Author: Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Where the Sun Sleeps – Part II

Two incredibly complicated holy days and festivities held nearly back to back from one another made the new Dowayne of Valerian House very busy. Even her own strict schedule of prayers and visitations to the Temple district had to be realigned in order to make sure that preparations for the Longest Night and Mara’s Eve went off without a single hitch. Indeed, she was still in the final stages of the latter, but Rosanna made sure some of time and effort was dedicated to honoring the passing of one of their own. 

When the news of Heliotrope’s loss made it to her, Rosanna instructed her Second, Tryphosa, to immediately send a letter of condolence as well as the best flowers that they could attain in winter. Having incorporated Philomena into her life only recently, she did not know the deceased well but knew the other woman’s heart must be broken. So, a gift to her in the form of lavender syrup from Eisande was also sent, the product of her own family’s extensive cultivation. A token from one Dowayne to another, beyond the socially acceptable and expected offerings. 

Arriving at the wake, Rosanna dressed in somber colors, umber and burnished bronze, with her hair piled atop her head and covered in a veil. Modest and respectful, with her back fully covered. She paid her respects to the dead, saying a prayer over him and wishing a swift arrival to the Terre D’Ange that awaited them all in the next realm.

After that, she maneuvered through the mourning crowd to find his heir. As was to be expected, she appeared wan and sorrowful, and sympathy welled up quickly in Rosanna’s heart. Being close to her own beloved grandfather, she knew such a time would be upon her one day as well. Even thinking of it made her eyes sting.

“My sincere condolences for your loss, Philomena,” she greeted kindly. “I am sorry that I did not know your grandfather better, but his reputation was a splendid one. He will be in my prayers, as will you. If you should ever need me, for anything, my door is always open to you.”  

Mena reached out and gave Rosanna a hug, “Thank you so much, my friend. I appreciate your attendance, I know it’s a difficult period to make time. I will be sure to reach out to you so we can catch up after the mourning period has passed.”

Loir noted the sky growing lighter, so she slipped up next to Mena and whispered to her, “It is getting to be time.” She then moved silently to her room to gather what she needed and change her clothes. Olivier had commissioned a garment for her that mimicked what the priestesses she grew up with wore, without being a copy. Loir had overseen the construction so it represented what she remembered with what she knew now. It was easy to put on, and she picked up her basket of supplies and went out into the garden.

For three days, the strongest had been stacking the supplies that the weaker had been purchasing and former adepts had been arriving from all over Terre d’Ange. In the final hours of the wake, the oldest three began building the pyre. A collection of large flat rocks had been installed at the most eastern point of the property at some point in the House’s history. Dowaynes of the past had erected three stone walls around it; a gap on the west wall allowed access with the east remaining completely open. There, the elders carefully built the pyre as they’d been taught, being assisted by all the children, as was custom. The pyre took shape, the materials selected as was the custom: apple wood that burned long and hot on the bottom covered with bedding from his deathbed so that all of him went to Terre d’Ange Beyond, then walls on three sides of the same wood. One by one, each person in the House took a piece of their own clothing or bedding and filled the gaps between the logs: a piece of each of them died with Olivier. 

While that was happening, Mena cleared her throat and spoke to the gathered mourners. “Loved ones, thank you for coming to remember Olivier. The time has come for us to lay him to rest in our customary way. You are welcome and encouraged to stay and even to participate if you want. Again, thank you for coming, each of your faces has made the mourning easier.”

As she made her way outside, the members of the House lined up from the bier Olivier rested on all the way out to the pyre with Mena and Loir at the end. Loir had placed herbs among the fabric pieces and had carefully rubbed a thick oil-based anointment on the logs. The space smelled comforting and relaxing, making the tension and grief start to drain out of Mena’s body as she stood waiting.

The adept closest to Oliver lifted him from the bier, his long illness made him light enough that she needed no assistance. Carefully, she passed him to the person next to her, murmuring, “May Elua welcome you, you will be missed,” as she did. One by one, each person in the line passed him to the next, some speaking quietly to him one last time before relinquishing him to the next person. After many long minutes, he made his way from Laurent to Mena’s arms. 

When she held him, she was instantly reminded of all the times he’d held her over her life, and her tears started again. She moved towards the pyre, it was her job as his surviving family to lay him down one last time. As she did, memories flashed through her mind like lighting in the night sky: Olivier at her bedside when she was sick; Olivier helping her pick flowers for the wreath she wore when she dedicated herself to Namaah; the two of them talking for hours about everything and nothing; the proud look on his face when she’d debuted; how he’d held her as she cried; each moment broke her heart as it paid tribute to the man he’d been. It was hard to place him on the bed so lovingly made for him, a sob breaking out of her without her control as she did so. When she turned around and saw the mourners gathered in the space and only Loir to comfort her, it took all she had not to collapse next to him. She heard his voice in her head telling her that she had to stand tall for herself and for the House, that she would find her Sun, that he loved her more than he loved himself, that he was proud of her.

Loir reached for Mena when she stumbled, pulling her in for a tight hug. She didn’t want to release her, but she had to in order to move the ceremony forward. Two of the children came forward with the canopy they’d woven of the flowers brought by the mourners. Loir took it from them with gentle hands, then turned to lay it over the roof of the pyre. She then took wood and carefully built up the missing wall. When it was complete, she turned to the assembled and said, “Olivier has gone to a place where we cannot follow. In time, our steps will lead us to where he is, but for now, he has gone ahead. We will remember him always and keep him alive in our hearts by speaking freely of him. He wanted to remind us to be good to one another, and to make sure that his beloved Laurent and cherished Philomena know that they were loved deeply and fiercely.”

She paused for a moment to glance over her shoulder and saw the signs of the sun’s imminent arrival. Turning back she said, “In my homeland, we also commend our dead to the sun and sky, this is why he granted me the gift of being his Dernière Montre, the one who stays with him until the end. And now, that watch begins.”

From her basket, she retrieved a bottle of Olivier’s favorite alcohol and a flint. She poured the alcohol on the bottom of the pyre, soaking the fabric and other tinder that she had added there. Loir found herself humming the first song she remembered hearing, a lullaby her mother sang only when her children were frightened. While she couldn’t recall the words, the melody was enough to soothe her own grief. The sounds of the mourners weeping faded into the background as she finished her task and stood. The first edge of the sun was starting to cross the horizon and she took a deep breath, crouched down, and started the fire. While it started small, it traveled quickly, and she smiled, pleased at the work they’d put into Olivier’s final tribute. She then knelt on the stones, close enough that she could feel the heat, but out of harm’s way. 

Dernière Montre meant ‘Last Watch,’ and that was what she would do, be the last watch over him: she would stay where she was until the fire burned itself out, then she would carefully gather the ashes into the jar Olivier had selected, sealing it carefully. Then she would inter his remains next to his wife’s remains and reseal their resting place. She was to be the last mortal hand that touched him, the last person to wish him well on his last journey. Loir bowed her head and offered up prayers as the mourners began to leave the space.

~

By the time Mena made it back inside, the sun was almost at its highest point, and she was beyond exhausted. Once his ashes were interred, the official mourning period would begin, and every member of the House would have a white item on for the next month. Her grief ebbed a little as she accepted a bowl of porridge from the cook and headed towards the parlor to oversee the removal of the bier.

The room was silent when she arrived, and something about it put her on edge. Now that he had been mourned, Oliver had told them to return to the love and laughter that was the trademark of their House. Silence was not what she should be hearing. As she approached the bier, she saw the cause for the silence: a large vase with an extravagant floral arrangement sat in the middle of it, a red ribbon tied around the vase with a card attached to it. The reason for the silence was that all the flowers were dead; dried, shriveled and in some cases, white with mold. Mena gasped and reached for the card with shaking hands.

Pet, I hear the old man finally died. Could not have been a man who deserved it more than him. May Elua shut him out of Terre d’Ange Beyond so he wanders the land forever

—K

Where the Sun Sleeps – Part I

The Masquerade was a wonderful event, one that Mena enjoyed to the fullest in Olivier’s honor. It was what he would have wanted, nothing was of more value to him than the happiness of his family. That included the entirety of the House, so they all did their best to honor him. 

Once they returned home and slept off their revelry, the mood shifted. A pair of adepts gathered all the children into the playroom, closed the door, and spoke to them at great length about what had happened to Olivier. How they handled it, Mena did not know, she was busy with preparations. The novices swept every corner of the House, washed the floors, helped Cook, and covered all the art. The adepts were busy day and night for three days, changing curtains, covering mirrors, setting out the incense and candles, and making sure every member of the House had suitable mourning garments. Loir oversaw everything for the first two days, before she joined Mena at the Temple of Elua. 

The space reserved for death vigils was small without feeling claustrophobic. Loir had arrived just before sunset, as was the custom in Heliotrope. She slipped in, laying her coat and bag down on the couch that was along one wall, and knelt next to Mena, taking in her friend’s appearance. It was clear that she’d been crying, her eyes were red rimmed and a little swollen, and her hair was still partly in the arrangement she’d worn to the Masque. Has she slept? Loir asked herself, her brows furrowing as she reached for Mena’s hands. They were ice cold, her fingertips were even a little red, so Loir squeezed them gently.

“Come on, love,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you and Laurent nap while the Priestess and I do our part?”

Mena stared at her for a long moment, her eyes clearly showing her deep grief and soul-deep loneliness. Loir waited, her thumbs idly rubbing circles on the backs of her friend’s hands. Mena drew in a shuddering breath and said, “Yes. Yes, that’s what we should do next.”

An Acolyte of Elua gently touched Mena’s shoulder, drawing her attention and encouraging her to stand. “Please, follow me, Sister. Let us care for you so you can care for the dead.”

Loir smiled encouragingly as Mena and Laurent were led away before she stood and retrieved her bag. When his wife had died, Loir had spoken at length to Olivier about how death was handled in Jebe-Barkal. He had been fascinated and had asked her to carry out a few of the things she had mentioned when his time came. She laid out the contents of her bag on her side of his body and looked over at the Priestess who would be helping her prepare his body for entombment. The woman smiled gently, and Loir returned her smile, then turned and took her first good, long look at Olivier. The toll his sickness had taken on him was visible in the frailty left behind. She closed her eyes for a moment, speaking to Elua and the goddess of death who she’d grown up with as well, asking them to care for the man who helped raise her, who’d taken her in without question, who’d been the sun for everyone who knew him. Opening her eyes, she spoke to him. “Olivier Mathan nò Heliotrope, beloved of so many, guiding light of Heliotrope, I come to you humbly, as your graveminder. My hands will be the last that touch your body, may they convey to your spirit our love and respect. My hands will be the last ones to seal your tomb, may you be welcomed into the afterlife by all that have gone before you. My body will be the last one to leave your graveside vigil, may you flourish in Terre d’Ange Beyond in perfect love and health until we meet again.”

She took a deep breath, reaching to uncover him and start his preparations with hands that did not shake.

~

The week since Olivier’s death had passed as a blur for Mena. She felt like she was moving through her life under someone else’s control for the first four days, but now she was feeling more lucid. Mourning in Helitrope was a serious and sacred affair, so much so that the wake seemed to materialize over night. She stood on the back porch, watching the sun inch closer to the horizon. It was a moment of peace, something she hadn’t felt this whole week and knew would not come again until the funeral was completed. That was three days away though, first came the wake. She would receive mourners for the next three nights, from dusk to dawn. At dawn on the third day, his funeral would be held in their tradition. 

She sighed and headed inside towards the front parlor. The entire House was present, spilling through the public rooms, already speaking quietly among themselves. None of them had seen Olivier yet, they would when the parlor was opened. Mena stepped through them, giving and accepting sympathy as she went. Pausing at the parlor doors, she turned and said, “My House, my family, join me in remembering our departed Olivier as he wanted. Eat and drink freely, let merriment fill you if it comes.”

With that she opened the doors and stepped in. Olivier was laid in the middle of the room on a wooden table. He was dressed in what he’d selected: a pair of pants made by his late wife, a sweater knitted for him by Mena, and a shirt selected by Laurent. Where the flowers had been found, Mena did not know, but he was surrounded by gentle banks of all varieties of sun-following flowers, the bright yellow of sunflowers somehow existing with the purples of the ground covering heliotropes. He had a gentle smile on his face, and a wreath of flowers and grasses adorned his head. Loir stepped close to her, sliding her arm around Mena’s waist and leaning her head on her shoulder. Mena returned her gentle hug and said, “Vouloir, he looks splendid. You have made us all proud. Will you stay with me while the mourners come? For a while anyway.”

Loir nodded and gestured towards the door, “Of course, my friend. Here they come now.”

~

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House entered the Heliotrope House quietly. She had made sure that she would be among the first to arrive, wanting to show both the respect of her position and the support to her friend. She took in the assembled adepts who murmured quietly amongst themselves, a somber air filling the hallways and public rooms. She scanned the space for Mena, but did not see her in the groups gathered there. Petrea made her way towards the parlor, where she knew the late Dowayne would be lying in state, offering gentle smiles and soft words of sympathy to those she passed. She could see the depth of sadness in everyone’s eyes. It was a far different atmosphere than the highly formal one of Gerault’s funeral. Olivier had so clearly been loved, and Petrea’s heart ached for the members of Heliotrope House. If only it could have been so with her passed Dowayne.

Moving into the front parlor, Petrea’s eyes landed on Mena, who stood near Olivier’s body, another woman—perhaps this was Loir?—leaning on her shoulder. Petrea approached silently, not wanting to interrupt. She stepped up to Olivier, so lovely in his vestments, so peaceful in death, his soul gone to True Terre d’Ange Beyond, his body surrounded by beautiful flowers. His body had been carefully prepared, and he looked…loved…was, again, the word that came to Petrea’s mind. This was a manifestation of Blessed Elua’s tenet. Heliotrope House had truly loved Olivier, and they showed that love for him in this way.

Raising her eyes from the bier, Petrea met Mena’s eyes and offered a small smile. She walked around to her friend and gave her the kiss of greeting. “Mena,” she said, taking her friend’s hands. “On behalf of Dowayne Aliksandria and all of Cereus House, please accept our deepest condolences on your loss.” She bit her lip and looked away from a brief moment, thinking carefully on her next words before continuing. “Aliks did so wish that she could come to pay respects personally upon the death of another Dowayne. She is, however, somewhat unwell, and we did not want to risk bringing any sickness to your House.” Petrea paused, then spoke again, her voice softer. “I also wanted to come see you myself. To visit you as, well, as a friend. To offer any support. Please know that I am here for you in this difficult time.”

Mena gently squeezed Petrea’s hands. “Thank you for coming, my friend. I hope Aliks feels better soon, being sick in the winter is miserable.”

She looked at the ceiling for a minute, inhaling deeply before she looked back at Petrea. “I wish that Gerault had allowed you out of your House, I am sure you would have loved Olivier, and I know he would have loved you. Please,” she said and gently squeezed Petrea’s hands again, “come and visit. We’d love to shower you with the love you deserve.”

Petrea’s smile wobbled slightly at the sentiment. She then turned to the younger woman standing with Mena. “You must be Loir. It is my pleasure to meet you. Mena speaks so highly of you, and I am pleased to finally have the chance to see you in person. I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

Loir took Petrea’s hands in hers. “Petrea, it is wonderful to meet you as well. Thank you so much for coming and for your condolences, it means so much to me and to the House.”

Petrea glanced around the room and saw that there were other mourners, but none stood close enough to hear their conversation. She leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. “I assume you are now the Dowayne, Mena, and Loir—” She glanced at the other woman. “—I am guessing that you will be named Second. As Cereus House has a new Dowayne and Second, we are familiar with the changes and upheaval it can cause within a House.” Her lip raised in a wry look. “Although I suspect your change in leadership will be far smoother than ours. I, personally, and Cereus House in its position in the Night Court, will do whatever we can to help you with this transition. We are all here for you.”

Mena smiled gently, “Thank you for that. Luckily for us, Olivier was very sick for a very long time. I have been working as Dowayne privately for more than a year. I will, of course, come and call you for advice with the public aspect.”

Loir’s laugh was less restrained, “I will certainly come see you. We Seconds have to work together since we get to do the dirty work. Speaking of that—” She leaned in closer to Petrea. “—If I’d had any idea how terrible Gerault was behind closed doors, I would have come and sped his return to Elua for you.” She winked before stepping away to speak to another adept.

Petrea bit her lip to hold in her laugh at Loir’s candor, so appreciative of the support she knew she now had in this House. She gave Mena’s hands one last squeeze. “I will let you greet the rest of your guests. Please do call on me.” She stepped away and made her way through the crowd gathering around Olivier.

~

Adam nó Heliotrope sat in a corner on the grand staircase in the main foyer of the House, pressed against the wall next to his best friend, Alain. The two young men often found themselves in such a position—pressed together, hidden away. Olivier often found them where they shouldn’t be, spying on events they shouldn’t. But he would find them hiding no more. 

“What are you thinking, sweets?” Alain whispered, using their private nickname for each other. His arm was wrapped around Adam’s shoulders, and Adam’s wound around Alain’s waist. 

“I couldn’t pick out a particular thought. Everything is so jumbled up. This doesn’t feel real,” Adam murmured back. Olivier’s death felt impossible to Adam. Olivier had been Dowayne for Adam and Alain’s entire lives; they had known no other steering the steadfast ship of Heliotrope. Having never known his own father, Adam looked up to Olivier like one. How did a young man go on without his father? Adam had loved Olivier so fiercely. Tears welled in his eyes, and his throat tightened. He buried his face in Alain’s shoulder, clutching his waist as though his friend could hold him steady in the sea of grief.

Alain ran a hand through Adam’s hair and made soothing sounds. His own sadness was not as sharp, for he has come to the House not as a babe, but a young boy. “You know I will always take care of you, right?” Adam nodded, his tears staining Alain’s shirt. He kissed Adam’s head and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Why don’t we go back to our rooms? I think you need some privacy to grieve appropriately.”

The two stood, almost as one. Alain put a hand on Adam’s back and guided him up the stairs and back to their quarters. They moved silently, as they always did, slipping away unnoticed. 

~

Niklos arrived in the big, glittery family coach. A pair of cousins arrived with him; they’d been patrons in Heliotrope one of the years he wasn’t in the City. Their mood was somber, and well it should be. Olivier had been well known and well loved in the City, and his loss was a difficult one. Upon their entrance, they were directed toward the parlor, and Niklos could already see a crowd gathering near the bier. He thought he spotted both Mena and Loir in that direction and looked to his cousins. “You don’t have to follow me, but I hope you will pay your respects to the new Dowayne and the House.” With a brief nod from both of them, Niklos turned and moved slowly towards Mena, murmuring his sympathies to any member of Heliotrope that he passed.

He recognised the stately woman speaking to Mena as the Dowayne of Dahlia House. She grasped the Heliotrope adept’s hands warmly, a kind and gentle smile on her face as she offered soft words of comfort and strength to her. No more than that, she did not take up much time, but Jocaste ever had a large heart, so she had come to offer what comfort she could. 

She nodded to Mena and the other Heliotrope at her side, before lifting her skirt and stepping back to free her for the next person seeking her time. 

He slipped up to Mena quietly, having nodded to Jocaste as he passed her. He was familiar enough with the Dowayne of Dahlia House, as she had helped facilitate his chess matches earlier in the year. He rested a hand on Mena’s upper arm and leaned in, whispering his condolences to her softly and promising her that he would be in touch soon. He thought to invite her to dinner away from the House, once things had settled once again.

A Moment After the Masque

The Longest Night Masquerade at Cereus House had been more than Niklos could have dreamt of. Certainly there had been stories he had heard, and rumors as well, but nothing could really compare to being there himself. The tables had fair groaned under the weight of the food, and the ballroom of Cereus House had been bedecked as a winter forest. The costumes were stunning, as Markus nò Eglantine had promised when Niklos had picked up the outfit the adept had designed for him three days before the Longest Night, as the couturier swore he would be far too busy to meet Niklos at any time closer to the event. And with what Niklos had seen the adepts of Eglantine adorned in, it was no lie. The freedom afforded the adepts was surprising, though he knew of the traditions of the Longest Night. A number of the adepts that he had made acquaintance with over his Grand Tour had stopped to greet him as well, which he felt boded well for his hopes to continue pursuing them. The Masquerade, performed to renew the Winter Queen by her Sun Prince, had been moving. Niklos had almost found himself crying. He’d seen it before, either at one of the Shahrizai holdings or within his parents’ home, but to see it at Cereus House was something different. Something almost holy. The Winter Queen was, as usual, represented by a Cereus adept, and this year her Prince was a Mandrake. Niklos wasn’t sure if that prophesied anything for the year, but both adepts had done a beautiful job of things, and he was honored that he had been invited to witness the event.

“I really must send a thank you to Cereus House,” Niklos thought to himself as he crossed the atrium of the townhouse, “addressed to both Petrea and Aliksandria. One of them was responsible for my invitation, but it is always a good idea to keep all pathways open.” Calling for tea and some food, Niklos headed to the stairs to the bedrooms. The letter could wait until he woke up, though he would leave himself a note to not forget it.

To Study a Chessboard

The liveried footman stepped up to open the door of the carriage the moment it pulled to a stop within the courtyard of the townhouse. No one would think it askance that the carriage bearing the green-black-bronze livery of the Rocaille family was coming to the Rocaille townhouse off the Rue Courcel, no one would pay it any mind. The gate closed firmly behind it, and the carriage drawn further into the courtyard to keep it from view, there were no prying eyes that could see the footman offer a hand to the woman that stepped down out of the carriage. 

“My lord is waiting for you in his library,” the footman said quietly. “The butler will show you the way.”

“Thank you.”

She swept toward the house with a swish of her winter cloak, and the footman rubbed his hands together. He had never touched an adept of the Night Court before. 

Inside, she was greeted by the butler, who took her cloak and showed her up the stairs to the library. It was a grand space, paneled in beautifully oiled wood and occasionally showing a mural of the Siovalese mountains and forests which surely helped to remind the visiting family members of their home. The shelves set along the walls stretched from floor to ceiling and were filled with all kinds of books and scrolls in several languages. A fire had been laid in the fireplace adjacent to the window and set before the window to get the most natural light was a sturdy wooden desk strewn with papers. Maël de Rocaille did not so much sit at his desk, rather he lounged against it, one hand pressed mindlessly against the stack of books to keep him balanced as he propped himself up by hand and hip alone. 

He looked up as the door opened, immediately straightening and setting the book down as he greeted his guest. “Odilia. Welcome.”

“Thank you for making the arrangements,” she said, crossing to the fire to warm her hands. The longest night itself may have passed, but winter still held a firm grip on the city and her gloves could only do so much in the carriage. 

Maël glanced at the butler hovering in the doorway, giving him a nod. The servant bowed and withdrew to see to the other arrangements his lord had requested, leaving the two of them alone for the moment, which gave Maël a chance to really study this woman. Even with how he had helped Gustav meet with her, sneaking him out of the Palace and delivering him to the doorstep of Dahlia House, he himself had not had a chance to really look at her. She was taller than the average D’Angeline woman, and her excellent posture—likely a product of those House words, upright and unbending—gave her an extra inch surely. Her dark hair was braided back from her face, a practical choice, and twisted into a no-nonsense knot at the nape of her neck to keep it out of her way. He wondered what her pedigree was, whether her family had any noble blood or traced their lineage back to any particular province. He knew very little about her, only that she was the Second of Dahlia House, and that his friend was losing his heart to her. 

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the plush, green armchair set by the fire, “sit, and be comfortable. The butler will bring us some light refreshments in a moment. Do you enjoy coffee? I work hard to source the coffee in my house from Jebe-Barkal itself. The strength of it is invigorating and I dare say we will need the strength.”

“A tisane will be fine for me,” she said, sweeping her skirts aside to lower herself to the chair. 

“I do have proper tea from Ch’in,” Maël said, taking his seat in the other armchair set at the fireplace. “I have a blend I think you will like, it is smoke-dried which gives it a unique kind of smoked flavour. It actually comes from a kind of camellia plant, did you know that? Beyond just flowers, the camellia family has long been cultivated for their tea leaves and medicine. I have heard some people in Ch’in and beyond use camellias for hair care as well.”

She watched him with her dark eyes and he thought he saw a hint of amusement in them. He gave a little shrug. “I like to learn things. It comes with the family name.”

“Naturally,” she agreed, her hands folded in her lap. “I see how the two of you have become such good friends.”

“Well, someone had to help him study,” Maël said easily. “It certainly wasn’t going to be L’Envers.”

He won a smile from her at that and, even if it was small and close-lipped, he could see the silent laughter in her eyes. 

“Nevertheless,” she continued, “I am glad he has a friend like you. Especially now.” 

The butler let himself back into the room, bringing with him a tray of fragrant coffee served in the Jebe-Barkal style—in an earthenware jug, with small cups, and with a small plate of roasted peanuts along with the sugar bowl. Maël murmured to him the request for the smoked tea for his guest and the butler bowed. A second servant accompanying the butler had also brought a wheeled cart upon which was set a selection of fresh fruit, some savoury pastries, and an arrangement of cured meats with cheeses. 

Maël gestured for Odilia to choose as she pleased from the refreshments and, as she did so, she said, “I also wanted to thank you, my lord, for bringing me the news as quickly as you did. I would have heard it anyway, but I am grateful I heard it from you. Thank you.”

He nodded. “You are welcome. I know how important he says you are to him and I knew this would change a great deal of things. You deserved to know.” 

He accepted the small cup of steaming coffee the butler had poured for him and the servants withdrew to make the arrangements for her tea. Alone again, she nibbled on the slice of sausage she had taken, identifying it as herbed venison, before she said, “I asked to meet with you because I think we could be good allies for each other. I said it then and it is still true that he will need our help. A year is a very short time to prepare to become King. However much we can assist him, I think we should.”

Maël leaned back slightly in his seat, cradling his coffee cup in his hands as he got comfortable, asking, “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you play chess, my lord?”

It was his turn to smile as his brows lifted. “I have heard you do.”

“You heard right,” she said. “It is a clear way to help me picture how to strategize. Do you have a board here?”

“It’s not my choice of game,” Maël admitted, “but the family does keep a few in our collection. Do you have a preference of material? Ivory? Metal? Wood?”

“Not for this,” she said wryly. “Any set will do.”

He rose and crossed to the other side of the library, considering a corner cabinet full of various collectible items, before withdrawing a fine chess set. The wooden one was lighter to carry, so he left the metal and marble ones there. She had moved a side table from the wall to place it between their armchairs so that by the time he returned, there was a place for him to set it down. The board was made of cherry and maple woods, the pieces carved from ivory and mahogany, red and gold setting the scene for the Game of Kings. 

He opened the box where the pieces were kept and asked, “So, how do you set the board?”

“For this?” She selected the ivory king from the box, setting it down at its proper place, “The king is the king. As for the rest, we can use the pieces to visualize who is close to him. What piece are you?”

Maël considered this before selecting an ivory knight and placing it down. He asked, “And you?”

She placed a bishop down and gestured to the rest of the pieces, saying, “Now, we fill in the rest of the board, as best we can. Who can help him? Who can we trust?”

“What do you think he needs?”

She pressed her lips together, frowning slightly, before turning it on him. “What do you think he needs? You know him on a more personal level than I do.”

“He’s a good student,” Maël said, setting the box of pieces down and picking up his coffee again. “He was always ready to learn new things, try anything, which delighted L’Envers. He works well under pressure, has excellent composure and poise when it comes to public speaking. But L’Envers was always the leader of our merry band, getting Gustav into trouble more often than not. But he was…comfortable. When he knew how his world worked, he didn’t seem interested in changing things.”

“And now things have changed around him,” Odilia said quietly. The butler returned with her tea tray and poured her a cup before silently withdrawing, closing the door softly behind him. 

“Fact is,” Maël said, watching her stir a scant spoonful of sugar into the steaming black tea, “I think we could be balancing forces for him. Like the Ch’in concept of yin-yang, almost.”

She shook her head slightly as she swallowed her first sip of the deliciously strong tea. “I’m not familiar.”

“Well,” Maël said as she sank back down into the armchair, “I’m with him at Court and I’m one of his companions in the Palace, so while we’re there, he’s focused on his duties and the responsibilities that they’re putting on him. He may need to be reminded that he can enjoy life. My priorities for him are strengthening his confidence and making sure he knows how to balance his responsibility with his own wants. He cannot be a king cut off from his heart. But when he’s with you…”

She picked up the thought effortlessly. “He is more focused on his desires, putting the royal duties aside. So, while you are encouraging him to be honest with himself at the Palace and face Court with the self-assurance of knowing what it is he wants, I can balance him in his indulgences and show him how to ground his desires and wishes in what he can truly accomplish, helping him build a plan for his own success that he can achieve in his own terms.”

He leaned forward to nudge the knight and the bishop closer to the king’s sides. “If you and I keep a strong alliance, we can work together to guide him and prepare him. You’re right, a year isn’t a very long time. So we need to make our plan now.”

“Then let us consider who we do not trust,” she said, taking another sip of her tea. “Who do we not believe will be good guiding forces for him?”

A flicker of a shadow crossed Maël’s face and he admitted, “It may come from the personal history of my family, but I do not trust the Shahrizai. L’Envers, for all that he comes from the line that killed Edmee, I know him. He doesn’t have the drive to wreak destruction. Not now at least. Anyone can be forced if the odds are against them, but for now his friendship with Gustav is true. If wild. But the Shahrizai?”

He shook his head with a hard look in his eyes. “That family has caused too much pain and their name has been behind too many tragedies. I don’t care that he’s a cousin, Gustav doesn’t need to pay the price of their ambitions.”

Odilia considered this. Yes, this heir to the Rocaille family would have more reason than most to loathe the Shahrizai for what their great and terrible Melisandre did to twist David into her puppet, shaming that family and bringing pain to them. Yet, she had met the Shahrizai Count who had come to Dahlia House to play chess. An ambitious man, perhaps, but she had read him as a loyalist at heart. Whether to the Crown itself, no matter who wore it, or to the true line of succession remained to be seen. 

So she only nodded. “Very well. Who do we trust? Who do you think could help him?”

“Sebastien, obviously,” Maël said with an idle shrug, the shadows clearing from his face once the topic of the Shahrizai was gone. “He’s already a friend and, for all his frivolities, he does care deeply about Gustav. The Cassiline, Manuel. Though I’m still not entirely sure about him, I know the Cassilines take their oaths seriously. Manuel will keep him safe, though that might at times put him opposed to our maneuverings, depending on how we push him.” Yet Maël was sure that Manuel similarly was seeking redemption for the Cassilines for the actions of David de Rocaille. He would even wager on it. 

“Well that may pose a problem,” Odilia said, reaching for the teapot to refresh her empty cup, “because I have been contemplating a bold idea.”

His brows lifted and he risked a half-smirk as he observed, “You don’t seem like a woman who does anything by halves.”

“Hardly,” she matched his smile in return. “But in my conversations with him, Gustav has hinted that he is not quite comfortable with the level of deference and service he is being shown since he returned to take his place as Dauphin.”

“Facing a coronation next year, I can’t imagine that deference will abate,” Maël said. “If anything, it will only get worse.”

“I agree,” Odilia said, her hand lifting to make sure none of her dark hair had escaped her braid. “Which is why I plan on writing to Valerian House to make arrangements to have them invite Gustav and me to their Mara’s Eve fête.”

Taken aback, Maël blinked. “I don’t follow.”

“Gustav is uncomfortable with the power that he already has and how it reflects in the servitude and obeisance he is being shown,” she said, her fingertip absently tracing the gilded rim of the teacup as she traced her thought process aloud. “Where better, then, to take him to get him used to service and obedience than the House of the Night Court that specialises in submission? Among the other guests of the fête, we will be able to pass without notice and he will be able to see and experience the dynamics of power without the pressure and stakes of a royal court watching his every move.”

“A bold move indeed,” Maël mused, “and unorthodox. But not, I think, without its own merit. Unfortunately, I cannot help you with that. I…cannot say that my tastes run to Valerian House’s particular skills.”

“I am not worried,” Odilia said with a little smile. “I am the Second of Dahlia House, the Valerian Dowayne will take my letter and accept my request. She must. Who among the Thirteen would refuse a royal visit? Even if it must be a secret, she will accept it for the gift it is to have the future king attend her fête.”

“Then while you are tending to that,” Maël said, picking up another bishop from the collection of game pieces and turning it over in his fingers, “I will make a gambit of my own.”

He leaned to put the bishop down off to the side, a small distance away from the king piece. He said, “He will need a powerful ally among the other nobles. I may be the next in line in my family, but our influence is limited in scope.”

“You have someone in mind?”

Maël smiled, “Oh yes. Do you know the Duc de Chalasse?”

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Cereus House was abuzz with activity as servants and adepts alike prepared for the upcoming Midwinter Masque. It was the highlight of the year for the House, and this year had been one of changes, to put it mildly.

Petrea nó Cereus sat in the Second’s bedchamber, waiting for her friend Aimée nó Cereus to arrive so that they could dress together. Petrea marvelled at how different this was from a year ago. This time last year, Aimée had been ensconced with Aliksandria—then Second herself—drinking wine, giggling, and likely just getting out of bed from an afternoon romp, to begin dressing in finery for the masque. Petrea had been alone in her own room, her plain costume laid out on her bed. Marielle had poked her head in and asked about borrowing thread to fix up some mishap with a mask or dress or trousers. 

But this year, Petrea was the Second. And Aimée was not in bed with Aliks. She was on her way to Petrea’s room. Their friendship had blossomed over the year, and with Aimée’s assistance—and the invaluable advice of the Seconds from Dahlia and Heliotrope Houses—she was beginning to feel less like she was fighting stormy seas in a rowboat. 

Aliks was now the Dowayne. An overburdened, burnt out Dowayne, thanks to the untimely death of her predecessor, Gerault, who had kept so many secrets from her, they might never truly discover them all. Petrea’s heart went out to her best friend, who spent her days locked in the Dowayne’s office, seemingly only emerging in the wee hours of the morning to take in a few hours of sleep. At the same time, Petrea wished that Aliks had taken more time to help train her, so that she need not turn to others for help. But almost more than that, Petrea wished that Aliks’s and Aimée’s relationship had not become so deeply damaged and strained. She knew that Aimée was hurt and angry. Aimée did not want to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, so Petrea did not pry. 

Petrea knew that Aliks could not push the two of them away forever. She knew that Aliks needed both of them. And Aimée and Petrea both needed Aliks. But greater than their personal feelings, Cereus House needed the three of them to come together to bring it back to its glory.

~

The Shahrizai townhouse was quietly gearing up for the Longest Night. Numerous cousins had flooded into the City as the days got shorter, and there was a constant flow of invitations to various fêtes on the actual night. A number of the older members of the family were invited to the event at the Palace, and the younger members had invitations to the houses of their friends in the City. All save Niklos, whose invite lingered on his desk. Not just an invitation, but an invitation with a token. His invitation was signed by Petrea nó Cereus and was for the Masquerade on Mont Nuit itself. That news had been a wildfire amongst House Shahrizai when it arrived. Older family members commented that they couldn’t recall the last time a Shahrizai had been invited to spend the Longest Night on Mont Nuit, and the younger cousins pestered Niklos about how he had received the token and why he had been singled out. All he could tell them was that he had spent a significant amount of time in the City since he had arrived this year, and apparently his attempts to make connections with people were paying off. There were numerous late night conversations in the library, and Niklos had explained his plans to the family. The Longest Night would be a time for them all to enjoy themselves…and to gather what information they could; there was already a strategy going into the new year.

~

The Heliotrope carriage ride to Cereus House was uncharacteristically silent. News of Dowayne Olivier’s death hit the House hard, he was deeply beloved and had been their Dowayne for decades. Even though they had all been preparing for months, it still hit them like a kick to the chest. 

None were hit as hard as Mena, the new Dowayne. Olivier was her grandfather, the man who raised her, taught her about Elua and Namaah, who’d shown her love that truly felt like the gentle, constant rays of the sun. The death of his wife, her grandmother, a decade prior was hard, but this was crushing. She knew that his presence, his reputation, had kept her shielded from a lot of things that could come crashing down on her. In the back of her mind, she hoped that the affection people had for him could be transferred in some way to her. The coming months would likely be hard ones; his funeral would have to be held right at the start of the new year, his estate would need to be handled, the House still needed to be kept together, and she had an uneasy feeling about Kyrie. Someone as full of hatred, entitlement, and heresy was not going to go away as quietly as it seemed he had. Without Olivier, she felt adrift, like she had no idea where to begin. Tonight was easy, the House would attend the Midwinter Masque, they would throw themselves into the revelry in Olivier’s honor. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was for Olivier.

~

As she did every night before laying down her head for sleep, Rosanna prayed. At the niche in her bedchamber, where incense burned and offerings were made, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

In turn, she repeated the prayers taught to her in childhood, turning to the comfort she always found in the presence of the divine. One by one, she spoke the names of the angels from whom her people descended, who to this day watched over them all in times of peace and turmoil. 

Azza the Navigator, Anael the Good Steward, Camael the Flaming Sword, Cassiel the Perfect Companion, Eisheth Lady of Healing and Music, Kushiel the Punisher, Naamah the Bright Lady, and Shemhazai of Keen Mind

A little rhyme was gifted to each Companion, and from them she named a facet of her life where their guidance would be appreciated.Only in the most dire of times did she outright ask for anything from the angels. 

Now was not such a time…yet she still felt very much in need of some divine intervention, even just a little. 

This year had begun with the change in her path as a servant of Naamah, progressing forward toward that aspiration she had so longed for. Yet, for her to ascend from the office of Second to Dowyane, she lost the mentor who named her to that position to begin with. Eitene was surely a character and for some an acquired taste, but he was her dear friend, someone who believed in her even when the Dowayne before him expressed doubts. 

And now he was off to live his happily ever after with the Lord he adored, out in the idyllic countryside. Truly she was glad for him. It was a fairytale, and he deserved his happiness. 

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

Which was more intimidating than she had allowed herself to understand. Even with her own Second, Tryphosa, to help with the many responsibilities, the sheer volume of planning, especially for the Longest Night, was nigh overwhelming. Seeking solace, she had gone to the temple district on her usual weekly schedule, and where now she became acquainted with a fellow leader of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. Together they began attending services, discussing faith and duty. Slowly but surely, the worry subsided.

Now the Prince was set to ascend, too. They would have a new King. On her very first Longest Night as Dowayne. It felt as though the stars were aligning.

Snuffing the candles, she left an offering of wine and sweets then pulled herself to bed. Everything was falling into place, no matter if she was prepared or not. Best she face the dawn with a good night’s sleep and faith in the powers that be that all would be well.

~

At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.

Odilia had barely slept since Lord Maël had come to bring the news. Too many thoughts roiled through her head. Was he ready? What help did he need? What could she do? What was her place and responsibility to do? His letters, sent regularly over the years he had been gone from the city at his studies in the Rocaille University, had a special place in her private desk, kept under lock in their own drawer, but she had read them enough that she hardly needed to look at them to remember his words. 

Ah, his words! Young and impassioned, excited to share with her all of his triumphs and asking her advice on his challenges. Some of them had been sent with small gifts, books and bookmarks, or a fine new pen with an inlaid handle, some were only his words and his honest voice. It was strange, she thought abstractly, to feel such a rush of true and dear affection in her chest for the young man in her letters. He hadn’t signed them with his title, only his name, which had made it easier to let herself forget who he was. Then the plague changed it all. He was poised to rise like a brilliant star, shining in glory for the entire country. She was a loyal subject, surely that was the only reason why she worried for how to help him. He was to be her king, it was her duty to serve the crown in whatever it needed. It couldn’t be anything more than that. 

“Odilia?”

She came back to herself with a sharp blink, refocusing on the details of her personal dressing room and tearing her eyes away from the chessboard before her. 

Silvére hovered in the door. “Are you ready? We’re gathering for the procession over to Cereus.”

“Yes,” she said, rising. “Yes, I am ready.”

She was an adept of Dahlia House, she had to be ready for whatever would come next. Upright and Unbending. 

~

Manuel Cassid sank to his knees, preparing—as he had every year since the age of ten—to offer prayers to the Perfect Companion on the Longest Night. This night, however, he was praying not just for himself, but perhaps for his entire country. And unlike every other Vigil, he was not alone.

Kneeling beside the Cassiline brother, Gustav closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to quiet, sinking into a meditative calm as he began the Vigil. While the rest of the city danced and drank and feted the night away, waiting for the midnight hour when the Sun Prince would return to rejuvenate his Winter Queen and begin the cycle of the year again, he would kneel in Cassiel’s Vigil. 

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before. 

Cassiel, he whispered silently in his heart, Guide me in this year to come, that I may be the Perfect Companion to my country. As Cassiel was the Perfect Companion to Elua, what was a king but a perfect companion to his people? 

He still had so far to go.

The sun slowly set over the City, and the Longest Night began. 

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.