Petrea knew that she trusted her friend Santiago, but there was a deeper intimacy between them that allowed her to take his word that she could trust whom he trusted on whom to trust. She sighed. How many levels of trust was that, she wondered?
~
Several months prior…
“Stop frowning, Petrea! You don’t want the Dowayne to see your face like that,” Marielle nó Cereus hissed under her breath at her fellow adept. The two women sat in one of Cereus House’s many solariums, practicing the lyre. They had been sent to practice by the Dowayne, who declared that two adepts of their age were “less competent than children” and “an embarrassment to the House.”
It seemed to Petrea that she was being punished for some imagined infraction every day as of late. She knew that her music was perfect; she hadn’t missed a single note on the stringed instrument in near twenty-five years, and she had perfected her singing decades ago. And yet, here she sat with an adept young enough to be her child, playing until her fingers blistered. And how was she to explain blisters to a patron? Was that not an embarrassment to the House?
Petrea knew the songs well enough that she did not have to pay attention. And as she played, her mind wandered, as it often did. The weight of the Dowayne’s ire weighed heavily on her mind. She could not imagine what she had possibly done to even draw his eye, let alone his anger. She had tried asking her best friend, Aliksandria, but Aliks merely shrugged her shoulders and suggested that Petrea continue on as she always had. Petrea was grateful for her friend’s subtle support. She knew that it was Aliks who ensured Petrea’s invitations to small gatherings at other Houses and kept patrons coming to her. But she also knew that, as Second of Cereus House, Aliks had much work of her own. Petrea did not envy her that. In fact, Petrea could not imagine how Aliks accomplished everything she did.
Marielle missed a note and sighed, drawing Petrea from her musings. “I’ll never get this right, Petrea! Whatever am I to do?” The girl whined.
“Here, let me show you,” Petrea responded softly. She demonstrated the notes slowly. “Now, repeat only that phrase until you know it. Then add in the rest.”
Marielle nodded, and the two went back to their playing.
“You’re doing it again…” Marielle said in a quiet sing-song voice several minutes later.
“Hmm?”
“You’re frowning. He’ll never put up with you if your face wrinkles,” Marielle warned Petrea.
Petrea heaved a sigh and set aside her instrument. “Marielle, I cannot do this anymore. Something has drawn his attention, and I do not know what.”
Marielle gave an unbecoming snort. “We all have. Do you not feel the growing tension in the House? Everyone is on tenterhooks here.”
Petrea shook her head. She had not, in fact, noticed.
“But you,” Marielle continued, “you’re strung tighter than a bowstring. Blessed Elua, Petrea, you ought to just go to Orchis House! Maybe they can relax you.”
Petrea gave a small smile. Marielle clearly spoke in jest. But the idea had lodged itself in Petrea’s brain. Orchis House? What could be the harm? She could already do nothing right in the eyes of the Dowayne…
A fortnight later, Petrea found herself in a dark corner of a bright and colorful salon at Orchis House. The walls of the salon were splashed with vibrant hues and shimmery fabric caught the light of hundreds of candles. Lively melodies danced through the air, spun from fiddles, flutes, and tambourines by wandering musicians weaving between guests.. A raised dais stood in one corner and there seemed to be some type of dancing going on where an adept undressed in time to the music while patrons whistled and clapped, cheering her on. Revelers engaged in raucous dancing such as Petrea had never seen. She observed what appeared to be a game—she thought it was a game—where partygoers dashed around a ring of chairs while playful music bounced through the air. The music would suddenly stop, and everyone would dive for a chair. But there was one fewer chairs than there were people. Everyone would laugh as the person without a chair would remove an article of clothing. Another chair would be removed, and the game would begin again. The common theme seemed to be nothing more than fun. Everyone was just…smiling…laughing…having a good time.
Petrea could not decide whether to be scandalized or entertained. Part of her wanted to run away and never returned. But there was another, smaller part of her that wanted to race into the room and join all of the games and dancing and joyful revelry. She shrunk back into the dark alcove, hiding away from everything, afraid to make a move or a sound, lest she be discovered.
She was so distracted she did not notice the dark haired woman in a silk negligee come up next to her. Petrea gasped as the woman threw her arm around Petrea and grinned at her. It was Xixiliya nó Orchis, Dowayne of the House.
Petrea’s stomach dropped. She had been discovered! And by the Dowayne no less! “My lady!” She said quickly. “Please accept my apologies! I know I am here without an invitation! I simply—”
Xixiliya smacked a wet kiss to her lips, interrupting her. The Dowayne turned to the crowd and gave a loud, shrill whistle. Immediately, everything stopped and the room went deadly silent. “My friends! We have an interloper here!” She shouted to the assembled gathering. She turned and gave Petrea a wide, wicked smile. Petrea stood stock still, terrified.
The crowd whooped and hollered, cheering and laughing. Xixiliya put a finger to her chin as though in deep thought. Then her face brightened and she held up her finger, an idea coming to her. “Fifty lashes with a wet noodle!” She declared. “Tomas! Bring me the pasta!” She waved her arm at an adept clad only in a pair of shoes.
“Yes, Xixiliya!” He shouted happily and ran from the room.
Xixiliya grabbed Petrea by the arm and dragged her out of the alcove and into the middle of the room. The revelers applauded, clearly enjoying the spectacle. In spite of the embarrassment she felt, something deep inside Petrea unwound. Unloosened.
Tomas raced back into the room, carrying a huge cooking pot full of long noodles. As he approached the two women, he tripped. He went sprawling to the floor, the pot flying through the air, the pasta spilling everywhere. Instead of the gasps Petrea expected, the partygoers laughed and clapped as though the young adept had put on some brilliant show.
“Everyone grab a noodle!” Yelled Xixiliya, throwing her arms in the arm. The revelers raced forward, eager to pick up the spilled food.
Petrea’s heart raced, something between terror and excitement at the notion of an entire room of people slapping her with pasta.
Someone put a strong arm around her waist, and shoved a goblet in her hand. “Drink this, love,” he whispered in her ear. “It will make your evening far more enjoyable.”
She downed it quickly—not thinking twice—and the liquid burned going down. She shivered at the strength of the drink and turned to question the man. It was Santiago, the Orchis Second. His eyes twinkled with mirth, his brown hair pasted to his forehead, his chest bare. Her surprise must have been evident because he chuckled at her. “If you think I didn’t notice you, standing here all alone in this dark corner all evening, then you’re quite the fool. Now be a good girl and take your ‘punishment.’ But don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better later.” He gave her a mockingly sympathetic look and spun her around to face the crowd.
Petrea threw her hands over her face as everyone began slapping and pelting her with the noodles, just as Xixiliya had instructed. She found herself giggling as the spaghetti hit her. It stuck to her hands, arms, and dress, and she laughed harder, feeling lighter than she had in…well, she couldn’t remember.
It went on for minutes, and Petrea began to grow warm from the pressing crowd. She had dropped her arms, and she knew she was a mess but couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was having too much fun.
She looked down at her clothing. She had worn what had felt, at the time, like a simple dress. But looking around the room, she felt fussy and overly formal. Overly dressed, if she was being truthful. She suddenly longed to be less clothed, like everyone else at the party. “I don’t like my dress,” she declared, turning to face Santiago.
He met her gaze and gave her a sly grin. “There is nothing wrong with your dress except for the fact that you are still wearing it, my dear.”
She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps you are right. But it took three of my friends to help me put it on,” she replied, batting her eyelashes at him. “I can’t just take it off myself.”
He laughed heartily. “Oh don’t worry about that. I happen to be an expert at removing dresses. And as your new friend, it would be my utmost pleasure to help you remove it.”
Petrea draped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. “An expert you say? Why that’s simply splendid. And what a kind offer of you, my new friend.”
He grabbed her hand, and led her away from the party. “Oh, Petrea,” he said, in a low voice, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
~
Picking up her quill and ink, she began to pen her two letters but struggled. How to address them? What tone to take? Was she to mention Santiago’s name? His title? Any reference to a mutual friend? Were these ladies even friends or acquaintances of Santiago’s?
Knowing she could not navel gaze forever, she wrote out her missives and entrusted them to the care of the most senior messenger in Cereus House to be delivered posthaste. She sent up a prayer to Blessed Elua and Naamah both that her words would be taken as extending a hand in friendship and not a search for political gain.
From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House
To Philomena nó Heliotrope, Second of Heliotrope House
Dearest Philomena,
It would be my great pleasure if you would join me at Cereus House for an afternoon tea. As the newly appointed Second of Cereus House, it is my hope to make the acquaintance of my fellow Seconds. I would be much honored by an afternoon of your company.
In blessed Naamah’s name,
Petrea
~
From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House
To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House
Dearest Odilia,
I thank you for your kind invitation to your Grand Revels. I apologize that I was not able to do more than simply greet you and your Dowayne both. As a hostess myself, however, I do understand the duties of such an evening.
I would like to extend to you an invitation of my own in gratitude for your hospitality. It would be my pleasure if you would join me for high tea at Cereus House. I am looking forward to making the acquaintance of you and the other Seconds, and I do hope you would honor me with an afternoon of your presence.
In blessed Naamah’s name,
Petrea