Aliksandria nó Cereus was, as far as anyone could tell, Night Court royalty. She was a sixth generation servant of Naamah on her father’s side (her great-great-great grandmother having been a Gentian adept of some renown) and a fourth generation adept on her mother’s side. Her maternal grandmother had herself been Dowayne of Bryony House in her day. She, herself, now stood as Dowayne of Cereus House, to which her marque had been sold when she was but ten years of age. And yet, given all this, she had never given thought to continuing this illustrious line.
Her life’s work was Cereus House, not her bloodline. Which made the conversation she was having with her parents all the stranger.
*
Aliks arrived at the modest town house her parents lived in shortly before noon. Her parents had bought it when they retired from Naamah’s service so they could finally live together. Her father, ever the Camellia, kept the house perfect. The garden was tended with the perfecly correct ratio of flowers (though no one could have told Aliks exactly what that ratio was), every surface inside gleamed, and the pictures hung so neatly that one could be forgiven for thinking the frames themselves feared to be askew.
The trio sat in the sitting room, eating small pastries and enjoying warm tea. It was comfortable, and though she had not grown up in such an environment, Aliks had become used to the warm visits with her parents over the years.
“How have you been since the funeral, cher?” Guilliam nó Camellia asked his daughter. He was known for getting to the heart of matters, though he did so with gentleness.
“We have been so worried about you, love,” Annette nó Bryony added.
Aliks took a sip of tea, then set her cup and saucer on the low table in front of her. “I’ll not lie, it has been hard. Petrea has been a godsend, and Aimee has also stepped up a great deal. I thought at first, throwing myself into my work would help, but I don’t think that will be the solution I had hoped.”
“Oh,” said Annette. “Why is that?”
Ailks took a deep breath, and she was certain her parents could see her hands tremble. “It seems Eisheth found my candle acceptable.”
The next few events happened simultaneously, hard though that may be to believe. Annette gasped, her hands going straight to her mouth. They did nothing to hide the large smile that split her face as she said “Oh, honey, that is marvelous.”
Guilliam jumped up, knocking the table over in the process and causing the pastries and tea to fly across the previously white rug. He thrust his clenched fist in the air as his feet physically left the floor and he released a shout of jubilation.
Annette moved to embrace her daughter but was knocked out of the way when her consort grabbed said daughter about the waist and spun her in the air.
If Petrea had been cautious with Aliks, and by all the gods she had, her parents were ecstatic. It took Annette a few minutes to realize Aliks was processing the level of joy in the room, but not quite participating in it.
“Oh, love,” she said softly, realizing belatedly how complicated this must be, “She answered you and Waldemar’s prayer,” emphasizing Waldemar. At this, Guilliam calmed down, righted the table and sat back down (uncharacteristically ignoring the rest of the mess).
“Yes mother, she answered our prayer, his prayer.” Aliks fought back the tears. “I don’t know how I feel. I get to keep a part of him. He will never truly be gone from me. And yet, will looking at a child with his small face make this hurt more or less? I don’t know.”
“I cannot imagine anything in this world or the true Terre d’Ange beyond can make this hurt any more. My daughter, you have suffered a hurt I cannot fathom.”
Guilliam put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I will not tell you a babe fixes everything, or that it won’t hurt to be reminded of what you have lost, but I will tell you that the day I held you in my arms for the first time, my world changed. I truly understood Blessed Elua as I had never before, and I wish only for you to feel that, too.”
Annette smoothed her skirt, then looked at Aliks and decided to go with a more pragmatic route. “What was the plan for this, with Waldemar?”
“He intended to retire from Naamah’s service. I was going to allow him to live at Cereus House with me as my official consort, and we were going to raise the babe in the Night Court,” Aliks responded.
“Is it still your intention to do so?” Guilliam asked.
“As opposed to what?”
“You do have other options, my dear,” Annette responded.
“I’m not retiring!” Aliks said with more force than she intended. “I mean, I have no intention of leaving Cereus House. It is my home, my work, my dream, my life. Besides, both of you continued to work for many years after I was born. Why should I do differently?”
“No one is saying you should retire, merely that you could,” Annette stated. “Also, we could help. After your lying in, if you return to Cereus House, you could leave the child here, and we could help rear them.”
Aliks shook her head. She looked at her parents, whom she loved so very much, and said words she didn’t know she felt until they left her mouth, “No. I want to raise Waldemar’s child myself, at Cereus House, the way he intended.”
*
As Aliks waved goodbye from her carriage, Guilliam put his arm around Annette. “I would have loved to raise our grandchild,” he whispered.
Annette smiled. “We were never going to raise them, she just needed to realize that this is her dream, too.”