Author: Longest Night Midwinter Masque

A Cassiline’s Kindness

Manuel had spent the past months in the company of the Dauphin and his retinue and felt himself growing more comfortable with the other men. Less an outsider than he had when he was first tasked with guarding the Prince, yet still not a close companion. Their actions showed a measure of trust, one that he had worked tirelessly to earn. He knew that the next year would be a difficult one for all of them as Gustav came closer to his coronation, and he knew that the small circle would be invaluable to the Dauphin. There were so many aspects of being a ruler for which the Prince was prepared, and yet so many others where he still needed the support of those closest to him. Manuel hoped that he could be marked as part of that group. He prayed to Cassiel that he would have the strength to help guide and assist his charge. That Gustav would see him as a trusted compatriot, a shoulder to lean on in times of need.

Not that it would be easy for either of them. For all of his life, Gustav had been a second son. One year of playing Dauphin did not make him feel in any way ready for the crown. 

“How do you do it?” Gustav sat in his chair at the desk in his personal study, having long foregone focusing on the work before him and rather studying the Cassiline standing at rest by the door. 

“Do what, Your Highness?”

“Maintain such…composure.” Gustav leaned back in his seat. “My life is in your hands, you have taken me as a charge and have sworn to defend me with your life. Do the teachings of Cassiel give you such confidence in who you are? Your strengths and your place?” 

Manuel barely blinked before responding. “They do, my lord. My Cassiline training prepared me to be exactly who I am. I know exactly my place and my position. And this gives me, as you say, confidence. I have spent my years preparing to become the man you see before you.” He paused then, thinking on how to give speech to his thoughts. “I do, as I think all men do, have my times of doubt, of questioning. I felt called to the Brotherhood. To protect and serve, in Cassiel’s name. And yet…there are those quiet moments when I wonder if I am worthy of such a title: Cassiline. It carries great weight. Great responsibility. But it is in those moments when I turn to the Perfect Companion, to remember that it is my duty to strive for the perfection of Cassiel, to remember that I am not him. I remember that I am a Cassiline Brother, and not Cassiel himself. Remembering that I am imperfect allows me to have the confidence to be who I am. To know my place, both here at your side and in the greater world.”

Gustav let out a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he all but slouched in his seat. “I envy you that. It seems I am surrounded by people full of confidence and purpose while I am…”

His hands draped away from his face as he looked at the high ceiling of the room, tracing the line of the vaulted support beams, murmured, “I am not the grand ship, steady and sure, that my brother was. I am only a small fishing vessel, lost in the vast sea.”

“Sounds to me like you need to find your Navigator’s star,” Manuel said, his wrists crossed easily before him as he watched the young man. “Cassiel and his teachings are my way. Where is your guiding star?”

Gustav’s face softened, his head lolling to the side to look out the window to his left, his gaze tracing the skyline of the city beyond. “I don’t know…”

“I don’t think that’s true, Your Highness,” Manuel said, his voice gentle.

The color rose slightly in Gustav’s cheeks, and he let out a small, nervous laugh before sighing. “Alright, I have never been a good liar. Yes, I know the star in my sky. I have not been able to stop thinking about her since I saw her for the first time. I wrote to her while I was at University in Siovale, our correspondence never failed to bring light when I needed it. And when I think on her, there is a warmth in my chest that I know is Naamah’s blessing of…well, I am not so much of a romantic that I will entertain that word. But she…”

He let out another sigh, this one heavier and more weary. “I know it will only cause trouble, for both of us, but I find myself desperately praying that my feelings are not false and, even more impossibly, that she might return them. It could not be so terrible, to love her? She’s a Dahlia, isn’t she? And so very smart and grounded…she could be a valuable advisor, if they let me have her.”

For all that their world lived under the sacred precept of love as thou wilt, he was not so naïve as to think he could enjoy the same freedom of his heart that the rest of the country did. He was to be king. The desires of a king’s heart came second to the needs of the crown and kingdom. 

Manuel studied him for a long moment. The kind of love that Gustav was just starting to feel was one that he would never have for himself. For certain, he was a child of the Night Court, but his path was that of a Cassiline Brother; romantic love had no place in his heart. But there was a kindness that he could offer, that only he could offer, that could help the Dauphin face the year head. 

“Your Highness,” Manuel said.  “You know that I do not attend festivities on the Longest Night, instead maintaining Cassiel’s Vigil. Although there is always that small part of me that would love to engage in the revelry, a night of prayer and reflection has never failed to leave me satisfied and…sated…in a way that the excesses of the Night Court cannot. If you would so choose, it would be my honor to have you join me in my vigil. Perhaps you would find, come morning, that the Perfect Companion grants you guidance, if even in some small measure, to serve your country and people in more perfect measure.”

Gustav looked at him, Courcel blue eyes taking in the sight of the Cassiline and the generosity of what he offered. 

“Thank you, Manuel,” Gustav said quietly. “I think…I think I would like that.”

A Hollow Crown to be Handed Away

When the Queen sent out the summons to call the court, the courtiers came. It was not often that Queen Anielle de la Courcel called the court, preferring private audiences and smaller receptions to handle the affairs of state that she could manage in her grief of losing her firstborn son. So, when the noble lords and ladies of the court came to the grand presence chamber of the royal palace, no few of them were whispering amongst themselves as to what could have inspired the Queen to summon them all. 

When she entered, it was with her attendants, personal guards, and remaining children at her sides. 

From his spot off to the side, Maël de Rocaille studied the face of the Dauphin, trying to see if he could read what his friend was thinking. Frustratingly, Gustav was carefully blank. Likely because he knew the nobles would be watching him to see if they could figure out what was going to happen, trusting in his lack of experience in court. 

However, even if they had been able to read his thoughts, none of them would have expected what happened next. 

“Lords and ladies, d’Angelines all, thank you for answering my summons and joining us this afternoon at this court assembly,” Queen Anielle said, standing before her throne wearing the fleur-de-lis crown of Terre d’Ange. Her son stood at her right hand, her daughter to her left, a triumvirate of the Courcel royal family that surveyed the people gathered in the opulent hall. 

“I will not demand much of your time,” Queen Anielle said, her voice pitched to carry all the way to the back of the chamber. “Certainly not since the Longest Night is coming ever closer, and we all have impatient tailors waiting to complete our costumes.”

A smattering of polite laughter bounced through the gathered nobles and the Queen managed to smile warmly. The lines on her face were deeper than before, weariness and grief leaving their marks on her face with deep gouges of pain and age. 

“The coming night, even with all of its revelry and celebration,” she continued when the laughter had quieted, “is still the turning point in our year, when the longest night of the year gives way to the sunrise and the Sun Prince returns to reinvigorate his Winter Queen into the glory of the coming spring.”

She clasped her hands before her, taking a moment to bow her head and study her interlaced fingers. Maël’s eyes darted around the chamber, taking a read of the faces and factions present. He had a terrible sense he knew what might be coming. For a moment, just a flicker of his eyes, Gustav glanced at him and Maël straightened from his careless lean at the hint of the emotion in the Dauphin’s eyes. 

“And yet,” the queen said heavily, “the cold of winter has set into my bones, heavier with the weight of my grief. For me, the dawn of the lengthening days will not restore me to youth and glory. Long has this weighed on my mind in the wake of the plague that brought so many of our fellow d’Angelines to the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond. The loss of my first son, Daniel, was a blow for all of us, not only my House. In the months following, we have all fought to return to what we can consider our new normal lives, knowing nothing will be the same again. We are all changed. I am changed. Terre d’Ange needs a new way forward into the golden sunlight of Blessed Elua’s vision for us.”

The chamber stood so quiet that one could hear the way the courtiers held their breath to listen to the Queen’s words. 

“Which is why,” she said, lifting her chin again, her blue eyes bright with her tears and her strength, “I will be endeavoring to prepare Gustav de la Courcel to succeed me as King of Terre d’Ange. Following the festivities of the Longest Night next year, I will be abdicating my place on the throne and presenting my son with the crown of Terre d’Ange.”

Hadn’t she given enough to it? She had no more left to give. 

The whispers rippled around the hall, shock giving them an undercurrent of panic as the gathered nobles processed this startling announcement. In the briefest of heartbeats before the eyes turned to him, Gustav’s gaze flicked to where he had seen Maël standing. If anyone would understand what he wanted now, it would be him. Yet it seemed Maël was already two steps ahead of him, for the space where his friend had stood was empty and he caught a flash of a panel sliding closed in the wall. Gustav released a relieved breath. He could trust Maël, he knew he could. 

Maël borrowed a horse from the stables, vaulting onto the back and setting his heels to its flanks. He did not care for the decorum of the moment now, all eyes were still on the royal court and for the rest of the city…well, they would hear soon enough. He knew well who needed to hear it now, as quickly as possible.

The horse’s hooves thundered across the bridge spanning the river and up the streets through Night’s Doorstep and to Mont Nuit itself, Maël’s practiced hands reining the horse up sharply once he reached the courtyard of Dahlia House. Kicking his leg over the horse’s neck, he slid from its back and all but sprinted up the steps to the doors. Were he focused on anything but his next steps, he would have been impressed at how the nature of his arrival had not broken the regal facade of the footmen’s expressions. Instead, he only paused long enough to ask the frowning adept in the foyer, “The Second. Where is she?”

“Second Odilia is indisposed at the moment,” the adept sniffed haughtily. “She is being fitted for her gown—”

Maël took a strong step toward her. “Where?”

The adept faltered for a moment, glancing up to the staircase that led to the private chambers of the house. Maël took off, taking the steps two at a time. He had watched Gustav vanish up these stairs and had caught enough details about the layout of the mansion from his wanderings that he found his way easily enough, striding down the corridor with such an expression on his face that novices, even composed and regal as they were, all but leapt out of his way. One did try to bar his way from the Second’s door, but he brushed past the boy easily enough to push the door open. 

Inside, the tailor’s assistants cried out in alarm at the sudden intrusion. The Second herself turned in surprise at the interruption, her hands rising to hold the gown to her chest as though concerned it would come tearing off if she moved too quickly while still pinned. Her hair caught up in a messy knot to keep it out of the way, it bared the length of her back and the marque there. Surely it was a masterpiece of the marquist’s art, but Maël had more pressing concerns. Clearly this showed in his face because Odilia did not waste time feigning outrage or scandal. Her brown eyes focused on his expression and she only asked, “What is it?”

His eyes flicked to the attendants and novices whispering and she turned her head to order immediately, “Out!”

They scrambled to obey, and she stepped down from the collapsible fitting platform the tailor had brought, her own face hardening into grave severity as she asked again, “What has happened?”

Maël looked at her for a long moment. He may not fully know what passed between this courtesan and his friend, but he knew that in what was to come, the two of them were likely to become some kind of surprising allies. He may not know her well or even at all, but he knew that she needed to know what was about to happen. 

“Anielle’s stepping aside,” he told her directly. “At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.”

He watched the shock bloom across her face, the surprise of the sudden announcement giving way a heartbeat later to some strategic cunning as she breathed evenly through the revelation and into the focus of the moment. 

Her face hardened and she lifted her gaze again to meet his eyes with a slow nod, acknowledging that he had come racing across the city to find her and tell her directly. So she gave the olive branch as she said, “Then he will need our help.”

He nodded, feeling the seed of respect forming in his chest for her as he agreed, “He will.”

The Sun Also Sets

After visiting Bryony, time flowed more normally. Mena went to Cereus for tea and made friends with Petrea, while Loir wrote weekly about the goings on at Laurent’s. Mena’s aunts visited with their families, and Olivier seemed to slow his decline. Business in Heliotrope carried on as it always did: two babies were born, a novice left them for Balm while one joined them from Dahlia and another from Camelia, a marque was made and a party was thrown, and Mena felt herself relaxing. She even resumed seeing patrons, something that she realized she had missed. 

All her life, she had been told that love was the warmth of the sun, but she realized that she’d not really understood that to the depths of her soul. Mena had never seen mountains, but she’d listened to the dye merchants one evening tell of how they dominated the sky, how their shadows were cold and complete no matter the position of the sun, how there was snow on some that never melted, and above all, how they were dangerous beyond comprehension. She, in that, understood that Kyrie was like that, blocking out the warmth of love from all around him and bringing with him a risk of ruin and demise. It took all she had to not shiver as she listened, but she allowed herself to pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders. A mug of hot cider appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see the smiling face of the caravan leader. He was young for a leader, but his men trusted him completely, something that was honestly rare at any age. 

She wrapped her hands around the mug and smiled back at him. “Thank you, how did you know this was what I needed?”

His smile was easy and open, making his already handsome face breathtaking. ‘“You don’t have to be a Heliotrope to know what people need, Dowayne.” His tone was light and teasing, she found her smile widening. He went on,“Make sure you ask Dom about what he saved us from on this trip. And make sure you get warm, Dowayne”

Mena couldn’t respond because the man slipped away back to his seat across the room. She watched as he sat down in a plush chair and picked up his own steaming mug of cider. He was seated alone, though a nearby adept leaned over and whispered to him, making him laugh easily. Gods, he was gorgeous, dark hair, tanned skin, strong frame. She realized that, even though his caravan had been coming to them for over a year, she somehow did not know his name.

“I barely know what else to tell you all, surely someone has questions,” the man speaking, who had to be named Dom, asked, good humor lacing his tone. 

Mena shifted to sit up more and cleared her throat. “I have one for our brave visitor. I heard a rumor that you did more than just look at mountains and think of their dangers. Please tell us about your bravery so we can celebrate you as you deserve.”

Dom blushed to the tips of his ears and down the open neck of his shirt, looking immediately at his leader. “Boss, really?”

Mena looked over at the leader, seeing his ready grin, how he didn’t answer but raised his mug and an eyebrow at Dom. Dom sighed. “Have any of you ever seen a brown bear the size of a horse?”

~

As the yearly Cereus Masque looked closer and closer, Mena felt unexplained tension rising. She checked and rechecked that preparations were going to plan; they were. The adepts and novices were all doing well, including the two who would have their debut at the Masque; nothing out of the ordinary. The House was in good physical repair, the larder and pantry were full to the brim thanks in part to how busy the House was after the Plague. The dye merchant, who still had not introduced himself, and his caravan had just left to return to their hometowns for the solstice. The House was quieter in their absence, something she didn’t think she’d notice as acutely as she did. 

Perhaps it was personal, this feeling of rising tension. She had not heard from Kyrian in months, and while that should be good news, it was a fact that made her uneasy. A knock at the door to her rooms pulled her thoughts back to the present. Happily pushing Kyrian out of her mind, she called out, “Yes, come in.”

It took a moment, but in came one of the children, a boy around two with deep auburn hair and big brown eyes, with an envelope held in each hand, his face showing deep concentration as he crossed the carpets on unsteady legs. Mena smiled, big and bright, beckoning to him. “Oh, baby James! I see you’ve brought me my letters!”

James happily babbled an answer and sped up, excited now to reach her. Mena had no idea how it was in other Houses, but in Heliotrope, babies and children stayed with their parents. Their nursery only got used in the evenings, when someone was ill, or if a foundling had just arrived. Mena leaned down and scooped James up onto her lap, making a silly noise when she did to encourage a laugh from him. “Why thank you for bringing me the post, sweet boy,” she said as she extracted the letters from his chubby little hands. They were surprisingly unwrinkled given how they’d gotten to her. She set them aside and focused on James. “Now, let’s see if you’re still as ticklish as you were yesterday!”

He was; his laughter rang through her rooms and down the hall. Mena laughed along with him, pretending that he’d trapped her when his hands tangled in her hair. She played with him like this until his mother came around the corner. “Alright my sweet angel, let’s go get some food and let Mena open her letters.”

Mena made a show of holding onto James for a minute, enjoying the way he laughed. When he was back in his mother’s arms she said, “He is such a sweet, happy baby. You were truly blessed to have him.”

His mother smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as she left, her response trailing off as she left Mena’s rooms.  “I know. I just love him so much.”

For a minute, Mena just sat there, the feeling of longing for love and closeness washing over her. That was a problem for another day, she knew, but sometimes her rooms felt too quiet.

She sighed and looked at the letters. One was from Olivier and the other was from Loir, neither one a surprise. Loir wrote every week, letting Mena know how things were going, telling her about the visits from her aunts and many of Olivier’s friends, as well as giving her any updates from the churigeons. She set that one aside for after Olivier’s. Carefully opening the envelope, she pulled out the single sheet of paper. The handwriting was the same, albeit shakier than it had been. Still, she smiled, he had taken the energy to write her and in her mind’s eye she could see him, a lap desk with an ink bottle balancing precariously on his lap, writing her this letter:

My dearest baby duck, it has been a while since I called you that. It’s true still, you are and always will be my baby duck. Things here are going as expected. I know that you’ll think that you want to come visit, but we both know you are too busy right now. Don’t worry, I know that you’d be here every second if that was possible. I wanted you to know that I love you more than all the snowflakes that fall in winter and more than all the rain that comes in the summer. You have done well with the House, perhaps better than I did when I was Second. I have no doubt that you will be the best Dowayne. I know too that you are lonely, lacking your own sun to bask in. It will come, my sweetest baby duck, it will come, and it will be like the rain never existed. I am getting tired now, I will end with this: you are loved, so deeply. Never doubt that. I have loved you since you were born, Always, Your Gran-perè

She sat for a minute, holding the letter to her chest, tears gathering slowly on her lashline, a few managing to spill down her cheeks. He knew, as he always did, exactly what she needed. 

~

The day of Cereus’s Midwinter Masquerade dawned cold, bitingly so, with high, thin clouds. The sun’s rays slid slowly through the streets and across rooftops to reach Mena where she stood on her balcony, bundled against the cold. She had no idea why she woke up in the haze of pre-dawn, she just had. It was rare this time of year to see the sunrise, so she had taken the opportunity to step out and watch the winter sun rise above the rooftops of the City, the castle, and Mont Nuit. After a few minutes, she went back to her bed to sleep until midday.

She thought that she would sleep fitfully, but she had instead fallen deeply asleep as soon as her head hit her pillows. The smell of coffee and fresh bread pulled her into wakefulness, and when she opened her eyes, she smiled. There was Claudette, her favorite maid, with a tray and her usual bright smile. “M’lady Mena,” she said with her heavy rustic accent. “It’s time to get up and eat! Then I’ll help you with your hair. The party should be great fun this year!”

Mena stretched, surprised at how rested she felt, sitting up and taking the tray with a nod of thanks. “That it should Claudette. Will you be spending the evening with the rest of the servants?”

“Aye, I will! It’s my first Midwinter party, I am very excited!”

Mena smiled. “What House is hosting the servants’ ball this year?”

Claudette was pulling Mena’s costume out of her wardrobe, fluffing it out before laying it over one of the overstuffed chairs. “That would be Jasmine, m’lady.”

Mena reached out and put her hand on Claudette’s arm. “Just Mena, Claudette.” She laughed. “I know it’s hard to adjust, but I promise, the only lords and ladies are the ones that come visit us.”

Claudette laughed easily and heartily. “I know mi-Mena,” she said while she laid out what she needed to do Mena’s hair. “And you’re right, it is hard to adjust. Not every House is as relaxed as Heliotrope.”

Mena knew Claudette’s family had worked for a different House for several generations, though she didn’t know which one specifically. “Mm,” she said, nodding. “You say that Jasmine is hosting? You really got lucky that the first Midwinter you’re old enough to attend, the party is there. That is one thing off my mind, however, I know that all of you will be happy and have a wonderful celebration this evening.”

She got up and moved to the stool so Claudette could start on her hair. The time passed easily since they were able to talk comfortably with each other. Soon it was time to get into her costume, and Mena started to feel excited for the evening. Technically, she could get in and out of the dress on her own, but she let Claudette continue to fuss over her. 

Mena was about to put her mask on when she heard the front door of the House slam open. She jumped, her heart in her throat immediately, though she didn’t move. It was like her feet were frozen to the floor. There was a commotion, and she heard several pairs of feet running up the stairs and down the hall. Time seemed to slow, seconds stretched out to an eternity as Loir’s tear-streaked face came into view. The young woman skidded to a halt, her hands braced on the doorframe, her eyes locked on Mena’s. The world started to shift under her feet and she knew: he was gone.

A Rose Scented Letter

Dearest Grandfather,

Imagine the delight when your gift arrived this morning, when my days have been so very hectic of late! The wine and honey you sent have indeed been delivered safely. As always, your personal couriers are both punctual and careful in their duties. Thank you as well for the warm congratulations in your last letter. My parents, siblings, in-laws, and cousins have all given their praise for my new position, and their presents now overflow my new office. In the storm of correspondence, your writings have always been among those I eagerly await the most, as I can always count on your sage advice as well as the lavender honey that accompanies the letters.

I believe, of the two of us, you have the most faith in such an unexpected transition. Unexpected in timing, not for lack of desire. Aspiration and ambitions aside, my predecessor could not have chosen a more complicated time to step down than now. Recently, I have found myself at the temple district more often than usual. Praying for guidance, for patience, a little divine intervention if need be. This time of year, as you well know, is nothing if not elegant chaos. 

At least, in the process of taking up the mantle of Dowayne, I have been fortunate to meet a fellow newly ascended Dowayne who takes worship to heart as I do. She hails from Heliotrope, to be precise. Not a House you particularly favored, if I recall correctly, but one my nearest brother is fond of. Perhaps they know one another? I have not yet asked. As to be expected, she is a romantic at heart, yet we have had several deeply theological conversations after attending public prayer at the temple of Naamah. I hope to call her a friend in time. Meeting her is a much appreciated boon to the veritable mountain of work and planning documents on my desk. Camlach has fewer peaks, I am convinced. 

Dowayne Etienne had an artist’s eye for entertainments, with accounting skills that were both liberal and, at times, genius. We were truly lucky to have him, lovingly eccentric as he is. 

I worry my first galas will pale in comparison. Something that haunts me, to be very honest. Especially as I must hurry preparations for both the Longest Night, as well as Mara’s Eve. Already, I have certain aspiring courtesans in mind for the honor of their first presentations. Yet I vacillate on final choices.

This matter is compounded by the fact that my Second will be out of the city during these vital planning days. Although I adore Tryphosa, I might not have heard this news with appropriate grace. While we parted publicly with all politeness, the row prior still sticks in my mind. Of all the times to up and leave! And to not tell me why she must make herself scarce. I am unused to such things, I do not understand the need for such secrecy when duty calls. Two of the most renowned celebrations of our Order and our first opportunity in roles of leadership, and she will not be present. Yes, I was very angry indeed. 

Pray for me, Grandfather, and thank goodness my mother the Comtess taught me very young the intricacies of running so complex a household.  

Tell me though, on a happier note, when can I expect you to visit me at my home? Valerian House may not have been a favorite of yours, but our guest quarters are ever open to family and friends when calling. With the holy season, and so many grand parties for the nobility here in the capital, I hope you will decide to visit the City of Elua. 

For all the hectic environs around me, I am so proud of our accomplishments this year and wish to speak to you face to face of it all. Name the day and you will happily received.

Your loving granddaughter,

Rosanna

The Grand Tour

As the summer wore on, things in the City were proceeding well. Niklos had missed out on the great fête of the season at Dahlia, and he still wasn’t certain he had all the rumors—or the truth —of everything that happened that evening. But he was becoming a regular at Dahlia all the same, though it seemed like each time he visited, he was introduced to a new adept. Whether that was the Dowayne’s way of protecting her adepts from the new Count, or if it was merely a chance to give him more varied opponents, Nik hadn’t decided yet. But while he was becoming a known entity at Dahlia, and Mena had always welcomed him at Heliotrope, it was time for him to undertake what many called “The Grand Tour.” Usually at least a fortnight of visits across the Mont undertaken by young nobles to make a name for themselves. And perhaps meet an adept who they would patronize for a good part of that adept’s life. Nik drew up a list one night of the Houses he planned to visit and made a separate entry in his journal for each in order to keep notes for himself. 

Alyssum – Before he’d set out from the townhouse, Jacob had reminded Niklos that his visit to Alyssum would be eye opening for him and not likely in a way that was comfortable for him. Even with this reminder, Niklos was a bit thrown by his experience. The Showing made him feel like he was intruding on something despite the fact that it had been arranged for his visit. The dinner after was another strange experience. The meal was of very high-quality as was the wine, two things that made him very happy. Beyond that, to his mind, everything felt slightly off.  The adept was attentive, but in a way that set herself as distant second to him. She prepared his plate but didn’t prepare her own until he told her to. She poured his wine but remained standing next to his glass until he said the wine was good. Still, he thanked her for her attention before he left. When he gave her the customary kiss of parting, her cheeks flamed with blush, and she stammered out that he was most welcome. When Jacob met him at the door of his home, he said, “You were right, as usual, demure and mindful are not my taste. Still, send over a generous sum to the House and the adept I dined with.” Jacob nodded, a small smile on his face.

Balm –  Balm was the last house Niklos visited, on the recommendation of a number of the members of the staff at the townhouse. They all assured him it would be the best relaxation after a fortnight of visiting the Night Court. Jacob had even made most of the arrangements, taking upon himself the role of an older, wiser cousin. The young adept who had been selected for Niklos had a look that suggested either Menekhetan or Akkadian heritage in her lineage, not that Niklos was there to ask. The Dowayne had selected this particular adept on Jacob’s recommendation because she knew techniques that helped ease some of the deeper knots in muscles, allowing for a better healing experience. She had worked wonders for him, gently but firmly working knots out of his back and legs that he hadn’t even realized were there or were bothering him. There were a couple of times that Niklos expected they were finished until he was proven wrong. Food was brought at some point and wine as well, and he was informed that the contract had stipulated an entire day’s worth of treatment. As Niklos left the next morning, he found the family coach waiting outside, a footman holding the reins of his horse and, with a happy sigh, he climbed into the coach and collapsed.

Camellia – Niklos had found it difficult to settle Camellia into his schedule. He had planned to visit the House just as autumn was beginning, but a number of cousins had returned to the city at that point, and he became wrapped up in introductions and entertaining, and by the time he was able to refocus on his tour, his opportunity to visit Camellia had passed. 

Cereus –  Niklos had sent a note to Aliksandria, though Jacob had informed him that rumor had it she had just recently been made Dowayne, and Niklos wondered if she would still have time for an old friend. He received a response from her Second, inviting him to a private dinner, and he responded with an immediate acceptance. Cereus’s kitchen was well-renowned for serving some of the most exquisite food, though personally, he felt that the chef the Shahrizai employed was better than any others. He would finally have the opportunity to compare.

Eglantine – Niklos’ visit to Eglantine came as he was working with Jacob planning a dinner. The tailor most of the Shahrizai used was occupied with other commissions. The adept he was guided to was a young man who had fantastic vision for court clothes. Their first meeting lasted for hours, with the young adept taking Niklos’s measurements, showing Niklos the drawings for his ideas, and the two discussing Nikos’s preferences. Niklos had to dissuade the adept from some of his ideas—Niklos had never been a fan of codpiece and hose, and while it was certainly coming back into fashion among the young gentry, it was damnably uncomfortable and Niklos made certain to voice that opinion clearly. Still, on his ride back to the townhouse, he smiled faintly in satisfaction for what should be an excellent wardrobe. Jacob met him at the foyer, enquiring after the appointment and the adept’s name for his own records and provided Niklos with the menu for the dinner as well as some recommended invitees.

Gentian – Niklos started his tour with Gentian, mostly hoping the House could provide him some insight into his path forward. He’d had some curious dreams of late, and Jacob had suggested Gentian as the best place to start. The young adept Louis had welcomed him with tea into a chamber with a low table and pillows on the floor, the air redolent with incense. Apparently, the recipe was similar to one that was used at the Temple of Kushiel, using spikenard as one of its key components. The assignation went well, with the adept reading cards for Niklos as well as listening to what Niklos could remember of his dreams, and they had agreed to meet again so that the adept could provide Niklos with more guidance in the future.

Jasmine – Niklos decided to visit Jasmine in the middle of his tour, and he was pleased he had. It was just the right amount of hedonism for him. The adept he had met with had half her marque completed, and the evening was enlightening. Niklos felt relaxed and focused after his night at Jasmine, and the adept was curious about the newest Count in The City, so there had been an exchange of some basic gossip which allowed for plans for future visits.

Mandrake – Niklos’s appointment with Mandrake was different. He was not a fan of being beaten for pleasure, and he wasn’t certain any of his cousins were either. Mandrakes were, however, masters at their game, and one could always learn from a master. For this reason, Niklos had contracted with the Dowaynes of Mandrake and Valerian for a joint assignation so that he could work with adepts of each House to expand his proficiencies. He thought it surprised the Mandrake adept a bit to have a different target in the room, but they had gotten into a good rhythm, and both Niklos and the Mandrake adept had agreed to more joint sessions.

Orchis – Niklos’s visit to Orchis ended up being not what he had expected at all. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he should have expected, but that night was not it. He had arrived at the House, and the building was already filled with a festive atmosphere. Niklos was informed that there was to be a presentation of sorts that evening, and he was invited to stay. What he ended up seeing was a hilarity of two hours, set up like he was attending one of the Court Poet’s presentations, but with the Orchis adepts speaking to the current political questions and generally making vaguely unflattering comments regarding most of the noble houses. They even targeted members of the Night Court. Niklos was just shy of scandalized, but the evening was fantastic and refreshments had been provided. After the showing, the Dowanye and her Second wandered through the crowd, gauging the opinions of the invitees. The Second mentioned to Niklos that, in the future, only certain guests would be invited back regularly and asked if Niklos would be interested in attending. Niklos agreed, if only to see what else they would come up with.

Valerian – Niklos’s visit to Valerian happened after his visit to Mandrake, and he had contracted for the same Valerian adept for his solo visit. He already had an idea about her preferences, and she knew he was learning. He had to give her permission to let him know if something was wrong or uncomfortable, but they worked well together, and in his gratitude, he made a significant contribution toward her marque with plans to work with her again.

He had almost left Mandrake and Valerian off his list, the one being not to his taste and the other being a place he frequented with his cousins when they were all in the City. He reconsidered when he realized that perhaps a more intimate conversation would yield fruitful results. He left Bryony off his initial tour because he was trying to avoid losing money, and he wasn’t sure he could walk into Bryony without lightening his purse, and he already had insight at Heliotrope. His visit to Dahlia had become a series of visits, not as he had expected, but definitely to his benefit.

…And Two for Tea

It was her second attempt at afternoon tea, and Petrea no Cereus prayed this one would be more successful than her first. But had her first truly been a failure? For certain, she had received valuable advice from Second Odilia—as she kept reminding herself—and, yet, she had failed at gaining any modicum of friendship or trust with her Dahlia counterpart. Petrea had tried to be oblique in her questions, attempting to be respectful of the other’s privacy and not wanting to look like she was trying to be manipulative with her overtures, but it seemed as though she should have been more direct. It did make sense, though. After all, would the woman truly wish to keep her relationship with the Dauphin private if she had engaged in such a public display?

“Ow!” Petrea exclaimed, as Aimee once again snagged the brush in her hair. “Are you trying to tear my scalp?”

Aimee patted Petrea’s head. “If you weren’t fidgeting so much, the brush wouldn’t get tangled. Now sit still,” she scolded.

Petrea locked her hands in her lap and glared at her friend in the mirror. “I’m nervous. Again.”

Aimee gave her a soft look. “I know, but Philomena is known to have a more…gentle…open, perhaps? disposition than Odilia—”

“It’s Second Philomena! And Second Odilia!” Petrea interrupted harshly.

Aimee rolled her eyes in the mirror. “We’re in private, Second Petrea,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “We can speak plainly. As we always have.” 

She soothed a hand through Petrea’s long, blonde locks, gently untangling them before going back to the business of brushing them out. She took out her pins and spent the next hour carefully styling Petrea’s hair in an elegant updo for her afternoon engagement. They chatted about the business of the House as Aimee helped Petrea dress, with Aimee giving Petrea her usual rundown of the week’s goings on and necessary updates for service. Petrea told Aimee about assignations and patron appointments, Aimee replying with any insight she had from adepts. The two women had been collaborating for months now, working almost as one as their Dowayne continued to find herself desperately struggling to regain footing. As Cereus House goes, so goes the Night Court, and so Cereus House must rise to its feet once more. The damage done to its reputation by the late Dowayne was a hard situation to overcome—not insurmountable—and it was taking every ounce of Aliksandria’s depleted energy.

Aimee was pleased with her choice of a deep blue frock of silk and lace, trimmed in cream and accented by pearl earbobs and delicate silver necklace and bracelet for Petrea. She had pinned Petrea’s long hair in an understated twist at the back of her head and dabbed just a hint of rouge on her cheeks. 

“There,” she said with a nod and a final onceover. “You look the part.”

Petrea straightened and rolled her shoulders back, the mask of her Cereus House training slipping over her face. “Well, then let us go to tea.”

~

Aimee was, once again, to serve tea and refreshments and Marielle to escort Petrea’s guest to the salon. Should Petrea decide to ask Aimee to join them, she would ring the bell, at which point Marielle would enter, and Aimee would be summoned. Cook had also made up a batch of petit fours. She had been unhappy not to hear praise from the Dahlia Second, but Petrea assured Cook that they had been as delicious as ever. Petrea hoped that the Heliotrope Second might spare a word for Cook, who worked so hard.

Petrea sat on the chaise in the same salon where she had hosted Second Odilia. She smiled to herself at the notion of the “parade of Seconds” and wondered what gossip might spread were she to actually begin inviting every Second from Mont Nuit to tea. Perhaps she could invite Santiago, simply to start tongues wagging. Petrea immediately dismissed the idea, knowing that there was plenty enough gossip about the goings on at Cereus House and her personal relationship with the Orchis Second, and the last thing she needed was more speculation of the crumbling of its reputation. It was her job to rebuild the name of the First and Foremost House with Aliks, and she would do nothing to thwart those efforts. The salon had been swept and dusted top to bottom, every cushion beaten within an inch of its life, the table gleamed with polish, and the fire in the hearth crackled merrily.

Petrea fiddled with the silver bracelet on her wrist and wondered how the afternoon would proceed. Her prior engagement had been both more and less successful than she had hoped, so Petrea made the decision to expect nothing of this meeting. She knew little of Philomena nó Heliotrope, save that she had been out of the City of Elua on personal business and that she had been harassed by the problematic nobleman Kyrian. Petrea could not help but wrinkle her nose at the thought of him. Word had it that he had been arrested—or perhaps banished from the City?—after some violent incident at Heliotrope House. The details were sparse, and Petrea had chosen not to press anyone for detail. While she needed to be knowledgeable about events and happenings, and she needed to be making alliances and friendships, she held steadfast to her belief that one should maintain their privacy. It was a razor’s edge to walk, but she was used to it.

A light knock came at the door, startling Petrea from her reverie. Marielle peeked her head in the door. “Your guest has arrived. Would you like me to show her in?”

Petrea rose gracefully and gave Marielle a practiced smile. “Please do so. Thank you.” With a last smoothing of her skirts, she raised her chin and prepared to greet Second Philomena. 

~

Mena straightened her cloak against the cold and knocked on Cereus’s door. The invitation to have friendly tea with Petrea was too good to pass up, so she’d made sure to clear her schedule. It hadn’t proved too hard, given that she was still not taking Patrons, but it had still required a bit of juggling.

She was familiar with Petrea, the newly appointed Second, from past dealings with the House, but she was looking forward to getting to know her better. Mena was realizing how few friends outside of her House had, a fact she despised and was determined to change. This was a golden opportunity she was not going to let slip past her.

A young adept greeted Mena warmly at the door, took her cloak and handed it off to a butler, then led her to a small salon off the main hallway. “Pet…er, Second Petrea is looking forward to your company,” the girl said, giving Mena a genteel smile as she opened the door after giving a light knock. “Your guest has arrived,” she said to her Second, who waited inside. “May I show her in?” Petrea must have indicated for her to do so, as the adept turned to Mena and gestured her in. “I hope that you two have a lovely afternoon.” The young woman withdrew down the hallway.

~

Petrea gave her guest the practiced smile of a Night Court adept as the Second of Heliotrope entered the room. “Second Philomena, please come in.” She indicated the small sofa in front of a low wooden table. “I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation. Please, do make yourself comfortable.”

Mena raised her eyebrow at the highly formal greeting and settled herself on the indicated sofa. What an odd thing. “I am very glad to be invited. Please, no need to stand on ceremony, call me Mena. Not only are we equals, I’d like us to become friends. I have so few outside the House these days.” She smiled warmly at Petrea, who seemed to falter ever so slightly at her comment.

Petrea sat down opposite Mena, smoothing her dress in what could have been a nervous movement as she did. “I apologize. I am new to all of this, and I thought that it was customary to use formal titles when speaking with each other.”

“Goodness, no, not that I’ve ever heard. I do suppose there are some Houses and people that take these things very seriously, but the majority of us don’t hold that belief.” She gave a small shrug.

Petrea’s entire body seemed to lose some of its rigidity at that. “I must admit that I am pleased to hear that. I feared that I had been embarrassing myself in my casual speech these last few months.”

Mena was taken aback. What in Blessed Elua’s name had happened to this woman? “Embarrass yourself? What could you do to embarrass yourself? We’re all peers here in the Night Court, we all serve Namaah just the same. Besides Dowaynes, only the most insufferable would ask to be addressed by their title. I have never been asked to, and even if I had, I wouldn’t. We serve Namaah and Elua, not an adept’s ego.” She fanned herself with her hand and smiled. “Sorry, I get heated about certain things. I was raised to take over, and Olivier made sure I understood the traditions. Trust me, you’ve done nothing wrong, Petrea.”

Petrea’s smile was more genuine than her first. “I appreciate that. I have been working hard to learn my place as Second.” She laughed lightly. “I have to admit that it is exactly as difficult as I expected. Well, not that I expected this, but I hope you understand the sentiment.”

Mena nodded. “You never planned to become Second, I understand. Not to mention the way your late Dowayne tried to grind the House and its adepts beneath his heel,” she said gently. “I would imagine that this is not an easy situation for anyone here, let alone you and Aliks. But the word going around is that Cereus House is starting to turn a corner?”

Petrea tucked her hair behind her ear—again, perhaps an unconsciously nervous gesture—and dipped her chin. “We can only hope.” She pinned Mena with a hard look. “Geraut poisoned our House. That is no secret. The Night Court and the entire City of Elua knew of his terrible behavior.” Her eyes flashed. “It will not be an easy climb out of the ditch he dug.”

If Mena was surprised by the vehemence in Petrea’s words, she did not show it. She had heard all about Gerault’s temper, his poor treatment of his adepts, his terrible management of the House’s finances and gambling losses at Bryony House. Word had slipped out to her that Petrea had often been the target of his temper. Perhaps it was some rebellion on her part that sent her to Orchis House? Or perhaps it was just a need to escape? Instead of asking, Mena simply said, “It is a climb you can do, I am sure of it. I and all of Heliotrope will be ready and willing to lend a hand as you might need.”

Petrea nodded at the offer. “Shall I ring for tea?” She asked.

At Mena’s nod, she picked up a small, silver bell and rang it. Moments later, Marielle and another young woman entered, carrying a glimmering silver tea set and tray of desserts, and delicate, gilded cups and saucers painted daintily with the cereus flower. 

Mena gave a long, appraising look over the refreshments. She could tell that someone had put much care into the preparation of the desserts. “These are absolutely beautiful,” she said. “Please give my compliments to your cook.”

Petrea’s face brightened. “Oh thank you, we will! The petit fours are Cook’s specialty, and she prides herself on them. She will be so pleased to hear your compliment. You will have to let me know what you think of the flavors. She does so love to hear guests’ opinions.” Petrea’s eyes twinkled. “She claims that she likes to know if someone doesn’t like something, but I think she only wants the compliments.”

Mena laughed. She knew how much expressions of appreciation meant to those who worked behind the scenes and would be sure to leave Petrea with some kind words to pass along to the cook. 

Petrea thanked the two younger adepts, assuring them she would ring if needed, and they withdrew, leaving the Seconds to themselves.

Mena accepted the tea that Petrea poured her and took one of the delicate cakes. “Oh my!” She exclaimed. “These are delicious! Please, do give my compliments to your cook. I can see why she would consider these her specialty.” Petrea smiled warmly at the compliment. 

Mena was quiet for a moment, savoring the flavor of the food and the tea. After a minute, she said, “I am not sure if it is widely known, but Heliotrope has notes on most everyone that we interact with. I admit though, I know almost nothing of you. Tell me, how did you come to be Cereus’s Second?”

Petrea took possibly longer than was necessary preparing her own drink and selecting a cake. After stirring her tea, she finally said, “Well, it was Aliks’s decision. She and I have been best friends since we both came to Cereus House as children and have a close bond. She was chosen by Gerault and his Dowayne to be the successor. She served for many years as the Second, learning of the leadership role. I do not know if she and Gerault ever spoke of her successor. But I do know that he would never have chosen me.” She gave Mena a wry smile. “I think he would have sooner chosen an alley cat.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “I do know that no one was being groomed to succeed Aliks, but that could simply have been another failure on Gerault’s part. I will not blame my friend for that.” She took a bite of her dessert, chewing carefully before resuming her story. “After his death, as the entire City is well aware, our House was a mess. We did not expect him to be taken by the plague, but perhaps we should have. If nothing else, I do not believe that Aliks knew just how bad things were under his leadership.” She waved a hand and shook her head. “But I’ll not speak of her knowledge and expectations. I know that she needed a Second. She chose me—quite to my surprise—and asked me to ensure that I could be responsible enough to take on the role.” Again, Petrea paused. Mena thought it seemed as though she was considering her next words. “I believe I might have been a difficult choice for her. But she knows that she can trust me. I am working diligently to keep that trust.” 

Mena listened carefully, listening and putting things together with what she knew already. “Before I say anything else, let me say this; you’re too lenient on Aliks. If she was trained for the role, then there is no excuse for her not to know how things are being handled within the House. I have been learning the job since I was in diapers, I can attest to what’s normal for a Second to know. Something as egregious as the man’s spending of House money, let alone his victimization of you and other adepts is something she should have known about. If we knew, and Gerault despised Olivier with every fiber of his being, let alone that we heard that it was to pry you away from Aliks, there is no reason for someone within the House to be ignorant.”

She had a sip of her tea, before she went on, “Why would you be a difficult choice? You have the drive to learn and excel at something, that is most of what makes good Seconds.”

“Aliks has a…close relationship…with another adept,” Petrea hedged. “She is much younger than us but potentially more responsible? More knowledgeable? More experienced with the House? Gerault did not like me. I was often the target of his temper—I don’t think that is any great secret. This led the other adepts not to trust me, to avoid me. They didn’t want to draw his ire by associating with me. This…other person…is far more trusted by the other adepts than I am. She knows everything that goes on in the House. Others go to her for help. I am Cereus trained; I know how to entertain patrons and how to charm guests at galas. I do not, however, know how to lead a House. I do not know the inner workings of the House.” Petrea bit her lip and looked away. “I do not know if I was Aliks’s first choice or simply her final one. Truth be told, I do not know why she chose me.”

Mena felt her eyes narrow. “Picking a lover to be your Second is a terrible idea. A Second often acts as the hand that manages things that a Dowayne can’t do officially, asking a lover to do them would end in disaster. Personally, I would think that you were perfect for it because he singled you out for mistreatment. He didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, why is anyone worried what he thought?”

She reached over and touched Petrea’s hand, “It is expected that you would have a harder time breaking free of him, even after he’s dead and gone. You’ll get there, though. As for why she chose you? In the end, it doesn’t even matter. She did, you agreed, and you want to do your best for your family. If there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know. I have been training one of my adepts to help me with tasks, a shadow Second if you will, I am more than willing to help you as well.”

Tears pricked Petrea’s eyes as Mena’s kind words. She had never received such sympathy from anyone. No one had come to her defense when Gerault berated her in front of the other adepts, and he had been careful to keep his ill treatment of her away from Aliks’s eyes, knowing as he did of their close relationship. Aimee had been a blessing from Elua in the days since Geraut’s death, and truly, Petrea could not have asked for a better compatriot as she waded the deep waters of her promotion.

“Mena,” she said quietly, but firmly. “I find gossip distasteful, and I do not wish to engage in it. Idle rumors have hurt me personally in the past, and I have seen them used as a weapon against others, as well. I do know, however, that, as Second, information is a valuable resource when it comes to making alliances and…placing myself correctly. I feel that I trust you, so I must ask that what we say here not leave the walls of this room.” Her gaze was almost beseeching. 

Mena nodded, “I do not betray confidences unless there is danger. You have my word.” While she herself had a firm line between ‘gossip’ and ‘information’, she understood Petrea’s position: between her lived experiences and the fact that not all members of the Night Court practiced discretion, it was understandable.

Petrea continued, “Ailks’s lover, Aimee—as you so clearly deduced—has become my right hand. I was surprised that Aliks did not name her Second, and I truly believe that Aimee would have made a good Second. Her knowledge complements my own and, together, we seem to be—” Petrea chuckled “—an excellent Second. When Aliks’s decision was made, I initially thought that Aimee was angry with me, that she resented me, that she did not respect me or think that I was a good choice. We had a long conversation, and I learned that it was not me, but Aliks with whom she was angry. Their relationship has failed somewhat since Aliks’s promotion, and that is painful for Aimee, who I fear feels neglected and uncared for. I don’t believe this was intentional on Aliks’s part. Aimee speaks little on the subject, and I do not wish to pry into a hurtful subject. I think that Aliks has been completely overwhelmed in cleaning up our House and has not had a moment to think about herself or her personal dealings. She has barely had a moment to speak to me. I do not know why she was in the dark about Gerault’s dealings, but it would seem that he purposely kept his Second in the dark about many things.”

Mena’s heart went out to poor Aimee. One should turn to their lover in times of strife or difficulty for comfort, not ignore them! And to not take time for one’s Second? A best friend? Truly tragic. “I am so sorry to hear of this strife between them, and between you and Aliks,” Mena said softly. “One should not turn inward in times of struggle. I am glad, though, that you and Aimee have found each other in this difficult time. The gem merchant that comes to see us says that all of their beautiful wares come from rocks, underground. Beautiful things often come from dark places.” 

“The House does not know that Aimee and I are working together—and, please, we do not want this to get out—simply that we have become close friends, and we have. It has been difficult for us, but she has become one of my dearest friends. It is said that bumpy roads lead to beautiful places, and our friendship is a beautiful place. But our shared leadership? Of that, we have told no one.” Petrea’s tone stressed this hard. “There are whispers of a fracture between Aimee and Aliks, but Aimee and I quash these at every time, brushing them off as Aliks being very busy. As Cereus House goes, so goes the Night Court. And I—well, I with Aimee—am the Second of Cereus House. There are things I do not know and that Aimee cannot help me with.” Petrea sighed and put down her teacup. “I need advice from experienced Seconds. Can you help me?” 

Mena knew that the Second of Dahlia House had been to visit Cereus, and she had wondered at the reason for such an odd happening. Servants had been speculating that Odilia had visited Cereus to not only introduce herself to Petrea, but also to speak informally about the relationship with the Crown Prince everyone had now heard of since the Dahlia party, but no one knew for sure. Surely, this was the reason: Petrea had asked Odilia for advice. Mena wondered for a moment what advice Odilia had offered, then realized that Petrea’s overly formal behavior and shame had to have their roots in that meeting. That made sense, Dahlias were already known for their rigidity, calculating nature, and delicate egos, but there was talk that Odilia was beyond the norm. No wonder Petrea behaved like a scolded child. That had Dahlia written all over it.

She laughed lightly, not wanting to betray her thoughts,”Would it surprise you to learn that Heliotrope often has more than one Second? The job is daunting and incredibly complex, the idea that one person can do it all is usually a naïve one. Vouloir, the young woman I mentioned earlier, already does some of the work that traditionally falls to the Second. We have a third, silent helper who keeps our notes organized. You are always welcome in our Home, any of us would be happy to help. My first piece of advice is to remember that you are helping raise your House from a dark pit, every positive thing you accomplish is one step closer to the light and nothing you do could be worse than what your late Dowayne did.”  She smiled kindly. “Also, you can not pour tea from an empty kettle, you have to take time for yourself or you will burn away. Like today, I think we should leave the heavy talk here for now, and work on boosting your spirits, what do you think?”

Petrea smiled back, “I think that would be wonderful.”

The afternoon wore on as the two women spoke on lighter topics. The desserts disappeared, and the tea grew cold in its pot, but yet Petrea did not ring for more. At one point, Marielle peeked her head in and gave Petrea a questioning look, but Petrea simply waved her hand in dismissal and turned back to Mena to continue their conversation.

Finally, one of the long tapers sputtered in its candlestick. Both women looked up at it in surprise. “Oh! My goodness!” Mena exclaimed. “How long are your candles?”

Petrea’s shock matched her own. “I…I believe they burn several hours! I cannot honestly say, though, as I have never sat long enough for the formal candles to burn through! I did not realize how long we had been talking.”

Mena smiled brightly. “I find that I lose all track of time when I am enjoying myself. And I love talking to people who are as charming and lovely as you.”

Petrea’s posture was relaxed,and she gave Mena a deep smile. “This has truly been a wonderful afternoon, and your company has truly taken me out of all the goings on in my life. I have needed this more than I realized. Thank you, Mena. I did not mean to monopolize your entire afternoon, but I cannot say that I regret it!” She chuckled.

Mena laughed aloud. “Nor can I. I would very much like for us to spend more time together. Next time, you’ll come to Heliotrope, and I can show off our cook’s baking skills!”

The two women rose. “I would love nothing more,” Petrea responded. She clasped Mena’s hands as they made their way to the door. “I do not have many friends, as you might have guessed. I do so hope that I can count you as one?”

Mena turned and hugged Petrea tightly. Mena held her until she could feel some of the strain leave her body and then a few breaths more. When she let go, she kept her hands on Petrea’s arms and said, “Of course! In our positions, friends are a huge part of what keeps us going. Leadership can be lonely, and we must have trusted friends we can rely on. Olivier also claims that a close lover or two goes a long way, but I can’t speak on that.” She laughed a little and gave Petrea’s arms a squeeze before letting her go completely.

Smiling, Petrea took Mena’s arm and led Mena out of the salon. Marielle rushed over and stopped short, seeing them in the hallway. “Second Petrea! I apologize! I did not hear the bell! May I show your guest to the door?”

Petrea shook her head and gave the girl a smile. “No need to apologize, Marielle. I did not ring. And I will show my friend to the door. I will find you later.”

Marielle bobbed her head and withdrew down a hallway.

Mena gave Petrea a sly smile. “She’s your little spy, isn’t she?”

Petrea ducked her head, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I said that I do not gossip. And I do very much believe in the importance of keeping one’s privacy” She cleared her throat. “But I also know that whispers are useful…sometimes. One never knows what they might overhear and speak about in the marketplace about, say, unruly patrons.” She patted Mena’s arm, her face sympathetic but her voice firm. “When word travels, sometimes things get done.” 

Mena nodded with a smile, “You should come look at our notes one day. You can tell me about that unruly patron, and I’ll tell you what happened when he came to me. Be warned, it is not a tea tale, it requires something much stronger. I’ll be off, do come round when you are free. Once my cook hears of this food, it’ll be war.”

Tea for Two…

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, paced nervously in the small salon. Her counterpart of Dahlia House, Odilia nó Dahlia, was to arrive any moment, and Petrea’s anxiousness was on full display. Petrea had invited Odilia to afternoon tea in hopes of learning more about her and, if fortune favored her, beginning a friendship. Odilia was one of two Seconds who Santiago insisted Petrea could trust for advice and guidance. This would be a test not only of Petrea’s skills as in diplomacy, but in Santiago’s trustworthiness.

“Stop pacing!” Aimée nó Cereus, senior adept and Petrea’s confidant, hissed at her. “You will wear holes in the carpet.” Petrea had asked Aimée to serve the tea and cakes the kitchen had prepared and possibly join them should it feel appropriate. It was well known within Cereus House that Petrea and Aimée were joined at the hip, so to speak, but neither knew if that information extended beyond the House walls. Aimée had joined Petrea in the salon before Odilia was to arrive, supposedly to assist with preparing the room, but in truth it was to keep Petrea calm. Aimée had been adjusting cushions on the chaise but now put her hands on her hips and glared at her friend.

Petrea stopped moving, and Aimée stepped up to her and made a small adjustment to the cinnamon colored ribbon tied at the front of her dress. “Are you sure this was the appropriate dress for the occasion?” Petrea asked. “It’s not too formal?” She picked an invisible speck of lint off her sky blue skirt and frowned. “Was this really the best color? It feels like it would be more appropriate for spring, Aimée.”

Aimée grasped her friend’s hands. “Petrea, look at me,” she said firmly. Petrea raised her eyes, her brows furrowed in worry. “You look immaculate. I saw to it myself.” She patted Petrea’s cheek gently. “And your dress is perfect. It is one of your loveliest, and the color brings out your eyes. It is not too formal, nor is it wrong for the season.” She paused and gave her Second a serious look. “Now, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath. I am going to the kitchen to see to the refreshments. Marielle will bring your guest in when she arrives.” She gave Petrea’s hand a squeeze, then turned and left the room.

Petrea did as she was told and lowered herself to the loveseat. She touched her hair, then quickly removed her hand. It had taken Aimée almost an hour to curl and pin her long, blonde locks earlier, and Petrea had been warned in no uncertain terms not to touch a single strand . She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. This simply would not do. She was Night Court trained; she was an adept of Cereus House; she was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to remember that.

A moment later, there came a gentle knock, and the door to the salon opened. Marielle, a young adept of the House and well known gossip, stepped into the room. “Your guest is here. May I show her in?” She asked quietly. 

Petrea nodded and gave the girl a smile. She had specifically asked that Marielle be the one to greet Odilia. She would speak to the girl later and find out any information Marielle might have gathered on their walk in. Petrea suspected that Marielle would have little, if anything, to report, but one could try.

The rivalry between Cereus and Dahlia was well known. To have the Second of one House invite the other for tea would certainly ripple through the rest of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers as the gossip spread. But there was nothing of the rivalry in Odilia’s face as she entered, except for perhaps the way she glanced around the salon to study the decor, which gave Petrea the chance to look at her without the immediate pressure of conversation.

Odilia was a tall woman, and willowy. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and her eyes were a rich warm brown as well. All of her browns were warmed by the bronze satin dress she wore. The chemise, a soft goldenrod embroidered with gold thread, showed at the decolletage where the bronze dipped lower and at her forearms where the bronze gown’s full sleeves opened. Her dark hair was caught up in a gold net studded with pearls but she wore no other jewelry, choosing to let her beauty speak for itself. 

There was nothing that could be read on Odilia’s face as she looked at her host, greeting her in her low voice, “Second Petrea, thank you for the invitation to your table.” Though her manners were perfect, as anyone raised in the Night Court would be, she did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of greeting. Her composure was iron-clad and impregnible. 

Petrea dipped her chin in acknowledgement, her expression placid. She was not surprised by the lack of a friendly greeting but hoped that they could exchange more than cool pleasantries upon their next meeting. “Odilia, I am pleased that you came. Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward a luxurious couch across a small table from where she, herself had been sitting. “I shall ring for tea and refreshments. Our cook is known for her petit fours, and I am told she prepared a special batch.”

The two women sat facing each other, both as graceful as only those trained in the Night Court could be. Petrea picked up a small bell and rang it. She folded her hands in her lap and gave Odilia a gentle smile. “I had hoped you would accept my invitation, though knowing the history of our House rivalries—” She raised an eyebrow at the word. “—I would have understood if you felt it inappropriate and sent your regrets.” 

Moments later, the door opened and Aimée entered, carrying a large tray. On it sat a gleaming silver tea set, polished to a mirror shine, complete with milk and sugar bowls and delicate cups painted with the emblem of Cereus House in blue and gold. Gilding lined the edges of the cups and saucers, sparkling in the light of the room.  Behind Aimée came Marielle, who gave Odilia a polite smile, carrying a second tray full of refreshments. The trays were set down on the low table between the two Seconds. 

“Would you like me to pour, Petrea,” Aimée asked quietly.

Petrea gave a small gesture of dismissal. “I will see to it, but thank you. I will ring if we need anything else.”

Aimée and Marielle curtsied and left the room, the door closing silently behind them. 

“It certainly caused a stir in our salon when your messenger arrived in your so distinctive blue and gold livery,” Odilia said, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as she surveyed the Cereus Second and the tray that had been brought for them. She did not know this woman well and every choice that had been made for this meeting, from the decor of the salon to the clothing she wore and the tray that she had ordered, told Odilia a little more about her. 

“Though I must confess,” Odilia said, watching impassively as Petrea’s soft hands carefully lifted the silver pot, “I did not expect you to write to me. Your preferences for other Seconds are well-known. Even though you are yet still new to your position, what I have heard of you did not make it seem as though you had much interest in connecting with Houses to which you were not already acquainted.”

Only Petrea’s lifetime of Night Court training hid her wince and kept her hands steady as she poured the tea into the cup meant for Odilia. Yes, she had not started her tenure as Second as well as she could have, but she was making her efforts now. She motioned to the sugar bowl and creamer, but the other woman said firmly, “No, thank you. I take my tea black.”

Petrea could see that Odilia was not a sweet woman. She was formidable and strong, a different kind of strength than the Cereus steel, but strong nonetheless. So, she simply smiled politely and offered Odilia her cup with both hands. The Dahlia Second accepted it with a low word of thanks and rested the saucer in her lap as she watched Petrea go about making her own cup.

Petrea took a small sip before setting her cup on its saucer and placing it on the low table. A moment of silence stretched between the two women, before Petrea finally broke it. “Odilia,” she said, her tone measured. “I could sit here and attempt to engage you in conversation about the weather and the latest fashions. But neither of us have time to sit and chatter idly like fishwives; we both have much work to attend to. Nor would I insult you by acting as though either of us believe I invited you here simply to eat cake and drink tea. We are not fools. Lies do not become us.” She gave her counterpart a steady look. It was a bold gambit, to be certain. 

Odilia did not even blink, merely continuing to watch the blonde across from her as she said, “Why then am I here, Second Petrea? What is it you want from me?”

“Plainly, I want your advice,” Petrea responded evenly. 

That did get a reaction, only a small lifting of her brows as she said, “Is that so? My, what would the rest of the Night Court think if they knew?”

Petrea held her gaze, her eyes calm. “When this conversation is over, tell someone or don’t tell someone. It’s entirely up to you. The entire Night Court knows that Cereus House has been in…disarray…for some months, and I was chosen Second somewhat unexpectedly. I am making myself, and indeed my House, vulnerable in asking for your assistance, and I know that. But needs must. Odilia, I know of social niceties, hosting galas, and I have—” she paused, searching for a word— “assistance, in the daily running of the House, but there is far more to being a Second than that. What counsel would you give?” 

Odilia took a sip of her tea, savouring the smokey flavors of the dark, rich brew. She considered the question and the woman who asked it before finally saying, “I hardly think your House runs things the way mine does. Why come to me? There are eleven other Seconds, have they all been hosted for tea as well?” Something sharp glittered in her eyes as she pressed her advantage of information slightly. “Or was this Santiago’s idea first?”

At that, Petrea could not help but chuckle. “I certainly have no intention of parading every Second on Mont Nuit through the doors in hope of finding useful advice. And Santiago is one of my dearest friends and has provided me much comfort over the past months. Our relationship is no secret. Yes, it was Santiago who suggested I speak with you. After informing me that he could be of no assistance. Orchis House operates far differently from Cereus. And Dahlia, I would imagine.”

“Naturally,” Odilia said drily. Her head tilted slightly as she inquired, “But your Dowayne has been no help to you in this? She was Second, wasn’t she? She cannot give you advice from her own tenure?”

“It is no secret that Gerault left the House in chaos after his death. Aliksandria has been spending long hours each day attempting to disentangle from the disorder. To say her time has been limited would be a gross understatement. She has had barely a moment to take a breath, let alone instruct someone who had no designs on becoming a Second.” 

“Ah, the unwilling and unprepared thrust into power,” Odilia finally smiled, even if it was slight. “Many an epic begins so.” She took another sip of her tea and asked, “What do you want out of your new status? What do you want to accomplish for yourself and for your House during your time in the Second’s seat?”

Taking a small teacake, Petrea seemed to think over her answer before replying. “I believe that Cereus House must be strong in order to uphold the strength of the Night Court. That has not been the case for some time, and I seek to remedy that, assisting my Dowayne. As for myself?” She shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps I simply wish to see myself be seen as someone who can be relied on to accomplish things. I do not, however, see myself featuring in any epics.” 

“Ah,” Odilia said, her head tilting back slightly. “You cannot say? Then how can you help to lead if you do not know where you are going?”

“And that,” Petrea said, splaying her hands in her lap, “is my challenge. I do not know where I am going, so I ask the advice of someone who seems to know where she is. Where she is supposed to be. I do not know where I should be going. I am thrashing in the sea. You stand on a ship.”

Odilia acquiesced to the image with a small nod. She leaned forward to set her teacup down on the low table between them, resting her hands on her lap when she straightened, entirely composed as she considered her answer. Finally, she said, “The Second does not stand in the shadow of the Dowayne. The Second is the shadow of the Dowayne. We are their partners in all things, we are also their balancing force in the running of the House. We maintain the expected order of the House so that the Dowayne may focus on the external affairs, but we are also the left hands that take care of their troubles so they may better serve the House in the spotlight of their place. For a House like Cereus, where not just the other Houses of the Night Court but all of the City of Elua is watching, that…weight of responsibility is increased. Aliksandria cannot be seen as vulnerable. She must be above reproach. You are the force that works to ensure that. You are the one that silences the questions before they even arise. It is not enough to simply do as asked, you must also learn to read between the lines and anticipate what needs to be done.”

Petrea nodded, carefully considering Odilia’s words. “Gerault was vulnerable. He was never above reproach,” she said quietly. Her fingers toyed absently with the lacing of her gown. She gave Odilia a small smile that looked almost sad. “He was a petty tyrant, and I truly believe that it is because of his actions that we find ourselves in our current plight. He acted rashly, and everyone knew it. He was unkind, and everyone knew it. We lost many patrons, and our fêtes went unattended. This is unacceptable for Cereus House. It is my greatest hope that Aliksandria and I can repair the damage that he did to our House’s reputation. I love this House, though I never intended to be, I am proud to be its Second. I know that Aliksandria will be an indomitable Dowayne. I want to do right by her. She deserves no less than that.” 

“And what about what you deserve?” Odilia watched her with eyes that showed nothing of her inner thoughts. “Who will do right by you? Yes, of course, support your Dowayne. Do what she needs, and anticipate what she will need so she never needs to worry that you will not be there for her in everything. But you cannot serve her or your House if you are not sure in yourself; who you are, what you want, what you need.”

“This is not anything I had considered before today. It seemed to be a simple matter of what needed to be done for the good of the House. You have given me much to think on. I appreciate that. And your candor. Whether you choose to keep my confidence or not, I trust the truth of your advice.”

“I have no reason to lead you astray,” Odilia said, some wry amusement dripping from her words. “If Cereus House falters, the rest of us are then called into question by extension. Our Houses’ rivalry is an internal one. It does not leave the halls of Mont Nuit. I will not gain anything by lying to you now. But the core of my advice is that the best Second you will become is only the best Second you can be. No one else is Second of Cereus House. You are. So be the best of yourself and by that you will serve your House.”

“Reasons can always be found to lead one astray, but I don’t doubt your intentions,” Petrea replied with a small shrug. “Your advice is unexpected but more than helpful.” She gave a small, but direct smile. “Now, I know that I was quite vocal about Cook’s petit fours. She is ever so proud of them, and if she finds out that you did not eat any, she will tan my backside. So, please, have one.”

“She fostered in Mandrake, then?” Odilia asked it lazily, but did reach forward to choose one. They were a selection of soft, springy colors as though in direct opposition to the cold autumn outside and smelled of rosewater, lavender, or orange. Odilia chose one of the orange ones, topped with a curl of candied orange peel and bit into it. 

Petrea gave a wry look. “Something like that.” She chose a lavender cake and took a small bite. She ate daintily, set the cake on a plate, dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and took a sip of her tea. “I wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed Dahlia’s Autumn fête. I have attended many formal gatherings before, I have not attended this particular one, as this is my first autumn as Second. Aliksandria did ask me to personally convey her regrets.”

“I will assure Jocaste it was not a slight against us that she did not attend,” Odilia said, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before they hardened into something unreadable again. “But we are glad you enjoyed the evening. We take pride, of course we do, in the success of our revelry.”

“It has been my pleasure to enjoy many a gala and fête over the years, and I would count yours as a true success. I had a chance to speak with Lord de Perigeux, from Siovale, for quite some time. He is a lovely gentleman. I appreciate that I had the opportunity to make his acquaintance.” 

Odilia smiled, slightly more genuine, and said, “Lord Lancelin, while not a regular patron due to the distance he must travel between his family lands and the city here, is nevertheless one of our guests that we are always sure to invite to our events. Naturally, we hope that his time spent visiting the City of Elua is only made more enjoyable by the visits he is able to make to our House.”

“I can see why you would invite him. I consider my time well spent in his presence. And he could not give enough compliments to your House. Or his visits. Or to the entertainment when he offers his patronage therein.” Petrea’s smile was soft. 

“We may not have the grand gaming salon that Bryony does,” Odilia said, brushing out some of the sugar crystals that still clung to her fingertips from her now finished petit four, “but we manage our own kind of entertainment. Your Cereus House has the grand Longest Night Masque, Dahlia’s Autumn Revelry is our grand engagement of the year. No expense is spared, as I am sure you know with your own preparations now.”

“Oh, yes,” Petrea replied, “I am well aware of the preparations required for a grand gala. Already things are underway for this year’s Masque. It is a huge undertaking.” She took a sip of tea. “Are you much involved in the planning of the Autumn Revelry?”

“Of course,” Odilia said, lifting her teacup again. “All of my decisions are presented to my Dowayne for approval, but her mind creates the vision that I execute. I handle the orders of the food and drink, the design of the decorations once she decides upon the layout of the gardens. I manage the timing and the details while she handles the guest list and the concept. It is how we serve our House as a team.” She took a sip of her tea and said, “Thankfully, once the guests begin to arrive, the details are finalized and done, and my Dowayne and I are free to enjoy the evening with the guests.”

“It would seem that you had a very prestigious guest list this year. I was impressed,” Petrea hedged.

Odilia’s smile was a shade too flat to be genuine, her eyes glittering with something unreadable—a mixture of pride and wariness, perhaps?—as she lowered her teacup to her lap, watching Petrea through slightly narrowed eyes. She said softly, “I shall consider that a compliment coming from the lofty Cereus House.”

“It was meant as such. While it was no secret that the Dauphin had returned to the City, it was a pleasure to see that he was able to enjoy the company of those close to him.” Petrea’s voice was steady and not ungentle.

Odilia could well have been carved from Tiberian marble for all the response she gave. She set her teacup down on the saucer with a quiet, frigid clink, tipping her chin up as she said deliberately, “It was the honor of Dahlia House to have His Royal Highness accept the invitation to our fête.”

“I am certain it would be. Having His Royal Highness attend a House’s event is quite an honor.” Petrea gestured to the sterling tea set. “May I refill your cup?”

Odilia leaned forward to place the teacup and saucer back on the table, “No, thank you. I will save the rest of the tea for the other Seconds you will be hosting here. Besides, you have your masque preparations awaiting you. I would not wish to take up too much of your time with idle gossip or speculation.” There was the tiniest bite to the last few words, something just a little sharp in how she clipped her consonants.

“Yes, I suppose it is time for the parade of Seconds to continue,” she said airily. “But Odilia,” she said, pinning her guest with a firm look, “if any of them seek to gossip, they’ll not find it in my salon. I have seen people’s lives ruined by idle tongue wagging, and I have neither the time, nor the inclination to engage in it.” Her voice regained its neutrality. “I thank you for accepting my invitation. I have appreciated our conversation.” She stood gracefully, her manner only those trained in Cereus could attain.

Odilia remained seated for just a moment longer, sitting as though a throne as she looked up at the Cereus Second. For just that moment, that span of a single breath, the power balance in the room tensed. 

The moment passed, and Odilia rose to her feet as well with a rustle of skirts, saying, “How familiar. Thrice you have used my name without any title or form of address, as though we were old friends. We have not crafted such familiarity yet, you are presumptive in it. Nor have you earned enough of my trust that I will readily answer the questions you are trying so hard not to ask.”

She did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of parting, only saying coolly, “Should you wish for any further advice on the nature of our duties, Second Petrea, do feel free to send a note. I will advise you how I can, even with the clear differences between us.”

As though she had not heard the statement, Petrea turned and rang the small bell from the table. A young adept stepped into the room. “Marielle will show you out. I trust you will have a pleasant rest of your day.” The dismissal was clear. Marielle curtsied to both women, then indicated for the Dahlia Second to follow her back to the main entrance of Cereus House, thanking her for visiting and praying that she had a lovely time and would return soon. Odilia swept from the mansion without a backward glance, stepping up into the waiting carriage marked with the golden dahlia on the door and vanishing inside to return home to her House.

~

After her guest left, Petrea walked through the main hall of Cereus House, tactically timing the walk through the hallways so she could catch the other woman as she returned from her errand, Petrea grabbed Marielle by the arm as the two passed—seemingly accidentally in a hallway—and, seeing no one in the vicinity, pulled the girl into a small chamber.

“So? What did she say? Is there anything of note about our meeting?” Petrea pressed in a hurried whisper as they stood in the dark.

“Not a thing!” Marielle whispered back, her voice filled with frustration and dismay. “I asked all that I could think of without seeming like a fool! Her answers were, dare I say, practiced? Petrea, this woman is the paragon of Dahlia House. She holds to herself.” The young woman paused, gazing into her Second’s eyes. “Did you do something wrong? She seemed…angry?..when she left. If she betrayed any emotion at all. What did you do?” She batted at Petrea’s arm. “Have you fouled up yet again?!”

“Stop hitting me, Marielle!” Petrea whispered back. “I don’t know! Possibly? It was going so well, and then…I suppose I struck something. Tapped something sensitive. I’ll not share personal details. You know that.” Petrea leaned against the wall. That had to be it: something sensitive, private. Odilia couldn’t possibly be made of stone. There was more going on. But Petrea didn’t think she would find out; Odilia was as a closed book to her now. She could only hope her next tea ended better than this one.

~

Days after their meeting, a letter on the finest parchment, sealed in blue wax with the Cereus flower, was delivered to Dahlia House. The messenger requested it be delivered to the Second of the House with haste.

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

Second Odilia,

I wish to thank you for your thoughtful and generous advice. You have given me much to think on as I begin to come into my own, and I appreciate the guidance of an experienced and knowledgeable Second. I know your time is both valuable and limited, and I am grateful that you were able to accept my invitation.

Yours sincerely,

Petrea nó Cereus

Waiting Is Not For The Weak

The waiting game was not one Loir was good at. From the earliest she could remember, she had been terrible at it. 

‘Mamà, when will the rain come, the animals look sick?’ ‘When it comes, child?’

‘When can I hear more about Perè’s home?’ ‘When he returns, he promised he would teach you.’

‘What will I do if I don’t want to be a merchant like you and Peré?’ ‘Don’t worry, child, you’ll know when the time is right?’

She had her own answers, her own way of handling things. She had made up a way to call the rains (it wasn’t technically successful, though it did rain a week later); taught herself to read (d’Angeline at four, Jebe-Barkal at five, Tiberian, Aragonian, and more by nine); and decided to leave for the holy City of Elua and Heliotrope at ten (she spoke to Olivier herself and expressed her desire to join his House). Loir was strong in mind and body, strong in her soul if such a thing existed, she found solutions. 

Until she couldn’t. Until there were no solutions to find, only time to wade through. Time that felt as sluggish as the river in the depths of winter. 

She stood in the kitchen, making a dish from her homeland that the adepts had learned that they loved, using the long cooking process to help her manage. It was not a great solution, unfortunately. Yes, the time was long, but it was a lot of stirring and waiting, things that only gave the mind more time to wander. First, she thought of her dear friend Mena, and how she was only now looking like her usual self. It had been a month since that ground dwelling spineless weevil that passed for a Peer of the Realm had been thrown from the House. Her fingers tightened on her spoon, remembering her knife in her hand and wishing she could go back in time and just gut him like the deranged predator he was. Mena had tried to tell her that he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth the stain of his blood on Loir’s hands, wasn’t worth the risk attached to his murder. Loir countered with his low value was even more reason to remove him from the glorious d’Angelline bloodline, in order for there to be a stain Loir would have to feel guilt over his death (which she wouldn’t), and that if he’d been dumped in the river, no one would know who killed him nor would anyone really mourn him so there was no risk.

Mena did not agree, so they dropped the matter.

Loir worried about Olivier. She had made almost as many visits to his bedside as Mena. But unlike Mena, she had borne witness to her own grandmother’s death back in Jebe-Barkal, so she knew what the other woman was blissfully unaware of, his time was close. Loir felt he would likely not live until the arrival of spring, though she did not tell anyone of her concerns. There was enough going on without her throwing grease on the bonfire.

She swung the iron arm off of the fire and checked her dish. It was done and would be on the table tonight for both adepts and patrons. Pity Mathan, the dye merchant who’d helped with Kyrian, wasn’t back yet. Loir was sure he’d like it. There was something about the man, who came every night to the House but never lay with an adept, that made Loir’s heart lighter. He was special, she just couldn’t figure out how.

Brushing aside thoughts of the merchant, she felt herself come to an unexpected decision, one she had to share immediately with Mena. She hurried through the corridors until she reached her friend’s office. The door was open so she didn’t bother knocking, just stepped in and said, “Mena, I think I will go and keep vigil with Olivier. I’ll remain until he is welcomed home and return with the news myself.”

J’adoube, Count Shahrizai

Niklos walked into the receiving chamber at Dahlia, uncertain as to how today would play out. He thought he’d faced most every adept in Dahlia who played chess. And some of them had been challenges. His father was good, but there were some adepts who used strategies that Niklos had never seen before, and his father had been good at making certain that Niklos’s playing stayed nimble. He settled into a chair to wait, smiling at the young novice who brought him a small tray of snacks and a cup of tea. He had learned early on not to ask who his next tutor would be—often the novice either didn’t know or had been instructed not to say. The one time he had pressed the issue he found himself without an opponent for a fortnight and was only welcomed back when the Dowayne herself had written and instructed that he could return. He would not seek to press that specific issue with Dahlia House ever again.

Finally, an adept entered the waiting hall. Lithe and sleek, with silver-blond hair that might have been a better fit for the canon of Cereus House had it not been for the haughty cast of his face, the adept glanced across the small salon before settling on the Shahrizai Count. 

“Lord Niklos?” That was all the respect to his title Silvère would give. Oh, he knew the status of the Count of Angers, that was quite certainly the business of Dahlia House, but it was also quite certainly theirs to enjoy a challenge. “She is ready for you.”

Niklos set his teacup down on one of the small tables. He’d visited often enough to know that it would be taken care of without his attention. He languidly rose to his feet, his eyes quickly examining and dismissing the adept who had been sent to direct him. He nodded and gestured. “Please, lead on. I’m looking forward to meeting the next person I get to square off against.”

Silvère guided him up a flight of grand stairs, away from the public eye of the grand Dahlia salon with its famed life-sized chess board—Niklos was a little disappointed, game after game he had played here against the adepts and still he had yet to see the grand board in action or play on it himself—and up to the back of the mansion, stepping out onto the second-floor terrace that overlooked the gardens. Silvère paused there and gestured the Count forward. “Onward. She waits at the north corner.”

The gallery spanned the back of the mansion, tracing the silhouette of the grand house and curling around to the corner before it stopped at the corner turret. There, tucked into the privacy of the semi-hidden corner, was a table set with a chessboard with pieces of green marble and carved ivory. A decanter of wine sat breathing between two Serenissiman blown-glass goblets and a small dish of ripe blackberries. 

He was surprised when the adept stopped at the top of the stairs, gesturing him along the gallery. Previously, he had been escorted all the way to whomever was waiting for him. Either he had regained the trust of the house, his opponent wished for their interaction to remain unobserved, or he was going to be unceremoniously escorted from the House. Whatever the reasoning, he quirked a small smile and continued down the gallery, noticing the adept waiting for him by one of the corners. As he got closer, he realized he wasn’t certain who was waiting for him. He squared his shoulders, glancing around to see that they would, in fact, be alone.

The figure at the railing turned, her dark eyes studying his face for a moment before she spoke. “Good evening, Lord Niklos.”

She stepped into the light cast by the lantern, dark hair caught up in a jewelled net away from the completed marque that graced her back. Her hand gestured to the chair set at his side of the table. “Please, sit. Be comfortable.”

She poured the wine with her own hands. “I have heard the gossip among the adepts about your chess games. They really have enjoyed the challenge, though we are running out of adepts to present you with a new face with each of your visits.”

He nodded as he neared her, not surprised that he would have reached the Second eventually. “Well met, Second Odilia. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you. It warms my heart to hear that your adepts are gossiping about me as well.” He took one of the seats, relaxing into it as he observed the board. “This is quite a lovely set, is it a treasure of the house?” His eyes flickered to the decanter of wine as she poured. “It has been quite a challenge, playing through your adepts. You have some very skilled members of your House. It has been quite enjoyable. Though I could always play some of your adepts again, if their pride wasn’t too bruised from losing to a simple Count.”

Her smile flickered across her face as quick as a lightning flash, there and gone in a breath as she settled herself into her own seat. “Ah, perhaps. Dahlia does not wager on games the way Bryony does but we have our own strategies. Perhaps one or two of them did not play as hard as they could have? A hard-won win might be enough to whet the appetite to have a patron return again.”

Her fingers gently caressed the edge of the chess board. “As for the set, it is mine. A gift from the Dowayne when she named me her Second. It is quite a treasure, isn’t it? You named it rightly when you called it so.”

“Well, I would hope that none of your adepts would take it easy on me for any reason, so hopefully, they will still be interested if I were to offer them a challenge again. And it is a lovely set, certainly a treasure.” He reached out for one of the glasses of wine, taking it and smelling it, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “This smells Aragonian. Is it?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in her seat, comfortable in her power here in her own House. “I keep a small selection for myself from the House collection, and I have always favored the Aragonian spices. Does it meet your standards?”

“I am certain it is fantastic. I have faith that your House has impeccable cellars, and that your tastes will align well with my own.” He took a small sip, tasting the wine as he looked over the board, and then examined her as he swallowed. “It is exquisite, as I am certain you knew. I have a feeling that our interactions here will prove most enlightening for both of us.” He leaned back into the chair, comfortable. He did so enjoy sitting across the table from a Dahlia. They had some of the same instincts that his cousins did, and it kept him on his toes.

“Then shall we begin?” She gestured to the board between them. “The guest has the first move.”

He smiled and nodded, focusing his attention on the board and briefly considering before opening the game by moving one of his knights. If the Second had been briefed on his play style from any of the adepts he had faced off against, he wanted to throw something new at her. His father had always warned him about a knight opening, saying it was an aggressive move, and it was a gamble if you didn’t know your opponent; but Niklos felt in a gambling mood this evening, and there was a need for a certain amount of aggression as well. It felt like the calendar was speeding up, and things were moving quickly enough that he was barely keeping ahead of it all. He took a slow sip of wine and waited patiently for Odilia’s move. The dance had begun.

They played in comfortable silence for the first set of moves. His aggressive opening was countered by her patient, almost teasing strategy as she left pieces undefended, baiting him to chase them across the board. 

“What brought you to Dahlia for this series of games, Lord Shahrizai?” She asked it after he had captured one of her pawns, showing absolutely nothing on her face about the loss of the piece. “Many patrons who enjoy gaming go to Bryony or Orchis for their amusements. How did Dahlia catch your interest?” Well did she know that after the events of the Autumn Revelry, more and more eyes were turning to her House and to her in particular. Was he one of them that looked to influence the Dauphin by courting her attentions?

He leaned back in his chair, assessing the board as pieces were picked off. He’d spread his troops out. Perhaps too much. He could recover, but it would take adjusting his strategy. And then there was her queen. Almost overprotected in its position. His father had played like this for a time, it was usually a trap, and he couldn’t fall for it. “What brought me to Dahlia? The rumors in the city are that Dahlia raises the best chess players to be found. Sure, I could have gone to Bryony and frittered away my inheritance. I’ve joined Orchis for one of their open showings, and they were quite amusing. But, if I wanted a challenge, I needed to come to Dahlia. And, thank Elua, the rumors have proved true. Dahlia… Dahlia is a House I can learn things in. And I do so enjoy learning many things.” He grinned, almost irreverently, and took another sip of his wine, wincing as she captured another pawn. Well, that one was going to be a sacrifice anyway, he’d just hoped to get a few more turns with it on the board. He was developing his own approach.

“I do regret,” he continued conversationally, “that I was not well enough known to your House to have been invited to the Autumn festivities you held. Rumor has that it was quite the spectacle. But I can’t seem to get a straight story from anyone. You must know how rumors are. Would you be willing to share with me some of the highlights that you remember of the evening? I am curious what has the city all aflutter with gossip.”

She smiled and there was something flinty underneath the smooth satin of her face. She threatened his rook with one of her knights and said, “I am sure there are plenty of whispers. What I remember most about the evening was the delicious tartness of the pomegranate I ate. They are my favorite fruits. I quite enjoy the challenge of them that makes the taste all the sweeter.”

Odilia sat forward slightly, choosing a blackberry from the dish and asking courteously, “How did you welcome the start of the season, my lord? Here in the city or at your new estate?”

He smiled, catching the faint hardening of her face as she made her next move. Something he’d said had hit the mark. Or hit a mark at least. Perhaps it was the question about the festivities…or the comment about gossip. Nothing to press on, but definitely something to keep tucked in the back of his mind. He reached for the bowl of nuts and plucked some shelled walnuts, popping them in his mouth slowly, one at a time. He saw the threat to his rook and shifted one of his own knights for defense, backing off from the aggressive opening he had presented. 

“I’ve been in the city since before news of my inheritance came. Before everything happened, the elder members of the family had decided I needed to spend some time here once again, and since I had been shut up on my parents’ lands since the first whisper of the plague, I did not debate any of the ideas. When the inheritance was announced, it was decided I would be the ranking member of the family in The City…at least until the season turned. So now I am awaiting the arrival of other family members, when I will be relegated to the second rank for now.” He relaxed, surprised at how little that disturbed him. Still, if he was to be of any use to the Palace, he would have to be present but unobtrusive enough to hear things without people truly paying attention to him. “At least it was a pleasant summer. When I was here some years ago it was truly unbearable. But then, my parents’ estate is near to Morhban lands, and so near to the ocean, and it always seems cooler there. How did you find the summer?” He blithely looked at the board, seeing at least three traps waiting, and finished the last walnut of the handful he had taken.

She danced one of her remaining pawns closer to his knight, saying, “Summer has never been my favored season. I much prefer the cooling mists of autumn. But for everything there is a time, and this summer, being the first since the plague struck, carried with it its own celebrations of survival. Not everyone survived, of course, and I hope that they find their peace in the True Terre d’Ange that Lies Beyond, but for those of us who have survived, summer was a time to celebrate what we have.”

Her brows lifted ever so slightly as she said, “Which means congratulations are in order. I have heard of your new title, Count of Angers. I never met your predecessor, but I understand that you have large shoes to fill. Of course, any member of your family is almost expected to do great things, I would assume, considering the history of your House. I do wish you luck.”

She advanced one of her own bishops, directly threatening his king.

He nodded slowly, considering the bishop as she spoke. He would have to deal with that first. It seemed a hasty move on her part, but perhaps they were trading playing styles now with her being more aggressive and him playing the more reserved style. Still, he had hoped that she would have shown more promise, considering that she was considered one of the better players in the House. He shrugged, almost to himself, and captured the bishop with his queen, smiling at her in response and saying, “Dimitrios was a gentle hand on his lands and was one of the most respected members of the family. If I can be half the Count he was, I will consider it an accomplishment. He grew up almost directly in the shadow of Melisande’s treason, and he knew how important it was and would be for connections to be created and maintained…” 

He trailed off as he poured himself some more wine and took a slow sip. “I think we’re alike in that way. Friendships are valuable, and if they support what one desires, then so much the better.” He rested his fingers idly on the stem of the wine glass, waiting for her response. “What are your thoughts on patrons, especially reliable ones?”

“My Dowayne made waves when she rose to her place,” she said lightly. “She established a new rule within the House that assignations are not chosen at her desk but by the adepts themselves. No courtesan of the Night Court goes to a bedchamber against their will, but especially in Dahlia do we enjoy our own choice in who we take to bed. Patrons come to the salon here as though offering tribute to a throne and hoping to be selected for a night. Some of my fellow adepts revel in that power and chose as many as amuses. Some of us are more reserved and meticulous in who we select of those that catch our eyes. It is a unique freedom, one that we quite enjoy, each of us on our own terms.”

She retreated one of her knights to make a deliberate trap, testing to see if he would press a perceived advantage. A lock of her dark hair fell from her pins to brush the curve of her cheek and she said, “If, Lord Shahrizai, you are asking if you could become one of my reliable patrons, then I must disappoint you. At the moment, my desk is full of papers and plans for the Longest Night that is coming. I have little time to myself to consider new patrons in my bed.”

She did not necessarily think that was what he was asking, but she was ever cautious as she had seen more and more hungry nobles coming to Dahlia once the word had spread about the autumn party. The eyes watched her; jealous, scornful, hungry, ambitious, lustful, she could feel them all looking at her and looking to pass judgement against her. The nobility circled, looking for weakness, looking for advantages to take, looking for openings to test. She had to keep to her composure, remain reserved and armoured so that they would not find her wanting. Nor use her against the Dauphin.

He raised an eyebrow as she explained how patrons were currently chosen in Dahlia House. He was familiar with Jocaste nò Dahlia, but he had not been aware of how she had changed patronage in Dahlia. Still, he supposed it was similar in other Houses. Bryony adepts, he had been told, often would lay wagers with patrons in their salon. In that light, he supposed he was already a regular patron of Dahlia, as he had spent some time in private with multiple adepts. So his credit, as it were, was good. 

His eyes widened slightly as he watched her withdraw her knight. As his eyes flickered across the board, he saw multiple possible sequences and decided not to pursue the piece. He had already captured one of her knights, and he could afford to allow her to keep the other. Instead, he shifted his queen, capturing another of her pawns. She was down to three, and none of them currently threatened promotion. He grinned at her polite denial, though he was intrigued as the lock of hair slipped from its pins. The look softened her slightly, the unintentional shift at odds with her words. “Sadly, no, Lady Odilia. That was not my query at all, though I do hope we will be able to continue meeting across this field of battle. You are offering quite the challenge, and I am very much enjoying myself. I am very certain an adept of your grace and knowledge has far more demands on her time than a lowly Count of the realm.” He grinned, hoping to show it for the self-deprecating joke he meant it to be. “Should I consider visiting the House in the evening, to see how my peers grovel at the dais of Dahlia?” He chuckled, taking another sip of the wine.

“No one is turned away from the salon who has not proved themselves unwelcome and unworthy of a place here vying for our attentions,” she said, taking a small sip of her wine as she studied the board and considered her options. “You have certainly proved yourself nothing of the sort, so you will be welcomed if you choose to attend. Though discretion is the paramount rule of the salon. Whatever you see, whomever you see, belongs to Dahlia and Dahlia alone. We will be quite displeased if any malicious gossip were to discredit any of our patrons or our House.”

Her brown eyes lifted to his face, something more steely under the tone as she said quietly, “And there is no need to stand on jesting ceremony, Lord Shahrizai. I am no lady. The circumstances of my birth were far more humble, which is well known. I do not need an empty, unearned courtesy.”

She knew she was common-born. Even a place like the Court of Night Blooming Flowers did not let her forget that. So, knowing well that it was a trap, she advanced her bishop to capture his queen. She knew well that it would open her to losing the match, but the night air was continuing to drop in temperature, a long game would not be pleasant for either of them if they froze. 

He sighed, he was always putting his foot wrong when he spoke with people. His mother had always encouraged him to think more before he spoke, but sometimes his impulsivity got the best of him. “I would never consider spreading malicious gossip about anyone I saw in the Night Court, no matter where they were. You have my word on that fact. As for my naming you Lady, you are the Second of a House in the Night Court, which means you have far more knowledge and ability than many who claim the title by birth. So if you think you have not earned the respect of the title, I do apologize, but you are wrong…” he frowned as she captured his queen with her bishop. He had been playing recklessly with the queen but he hadn’t realized he’d left her that undefended…until he took a better look at the board. With a faint smile, he advanced his rook one rank. “I believe that is both check and mate, Odilia…” 

To his surprise and confusion, she smiled, something glittering in her eyes as she said, “Then, by all means, take my king.”

He reached to take the piece, lifting it to consider the craftsmanship of the piece. It really was well made. 

“You are fortunate the game ends so quickly,” she said, sitting back in her chair and taking up her goblet in one hand. “If this was a true battlefield, as this game was once played to emulate, I would have taken you with me.”

He frowned, looking at her. He had heard that she was the best player in the House, for her to seem so relaxed and cavalier was not what he had expected, until he looked down at the board again. His frown deepened, realizing his own king was in check. When he advanced his rook to check her king, he had given her the opening to lay the blade at his own king. “Well… that is an interesting result…”

Perhaps the stories of her strategic mind weren’t so embellished. However, had she learned to play so? Surely her father hadn’t taught her the way his had taught him. 

He looked up at her again and she smiled, “I believe that is our time, Lord Shahrizai. Do you know your way out? Or shall I call a novice to guide you?”

He shook his head minutely, bemused at the result of the contest. “I believe, Lady Odilia,”—and he would continue addressing her as such, she had earned all of his respect—“that I can find my way at least as far as the reception chambers from here. From there, I suspect a servant will suffice to direct me to the doors.” He smiled as he rose, bowing to her. “A most skillful battle. I hope we can meet over the field again in the future.” 

As he stepped out of the nook they were in and towards the stairs, he looked back at the board again. Odilia was definitely someone he should play against more frequently. He had a feeling she would give his father a solid game as well. He hoped that her ability in the game would translate and make her a fantastic ally in his own ambitions going forward. 

He nodded politely to adepts and novices as he passed on the way through the house, not completely lost in the possibilities in his own mind. He reviewed their conversation and the game, and he was distracted enough that he brushed into another guest on his way to the door. The man turned to comment, his face angry, but he blanched when he saw Niklos’s black and gold clothes and thought better of it, murmuring to his friends as he watched Niklos walk through the door.

There was so much still left to do before the Longest Night. Niklos would need to consider his strategy well as he prepared to prove himself to the Queen. 

The Struggle is Real

The weeks since Kyrian was banned from the House had been hard ones. Loir and Davide kept telling her that it was acceptable, that it was encouraged, but all Mena could feel was the time slipping through her fingers. She needed the time to sit with her thoughts and feelings, but somehow that time was not available to her. 

First, it was the trip to the City Guard in the early morning hours of the next day. When she had arrived to make her formal complaint, she was shocked to discover that Kyrie had been let go almost as soon as the dye merchant had left. It seemed that despite the man’s statement, the event was brushed off as a dramatic adept, an over-protective merchant looking to curry favor, and an apologetic Earl. When Mena sat down with the Captain and explained the whole story, the man had the good grace to be horrified that his men had let Kyrian go. When he heard the story from Mena—not just the victim, but the Second of Heliotrope—he immediately called the men in and gave them a full dressing-down. He reminded them that the policy was to hold the person until the full story was received, no matter their social status. The Night Court had rules, after all.  

Unfortunately, Mena learned it was too late for charges to be levied because he’d been let go without the proper paperwork being filed. She’d left, both glad that she’d come alone and regretting it. This way no one from the House witnessed her step into a tavern just outside the Night Court, tuck herself into a corner, and cry into a mug of beer and a homemade lunch.

After, she spent a few days clearing paperwork, getting orders in for what the House would need for the upcoming seasons. Though it was hard, she also ordered what they’d need for the funeral and mourning period for Olivier. She scheduled the visits to Namaah’s temple for the young ones, made arrangements for the two pregnant adepts to be moved to downstairs rooms, and made appointments with the marquist. While this was paperwork and management that the House needed, normally she did not do it all at once, choosing to handle it instead as it came up. However, she had bruises and a split lip that needed to heal without worrying the patrons, so all the paperwork for the month got done. 

As luck would have it, she was healed enough to go out when her appointment with the Dowayne of Bryony came. She dressed carefully, her shoulders still sore from Kyrie’s hands, and made her way through Mont Nuit to the door of Bryony. Even from outside, she could hear the laughter and loud conversations, and it made her smile. Bryony was always full of laughter and high spirits. 

The door opened and a smiling novice beckoned her. “Second Philomena! Welcome, welcome! Dowayne Arietta is expecting you!”

Mena smiled in return and followed the young woman through the door and deeper into the House. “Thank you, I appreciate the warm welcome.”

The young woman looked over her shoulder and beamed back at Mena. “You are always welcome here, Philomena.”

They reached the open door of the Dowayne’s office and the young woman curtsied and took off with surprising speed back to the public area of the House. Mena laughed and shook her head, feeling her mood finally lighten. She knocked on the door as a courtesy and went in. Dowayne Arietta was seated on her couch, going through paperwork, but she looked up and smiled.

”Philomena, it’s been too long! Come, come, sit, tell me what’s brought you here today.”

Mena approached the woman, leaned over to give her the kiss of greeting and then sat in one of the chairs Arietta indicated. 

“It has been too long, Arietta. And it’s been a long time since you’ve come to one of Olivier’s parties.”

Arietta shook her head. “It truly has been a long while, at least a year. How is he faring? I heard that he’s out of the city to convalesce?”

By now, the exclusion of the truth was so normal she didn’t even flinch. “He is indeed out of the city. He’s under the care of his normal chirurgeon, and the newly minted Count Shahrizai of Angiers kindly sent one from his family as well. He’s in good hands.”

Arietta looked at her quietly for a long moment. Mena did not squirm under the scrutiny, though it was more of a struggle than normal. The silence stretched, while the Bryony Dowayne searched Mena’s face for….something. She seemed to find it because she nodded and looked back at the papers in her hand. “That is good to hear. I know that he’s had trouble since he broke his leg. I’ll make sure to light a candle to Eiseth and ask her to keep him in her gaze.

Mena bobbed her head. “Thank you for that. I’ll be sure to let him know when I go see him next. That actually brings me to the reason for my visit. He asked for his son to come see him, and I promised that I would come here and make that happen.”

Arietta set her papers down with a laugh. “You’ve got to know that you’ve agreed to a fool’s errand, dearest Mena. Belisario will never agree. Are you in my office to ask me to order him to go?”

Mena shook her head. “No, Dowayne, I would never ask for that. It would make the visit unpleasant for Olivier, and I will not be party to that. I am only here to ask to see Belisario privately and to let you know that I will be asking him and doing what I think is necessary to try to convince him.”

”So you’re here to see him and to let me know to ignore all yelling and noises that come from the room the two of you are in?” Arietta threw her head back and laughed. “Thank you for that courtesy, my dear. I can see Olivier and Geraldine’s raising in you all the time, but at times like this I can almost hear Olivier’s voice coming out of your mouth. He did a good job training you for this, my dear. A very, very good job.”

Mena laughed quietly. “Thank you for the compliments, Dowayne, it is good to hear. And I will certainly pass on your message to Olivier when I see him next.”

Arietta nodded as she got up and headed to her desk to look for something. “Good, good.  I will have Belisario fetched for you, if you don’t mind waiting across the hall in the library. And when you go see Olivier, please take him this.” She held out an envelope full of money and slips of paper. “These are his winnings and his notes to be paid. He’s done very well with his bets on the Court, as usual. “

Mena stood, taking the envelope and tucking it into her pocket. “He usually does, no matter how unlikely his calls may seem. He is, of course, with Laurent if you wish to send him a letter. I know that he misses his friends in the City.”

Arietta smiled and went with Mena out the door and across the hall to the empty library. “I will do just that. I’ll also send in a light tea for you while Belisario is fetched.”

A few minutes later, the door swung open and in strode Belisario. Mena had found a spot to sit in a window seat and drink the tea that had been brought to her. She looked up and took in his appearance. Despite being Olivier’s son, he never came to Heliotrope. The relationship between the two was the very definition of contentious. The two were almost diametrically opposed; where Olivier was calm, calculating but never manipulative, gregarious and friendly, Belisario was brash and cunning, and without fail left Mena feeling like she had been evaluated for worth the way most people inspected a carriage.

Belisaro strode over and gave her a smile that was more condescension than kindness. “Little Philomena, Peré’s darling, what brings you to my door?” He sat down in a chair opposite her and crossed his legs. “Everyone knows that you rarely come down from his high pedestal, let alone visit a House like this fine establishment. Things must be pressing if he let his little bird out of her gilded cage.”

Mena ignored the digs. She may not see Belisario often, but he was like this every time she did. “Your father is dying. He’s asked for you to come see him.”

Belisario’s face betrayed no emotion. “Is he now? That’s interesting, he has asked for me. To what end, little bird? What benefit would I see from such a visit?”

“I see that age has not brought any mellowing of your nature, Belisario. Your benefit would be in granting a dying man’s wish, Word has already been sent to your sisters, and they are on their way. You, as usual, are the only one making this an issue.”

“Of course they would, vapid little lap-dogs. I don’t pop to when the old man snaps his fingers, I have self-respect.” He didn’t even bother to sneer, his contempt for his family was so much a part of him that he didn’t need to.

“For Elua’s sake, Belisario, why are you like this?” She felt herself getting louder, as always happened when she had to speak to him. “You don’t have self-respect, you’ve got an inflated ego. For some reason, you’ve made hating Olivier into half of your miserable personality.”

Belisario’s eye twitched, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here into my House and insulting me, child,” he said, venom leaking into his tone. “You know nothing of the old man and how he and his insipid, vacuous, base excuse for a wife treated me. Growing up—-“

Mena cut him off. “You were raised in Heliotrope by your parents who loved you deeply, Belisario, not in some back-water hovel on the Skaldi border. For some reason, despite your baseless vitriol, they love you until their dying breath. Olivier has days, maybe weeks, left on this earth and all he wants is to see his son. No wonder Heliotrope had no place for you, all you can value is yourself.”

“Loved me? Is that what you think it was like? There was no love, they had no space in their tiny hearts for me, all they could see was Tobias.”

“Yes, yes, always Tobias.  Poor little Belisario, always in Tobias’ shadow,” she mocked. “How dare they pay more attention to him when he was deathly ill as a child, when Belisario needed praise heaped on him for learning not to soil himself. Poor Belisario, no one showered him with attention, no one fawned at his feet.”

The man’s face was blotchy with rage and he spat out, “Do not mock me, caged bird. You forget who you’re speaking to.”

She surged to her feet, “Oh I know full well who I’m speaking to, you are the one who forgets. You are a base Bryony adept, taken in likely because a losing bet always makes the House more money. I am Heliotrope’s Second, I made my marque at twenty, when did you? Oh that’s right, your patron gifts were so small they were clearly given out of pity, not praise. You were what, thirty? And your father was the one that made your marque, how pathetic.”

Belisario stood and stepped towards her. “You would not be here if I hadn’t agreed to sire you on his favorite adept, Philomena Desiderio. That is the place I am speaking of, remember who allowed you to exist, me, your father.”

“And you are so low that my mother retired and fled after being sullied by your hands. She could not stand to look at her own child for the memory of you.”

“Are you sure that was because of me and not because of you? I am a Bryony, I know the worth I carry.”

Mena inhaled deeply, pulling her shawl around her. “You overestimate it, as usual. The only reason the old Dowayne agreed to take you in was because he owed Olivier money and, like I said, the odds on you always favored the House. Isn’t that also why you agreed to lie with my mother as well, to settle gambling debts? For a Bryony, you are awfully good at losing money.”

Belisario opened his mouth to reply but she held her hand up to stop him. “Go, or do not, I do not care. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t because you are so insufferably pompous that I am very sure you would start a fight with a dying man just to ensure you got the last word, and I want better than that, better than you, for Olivier.”

She swept past him to the door, which she just realized had been left ajar, and stopped. The sounds of people trying to quietly flee the hallway made her eyes narrow. Without turning around she said, “One last thing: know that I do not think of you, but when I do, it is only to wish that you had died and not Tobias.”

Slipping out of the door and down the hallway between adepts and patrons who were all trying very hard not to make eye contact with her, Mena escaped Bryony and headed back across the Night Court to her home, glad to leave Belisario behind her.