The Night Court was like a kicked anthill, there were so many things to tend to. The start of the year was a blur on a good year, everything for the year to come was arranged and planned in the weeks that Heliotrope was closed. This year there was an extra twist. Planning a luncheon for Dowaynes and Seconds? When would be appropriate to invite Dahlia? The parties that were planned where Adepts traveled between Houses to fulfill certain roles? Can we send our list to Dahlia? Heliotrope hosted several Showings for their novices demonstrating how one would woo and be wooed by different types of patrons, and this always required adepts of other Houses. Should we disrupt our normal schedule so we can move Dahlia back out of respect? Normally straightforward tasks suddenly took on a new layer of difficulty leaving Mena and her Seconds asking a hard question:
What exactly are we respecting?
It was Loir that put it in words one night, late in the evening as she was headed to take a patron after having turned in a report of what was happening around the Court. She paused at the door and said quietly, “Mena, with no disrespect towards Odilia, what exactly are we respecting? The king did what noblemen are required to do, select a bride to light a candle with. It happened just last week to Elina and the House didn’t grind to a halt, let alone the whole Court. What are we doing?”
Mena sighed heavily, dropping her head on to the mound of papers in front of her. “To be honest, I am not sure.”
Vouloir nodded. “I don’t think anyone does. But we’re all doing it, aren’t we? I’ll be back to explain after Her Ladyship leaves.”
Mena waved her hand in dismissal, already back to her paperwork. What were they doing, exactly? Everyone, tiptoeing around Dahlia and Odilia, unsure how to proceed. She shook her head. It was a lack of communication, the Houses had no idea what had transpired, from start to finish, and had been left to guess about so much. ‘If Odilia hadn’t played so close to her chest,’ she thought as she made note of the House nurseries she’d need to visit. ‘Maybe we could have helped her, helped His Majesty, eased their burden some how.’’
She groaned, stretching her back. ‘Too late now for that, though. We’re all left bewildered in their wake. Perhaps we need to just ignore what’s happened and carry on as usual?’
Mena stood and abandoned her work, heading instead for the kitchen. A bowl of soup and a friendly visit with the kitchen staff would help clear her head. After that, she’d decide how to move forward. But for now, soup.