Blog – Page 3 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

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.

***

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.