Blog

Storyline: Questions Without Answers

The Night Court was like a kicked anthill, there were so many things to tend to. The start of the year was a blur on a good year, everything for the year to come was arranged and planned in the weeks that Heliotrope was closed. This year there was an extra twist. Planning a luncheon for Dowaynes and Seconds? When would be appropriate to invite Dahlia? The parties that were planned where Adepts traveled between Houses to fulfill certain roles? Can we send our list to Dahlia? Heliotrope hosted several Showings for their novices demonstrating how one would woo and be wooed by different types of patrons, and this always required adepts of other Houses. Should we disrupt our normal schedule so we can move Dahlia back out of respect? Normally straightforward tasks suddenly took on a new layer of difficulty leaving Mena and her Seconds asking a hard question:

What exactly are we respecting?

It was Loir that put it in words one night, late in the evening as she was headed to take a patron after having turned in a report of what was happening around the Court. She paused at the door and said quietly, “Mena, with no disrespect towards Odilia, what exactly are we respecting? The king did what noblemen are required to do, select a bride to light a candle with. It happened just last week to Elina and the House didn’t grind to a halt, let alone the whole Court. What are we doing?”

Mena sighed heavily, dropping her head on to the mound of papers in front of her. “To be honest, I am not sure.”

Vouloir nodded. “I don’t think anyone does. But we’re all doing it, aren’t we? I’ll be back to explain after Her Ladyship leaves.”

Mena waved her hand in dismissal, already back to her paperwork. What were they doing, exactly? Everyone, tiptoeing around Dahlia and Odilia, unsure how to proceed. She shook her head. It was a lack of communication, the Houses had no idea what had transpired, from start to finish, and had been left to guess about so much. ‘If Odilia hadn’t played so close to her chest,’ she thought as she made note of the House nurseries she’d need to visit. ‘Maybe we could have helped her, helped His Majesty, eased their burden some how.’’

She groaned, stretching her back. ‘Too late now for that, though. We’re all left bewildered in their wake. Perhaps we need to just ignore what’s happened and carry on as usual?’

Mena stood and abandoned her work, heading instead for the kitchen. A bowl of soup and a friendly visit with the kitchen staff would help clear her head. After that, she’d decide how to move forward. But for now, soup.

Storyline: A Strategic Retreat

By the time the official announcements had been made and the pamphlets were papered across the City of Elua, she was gone. She had stayed long enough to offer her brief respects to the fallen Mandrake, but soon enough she was gone.

Jocaste had tried to stop her, tried to ask for time and for patience, for her Second to choose temperance instead of passion. But Odilia had been cold as the winter ice of the Longest Night itself. “Why should I stay when again I have been humiliated?”

And there was another willing to offer sanctuary.

The Duc of L’Agnace had a marvelous estate, several generations old and filled with the history of Terre D’Ange and the glory of L’Agnace. The province was the heart of the country geographically and many would say even culturally. L’Agnace hosted the City of Elua itself within its territory, and the fertile farmland fed most of the country.

It was a peaceful place. And she needed peace.

Odilia stood at the balcony outside the parlor of her private suite—the second best rooms of the chateau—watching the gardeners tend to the grounds of the Chalasse estate. The flowers were blooming, they needed upkeep so they could provide the Duc’s bees with enough nectar to create the honey of which he was so proud.

It was peaceful here. She could find happiness here.

His invitation had arrived the very same day that the first announcements had been made of the royal engagement. He certainly had wasted no time. The clinical part of her appreciated his pragmatism. Better to jump on the new opportunity as soon as it arose. And the wounded part of her, the part that had hoped for something special and magical, wanted to be taken care of. She hurt. In the deepest parts of her heart, she hurt.

Her left hand rose to press her palm to her cheek, trying to force herself to calm again—trying to push down the emotions that rose in her chest, the ones that would bring her to tears again. There was no use in weeping. She had known who the Crown Prince was when he had first come to Dahlia House. She had known there would be no fairytale, no grand romance like the great Phedrè with her Cassiline or Queen Ysandre with her Cruarch. She had known this. There was no use wasting her tears on something she had always known she would never have.

She wished Gustav all the best, she really did. There was nothing else she could do. And she…

Well, she did love him. She wanted him happy. Her prince who had rested in her arms and told her her eyes were the stars by which he set his course. She loved him.

But he needed to love Terre D’Ange more, and she was many things, but selfish was not one of them. She wouldn’t keep him hers when a king needed to serve his people above all.

Besides, there was another offer on her table. Another question had been raised, another possibility lay before her.

She glanced down at the topaz and diamond ring that Roland had gifted to her, remembering his words. As my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind.

Odilia would need to give him an answer soon. Perhaps the kingdom should see a double wedding. Perhaps she finally ought to grow up and leave her girlish heart behind.

What had it given her but pain?

Storyline: Nuptial News

It was strange to hear such joyful news so soon after the announcement of the grief of Mandrake House. The Court of Night Blooming Flowers mourned the untimely pruning of one of their best blossoms, and yet that did not stop the politics and the hustle of the City of Elua beyond the gates on Mont Nuit. 

A messenger from the palace had brought the news, delivered in trusted hands to the Dowayne of Cereus House, that the Longest Night might be a time of joy for all to celebrate the young King’s happiness.  

And soon enough, the notices were placed throughout the city, and riders carried the news throughout the countryside to all the provinces of Terre D’Ange. 

From the Royal Palace of the City of Elua, the seat of House Courcel.

By the Grace of Blessed Elua and all of his Companions, His Majesty Gustav de la Courcel, King of Terre D’Ange announces his betrothal. 

Upon the Longest Day of the year will His Majesty be wed to Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale! 

Long live the King! And all blessings to his future Queen! 

Storyline: A Fallen Mandrake

Officially, Mandrake House closed its doors for three days of mourning. Unofficially, it would be more than a week before the adepts began entertaining patrons again. For two days after Waldemar nó Mandrake’s passing, Aliksandria was inconsolable. She shut herself in her room and refused all food. On the third day, she emerged in a black gown and attended his funeral.

At the funeral, Aliks sat next to Dowayne Kali nó Mandrake, in the seat usually reserved for the deceased’s wife. She had no legal claim to it, as they were not married and had not even declared each other consorts, and yet no one begrudged her the space of closest family member. The service was overseen by Priests of Elua, as was customary. Afterwards, when everyone left, Aliks stayed in her seat. Only Petrea remained, supporting her oldest friend.

As dusk began to settle, Aliks rose and looked at Petrea. “You should go to Mandrake House, give Cereus’s regards.”

“What? I should go? Where are you going?” Petrea asked, shocked.

“There is somewhat I need to do, and I must do it alone,” replied Aliks, and she left, walking to the carriage and leaving.

Aliks didn’t go to Mandrake House. If she had she would have seen her lover’s flogger laid on a silken cushion in his honor. She would have heard the adepts talk with grim merriment about their lost friend. Likely, she would have been deep in her cups, and she certainly wouldn’t have been alone in that.

No, Aliks went to the Yeshuite quarter.

Her carriage pulled up in front of the Yeshiva, and she bid the driver remain. He was in service to Cereus House and would, of course, never leave the Dowayne stranded.

When she rapped upon the door, a young boy answered it. His eyes grew big upon seeing her, and while she was wearing a modest gown, she knew it was modest by D’Angeline standards not Yeshuite ones.

“I am looking for Esther Negron, do you know her?” she asked the boy, and he quickly nodded then opened the door further to let her in.

She stepped into a small hallway and was directed to sit upon a very uncomfortable bench as the boy left through a different door. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only half of an hour before the door opened, and the Rebbe appeared.

He was a man of middle years with a beard only slightly streaked with gray and a sour look on his face. Clearly, he was not happy about having a Servant of Naamah appear on his doorstep. Nevertheless, hospitality demanded he permit her entrance and curiosity prodded him forward.

He opened the door to permit Aliks into what appeared to be an office of sorts. Seated in one chair was a woman of elder years, eyes downcast. Aliks took one of the other chairs unprompted, followed by the Rebbe.

“Why are you looking for Esther,” he asked coldly.

Aliks looked at him and said, “that I can tell only her.”

The Rebe nodded toward the woman, and Aliks addressed her in Aragonian. “Señora Negron, I am her to talk to you about your son.”

The woman raised her head and looked Aliks square in the eyes. “I speak D’Angeline, girl,” she spat in D’Angeline. “And I do not wish to speak of my son. He made his choices, and I have made mine. Until the day he repents his sin, leaves your goddess’s service, and returns to the One God, I will not speak of him.”

“Señora, I am very sorry to say, but I have come from his funeral. Your son is no longer with us.”

Tears fell down Esther’s face, and she wrung her hands for many minutes. “You loved him.” She said it as a statement not a question.

“I did, Señora.”

Esther stood and turned to leave then paused at the door. “Are you one of her Servants too? Like him?”

“I am, Señora,” Aliks replied.

“And does it bring shame to your family too?” Esther spat.

Aliks sat up straighter in her chair, which was equally as uncomfortable as the bench had been. “My family has been in Naamah’s service for generations, both my parents before me and my grandparents before them serve her. It brings them pride.”

With that, Esther left, and then the Rebbe addressed her. “You have delivered your message, do not come here again.” And she was shown out.

On the ride home, Aliks shed all the tears she had been holding back. She grieved for her lost lover and for his mother too. It had been a thing of great trust that he had even told her where to find his mother. Though his choices had grieved his mother so, they brought joy and pride to Aliksandria and to the others who were fortunate enough to call him family.

Storyline: A Candle in the Night

The decision was made. Aliks had talked to nearly every person of import to her. She had called upon Count Shahrizai, Manuel from the Cassiline Brotherhood, Petrea, even her parents.

Count Shahrizai had told her that she was strong and would do well regardless of her choice. That, while he had never expected her to become a mother, he could see her being a great one. In the end though, he had no opinion nor advice on her choice.

Manuel had written a lengthy letter back, reminding her that while both their lives had been chosen for them by their parents, they loved their paths. He also took care to point out that crofters’ children usually became crofters, and merchants’ children usually grew up to become merchants, so how was her profession any different (a decidedly un-Cassiline thing to say)? His final statement was that his only regret in his path was his lack of children and advised her to have them.

Petrea, on the other hand, had been furious. First, because Aliks had not told her first (though the reason she had not was because she wanted to be sure before she involved her Second). Second, because she feared for her friend. An adept from Gentian House had passed in the child bed not a year gone by, and they had both gone to her funeral. Finally, she had reminded her that every child at Cereus House was Aliks’s child. It was part of the Dowayne’s duty to guide the children under her care.

Her parents, having retired from Naamah’s service and taken up a residence in the city, told her what it was like raising a child in the Night Court. They shared their challenges of living in different Houses and how her father had made a point to visit his child twice a week, at least until her marque was sold. It was not easy, they said, to be a parent and a Servant of Naamah, but it was emphatically worth it to them. They left her with the reminder that the choice was hers alone, but help and advice would always be available from their home.

Aliksandria sent a missive to Mandrake House, requesting an assignation with Waldemar at the Shahrizai hunting estate outside the city. Count Niklos had been kind enough to offer it. This was a conversation she wanted to have away from Mont Nuit.

The day arrived, and with it early snows. They arrived at the manor separately, Waldemar arriving about an hour before Aliksandria. They greeted each other warmly then went to the sitting room to talk.

A large fire was roaring in the hearth when Aliksandria pulled the single beeswax taper in its box from her cloak. She looked at him expectantly, his face was schooled to stillness, but she knew his mind must be racing.

“There is a Temple to Eisheth in the city,” she said softly, “but I wanted to do this alone with you.”

Carefully she took a twig and ignited it from the fire, then lit the candle. She sank to her knees abeyante and began the prayer. Though it was one she had learned years ago, she had never said it before, but her voice held true, and her words did not falter.

They honored Naamah as only a pair of her Servants could, in front of the roaring fire as the candle melted. Their union blessed by both goddesses.

——

As they had arrived in separate carriages, they needs must leave the same way. But Waldemar gave her a departing kiss and assured her he would call upon Cereus House tomorrow.

A funny thing it was. Aliks was a Servant of Naamah and had lain with many a patron, and Waldemar more than any of them. Yet that night in the hunting lodge felt different, and she was giddy as a schoolgirl about it.

Aliks owed it to Petrea to tell her first, so when she got back to Cereus House she summoned her friend and Second to her office. It was during that conversation that the footman burst in.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” Aliksandria demanded, rising from her chair.

“My lady Dowayne, I am so sorry, word has come from Mandrake House. Master Waldemar’s carriage overturned in the snow. He did not make it.”

Storyline: A Stunning Proposal

“How is my little Dahlia?”

Odilia glanced up as Roland de Chalasse came striding into the private parlor of his ducal townhouse. He didn’t bother removing his leather gloves before taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Missing the anxiety of your Mont Nuit and the preparations for the Longest Night?”

“No,” she said, a tiny smile on her face at the thought. “I am not missing that at all. These days spent here have been a balm for my mind.”

“I may not be an adept, but I can manage the basics of resting and soothing.”

She scoffed a little laugh, and he settled beside her on the couch with a theatrical groan. She smiled at him, asking archly, “Shall I have the servants stoke up the fires and prepare a hot bath to soothe your ancient bones?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “I am hardly in need of coddling. Not even by you, courtesan.”

She feigned a blush, ducking her head in a show of false modesty that he didn’t believe and made it clear with another little snort under his breath. But her fingers absently toyed with the tooled leather of the book she had been reading during her morning of leisure, and she asked it quietly, “What news from court?”

There was a long breath of silence, and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t look up, just traced the gilded designs stamped into the leather binding of the book on her lap.

“The vultures continue circling,” he said at last, answering her quietly. “The Caerdicci are particularly intent. They bring their breeding stock out every chance they get to try to catch the king’s eye. Certainly they are lovely, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of them. People are beginning to whisper.”

She continued stroking the leather, determined not to react. “What else?”

“They are insisting he make a decision soon. They say it has been long enough. He must choose a bride and a queen by the Longest Night. They have given him enough time to get to know them. A decision must be made.”

“I know,” she whispered. It would break her heart, but she knew it would happen soon, she couldn’t deny that the day was coming. “I won’t stand in the way.”

“I know you won’t,” Roland said, taking her foot and drawing it into his lap so he could rub her feet slowly. “But you have plenty of courtiers afraid that you will.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” she said. “No matter what happens. I wouldn’t. I love him too much.”

It felt strange to admit it to the Duc de Chalasse. How far had they come? She had thought he was her enemy, and she still wondered at times what his angle was, what he was getting out of their arrangement, but he had acted with honor, and she couldn’t ask for anything more than that. And strong and fit as he was, he was still past the prime of his life, a man with grown grandchildren. It was strange to find in him a compassionate soul after everything. Jocaste had warned her not to let him into her head, but there were times that she thought he was letting her into his first. And this assignation now, three days as his guest and courtesan in his home…

A year ago, in her rage and fury, she had asked him to help her show the court that she did not have a soft heart, that she was a threat to the court, and he had delivered. Patron gifts, nights on the town, assignations. He favored her for all the City to see. But now with Gustav’s letter, with the very real possibility that she would lose him, her fire had dulled slightly. She had allowed a certain intimate honesty to rise between her and Roland.

And there was warmth in his voice when he said, “I know you do, little Dahlia. That’s why you’re still such a threat.”

“Because I love him?”

“Because he loves you.”

She finally looked up at him as he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of her knuckles. His eyes were filled with sympathy. Not pity, he knew better than to hurt her pride like that. But he had seen how the court was pressing in on the young king, had known that if the king had his way, there wouldn’t be any question whom he would choose. And he knew she had been hurting, keeping it to herself, trying to prove herself strong and capable. There was so much in her that he recognised from his younger self. There was so much he could do to help her, if she would let him be so sentimental.

“He does,” Roland continued. “He loves you. This choice is tearing him apart because he knows no matter what he chooses, he will lose. Follow his heart, and he loses power. Follow his head, and he loses you.”

“I never wanted this for him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “None of us want such hardship for the ones we love.”

He reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing her chin to lift her face again, meeting her eyes. “I have grown very fond of you, Odilia. Far more fond than I had ever thought I would. I would help you, if you let me.”

“How?”

Elua, she looked young. Sadness and trust and hope all glittered in her eyes, and he knew she was a balm for his lonely soul.

“We both know he must choose a wife, the kingdom needs a queen. We also both know he will struggle with this duty so long as you are available to him.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“As a courtesan of the Night Court, you have made your marque and all of the country knows what that marque indicates. That you are accepting of contracts. Even if he were to marry, he could still contract you through your House and continue to play at having you for his, even for a night.”

He watched her brows pinch, seeing the way her dark eyes flicked between his, watching the thoughts race through her mind as she followed his logic.

“As a married woman,” he said quietly, “He would not be able to cling to the hope of keeping you. It would break his heart, but he would move on stronger than before and determined to do his duty without…distraction.”

“Married?” The word was almost silent as it passed her lips. He had stunned her, he knew, so he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

“I do not love you,” he said gently, “nor am I asking you to love me. Upon my death, the ducal title will pass to my son, I am not giving you a title of that magnitude. There are some traditions I still uphold, and my son has the right of the ducal lands upon my death. But…as my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind. And he couldn’t keep you as his mistress without unbalancing the tenuous peace of the duchies.”

He opened the ring box to show her the ring he had had made. A gold band with a topaz in the center, like the necklace he had given her, but tucked to the side of the topaz, was a small diamond.

“I know he is the one in your heart,” Roland said, looking down at the design. “The diamond is for him. I acknowledge his place in your love. But the topaz is for me, for the opportunity and protections I can offer you.”

“Roland, I…”

“I don’t want an answer now,” he said. “There’s too much already weighing you down. But I ask that you think about it. Consider it in your grand game. Regardless of what you choose, the ring is yours. Wear it as my wife or as my courtesan, it’s a gift.”

Storyline: A Hallway Happenstance

Corrian had been standing in the turn of the second floor hallway of the palace for almost half an hour. Her maid had questioned the servants, and they knew that every week on this day at about two hours past noon the king walked past this spot on his way out of his council meeting. Months she had been in the City of Elua, trying to catch his attention, and now she was taking matters into her own hands.

Corrian heard the footsteps before she saw him, but that was her cue to start walking down the hall. As the king came into view, she locked eyes on him, maneuvering herself into his path.

“Lady Corrian,” the king said politely.

“Your Majesty,” replied Corrian, sinking into a curtsy, “how nice to run into you here.”

It took all the will power Gustav had to keep the polite expression on his face. He was sick of this pretense but figured he might as well get this over with. “Would you like to walk with me, my lady? The gardens are lovely this time of year.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” she replied, joining him in step as they walked toward the staircase.

“How are you enjoying your time in the city?” he asked.

“Oh it is lovely, and I am so looking forward to Longest Night. Though I miss my father and our estate back home.”

“Is Borlean so intriguing?” he inquired as they walked through the doorway to the terrace overlooking the garden.

“Well, not the land, per say, though it is quite lovely, but the people. I grew up there, and my father is very much the life and spirit of the place. Also, many of the crofters there grew up in tandem with me and are like near cousins.”

“It is nice to see a noble lady think so highly of her home and her people.”

“Oh yes, though I have also had a great season here in the city. I have gotten to know so many lovely people and had quite simply the best visit to Dahlia House.”

The king stopped in his tracks, the sudden stillness of someone sensing a threat, and he turned very carefully to examine her face before saying quietly, “Dahlia House? What exactly are you trying to say, my lady?”

Corrian smiled, it had worked. She no longer needed to play coy or pretend, she could finally be frank. “I went to Dahlia House to have an assignation with Odilia, Your Majesty. I wanted to see what was so special about her, and I must say, you have impeccable taste.”

The other potential wives may have spent their time showing off their skills and trying to catch his eye, but Corrian knew that to get the king’s attention and to stand a chance in this race for the queen’s crown, she needed to find the king’s heart. And he kept it at Dahlia House.

“My lady, let’s drop pretense, it is clear we didn’t accidentally run into each other today, and I wish to tell you I am finding the entire exercise of finding a wife exhausting. So, what exactly do you propose?”

“Your Majesty, like you, I see marriage as an act of necessary convenience. I would never stop you from taking any lover you chose, let alone a consort. I have to say, your choice in consort is superb, and I can see her and me even becoming friends. I imagine it would do you many favors to have your queen be friends with your consort and prevent anyone from causing trouble or pitting them against each other.”

“And what is it that you want, a crown and power?” he asked, his frustration with the marriage mart apparent. He was surrounded with ambitious, power-hungry, flattering courtiers every day, he was tired of the game.

“Your Majesty, you wound me. No, I want precisely what I offer you, the freedom to take lovers.”

“While I cannot pretend that that is at all unreasonable, considering Blessed Elua’s precept and our traditions, I am a king. Any child my wife would bear must be mine. There can never be any doubt about its parentage or the stability of the realm could be at stake.”

“I fully acknowledge that. Once a candle to Eishieth is lit, I can promise to take only female lovers. Though, in return, I would ask that any children born to your mistress would be handled subtly. I would not wish to hear courtiers gossiping about my marriage bed in the hallways.”

“I did ask for frankness, my lady, and you have given it to me. Though I do not know if Odilia would even wish to light a candle, I could assure my wife that any child born through that union would be provided for, cared for, titled, but not brought into our household nor given a royal name.”

Bastards were treated more kindly in Terre D’Ange, but bastards were still bastards. And dangerous.

“It is a fair agreement, Your Majesty.”

He looked at her evenly with his Courcel blue eyes. “I would also wish that our first son would be named for my late brother, Daniel.”

Corrian gave King Gustav another curtsy. “It would be my honor to continue his legacy and memory.”

Gustav heaved a heavy sigh, “Shall we say we have an agreement then?”

“The start of one, Your Majesty.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Four

Part Four

She shook her head and went on, “But as you said before, it almost doesn’t matter to most people if the king loves his partner. Neither king nor queen, nor consort is an actual human, they’re toys to move around as we all see fit.”

She opened the cold box and pulled out the dessert and a chilled bottle of wine. “Please, try this shaved ice. It is a triumph shown to us by one of our new adepts. It’s got fruit and sweet things, it’s delicious.”

The wine uncorked easily, and she poured Niklos a healthy serving, then poured her own. “The idea that they’re toys is what makes this Corrian so potentially dangerous and yet so appealing to people. No one knows where she’s from or how she grew up, so there’s no guilt in her being the toy. I am personally uninterested in her past. I need to know her future, her plans, her dreams, her desires, so I can pick them apart and decide if I’ll become soft and give her what she wants or if I will have to stand strong before her and give her what she needs.” She chuckled. “But I’m Heliotope’s Dowayne, of course I use our canon and teachings as easily as I draw breath.”

He nodded as he took a bowl of the dessert. He had heard of such things but had never had the chance to try it, so he took a small bite, the chill running through him pleasantly. He smiled at the fruit flavors, and he eyed the wine. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—refuse it, but he rarely had wine with a sweet. He was curious as to how they would taste together. “I can only imagine how your interactions with the various Houses would be. And Dahlia’s canon seems so…opposite…your own. It feels to me a dichotomy on the level of Valerian and Mandrake? Without the pain, certainly. We all have our feelings about people, and I have no right asking your explanation, as your reasons are yours. As for Corrian, I believe her intent is to throw herself into Gustav’s path often enough that he will begin to look upon her and possibly court her. The concern in the back of my head is why? And for that answer, I need to know more about where she came from. Because if she is a toy, who is pulling the strings?” He frowned, taking a slow sip of wine. He paused, looking at the glass, a smile crossing his face at the interplay of flavors, before rubbing his forehead briefly. “There are too many variables right now. And I can only see a part of the board.” He sighed ruefully. “I’m sorry to have brought all this to your doorstep. Though I hazard to think that we both would have been more in the dark if we hadn’t spoken.”

Mena smiled at him, noticing his pleased expression when he had the wine. She had gone out of her way to find a wine that would surprise him with that choice, and it seems she was right. Getting her own bite, she savored it as she listened to him and thought about his words carefully. “You aren’t darkening my door with worries, Niklos, quite the contrary. I know you are trusted among the other Houses, so I trust that my faith in your discretion will not be misplaced.”

She got up and crossed to her desk and picked up a thick leather folio and set the folder on the table, leaning it on the wine bottle. “That file belongs to one of our patrons who passed away many years ago, so you are welcome to look through it. We use it as part of the education of all the children raised here. Lord Myiere was a patron of the late Dowayne for forty years, from his first visit here just after he reached majority to the day he died in a freak accident seven years past.”

She looked up at the ceiling, carefully considering how to proceed. After a long silence, she spoke. “Not all who are called to Heliotrope have a natural gift that allows them to read patrons correctly in the moment. Plus, patrons will often need to be seen by more than one adept. So, many, many years ago, a system was set up where we train all who are raised here in the art and skill of observing, predicting, and handling people. And we keep extensive records.” She gestured at the folio on the table. “Lord Myiere has four such collections, that one is the weightiest, as it was made in the first two years of his patronage of Ricard. Helping train the children in the nursery and the novices was added to my duties when I was nearing twenty. And as Second, keeping abreast of the comings, goings, and shiftings of the City, as well as helping predict a patron’s whims was one set of duties I was best at. Despite my terrible penmanship and hatred of paperwork. I feared this was a potential problem.”

She sat down in her chair as close to heavily as a lifelong adept could. “I told the Dowayne that a Dauphin with an adept as a public lover was the riskiest of situations. I don’t pretend to know everything or have my hand in political intrigue, but I know people, I know how to read people, and I know how to anticipate. This Court is supportive of His Majesty to the point of being indulgent. But there’s no way that they would allow him to choose an adept, let alone a Dahlia, as his bride, and the brides that would suffer a Night Court trained official mistress are as rare as snow in the heat of summer.” Laughing a little, she went on. “He told me that, even in the summer we can see the snow on distant mountains and that I was worried about something that would likely not come to pass, as men’s hearts are fickle. We had a bet on it, and the large red roan horse in the stables shows you who won. This is a time of potential upheaval for all of us, Night and Day Court alike. Perhaps we need to step in and quietly remove women from his path until we leave him with that snow-capped peak.”

After a pause for a sip of her wine and to collect her thoughts, she went on. “I mean that in our way, of course. A delayed carriage, a public mistress at a social gathering, an ill-mannered conversation, or food that doesn’t sit well with the lady’s disposition. You were right earlier, when you said that Heliotrope and Dahlia are opposite each other. They are upright and unbending in all things, something I do not understand, clearly.” She gestured down at her gown with a smile. “I might not know what she’s doing or why, but I feel that it is my duty to aid Odilia in finding her happiness. And, more importantly, helping to ensure that the Night Flowers can bloom without the influence a jealous queen would have.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Three

Part Three

He chuckled softly as he took the bread from her, her earlier words having cut rather closely. Time felt like it was hurtling forward, as opposed to the slow and steady march it had felt like in his youth.

He nodded. “The Dahlia, yes, I have heard about her. And I don’t think I’m as well-connected as I once thought I was. Too much turmoil in the typically placid waters.” He took a bite of the bread and jam, his eyes widening fractionally, surprised at the taste. He chewed slowly, interested in where Mena was leading.

Mena smiled and chewed her bite carefully. “You are right, there’s a lot of turmoil swirling around here. Between the poor bachelorettes, Odilia, and the nobles and guilds all on a knife’s edge, we’ve all been struggling. One of the things our patrons come to us for is to be soothed and made to feel as though their worries will fade away. It’s been hard to do that lately, particularly since my adepts are not feeling stable themselves.”

“And now there’s that new noblewoman…what’s her name…” He paused, waiting for a reaction from her. “Corrian. That’s her. I ran into her at the Hall of Games, and when she found out my family her reaction was…rather negative. I thought we’d gotten past all of that. And then I bumped into her at de Morbhan’s fête. She and I are supposed to visit Bryony, now that I think of it. The poor king. All these possibilities circling him. I can’t imagine what it’s doing for your business…or that of half the other Houses.” He reached out and took his tea cup, taking a sip and relishing the flavor.

Mena made a face. “Mmm, I have heard of her. One good thing about my adepts is that they often accompany their patrons not as adepts, but as partners.” She laughed again, brighter this time. “Which is why I can’t often keep them once they’ve made their marques. I digress, two of my adepts have had direct interactions with her, and most of them hear of her from their noble patrons. She is like a bite that has crunch in what’s meant to be a smooth dish.”

Picking up her own cup, she had a sip and closed her eyes momentarily. “This tea is worth the price I pay to have it brought to me. It never fails to clear my head and improve my mood.” She smiled at him as she had another sip. “I can only speak for us, but Heliotrope’s loyalty is to the king’s heart. We support and desire for him to take a partner who flows into the spaces in his heart like honey. Beyond that, we have no opinion. As for how business is going,” she shrugged. “I am not the accountant, that’s Matin, his office is on your way out, if you’d like to know specifics.”

He grinned. “It is good tea. If Jacob didn’t have his own blend that he insisted on, I might be asking you where I could obtain this one. And I don’t think I need to meet with Matin. Your House’s accounts are none of my business. I just find it odd that this Corrian of no real influence is suddenly a piece on the gameboard. And we both know marriages at some of the higher echelons of Terre d’Ange are purely political. Love doesn’t always enter into the equation. Marriages for the Crown are even more complex. I don’t believe His Majesty is in a situation like Ysandre once was. But I don’t move in his circles often enough. He’s a good man, and I’ve seen him on occasion, but I’m not one of his close acquaintances. That’s probably for the best, as I would probably cause more harm than good if I associated with him too often.” He chuckled then, a broad grin on his face. “We all know how well scions of Kushiel are perceived when they move too closely to the Courcels.” He picked up a little cake, having finished the bread and jam, and took a bite, a strange glint in his eyes.

Mena laughed quietly but with no real humor. “It seems we have adopted that from the Yeshuites: the sins of the father being passed to the children. The Court of all people should know that one’s family name means nothing about the individual. How many of them spend their nights in our Court, bemoaning the uselessness of their first born? Besides, that was a long while back, and just because a person’s tendencies aren’t yours, that doesn’t make them a traitor.”

She rolled her eyes. “That bothers me, my apologies for my outburst. We find that occasionally in our Court: a born in-house novice or adept lording it over a transfer or purchase. It’s despicable, we’re each a clean slate to Naamah and Elua, aren’t we?”

Giving her shoulders a shake, she inhaled deeply. “Never mind that. This Corrian problem is one that we’ll see a solution to in our lifetime, let’s apply our energies to that. I am incredibly confused as well by her appearance. My adepts are listening and asking of their patrons.” She smiled again, reaching for a plate of dates and offering them to Nikos as she spoke. “Not in any spying kind of manner, just gossip we haven’t heard. We’d hoped, myself and a few other Dowaynes, that Odilia would come and pass on what she knew, or at least let us know she remembered who raised her. She, of all people, should know who this woman is, wouldn’t you think?”

He gently motioned his dismissal of the dates as he considered her words. “We should all be clean slates, but there is always the possibility that family lines run stronger than we would hope. As for the Corrian question…Do we even know where the Borlean family comes from? She’s pretty, but she could be from half the provinces.”

He shrugged, then grinned. “I think Odilia has some of her own ambition. Dahlias have always gone hand in hand with pride. I get the feeling she saw an opportunity, and she made a play for it. She could love Gustav, but I’m not certain she does. But Gustav could love her. And if he does, is that more dangerous or less dangerous?” He leaned back, trying to put all the pieces together, knowing that his network was not as useful as it might have been. It bothered him.

“There is a concern that the contemptuous and dismissive ego that a lot of adepts have contended with in their dealings with Dahlia House have been distilled into Odilia. That she is playing some chess game and we, who will likely be impacted by her actions, are purposely kept in the dark. As for her loving the King…”

Mena trailed off, thinking deeply. “When I was still Second, I had a lot of dealings with other Seconds, but rarely her. She didn’t attend our meetings often and was rarely involved in what needed to be done. Even Orchis’ Second was committed to what needs to be done to keep our lives running, but rarely Dahlia. That shades my opinion no matter how I try to keep neutral. As for the king, I believe he loves her, even if it’s just in the same way you love the view from your balcony at midwinter.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Two

Part Two

The morning, three days hence, arrived. Niklos had been busy these past days, gathering whatever information he could on Mena. He had passing familiarity with her, having met her a few times at the Palace when she’d been Second of Heliotrope. He remembered her as being incredibly efficient, and rumors in the City did not disabuse him of that memory. Jacob had been terrifyingly useful in getting information on the now-Dowayne of Heliotrope, and it appeared that not all the houses on the Mont were fully behind the Dahlia’s power play. That made sense with the various canons of the Court, and Niklos found himself unsurprised that Heliotrope might be one of those houses on the fence, as it were. Niklos had a small smile on his face as he climbed into the coach for the ride up to the Mont, settling in comfortably for the ride.

The coach pulled up to the gates of Heliotrope in good time, and the driver announced Niklos’ presence for a meeting with the Dowayne, upon which the gates were opened, and the coach entered the confines of the house itself. As Niklos stepped down from the coach, his eyes took in some other coaches waiting in the yard. Minor houses all, but they would also be important moving forward. He made his way to the main door of the house and smiled at the initiate that opened the door. “Count Niklos Shahrizai here to see Dowayne Philomena no Heliotrope, at her invitation.” He waited patiently for the initiate’s direction.

Vouloir had been waiting for the Count’s coach to arrive, her fingertips tingling with anticipation. Or nerves, she wasn’t sure, but she was choosing to believe that it was the former. She pulled the door open and curtseyed, “My Lord, the Dowayne is expecting you. Please follow me to her office.”

Gesturing to the stairwell behind her, she turned and started up them, trusting that he would follow her. Elua knew she wanted to speak, to ask him questions about the day, the news, the crops, anything to fill the silent walk, but her Dowayne had expressly forbidden her from doing so, saying that she alone was to escort him and that after, when she was dismissed, she was to sit in the kitchen, eat her meal, and listen for any comments from adepts or staff on the topic of his visit or any gossip that sounded related.

After extending her invitation, Mena had asked her Day Errand Adept if there was anything she needed to know about her visitor and had been told nothing that she didn’t already know or hadn’t heard through Night Court gossip. Very well, a straightforward visit, likely both social and fact finding, which was exactly what she needed right now. A mentally stimulating visit from someone she knew well enough but not so well that she could predict their every move.

The decision to conduct the visit in her private office, not her official one, was a given. Her official office was for things that were, well, official. This was a mutual fact-finding mission wrapped in a social call, and these things were never official. So she’d had her office tidied some, the low table between two chairs cleaned off, and the room aired. Her clothing and hairstyle were also chosen to reflect that this was not official: a day dress in Helio’s colors and her hair braided and pinned up off her neck. While she waited, she read a book she’d been meaning to catch up on to keep her mood even. Paperwork would only put her in a mindset that would be useless for this visit.

She lifted her head from her book when she heard Vouloir’s knock on the door, watching the door push open to admit the girl and her guest.

“My Lady Dowayne, Count Shahrizai, as requested.” Vouloir’s voice was polite yet unyielding. Mena smiled and thought, ‘I was right about this one, so very right’

Standing, she nodded at the girl. “Thank you, Vouloir, please go enjoy your meal and have the kitchen send up the food I requested.”
Vouloir nodded, curtseyed again to Count Shahrizai, and before she’d left the doorway, Mena gestured to the comfortable chair in front of hers before sitting back down. “My lord, do come in and have a seat. Food and drink will be up soon. I know that the rest of the Court is on quite a different schedule from us, but I think everyone appreciates a light meal and good drink after midday?”

Niklos nodded politely to Mena as he entered her office. He was curious, as he didn’t think he’d been inside the Dowayne’s private office here at Heliotrope before. He’d certainly been to some others, Cereus being the first in his mind, but any time he had visited Heliotrope before he had been accommodated in the more public, “official” office.

His eyes followed the adept who’d led him through the House, a brief upturn on the corner of his lips. She had carried herself as if his presence was the most important thing she would undertake…and he supposed that was befitting of a Heliotrope. Wasn’t their canon devotion? His eyes turned to Mena, studying her as he moved towards the chair she’d gestured to. He caught the book that looked like it had just been set down, but there was no title on the coverm and he was curious as to what she might be indulging in. “Refreshments would be most welcome, my lady.”

He leaned back, relaxing in the chair, a languid smile crossing his face. “And how have you been, Dowayne Philomena? How has your adjustment to being head of Heliotrope House been? I must be honest, I was a little surprised to hear that your predecessor was retiring, but I am happy to know yet another old acquaintance in a position of leadership within the Night Court. How are you?”

Mena smiled at him. “Please, call me Mena. I only rarely stand on ceremony and never in my home.” At the mention of her predecessor, she felt a pang of grief. Few outside of the House knew the truth. “It was a shock to be sure. He hid an incurable illness behind his retirement and died a few weeks after his retirement was announced. We didn’t tell anyone at the time, as per his wishes. He didn’t want a fuss to be made over his passing.”

A quiet knock on her door came, a man came in carrying a large tray, followed by a girl no more than twelve who was carefully carrying a box. Mena looked up at them and smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Ah, Rich, Louise, thank you both so much.”

The man smiled back at her as he set the dishes out, “You are welcome, my lady. If you and His Lordship need anything else, Louise will be just outside.”

Mena turned her smile to the girl, “Make sure you have your schoolwork or something to read, child. We might be a while, it would be a shame to waste that time.”

Louise curtseyed before she left, “Yes, Lady Dowayne.”

Mena turned her attention back to Count Shahrizai. “I was unsure what you preferred, so I had a selection prepared. My cook is incredible. She makes this cold soup that you simply must try.” She gestured to the small bowls as she continued. “There’s also meat and cheese and our homemade bread, if that is more to your liking. Also just for you, because I know how you adore wine,” she patted the top of the box that Louise had brought in, “I have some of one of our chilled wines here, as well as a delightful mixture of cold fruit, sweet wine, and some shavings from our last ice block.”  Cutting two slices of bread, she held one out to him. “This is a recipe as old as Heliotrope House. All of our novices learn it, and there is nothing like it in the world.”

He leaned forward and took one of the slices of bread, his eyes ranging across the variety of delicacies that Heliotrope had provided. He was impressed, their cellars might be as good as the ones at the Townhouse. He would have to speak to Jakob about that.

“You are too kind, Mena. Far too kind.” He took a bite of the bread, enjoying the taste. “This bread is quite good! A house secret, I’m guessing? Delicious.”  He leaned back into the chair, relaxing as he processed the information she had provided. The old Dowayne had passed, and it seemed somewhat unexpectedly. He hadn’t heard the news, but he also didn’t move in circles with anyone who could provide him continuing information on the goings-on within Heliotrope. He was grateful to have some insight into the houses he did know about. “And I expect no formality from you as well. Not here in private, at least. This is nothing but a social call. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other…last year’s Masquerade, wasn’t it? I do apologize for my distraction. I should have come to visit sooner.” There had been so many things going on, including his visits to Kusheth. But things were falling into place. He leaned forward to take a wedge of cheese, taking another slow bite as his gaze rested on her.

She smiled a little sadly. “Time is a fickle thing, Niklos. When you’re juggling knives, they’re all you can think about. No matter how much you want or need more, the knives demand focus..” Laughing a little, she added, “at least I can’t. I am no Orchis, and I will never understand juggling. I saw a group of them out in the market a few nights ago, juggling and telling stories. Completely magical, if you ask me.”

A silence slipped over the two as they ate. It was comfortable, contemplative even. As she spread jam and butter on a slice of bread and held it out to Niklos, she smiled a slightly less serene smile. “I know you’re well connected within the Night Court, I assume you’ve heard about Odilia?”