze doesn't slide in Kalinda's direction.
Neither does mine.
But we share a definite moment of commiseration.
And Kalinda glares at the both of us equally.
It's not much, our talk over lunch.
It doesn't really offer much in the way of new insights - though it does spark a few interesting lines of argument.
And it certainly doesn't do anything to assuage the central problem that I started lunch with.
But, between the reminder of home, and the conversation, and the first chance to really talk with another lawyer for over a month...
It's enough.
Enough to at least get me to tonight.
Author:Tamoline
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Good Wife (Crossover with Chronicles of Amber)
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda
Notes: This is a completely different continuity to Flames of a Different Hue. Really. Do not carry assumptions about characters over.
Summary:
Alicia Cavanaugh is given a job offer she can't refuse after her divorce, putting her lawyering skills to work in a very different setting. And, if you don't count the somewhat antiquated society, the lack of electricity and the completely different universe she's found herself in, it's all going fairly well.
Up until the point where she encounters Princess Kalinda of Amber, that is.
The walk isn't exactly quiet - Bleys makes sure of that all by his lonesome - but it's quiet enough.
Quiet enough and distant enough from the courtroom for me to begin to think.
It can be a dangerous thing, thinking.
Especially for lawyers.
Well, not about the case. That's somewhat expected, to say the least.
But thinking about what it means...
That's something they try and train out of you in law school.
Just think about the client, about how best to serve them.
That's the lawyer's sacred mantra.
And I'm... I'm having some problems with that just about now.
Because...
Because the thought that I've been avoiding, ever since the interrogator took the stand...
The thought that's been circling in the back of my mind, waiting to pounce, waiting until I wasn't concentrating fully on the case, is...
I'm defending a torturer.
Or at least an accomplice, under US law.
And, yes, I know she isn't, under Amber law.
I know that all the pain, the anguish, that the prisoner suffered was completely legal here.
And I know that it's not going to make a difference to how vigorously I defend her.
But still.
It makes a difference to me.
The woman who's grown to like the princess over the last few weeks.
I find my fingernails start to embed themselves in my palm again.
And, this time, there isn't any possibility of a grip on my arm to distract me.
"Oh," Kalinda says flatly, disturbing me from my inward contemplation. "*Here*."
I blink, look, then look again.
I've become so used to Amber's stone-everywhere-and-all-the-time policy that the building ahead of me, emerging from a concealing shroud of trees, produces a slight feeling of unreality, of an out-of-context problem.
On Earth, well, in the U.S., the metal and mirrored glass construction of the exterior wouldn't be out of place. Well, not *too* out of place.
Here?
Here it seems like an extrusion from another world. One that gives me an acute stab of homesickness at that.
This isn't a simple restaurant. This isn't a simple *anything*.
Though, glancing at Bleys, I wonder why I ever thought otherwise.
And once we're inside, it's another world yet again.
My first impression is that of a tunnel of darkness. As the door closes behind me, though, I become aware of pinpricks of light. Many pinpricks. Though, as my eyes adjust, maybe actually just a few. The walls and ceiling - they're mirrored, giving rise to an impression of a constellation of stars flickering around us.
It's beautiful, and in a completely different way to whatever I might have expected from the outside of the building.
It takes me a moment to remember my companions, who, like me, have stopped just past the door.
Kalinda is staring ahead, radiating a complete lack of interest in her surroundings. Whereas Bleys... Bleys is looking at us both with an amused look on his face.
"It's a contrast thing," he says. "At night, they line this corridor with bright lanterns."
That... that would also work.
A moment later, Kalinda starts walking forward again. "Are we actually going to have something to eat?" she asks brusquely.
Bleys shrugs at me, grinning, then catches up with her. "And there was I thinking, dear niece, that you didn't approve of my choice of venue."
"It's very you," she says, in a way that makes it very clear that this is *not* a compliment.
And then she's at the second set of doors, and opens them to reveal...
Light.
I blink rapidly a few times and my vision shifts back, clarifying the scene before me. The multiple floors of the restaurant are built around a central atrium. The roof is made entirely of glass, letting in enough natural light that we might as well be standing under the open sky.
(Given the level of technological advancement, that glass might have cost a king's ransom. No pun intended. To say nothing about the time and level of skill it must have taken.)
I'm dimly aware of Bleys stepping forward to greet someone - the maître d'? - with good humour and effusive gestures. One part of me notes the fact that they actually seem to know each other, even though the Prince hasn't set foot in Amber for four decades - if I recall correctly - and the man doesn't look a day over thirty.
(I keep forgetting about the natives' slow aging.)
I take a couple of hesitant steps forward so I can look upwards, at the dizzying panorama stretching up above me.
Rich colours and richer textures. So many. Too many.
This level, the entryway, is all shades of red and gold and smooth, dark wood. Welcoming curves and enfolding softness, like a well-upholstered matron clutching you tightly to her bosom. The carpet is soft and thick, my feet sinking into it so far I'm half-afraid I won't stop sinking.
(I bet it would be heaven to walk on with bare feet.)
Closed doors bar our way to either side, but across the atrium I can see that the colour scheme is continued all the way around. Low divans and plump chairs are visible lining the central area, some occupied by people lounging, chatting, helping themselves to drinks and foodstuffs from small tables. Uniformed people - servers? - walk among them, occasionally disappearing out of sight behind velvet drapes that hide the rest of the floor from view.
Is this whole floor just one big waiting room? Are those people waiting for tables? For friends? For carriages?
Just how busy does this place get?
I can see people on the other levels, seating at tables, looking over the balcony (even down at me), and generally going about their business, but I'm just not tracking well enough to be able to estimate numbers. But this place is huge.
I snap out of my fugue as someone - Kalinda - steps up beside me, leaning casually against the balcony.
"I thought he said a 'little' place," she murmurs, her voice resigned. I steal a glance at her, but her face is giving nothing away.
I start to reply, but then Bleys is there, smiling, introducing us to the maître 'd as:
"My niece, Princess Kalinda, and her companion, Alicia."
Relationship, rank and then name, I note, somehow unsurprised.
Pleasantries are exchanged. Kalinda is polite, but says as little as she can get away with. And then Zachariah - the maître d' - summons a servant to whisk us through the doors and into a velvet-lined box of an elevator. One side is mostly open aside from a (much too low) safety gate (fastened in place with what looks like a chain of gold, which probably says a great deal about the designers' priorities).
The servant pulls a bell-cord five times, and the elevator start moving upwards.
It's not nearly as smooth as the elevators I'm used to, and my stomach catches a little at the unexpected lurch.
There's no electricity in Amber, I remind myself again. Maybe it's magic. Maybe it's just powered by good old fashioned muscles.
Most people seem to use the stairs, or a gentle ramp that twines around the central shaft, but I can see a few more platforms ascending or descending, their occupants dressed in varied fashions, but always sumptuously.
But they're not what draws my attention. That's reserved for the floors that we're passing themselves.
One looks like something I'd expect to see on Downton Abbey, or maybe in a Jane Austen adaptation. Polished wooded tables and stiff-backed upholstered chairs. Silver candlesticks. Painted walls. Countless little knick-knacks and ornaments and pictures. The palette of choice here seems to be comprised of pastel colours.
Another is almost shocking in its unadorned roughness, seeming oddly unfinished after the polish of the other levels. Bare stone walls and floors, their starkness relieved only by sconces and scattered animal pelts. Long benches of scarred, unvarnished wood are lined up like something out of a Viking feast hall. And, indeed, some of them are occupied by men who could actually *be* Vikings.
(I think my brain breaks a little bit trying to imagine them all traipsing through this luxurious vestibule. The image just doesn't quite fit.)
One of the floors halfway up the building makes me think of nineteen-thirties pulp adventure stories. The Rocketeer, or Doc Savage or something of that ilk. Art deco architecture with furniture to match; un-ergonomic, but oh-so-stylish. Mosaic-tiled floors. Potted plants - big, leafy things that break up the geometric perfection with a touch of the jungle.
A floor built entirely of marble, like a vast mausoleum, with statues lining the edges. Then one of the 'statues' moves. A painted woman? An animate statue? She - it? - heads towards a man eating alone at a table that could easily seat twelve or more.
Something that could be a scene from Ancient Rome, all fluted columns and low couches. Complete with people wearing togas.
Every level is different, every one unique. This place is a riotous clash of colours, styles, decor and atmosphere. It should be a gaudy mess, and yet somehow, like Prince Bleys' ensemble of red and orange, it actually seems to work.
"I hope you don't mind," Bleys says, as the elevator begins to slow, but I took the liberty of choosing a floor. Not giving either of us a chance to express any reservations about that - not that *I'd* say anything; I don't know if Kalinda would - Bleys turns the full force of his thousand watt smile on me. "I thought you might like a little taste of home."
Oh.
Of course.
The elevator comes to a shuddering halt, our guide opening the gate and leading us out onto the floor that Bleys has chosen. I look around, a muddle of feelings warring within me. Deja vu. Homesickness. Unease. A desire to flee, to lock myself in a room and just pretend as hard as I can that I'm back on earth, that I never left, that the past few months have just been the strangest dreams.
I give all those butterflies the space of one breath to flutter hither and thither, then cage them again, making myself study the scene with a critical, analytical eye.
The light is wrong. They've done their best, but you can't mimic electricity with oil lamps and candles. You just can't.
Oddly, that little detail actually helps to steady me.
Belatedly, I realise that I should say something to Bleys.
"Thank you, Prince Bleys." I give him my best pleased smile, the one I used to use at dinner parties when accepting gifts or compliments to 'the wife.' "That's very thoughtful of you."
"Please, call me Bleys," he says. "I'm glad you like it. I'm told it's modelled on the Waldorf Astoria." He leans in a little, lowering his voice. "That was one of Queen Florimel's favourite restaurants when she was on shadow earth. I understand that she was consulted on the design."
"Nice to know that you've had the time to keep track of restaurants whilst you've been in Chaos," Kalinda says.
"Well, one must keep one's priorities straight," he says wryly.
"Quite," she replies flatly.
He twitches a little, then sighs. "Look, I don't pretend to know all the ins and out of your relationship with your mother. But I'd like to get to know you as yourself, not as my sister's daughter. And I'd appreciate it if you gave me the opportunity to be treated as something other than your mother's brother."
Kalinda look at him for a long moment, but doesn't say anything.
"Truce?" he asks, extending a hand.
"I believe you're here because my companion requested your presence," she says coolly, raising an eyebrow.
He lets his hand drop to his side, and turns his attention back to me, ratcheting up the smile. Despite myself, I can't help responding, at least a little.
"Shall we?" he asks, offering me his hand instead.
I look to Kalinda for guidance, but she's just watching us expressionlessly.
Well, I guess it's not like we're actually companions, I think as I allow him to take me by the arm and lead me to our table. No point in potentially irritating a prince, after all. Especially since I can't count on Kalinda's continued protection.
She follows us, but I can feel her silent presence burning my skin almost like a brand.
It's only sitting down that I remember, that I recall, I'm sitting with people who don't have a problem with destroying a prisoner's mind, and my stomach drops like lead once again.
What am I doing here?
And how much longer can I carry on?
I'm not exactly feeling like talking, and Kalinda is, well, Kalinda, so, possibly thankfully, Bleys seems more than willing to take up the slack. He's not bad at it - spinning tales about his deeds and misdeeds off in shadow, and adroitly avoiding any mention of the landmines of Amber and Chaos and Fiona.
Kalinda even smiles once or twice, before apparently remembering herself and composing her face once again.
It's even enough to make me better, from time to time.
It's not until after the meal - which is excellent, if almost painfully nostalgic - that I get down to business.
"So," I say, "What strategies were you planning on using if Kalinda had taken you up on your offer?"
"From what I saw in court this morning, I'm rather glad that she didn't," he says, smiling at me winningly. "In all honesty, I didn't think it likely, given what I knew about her," he continues, ignoring the glower that Kalinda aims in his direction. "I'm not nearly the technical expert you are. My first strategy would have been to rely on my winning ways to charm the judge."
"I'm *so* glad that I would have been in safe hands," Kalinda says.
He ignores that too. "The second would have been to do my best to create an... alternate narrative. Something that Corwin might find more palatable."
"Oh?" I ask.
"Corwin may not like Kalinda - she's been quite the thorn in his side from what I've heard - but she's not his biggest problem."
"The Queen?" I hazard.
He nods. "Given a choice between dealing a blow to Kalinda, and dealing a further one to the queen... well, I'm fairly sure I know which way my brother would leap."
"Of course, I imagine what he'd like to do is bag both."
"Which is why I'd try and make that as hard as I could. Paint a picture of an honest young lieutenant-"
"General," Kalinda interjects. "I'm a general. You've been out of the game far too long if you think I'm a piece rather than a player."
Bleys raises his eyebrows. There's maybe a hint of scepticism in his eyes, but it's gone before I can be sure.
From the way Kalinda tenses, before going blank-faced again, she catches it too.
He gives a one armed shrug. "It doesn't matter for this. The point is to sell the court that you were just a lieutenant, who, when you found a spy that no-one else had because of *certain* policy decisions to relax security to improve relations between the courts... Well, you immediately turned to the man you could trust."
"Wouldn't that get you in trouble with the Queen?"
"I serve a different ruler," he says. "Though I doubt she would be pleased, either." He shakes his head. "Trust me, you don't want to know the diplomatic headaches this whole incident has been causing. Even apart from certain nationalistic elements raising their heads above the cover they've been lurking behind, I've had to personally soothe ruffled feathers over contracts that have been broken between the two courts. Mostly mercantile, but at least one proposed alliance between noble houses has come crashing down."
Kalinda, I note, is looking far from displeased about this news.
"Then why go for this particular approach?" I have to ask.
"Because I was sent up here at the last moment, without any real time to prepare," he says, with some asperity. "I admit, I may be the nearest Chaos has to an expert on Amber Port Law, but a City Law prosecution of a royal?" He throws up his hands. "But, well, as I'm sure that you can appreciate, clients aren't always reasonable."
His gaze doesn't slide in Kalinda's direction.
Neither does mine.
But we share a definite moment of commiseration.
And Kalinda glares at the both of us equally.
It's not much, our talk over lunch.
It doesn't really offer much in the way of new insights - though it does spark a few interesting lines of argument.
And it certainly doesn't do anything to assuage the central problem that I started lunch with.
But, between the reminder of home, and the conversation, and the first chance to really talk with another lawyer for over a month...
It's enough.
Enough to at least get me to tonight.