Blog – Page 2 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Silken Pillow Talk

Marion Basilisque could not believe how much her life had changed in the past year. Why, it seemed just days ago she had been following that brat Oudine like a shadow, doing her bidding and putting up with her nasty demeanor. Now here she was, on the morning of her natality, in the fine patron quarters on Balm House, in bed with her lover, the man she had pined over for as long as she could remember. He had taken her to Balm to celebrate her—to celebrate her—with a night of relaxation and love, brought a handsome young man to attend to them, and now here they were, nude in bed, enjoying an overabundance of delicious chocolates from her favorite chocolatier. The bedclothes were piled with wrappings from the candy they had been feeding each other.

“Oh, Évrard, I still cannot believe you have done all of this for me!” Marion said happily. “You are so attentive. No one has ever done anything this kind and generous for me before. Why, I don’t think even my family has taken so much care on my natality.”

Évrard chuckled. “Well I certainly hope you have not spent nights like this with your family, my love.” He gave her a gentle kiss and picked up a chocolate, unwrapping it and feeding it to her. He tossed the pretty paper onto the duvet.

Marion gave a squeal of surprise and playfully smacked his bare shoulder as she chewed the candy. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Of course, dearest.” His eyes sparkled. “I just love teasing you.” He lay back in the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Did you have an enjoyable night?”

“You know I did.” Marion sighed and looked into her lover’s eyes. She could not believe that Évrard had chosen her. That he was with her. That he loved her. “This has been…everything.” She ran her hand down his chest, tracing circles with her fingers. “Did you catch what the adepts were saying in the salon last night while we were eating?”

Évrard’ ears perked up. While he considered himself a proper gentleman, city gossip had always been a weakness of his, and Marion knew this. “Why no, I did not. What did you overhear?” He curled his body around his lover’s so that they were face to face. Wrappings from their chocolates fell to the floor as they moved under the bedclothes.

Marion’s eyes lit up. She, too, adored city gossip, and they spent many an evening speculating on all manner of social politics. “Two young girls were speaking of a meeting of all the Dowaynes—all of them, Évrard, can you imagine!—just a few weeks past at Cereus House. In addition to the Dowaynes, Odilia was there! So, they must have been talking of her ‘situation,’ as it were. You know she left the city several months ago and was gone for weeks? Well, the adepts were starting to say something about the Duc de Chalasse when the Second came over and chastised them for gossiping in front of patrons. Now, we all are well aware that everyone in this city speaks to everyone of goings on, so this must be of great importance and secrecy if this is being kept quiet.”

Évrard nodded and stroked Marion’s hair. “Yes, that is strange. And the entire city is on tenterhooks over Odilia’s situation, so I do not understand why this would be kept from anyone. Perhaps we chose the wrong adept to join us last night.” His gaze was wicked.

Marion giggled. “Well…I don’t know about that…I enjoyed myself…and it appeared you did, too, my darling.” She blushed, thinking back to the prior evening’s activities.

“Oh yes, I certainly did.” He gave her a soft smile. “But it is most important that you were pleased.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I only want you to be happy.”

“Oh Évrard.” She cupped his cheek. “Some days I have to pinch myself simply to ensure that I am not dreaming. That this is indeed real. How am I so fortunate as to have you?”

“Blessed Elua and Naamah have smiled upon us, have they not?”

She sighed and smiled at him. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot something else I heard.”

Évrard blinked, shaken from his reverie by Marion’s sudden change of demeanor. “Oh, yes, love?”

“Well, it was quite fascinating. There appears to be some…something…going on at Cereus House. No one will say what, but shouting has been overheard by the stablehands and grooms. No one inside the house will say anything about it. Quite tight lipped, they are. Adepts of other Houses and Cereus patrons have noticed an Eisandine chirurgeon visiting—and not as a patron, it is said. And, again, everyone is quite tight lipped about it. It is the strangest thing. No one can discern if there are instructions not to speak or if the adepts and servants simply do not wish to speak out of loyalty to whomever is ill, but you must admit it is odd.”

Évrard nodded, his face drawn in thought. He ate a chocolate, his mind spinning. “Hmm…that is odd, although I have heard nothing of this.”

“It seems no one has, and no one can pry any information out of anyone. I do wonder what is happening.”

Évrard hummed in agreement. “My cousin is visiting Cereus House tomorrow night. I shall ask him to look into this.”

“Oh, yes! You must. Évrard, we have these two large secrets here in the Night Court. Why do you think that no one wants them getting out? What could be of such great importance?” Marion felt almost concerned. “Do you think there is something amiss here? We know what happened with the Judiciary last year. Do you think there is somewhat similar going on? Is there some danger or threat to the Night Court that the Dowaynes wish to keep hidden?” Marion took another piece of chocolate and bit into it. The pile of wrappings on the bed continued to grow as they spoke.

“Hmm…that could be. But how might an illness at Cereus House and the Dowaynes meeting about Odilia be connected?”

“Well…” Marion thought for a moment, her brows drawn. “What if they weren’t meeting about Odilia, but she simply attended the meeting in her position of Second of Dahlia House? Surely that could be allowed, yes?”

Évrard nodded. “True enough. So, what then?”

“What if the meeting was to discuss this illness at Cereus House? What if, say, the Dowayne or Second of the House is…dying?” Marion’s voice rose. “What if one of them has some terrible sickness? What if that is why all of the leaders had to meet? What if they must plan for another funeral?” Her hand flew to her mouth.

Évrard gathered her in his arms, chuckling. The chocolate wrappings crinkled as the sheets tangled underneath them. “Oh, my darling, you are working yourself into a tizzy. I am sure it is nothing that dramatic. If the Dowayne or Second of the House was ill or had some…condition…that would not be kept quiet. No one could keep a secret like that!”

Marion sighed, calming. “Yes. Yes, you are right. If anything were happening to the Dowayne or Second, the news would have gotten out.”

“Of course. I suspect one of the adepts has taken ill or has injured themselves in some embarrassing fashion, and the House has been instructed not to speak of it. The yelling is likely some discipline gone awry. Again, embarrassing to the House if word were to spread.” He fed Marion another chocolate, which she chewed daintily.

“Ohhh, yes, that is like to be the situation. And the Dowaynes?”

Évrard thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Unconnected. The royal wedding is coming. It is like the House leaders met to discuss plans for it. As I said, Odilia was attending as Second of Dahlia.”

“But what of her situation with the king? Or the Duc de Chalasse?” Marion questioned.

“I think that, with the king being wedded, her days as his lover are sadly over. The king must produce an heir, and an adept of the Night Court cannot do that. The king must focus on his new bride. No queen would allow for formal or long term liaisons on Mont Nuit. Perhaps Odilia will be attending the wedding with the Duc de Chalasse?”

Marion made a sound of agreement. “That would make sense.” She sat up and made to grab for another chocolate, but found only piles of empty wrappings. She grasped, looking around the bed. “Oh, Évrard! We have eaten the entire bag of chocolates! Look at this terrible mess we have made!”

Évrard surveyed the bed, which was indeed, covered in candy wrappings. He craned his neck and saw more wrappings on the floor. Seeing Marion’s shocked expression, he could not help but burst into laughter.

Marion’s hand flew to her breast. “How can you laugh? Look at this!”

Évrard’s laughter grew harder, and he clutched his belly, tears springing to his eyes. “I am sorry, my dear,” he gasped. “But I do find it comical!”

“How can you laugh? Someone will have to clean up!”

After a moment, Évrard was finally able to calm himself. He took a deep breath. “Marion. How can you not appreciate the humor in the two of us eating an entire pound of chocolates? I meant for that to be a gift to you to enjoy over time. And here we are, having devoured the entire bag in a single morning, before breakfast. And you must admit, this is quite the sight.” His eyes grew soft as he saw her concern. “My darling. I can think of nothing better than lying in bed, eating sweets with you.”

Marion nodded slowly. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose this has been a lovely morning.” She gave her lover a small smile. “And I, too, can think of no better way to spend my time than here with you.”

The two embraced and fell back under the covers.

Distracted as they were, they had not heard the adept in the hallway, knocking to announce their breakfast. The young man had been standing in the slightly opened door for several minutes, listening intently to their conversation.

Storyline: Petrea reaches out

From the private desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

My dearest Odilia,

I have watched over these last many months as your personal struggles have been a public spectacle and your name dragged through the mud of the street of the City of Elua. Gossip on Mont Nuit and Night’s Doorstep is to be expected; your situation is not. It is not acceptable for one to be treated as you have been. And yet, you have handled all with grace and dignity. You are a paragon of the Dahlia tenets, and all should look to you with awe.

I have had my own troubles with love and heartache, though nothing close to what you have experienced. Please know that my heart is with you. Know that my feet stand beside you. Know that my shoulders carry your burden as though it were my own.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, I pray to Blessed Elua for strength for you. Should you ever need a confidant or a friend, you have me. You need only send me.

Yours,

Petrea

Storyline: The Meeting of the Dowaynes

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin.

“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”

Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”

Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”

Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.

Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House.

Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much.

Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”

“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.

“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”

Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.

“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.

Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”

Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’

Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body.

Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”

The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.

Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House. There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.

“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder.

“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.”

Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly. She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this. The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement. Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses. And thus did they come.

Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself.

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting. They might as well begin.

“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes. I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”

“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace. Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”

“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”

Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.

“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.

Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”

Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”

“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”

“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman. “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”

“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”

Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.”

“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”

“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered. And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words.

“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”

No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia. Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched. She would not back down from this.

“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”

Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?

“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers. I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”

“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”

Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone.

“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”

Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could.

“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice. “I am sure we are ready to hear.”

Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking. Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.

“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate. We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer. I blame my romantic heart. It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful. While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace. The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too. He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”

Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished.

“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”

She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”

Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant. Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself.

One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”

“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider. And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”

“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second.

“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court. I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”

Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.

“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”

Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.”

This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons.

Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”

Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes. For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years. And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this.

The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”

Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.

It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness. But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics.

Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court. Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept. She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics.

“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.

Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.” After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.

So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”

“Aliks!”

She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house. We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations. Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day. I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”

Odilia nodded, “Very well.”

Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”

Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.

“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?”

Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?

Storyline: Devotion Dues

The height of the summer was rapidly approaching, and it seemed like years had passed since the ball. Rumor had reached her that Odilia had left the capital soon after the Masque, her destination unclear, and the irritation she felt towards the Dahlia melted away like the snow. She was flooded with guilt for being so frustrated with her, for feeling inconvenienced by someone else’s heartbreak. It was simply that these circumstances were so common in her House that she forgot that it wasn’t the norm.

News of the death of her friend in Mandrake took longer to sink in than she had thought. Sitting through the service, listening to the priest speak about the Terre d’Ange beyond and how they’d all be reunited, watching Aliks move like a wooden doll in her uncharacteristic black dress, it all felt like it happened to someone else. While she didn’t deal much with Mandrake, her dealings were always with him. She didn’t realize it until she sent her runner to Mandrake to inquire about borrowing an adept. The woman who returned was not one she was familiar with. and it took all she had not to throw the woman out on her ear. There had been nothing wrong with the interaction, it just wasn’t familiar.

As the woman was escorted to the parlor for small refreshments before they took her back to her House, Mena felt a wave of dizziness overtake her. Clearly she’d been neglecting her health, not that she’d admit that to a soul. Laying her head on the cool marble desktop, she closed her eyes and focused on making a list. First, she must send flowers and a note to Odilia. Even if the woman had no idea, Mena still knew how she’d thought about Odilia, and that needed apology. Second, she had the Showings and a handful of patron requests to handle. There was a rumor that one of her older patrons was returning to the city, so she needed to run that down. She missed him and could use relaxation seeing him always brought. Third, the House response to the king’s betrothal needed to be finalized. They were hanging bunting in the colors of the House Courcel and the House Borlean. The colors blended well, and Mena wanted to make sure that their public support of the king was visible. Fourth, the Dowayne meeting about the royal wedding and what she was to do about the celebration. Because she had no official Second, she’d needed to decide who was going to accompany her. Perhaps Loir. Yes, yes, Loir would be the best choice. She deserved the bit of a break the festivities would give her.

Her head had stopped pounding, so she sat up and stood slowly before reaching the bell pull that would let the kitchen know she needed them. The last problem that she had was her friend Aliks. Something was going on, though there was no official word, the rumors were swirling around the Court like so much muddy water. Whatever was happening in Cereus was nibbling at her through her gossip, like so many little fish in a pond. Aliks was hiding more than her grief at losing the man who was her husband in all ways but the legal one. But what could she be hiding? No one at Cereus was speaking about it and the “Our Dowayne is as well as she can be, all things considered” was suspicious when heard from every mouth in the House.

Sighing heavily, she reminded herself that was a problem for Future Mena. Right now, she needed to eat, rest, and pen her note to Odilia.

Storyline: Honeybee Honesty

My dearest Granddaughter,

I had just been preparing to write to you when your letter arrived. Great minds do think alike.

Your presence could not be more desired or required. Come, as soon as your duties permit you. I’ll not lay out here what you so obviously know. For your family you should travel to my house, for your friendship just as necessary.

My usual correspondence was surely worrisome to you. So much has been altered so quickly that I neglected such things. You’ll forgive me, I’m sure.

Hurry to the Lodge, Rosanna. There is much we have to discuss and prepare for.

Your loving Grandpere

She had kept the letter, as she did with all those sent by her family, in a locked chest in her private quarters. Not that Rosanna did not trust her adepts, but some things were better left under lock and key rather than left to chance reading by eyes not meant for the message.

The Lodge was north of the City of Elua, set in the verdant valleys of the province of L’Agnace, where her grandfather was Sovereign Duc. Nearly every summer of her childhood was spent there, by now she knew the route by heart. Still, she did not make the trip alone. By coach the journey was several days, and they stopped by roadside inns along the way for rest and to change horses.

It was midafternoon by the time she arrived. Servants in the black and gold livery of her mother’s family stepped out to meet her.

“Lady Rosanna, His Grace awaits you in the garden,” one of them informed her.

“Thank you, I shall go to him immediately.”

No change of riding clothes for her, not at the moment at least. Usually Grandpere would take visitors in his office or one of the public rooms. When family came, he chose the meeting place specifically based upon who was to be hosted. For her, they always met in the gardens.

Rosanna went through the Lodge itself, briskly walking through room after room until she came to the rear veranda. Once there, she descended the stone steps and entered the elegantly planted bed of seasonal flowers. Interspersed through the blooms were bee hives. Not only were the tiny insects the symbol of the Chalasse lineage, they were a point of pride, for their honey was the best in the region, possibly the country. She was used to the bumbling little denizens flying around as she moved from one carefully plotted garden to the next.

“I trust your journey was easy and comfortable?”

Roland, her mother’s father, was standing near a large fountain. Hands clasped behind his back, eyes slowly lifting from the water lilies in the basin to her.

“The roads were not so rough and the accommodations decent,” she replied. Coming to stand before him, Rosanna kissed his cheeks in greeting and smiled when he patted her cheek affectionately. Just as he had ever since she was a child.

“I am glad. I wouldn’t want you to be bruised and exhausted when we have much to discuss. Come, walk with me.”

When Roland de Chalasse told you to do something, you did so without question. Even his family, though not out of fear but of respect.

Together they moved into the artfully crafted hedge maze. A place she had long since memorized the route of, yet always found the act of solving the puzzle a soothing process. No doubt it was much the same for her grandfather. For a time they walked in silence, comfortable to simply be in each other’s company.

She was the first to break that silence, after a few corners had been turned.

“Will I see Odilia today? Or have I missed her in traveling?”

“A summons came from the palace, she has already returned to the City. I expect you just missed her when you left Valerian House.”

“Ah, I see. And do we know from whom the summons came?” Was it the King or another member of the family?

“I expect it will be revealed in due time.” Roland looked down at her, something nostalgic gleamed in his pale eyes. “You do so favor your grandmother, Elua rest her soul.”

“From you that is the greatest of compliments,” she replied, brow slightly raised at the sudden comparison.

“Which would then make you wonder why I would make the offer I did to Odilia,” he countered.

“The question is on my mind.”

They passed a sculpture of one of the Companions. Carved from white stone, the depiction of her own ancestor, Eisheth, was resplendent in a raiment of flowers in the hair and waves at her feet. Rosanna placed a hand in reverence to the base of the statue before continuing to walk.

“Always so devout. Another similarity between you two,” he shook his head with a melancholy smile. “Would that you had the chance to know her. But I am content that at least one of my line follows in her footsteps in the service she held so dear.”

Rosanna felt more than ever that her request for a visit could not have been better timed. There was a tension in his voice, as though he was bracing for something. Preparing himself.

“I have faith that I will know her one day, when we meet in the true Terre D’Ange.”

“Do you have as much faith in the living as well as those who have passed on?”

“Grandpere, you want to tell me something, yes? Please, simply say so. I have been worried for you, for you both.” No need to say who she meant.

They turned around another corner, the maze was taller than their of them and the Duc was certainly a towering man. Here, no one could spy, words could be said in complete confidence.

“The family is shocked, no doubt, of my actions. While I am confident they will see reason, they cannot continue to be seen as not giving their full support.” As much as their family adored each other, several members were more dramatic than others. Especially when emotions were running hot.

Rosanna nodded.

“And the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, they are as soft and accommodating so long as no weeds are perceived as ruining their perfect gardens.” Though she loved the sacred order to which she pledged herself and the lay order her grandmother had joined, well did she know that cruelty was not uncommon on Mont Nuit.

Again she nodded.

“I am in need of an ally, someone to bridge the family and the Servants of Namaah. You are the one I have chosen. Tell me, Granddaughter, will you rise to that challenge?”

Together they walked into the heart of the maze, where another statue was prominently placed. More art depicting other Companions were scattered throughout the hedges, they just had not come upon them. Yet here, this place was dedicated to Blessed Elua himself. Red anemones bloomed at his feet, filling the air with their sweet aroma.

A perfect location to have this conversation. Her grandfather was not above a little theatricality when the moment called.

“You need me to calm the family and show that my friendship with Odilia remains strong,” she said quietly.

“As a Dowayne you have power, your word carries weight. I know my proposal will cause its own ripples across society, I want to protect her. Just as you do.”

That was a statement, not a question.

“Has she accepted your offer?”

“Not yet. She is giving the matter the time it deserves to consider her future.”

“A wise decision.”

Rosanna looked up into the face of Blessed Elua, noted the cut carved into his open palm. She too considered the fork in her own path. Although she did not need days to ponder.

“Until her position is secure again, Mont Nuit will not know what to do with her. Nor will the court until she accepts or denies your offer,” she thought aloud. “It seems I will be making the rounds and hosting a Dahlia as soon and often as I can. As though that was in doubt. But I will be an ambassador to the family as well. No doubt Odilia will be sick of her numerous allies once they descend upon the City just to spend time with her.”

Storyline: A Discovery at Cereus House

Petrea’s head hurt. If she was being honest, her entire body ached. She felt as though she had been tied to the chair in Aliks’s office for the last several months. Perhaps this was how Valerian adepts felt when they were practicing bondage…but without the pleasure. Her Dowayne had been so overcome with grief at the sudden and violent death of her lover that she had been all but absent from Cereus House. And when Aliks had been physically present in the house, she haunted its halls like a spirit.

It was not that Petrea begrudged her best friend time to mourn Waldemar. Her heart was not only broken on behalf of Aliks, but a little on her own behalf. Waldemar was both a highly respected member of the Night Court and frequent visitor to Cereus House, and over the years, Petrea had become fond of him. Though he and Aliks made an unlikely couple, they complimented each other, and he made Aliks happy. And there was nothing Petrea wanted more than for her friend to be happy.

But, in the absence of a Dowayne, it was the duty of the Second to take on the duties of managing the House. So, much to her dismay, Petrea had been thrust into exactly the position she had feared when Aliks first mentioned a babe: that of Dowayne. In addition to overseeing the entirety of the social aspects of the House, with which Petrea was intimately familiar, there were the incomes and expenses to account, the correspondences to write, and the contracts to manage. Petrea did not know how Aliks kept everything organized in her head while still maintaining relationships and taking on patrons. Every night, Petrea dropped into her bed exhausted, only to be woken in the early morning hours to begin it all again. She thanked Blessed Elus that she had Amie. Amie had stepped in when she, herself, had taken leave of the House two years prior, and Amie’s executive skills had been invaluable then just as they were now. The two had huddled together over accounting books and schedules, menus and letters. Amie was the only thing preventing Petrea from bursting into tears and curling on the floor in a tiny ball like a child.

Petrea rubbed her eyes, the candle burning low. She guessed it must be close to midnight. Everything was silent, save for the sounds a house makes when no one is awake. She wished not to be awake herself, but one cannot always have what one wished. She sighed and stretched her arms above her head.

She heard the swish of skirts and shuffle of slippers on the floor and looked up to see Aliks step through the door. Her face was drawn and gaunt, and dark circles swelled beneath her eyes. Aliks had lost no small amount of weight in the months following Waldemar’s death, and Petrea frowned to see her friend’s gown hanging off her withering frame. Aliks had not even bothered to have her clothing retailored.

“Good evening, Aliks. I am so pleased to see you up and about.” Petrea gave her friend a wide smile. Though she did not like the look of her friend, she was nonetheless happy to see her.

Aliks smiled wanly in return and dropped wearily onto the settee across from the desk, sighing. “It is far past evening, Petrea.”

“I am quite aware, dearest, but you know as well as I do that a Night Court House does not actually ever sleep.” Aliks hummed in agreement. “Are you hungry? Shall we sneak to the kitchens and fetch a bite like we used to do?”

“I could do with something small. Do you know if the cooks have any of the pickled herring in the pantry? I have been absolutely tortured with cravings for it of late.” Aliks gave a small chuckle. “It seems I cannot get enough.”

Petrea shuddered and made a face. “Pickled herring? How can you eat that? It is disgusting! I could never stomach it.” She paused. “And neither could you, for that matter. Why the sudden desire for it?”

Aliks lifted her shoulders. “I know now, only that it is the only thing I wish to eat.”

Petrea gave her friend a soft look. “I suppose grief does strange things to the body.”

Aliks nodded, tears springing to her eyes. Petrea stood quickly from her chair and moved to sit next to her friend. She put her arm around Aliks and pulled them close. Aliks leaned into Petrea’s side and allowed Petrea to stroke her hair. It was a complete turnaround from the roles they most often played, with Aliks comforting Petrea.

“I cannot seem to wake up from this, Petrea. My body craves sleep, and even when I wake, I am still tired.”

“You have been through something terrible. It would seem to me that it is not odd that your body wishes for rest.”

“But it is not simply sleep I crave. As I said, I am eating this pickled herring that I formerly could not stand. And it seems that is the only thing I can eat.”

“We all grieve in our own ways, love.” Petrea soothed.

Aliks looked at Petrea, her eyes full of tears. Petrea could not remember a time she had seen Aliks cry. It was distressing to her. Aliks played absently with the threads on her gown. “I am sick with grief, Petrea. I cannot hold food in my belly, and scents make me ill.” Aliks gave a sniffle.

Petrea nodded, looking closely at her friend. “I wondered why we no longer had the roses you so love in the halls. I thought it was perhaps simply out of respect…” Petrea trailed off, something tickling the back of her mind. She reached for the thought as the two women sat in the quiet office.

“What am I to do without him, Petrea?” Aliks whispered in a voice so unlike her own.

The tickling thought in the back of her mind slammed front and center, causing Petrea to gasp aloud. The exhaustion. The cravings. The illness. The overwhelming emotions. Could it be?

“Aliks,” she said carefully. “You and Waldemar lit a candle to Eisheth before he died, did you not?”

Aliks’s body stiffened and she pulled back from her friend. “Yes. We did,” she answered, her eyes going wide.

“Do you think,” Petrea said, her mind churning. “Do you think, Aliks, that you might be with child?”

“With child?” Aliks gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.

“Well, yes. You crave foodstuffs you hate. You have been physically ill. Scents you love make your stomach turn. You cannot sleep enough to feel rested.”

“Oh.” Aliks’s face went blank.

“I think, my dear.” Petrea put a steadying hand on Aliks’s arm. “That is is time we call an Eisande chirgeon.”

Petrea took Aliks to bed immediately and lay with her throughout the night. The next morning, the chirgeon was summoned, and Petrea’s suspicions confirmed: the Dowayne of Ceres House was, indeed, with child.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 3

Odilia twisted Roland’s ring on her finger, a nervous gesture. Of all the things expected to bring her back to the City of Elua, this had not been her preferred choice.

But she was a Dahlia—upright and unbending—she would not falter now.

Accepting the hand of the footman who opened the carriage door, she stepped down into the shade cast by the royal palace of Terre D’Ange in the City of Elua. She kept her face smooth and impassive as she swept through the front doors of the palace to greet the man standing there to welcome her.

“Odilia,” Sebastian L’Envers said warmly, reaching for her hands with the clear intent to offer her the kiss of greeting.

Instead, she swept him a small, perfect curtsy. “Your Grace.”

Stung, he shifted back onto his rear foot, realizing the distance she was putting between them. On purpose.

“Odilia,” he said softly, moving beyond the hurt of her snub. “They are waiting in the gardens. May I escort you?”

She nodded but did not take his offered arm. Going into this meeting was a kind of battle and she was sure her armor was firmly in place.

The Sovereign Duc of Namarre showed her through the light and airy salons, choosing a route with fewer people—but not empty. Soon enough all of the City would know she had been summoned by the King and his Queen-to-be.

The gardens of the royal palace were expansive and, as to be expected, exquisite. Lavender and lilies and iris, hedges and bushes and gravel paths, fountains and pools and statues. It was a piece of paradise, like a hint of the True Terre D’Ange Beyond. And there at a small table with a mosaic top, set before a grand fountain, three chairs set into the seashell gravel path, was the King of Terre D’Ange and Lady Corrian de Borlean.

Odilia squared her shoulders and descended the steps to the gravel. “Your Majesty, Lady Borlean. I have come at the request of your invitation.”

Gustav looked up, hope glimmering in his Courcel blue eyes as he stood. “Odilia!”

Corrian smiled warmly at Odilia as she approached the table. Many would say that she had all the power in this new dynamic, but they would be wrong. She was the intruder in Gustav and Odilia’s love affair, and while she hoped to be the queen of this castle, she knew she could hope for no more than to be second in his heart.

“Odilia,” she said, approaching the other woman to present the kiss of greeting, which Odilia accepted only a little stiffly. “Thank you for coming.”

“I answered your invitation as was expected,” Odilia said, allowing the kiss but no more, stepping out of the other woman’s grasp. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The table was set with a tray of canapés as well as one decanter of fruit-infused clear water and a decanter of wine. It seemed they were making efforts for this to be comfortable. Odilia accepted the seat the king pulled out for her, not wanting to look into his hopeful eyes. She had to protect herself and her heart in this.

“I asked Gustav to let me join you for this overdue conversation,” Corrian started, holding up a hand to prevent any objection. “I am sure you are feeling a great many things, and I would not presume to tell you what they are or how you should feel. And yet, I wish desperately to tell you how I feel.”

Odilia met the other woman’s eyes as she, too, took her seat. The Dahlia let the future queen pour the water and wine in the waiting glasses, keeping her own hands folded in her lap as she listened.

“I came to the capital this past season in a predicament,” Corrian continued, “I needed to find a husband for the good of my family and yet, to wed was the last thing I desired. I had hoped, greatly, to find a man with whom I could make a political match if not an amorous one, and I wish you to know that I feel I have succeeded in that endeavor. I wanted a husband who would allow me the freedom to not play pretend at love and who I could, in turn, give the freedom of his own affairs. This is the nature of the agreement Gustav and I have forged. I may soon get the title, but his heart is his own to give to whomever he chooses.”

“And I want nothing more than to give it to you again,” he said earnestly, blue eyes fixed on the unreadable courtesan across from him. “I meant every word I wrote to you, and those letters are still true now as the day the pen shaped those words.”

“Your Majesty—”

“No, I am only your Gustav here.”

“You are the King of Terre D’Ange,” Odilia said firmly. “Now and always. You cannot just set that aside because you wish to be frank at last.”

“Odilia, what Corrian says is true,” Gustav said, glancing at the Azzallese woman. “We came to an understanding, she and I. She knows what you are to me, she understands, and she will not stand in the way. She even gives us her blessing!”

Corrian felt more than saw Odilia glance at her to gauge her response to that, and she made sure to keep her face open and pleasant, giving the courtesan a small nod of confirmation.

“Odilia,” Gustav said quietly, leaning forward in his chair, “I am so sorry for all of this, for how it has happened. But, I would never tell you about my betrothal with an impersonal announcement. I would never do that to you. I do not know yet who sent the message to Cereus House on the Longest Night, but I will find out. Corrian and I had always intended for you to find out privately, between the three of us.”

“Because I do want a future with the three of us,” Corrian said gently. “I promised Gustav freedom, he promised me the same. I would not think to separate the two of you, I know the deep love you hold for each other, I would not come in between that.”

Odilia picked up her wineglass slowly, taking a slow sip to keep herself composed.

“Odilia, I fear the court will spend my entire marriage trying to make enemies out of us,” Corrian said, hoping that the courtesan would be able to sense her honesty. “I am certain that, regardless of their success in that, the historians will do the same. I am telling you now that your enmity is the last thing I would wish for. I desire friendship with you, comradery—” with a slight mischievous grin, “—perhaps more, one day. I wish to spend my time as queen with you as my Royal Companion, a one true friend who I can always turn to and trust above all else.”

Odilia’s eyes met hers for a long moment, taking the measure of her.

“And,” Gustav said quietly, seeing Odilia’s eyes flick to him again, “if you wanted it, I would also name you my official consort.”

Official consort. Not his wife, not his queen, but just as influential a position as his royal mistress. A place at court, an official and visible position where the rest of the nobles and courtiers could not be able to deny that she had not been put aside.

Odilia’s jaw flexed as she swallowed, considering this.

Unexpectedly, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She swallowed again, something tight in her throat as she spoke, “I have been…humiliated, Gustav. Time and time again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand to stop him. He subsided.

Odilia’s head turned to the second woman at the table, “Corrian, you are considerate and truly D’Angeline to offer so much freedom and consideration for the affairs of the heart. It is appreciated, if unexpected. I do remember the times you visited me in the Dahlia salon, I enjoyed your company.”

Corrian managed a smile.

“However,” Odilia said, smoothing her hands along the skirts in her lap, “as significant as this offer is, it is not the only one I have before me.”

The king’s eyes dropped to the topaz and diamond ring on her finger. He knew who had given it to her, he knew what at least one of her other options was.

“Therefore,” the Dahlia continued, “I cannot give you an answer now. I must consider what is best for me.”

“Understandable,” Corrian said immediately. “May I request an answer before the wedding? If you choose to accept our offer, I would like to make the announcement of your position properly at the ceremony.”

Odilia accepted that with a regal nod. “That is reasonable. I will give you an answer before then. At the very least, to assist with the addressing of the invitation.”

Gustav’s lips spread into a smile. If she could make a joke, perhaps all was not lost between them.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 2 – Solitude

Odilia sat in the shade of the terrace, her book long forgotten in her lap as she let the breeze soothe the warmth of the day and distract her with the view of the leaves and grasses and flowers rippling with the peace of the countryside.

It was quiet here. She could get used to that.

“My lady?”

She tucked some of her dark hair behind her ears as she turned to acknowledge the maidservant standing at the door to the estate. The girl dipped a curtsy and said quietly, “There was a letter for you.”

Odilia carefully marked her forgotten spot in her book and set it aside. “From?”

“From the palace.”

Carefully, Odilia smoothed her hands across the neat draping of her skirts before she nodded slowly. “I will read it.”

Her fingers broke the seal on the letter, and she sat back to read what they had sent her.

An hour later, when the Duc de Chalasse returned from his afternoon hunt with a brace of rabbits and some waterfowl for the kitchens, his manservant informed him that his guest had ordered her things packed and a carriage prepared for the next morning. And Roland went on the hunt again, but this time for his little flower.

“The servants tell me you are leaving,” he said once he found her sitting at the edge of one of his fountains.

She didn’t look up from where she was playing with a curious bumblebee that had come to investigate the scent of her perfume. “They tell you correctly.”

“Have I so failed in my host duties that you would return to the City of Elua without telling me?”

“No,” she said, letting the fat, fuzzy insect land on her fingers. “You have been a perfect host. This time here has been wonderful for my soul.”

“You must see how I will take insult to this.”

“Of course,” she said with a quiet smile, as the bumblebee finished its exploration of her hand and turned its attention instead to the water lilies floating in the fountain. And she looked up at him. “You are a proud man, Roland. I know your first instinct is to see this a failure. But it is not. I have no choice.”

“I am a proud man,” he agreed, pulling his riding gloves from his hands and looking down his nose at her. “I have enjoyed the prize of your attentions for quite some time, am I to let you go willingly?”

“You do not have a choice either,” she said, watching how he bristled at it. But, when she withdrew the invitation from where she had tucked it into her sleeve and held it out to him, he did take it. Yet, she didn’t need to watch him read it. She trailed her fingertips through the water of the fountain, tracing the edge of the lily pad.

She didn’t look up as he sat down next to her, the peace was too important now that it was so soon to be shattered.

“So I must let you go,” he said quietly.

“You must,” she said. “I cannot ignore a summons from the palace.”

“I had a letter from Rosanna,” he said, folding the invitation back up neatly and tilting his head back to consider the estate at the top of the hill. “She will be coming here soon.”

“It seems it is the time for the important conversations to occur,” Odilia said absently. “I am sure there are a great many things the family must discuss. I would not wish to be in the way of what you must say to each other and the answers she will demand.”

They sat together—quiet and still and so far away from each other even as they shared the same air.

Finally, he reached to take her hand, his voice impersonal even as his touch was warm and soft. “I will miss you, little Dahlia.”

“I am grateful for everything you have given to me,” she said, shaking the last droplets of the water from her fingertips as she withdrew her other hand from the fountain. “I know it was not for me. I know you have your own goals and purposes. But that does not change that you have shown me kindness in your own way. I respect you a great deal, Roland. That will not change.”

His arm slipped around her shoulders. “Perhaps it began selfishly on my part, seeking to find a weakness in the woman the royal court accused of turning the young king from his new duties. But I see what in you has so captured him. I am not a good man, little Dahlia, nor have I claimed to be. Yet the time I have spent with you has been my own, and you have…”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “I know.”

But she had run for long enough. Come the morning, she was in the carriage and returning to the City of Elua, the invitation in her reticule and the memory of Roland de Chalasse’s kiss on her lips.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 1 – A United Front

“Things are precarious enough as it is,” Corrian said as she flicked through the papers set on the table between herself and the king as they took their midday meal together. “Everything hangs on a knife’s edge, turning one way or the other with but a whispered word. We cannot afford to ruffle any further feathers by being thoughtless in this.”

The king, a few strands of slowly graying hair falling forward on his brow—young as he was, the weight of the crown was heavy and the stresses were many—released a heavy sigh, “I still have not found who sent the message to be announced at Cereus. Of all the ways to have the news come to the Night Court…”

“I know,” Corrian said quietly, watching him. It should never have happened like that. There was, once again, a silent faction among the nobles and the court making their displeasure clear with the king’s actions and attempting to ruin what little peace they had managed to find for themselves. “But what is done is done, and she must know the truth.”

“At last,” Gustav nodded wearily. He had danced to the court’s game for far too long and let them run his life. He was the king of Terre D’Ange, and he would handle this at last like a man. “Let us then write to her, invite her here. To extend the olive branch may quell any whispers of her being set aside.”

Privately, Corrian thought that there was no way to control the direction the gossip would take— perhaps the people would see the gesture as one of kindness as the king hoped, or perhaps they would see it as the king bringing his former mistress to instruct his betrothed in the matters which pleased him best. But, at least they were agreed that Odilia had been kept out of this for far too long.

“Let us write it together,” she suggested. “That she knows it comes from the both of us.”

Together, they penned the invitation:

From the Royal Palace of Terre D’Ange, the private offices of His Majesty, King Gustav de la Courcel and Her Ladyship Corrian de Borlean, the King’s Betrothed.

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, greetings.

An invitation is extended to you to join His Majesty the King and the Lady de Borlean for light refreshment in the royal gardens of the palace. Your presence is expected a sennight from the date of this invitation.

Beneath the official seals and signatures were two more private messages:

It is time that the air was cleared between us all. Please Odilia, do not let them make us enemies where we should be bosom friends. ~Corrian

Please, my heart. If ever you believed I love you, which I do with all that I am, please come to us, that we may make this right. My sky is incomplete without your star. ~G

When the embossed letter arrived at Dahlia House, Dowayne Jocaste nó Dahlia turned it over in her elegant hands and released a long, heavy sigh.

“Please, Blessed Elua,” she whispered, holding the letter to her heart in her prayer, “Let this bring them peace.”

And she handed it to the waiting page. “Ride fast. Bring it to Odilia at the Duc de Chalasse’s estate. Go!”

Storyline: Spring Roses

Prayer was always a safe haven, familiar and fulfilling, for Rosanna. Nothing, not even the sweetest lash, could compare to the meditative healing which she always felt in the silence of the shrines.

She had been attending services and becoming engaged in private prayers more often than ever before. How could she not?

With all that had happened, calling to the angels was an obvious next step to resolution. Asking for help and guidance not only for herself but for those around her. From the mourning in their neighbor house of Mandrake to the absolute fiasco that occurred at the Cereus ball and the multitude of volatile emotions going through her family.

It was as though the deluge of pain would never end.

Of all her friends, Odilia was the closest. Which made the gossip spreading like wildfire all the more biting.

She prayed for her friend and family for now ensconced in the gardens tended by the clergy of Namaah. Spring flowers colored the pale green lawns with spots of white or purple, incense filled the air, its heady scent on the breeze. No other sound was heard in this part of the complex save for her own whispers.

Another day, another plea to their patron angel for some sort of grace in this troubling time. Maybe this time some divine intervention would arrive, she had faith it would.

As the hour chimed, Rosanna got to her feet and returned to the carriage waiting for her. This morning a letter arrived from two of her siblings, they were in town and wished to see her. It was not often they met her in the city, usually they all convened at the family estate in Eisande. But with Mother so shocked, and honestly quite hurt, over Grandfather’s proposal, going home at the moment would be naught but painful. Now the family townhouse here in the city, that was a safe place to congregate. Mother and Father would not be coming into the capital any time soon.

Soon enough, the rocking of the carriage came to a halt, and the footman in the livery of Valerian House opened the door for her, holding a hand to assist her to the ground. Almost instantly, a valet bearing the red and white trident crest of the Baphinol family rushed out to help with bringing the carriage to their private stable, showing the footmen to the servants’ quarters for refreshment.

Rosanna was near to drawing the key from her purse when the front door was flung open. Two dearly familiar faces greeted her. A bright-eyed youth of dark, curly hair, and a smiling lady with red tresses to match her own.

“Baby sister!” Auberi, her nearest sibling in age, gushed and threw his arms around her and squeezed tight.

“Don’t suffocate her, you dolt!” Joia, the sister closest to her own age, scolded their brother. “Well, come in Rosie. Extract yourself, and let’s get inside.”

Auberi never did wholly let her go, slinging an arm around her shoulders as the three of them at last went inside. Drinks and treats were already awaiting them in the family solar, favorites of the three siblings the kitchens had long since memorized. Truly a feat of domestic prowess since there were eight Baphinol children in all.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to have you both in town right now,” Rosanna sighed as she fell down upon the nearest settee. “Everything is bearing down and falling to pieces…as though nowhere I go is untouched by disaster.”

“Too true, Rosie. We have heard it all from Mother before coming here,” Joia said as she poured them all tea.

“She has taken the news of Grandpere’s proposal very hard,” Auberi informed her and sat back in a plush chair. “A betrayal of her mother’s memory and her father’s vow to never take another in her place. It especially hurts as she cares so much for your friend.”

“And our father, the Comte? How is he faring through all this?”

“Taking care of Mother,” Joia replied and handed out delicate cups topped with honey to each sibling’s preference. “He knows she would not do well if left alone, so he deemed it unwise to come to the capital. Though he sends his love, as always, and will look forward to any letters you send. Papa misses you, but he knows you will reach out should you truly need him.”

A heavy sigh escaped her before partaking of her first sip. Warm and floral, rose hip tea. Perfect for spring and one of her favorites, a small comfort.

“Mother would not do well with all the gossip, the stares and prying questions, which would be flung her way if she were to come into town now,” Rosanna agreed. “Not even Grandpere and Odilia are in the city.”

“She did not wish for you to join her?” Auberi asked, a furrow in his brow.

“I would wager they are at his estate, maybe the hunting lodge. But no, I received no invitation to join them. Probably for the best. I was in no little amount of shock when I heard the news myself,” she was forced to admit.

“Rosie has enough on her plate, running her House. To up and leave would be no favor to those she would leave behind to manage in her stead. No, it is better this way.” Joia nodded as if to convince herself as well.

Had their grandfather told anyone ahead of time of his plan or even asked to join him and Odilia away from the cruelties of the city, it would have been Rosanna. A fact the entire family knew. She was his favorite grandchild, this was just a fact. In no small part this was due to her being the only one in the family since his deceased wife to enter the service of Namaah.

Neither Joia, nor Auberi, nor Rosanna ever met their grandmother, who was a lay member of the order, for she was gone before any of their births. But her memory cast a long shadow, the story of how Roland de Chalesse fought a duel for the right to court her was the stuff of song.

“How are you faring through all this, sister?” Aurberi turned to her. His pale eyes were stormy with worry, and she wished they had been able to come together again under kinder circumstances.

“To be truthful…it is hard to say,” she confessed. “First, the announcement of the King’s engagement, which was sudden and unexpected and downright cruel. Then, Odilia is whisked off before I can speak to her. Finally, my companion House suffers an unexpected tragedy, and I had a funeral to attend on top of it all. I…hurt, brother. And though I pray every day, no answer seems to come, and I am at a loss of what to do.”

“Nor should you go searching for it,” Joia said as gently as possible. “None of this could be prevented by you, nor solved either for that matter. You have a big heart, of course you feel adrift. This has blindsided us all, but you are close to your friend, it is only natural. Nevermind the mourning you and your fellows at Mont Nuit must be feeling.”

Several plates of sweets were passed around, and the siblings talked amongst themselves about as much of the trials and tribulations as they could. Each of them provided a unique perspective on the happenings of the last few months, surely they could find some path forward together? Because Rosanna could not simply stand back and do nothing. Attending the funeral was a given, she had already sent condolences and met with her own Showing partner from Mandrake to ease his grief. Flowers would be sent as well to join the other offerings when the day came.

But as for her family? Her friend? There were no easy motions to make in that regard.

Eventually Joia pulled her vielle from its traveling case. Some music would surely do them all some good, and she was the musician of the family, after all. With bow in hand, the solar was quickly filled with the sweet sound of light-hearted song. Whilst it did not remove the many troubles weighing so heavy on Rosanna’s mind, just being in the company of her two closest siblings did help soothe her worried self. For several hours, they remained ensconced in the comfort of the house.

When the time came to go, she made them both promise to stay in the city as long as possible. Being spring, there would be much in the way of amusements to be had in the capital, ways they could spend time together before responsibility took them all away again.

“Worry not, I will be haunting Mont Nuit as any worthless son of a noble should,” Auberi assured her. They embraced, and he also whispered words of brotherly love and encouragement for her ears alone.

“We will see you through these ordeals, little sister,” Joia assured her with a tight hug of her own. “Keep your head high, despite whatever mantra you have in Valerian House. All will be well in the end, you’ll see. Trust in your prayers, Namaah and Eisheth will see you through.”

Despite all the confusing emotions swirling around in her heart and mind, she would not just turn her back on Grandpere or Odilia—even if the wagging tongues were surely taking bets if she would. Eventually she must speak to them, hear their side of the story, deduce just what might be required of her moving forward.

To think, she had once thought so highly of the king, sure he loved her friend. Now, she wondered just what was going on in his royal head, if anything. Well, Odilia was certainly his loss if he could not see the good fortune, which had smiled upon him when she gave her favor.

When Rosanna returned to Valerian House, the usual business of the evening was well into its productivity. She would not be working tonight and let her secretary know this. For now, she had a letter to write.

Dearest Grandpere,

I will not fall back upon idyllic pleasantries, as I know better than to ask how you are faring or what news you might share from L’Agnace.

As I am sure your many eyes and ears have already whispered back what words are being spoken in the city, there is no use repeating them here.

What I would inquire is whether or not you would welcome any more company to your home. Would my presence be a help or a hindrance?

Being how I care for the both of you tremendously, surely you must know how concerned I have been, how worried at your silence. Please let me know how you are, good or ill.

Should you permit me a visit, it would be no trouble to require my Second to take charge of the House in my absence. If not, my heart will not be broken, and I would honor your wish for privacy. Just know I am thinking of you.

Your devoted granddaughter,

Rosanna

A rider was dispatched with stern instruction to see the letter to the estate of the sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, and the man was well paid for his efforts.

For some time, there was nothing left to do but continue on with the matters of everyday life. Eventually though, a reply did come, rather quickly as a matter of fact. When placed in her hand, Rosanna closed her office door to read alone, so that not even her staff might see whatever reaction might follow the missive. Fortune was finally with her, however. Grandfather wanted her to come, desired it in fact, and asked that she forgive his lack of usual communication. Much had been upturned, and he had become lacking in that facet of life.

Rosanna made the necessary arrangements and began the journey to his estate within the week. Valerian House could do without her for a fortnight. Obligations of friends and family had their place of honor in her world, too. She wondered just what sort of situation would be awaiting her upon arrival and sent up a prayer of thanks as she disembarked.

***