Gerard:

When Gerard attempted to retire for the evening, he found Larissa occupying the floor of his sitting room with a nautical chart and a covered lantern. He paused to let this soak in for a moment. "It's customary to knock when the door is closed, and try again later if you get no answer," he said.

"We're going to conduct an experiment," she told him.

"I can't help but notice you said 'we.'"

"You're going to row out with the lantern to the harbor marker at the rocks, and I'm going to stand at the end of the pier. When I blow the whistle, you'll uncover the lamp, and then I'll record the elapsed time when I see the light." She brandished a stopwatch.

"Where did you get that?"

"Begma. Took three tries before they got it right," she said.

"How do you know," Gerard asked, "that the speed of a sound isn't proportional to its loudness?"

Larissa stopped. Her pencil fell onto the chart, and she glared. "You just had to add another variable."

"We have got to convince Eric to let you walk the Pattern," Gerard said, heading into the bedroom to change into boots.

Dierdre:

Fall was here, and Larissa had an apple, a folding knife, and a spot under a tree. She cut bits of apple and looked at the leaves.

"Stupid, crossing Eric like that," Dierdre said from behind her. "And at dinner."

"Dad needs crossing," Larissa told her around a mouthful of apple.

"You should perhaps go visit Gerard for a few days," Dierdre said, looking down at her neice, who looked so much like her.

"I notice you're not debating the truth of my assertion."

"That's not the point," Dierdre responded, but smiled. "You're too straightfoward. It'll cost you." She gathered her skirts and sat beside Larissa.

"I," said Larissa, "am carefully cultivating a reputation for honesty, so that I can blow it at the moment it will be to my greatest advantage." She licked apple juice off her hand.

"Part of your plot, then, is to confess it to me, hoping I won't believe it?"

"Who would confess something that foolish?"

"Clever," Dierdre said, dryly.

"I remain in a perpetual state of awe with regards to my own cunning," Larissa agreed.

"You present your back too much," Dierdre said, glancing at Larissa as the other was involved in her apple. "One day someone will stick a knife into it."

"Friendly warning, or not so friendly?" Larissa asked, the jest gone from her voice, but still not looking at Dierdre.

"Oh, friendly," Dierdre said. She might have meant it.

"You would say that, of course."

"Of course."

Larissa laughed and offered her half the apple.

Brand:

"Rumor has it," said Brand, poking his head into his neice's rooms, "that you will be essaying the Pattern in the near future."

"If by 'rumor,' you mean, 'Flora,' who, incidentally, I will never tell anything ever again, then yes," Larissa said from her seat by the window. "Also incidentally, it's customary to knock when the door is closed."

Brand crossed the sitting room in a few strides and occupied the chair next to hers, leaning across the armrest with a light in his eyes. "When you take the Pattern..." he trailed off, presumably in pursuit of some other thought routed by the conversation.

"Yes?" Larissa prompted.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "The Blood will cover everything." He chuckled, inexplicably, and leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs.

"You're not helping with the nerves, Uncle," she told him, as she worried at the embroidery of her shirtcuff.

"You should be nervous," he said, leveling a finger at her and nearly tapping her nose across the small space between them.

"Still not helping."

This time, he laughed. "Sit for a portrait?" he asked, suddenly, smiling. Larissa answered with a raised eyebrow. It was hard to hold anything against a happy Brand.

"A portrait," he said, "is what I came to discuss. The Pattern will burn certain changes into you. I will capture the before, and the after."

Larissa raised both eyebrows, and Brand cocked his head and donned an ever-so-slightly-pleading look. "All right," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "Does anyone ever say no to you?"

"It has happened. Come; we'll find the right light." Brand took her hand and all but hauled her from the chair.

"What, now?"

"Yes, now." He led her into the hallway with only a little tugging. "It will be a diptych. I can convey the passage of time with the intervening scenery--it will be subtle, yet impressive, assuming you live."

Benedict:

"I'm giving you Eric's field command," Benedict said. "The weir will follow you, at least until they think Eric has been sufficiently avenged."

"Fine," said Larissa, drinking the camp coffee with no visible signs of disgust and gazing blankly into the campfire.

"You'll be at the staff meeting."

"Fine."

"And you should carry something that's not a dueling sword," he said.

"Fine."

Benedict squatted down between her and the fire, and she stared through him. "Are you fine?"

"No."

"Will you be?" he asked, softly.

"Yes."

He nodded and rose to leave.

"Thanks," she said to his back. If he heard, he gave no sign.

Corwin:

I found her in the library. She was sitting at a highly incongruous drafting table--brushed nickel and a draftsman's stool, all out of place against the warm woods of the library, and her hands were stained with charcoal and the light through the south-facing window.

"I heard you took on your father over me," I said, by way of opening. I have, in the past, been smoother. She didn't look up, kept sketching.

I took the opportunity to study her. She had stood near Eric at the coronation, wearing black all shot through with gold, and seeming out of place, and that was all I remembered of her, having had other concerns at the time. Now, she was all in black, but wore it lightly, unlike her sister and her mourning weeds. Impossible to tell how old any of us are, but her face had the stillness one only learns after a century or two, and her hands moved with experience across her plans. Being Eric's daughter, she was, of course, beautiful. (I add that as an afterthought, in case she ever reads this.)

"Thank you," I finally said. That particular phrase kept getting easier. I even meant it.

"You're family," she said. "I will always help you." She finally looked up at me, with Eric's eyes. "No one else believes me when I say that, but maybe you will."

I didn't know what to do with honesty, so I asked "What are you drafting?" as though I didn't already know.

"A tomb."

"May I?"

She lifted the guides and handed me the sheet. I frowned. "It's grander than mine."

"Well," she said, "Eric actually died."