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“This is perfectly quaint, Odilia. I hardly expected it of you.”
“Unlike some, Your Grace, I do not need to make grand entrances at the theatre to enjoy time with a patron.”
He inclined his silver head to accept her point, even as she offered a wry smile. They sat in her private salon, so different from the Grand Salon downstairs and so different from the Dowayne’s Salon at the other end of the wing. This was as simple a room as could be managed in the Night Court. The drapes were of fine quality, but of a single color, no grand damask or patterned velvet; the furniture was sturdy, heavy dark wood with simple designs carved into the legs and arms. The only touches of real finery were embroidered cushions and baubles he suspected were patron gifts, not her choice at all. But she displayed them tastefully about the chamber.
“Besides,” she said, pouring the steaming herbal infusion from the simple ceramic jug; it smelled of strawberries and roses and orange blossoms, “I wished to speak with you.”
“In regards to?”
“The embargo you placed on the silver trade,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely as she handed him the painted glass cup that held the steaming drink.
“The Duchesse de Perigeux is the one who closed her borders to the silver trade,” Roland said, not even blinking. “Siovale is the one stopping trade, not I.”
“But who gave her the idea?” Odilia stirred a bare spoonful of honey into her steaming cup, “Who could have written a letter to an old friend catching her up on the events of the city and perhaps suggesting that the arrogant peasant be put in his place? Who was ever so conveniently right here when the drama began to unfold and who has enough political power to arrange something like an embargo at a moment’s notice?”
Her head tilted slightly, “Please do give me some credit.”
“What purpose would I have to do this,” he asked lightly, “if it were true?”
“I’m sure you had several reasons of your own,” she replied just as lightly, “and I am not so self-centered as to think you did any of it for me. Perhaps it benefits you to make it seem so to those who are watching these events unfold, but I do not flatter myself to think that I would have so much sway over you. But you have your reasons I am sure. Just as I have my reasons for asking you to lift it.”
“Is that so?” He took a sip from his cup and set it down on her round table. “Well, you are quite right there, little Dahlia, that I have no reason to do anything you ask of me.”
“Oh I know,” she had the audacity to smile at him. “I know that I have no such influence over you.”
The door to her solar opened and Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian entered in a swirl of pink skirts saying, “Oh, Odilia, I was so glad to get your invitation for this afternoon and-”
Her eyes widened at the sight of the man seated at the table and she let out a delighted little squeal. “Grand-père!”
He rose, “Rosanna, darling.”
She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him kiss her hair before she untangled herself and reached for her friend’s hand. “Oh, Odilia, what a lovely surprise! How sweet of you!”
Odilia smiled and accepted Rosanna’s kiss on her cheek. “I know how fond he is of you, Rosanna. I thought the least we could do was share an afternoon together.”
She gestured to the extra seat. “Please, sit. We were just chatting before you arrived.”
“Oh?” Rosanna flounced herself down into her seat. “Chatting about what?”
“The silver embargo,” Odilia said lightly, pouring Rosanna some of the steeped infusion.
“Oh, yes,” the petite redhead said vehemently. “It’s the least the Halceaux man deserves, questioning us the way he did. I hope he’s suffering.”
“The luncheon table is hardly the most appropriate place for your claws, little cat,” Roland said to his granddaughter and she huffed.
“Regardless,” Odilia said absently, “I did hear some gossip from Cereus the other day.”
“Did you?” There were few things Rosanna loved more than some good gossip. “Well, I’m listening!”
Odilia smiled, “Petrea has been hosting a new patron herself recently. An Aragonian nobleman come all the way to the City of Elua on business.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja,” Odilia recited, enjoying the beautiful liquid sounds of his name rolling off her tongue.
Rosanna shivered in spite of herself, “Well, does the face match the name?”
“I don’t know,” Odilia said airily. “He hasn’t visited me personally, but I would imagine so if he could so captivate Petrea and claim so much of her time.”
“Or he has very deep pockets,” Rosanna laughed.
“Ah, well, I’m not so sure his pockets are as deep as they used to be,” Odilia said archly, her brows lifting. “After all, his family owns quite a few of the Aragonian silver mines.”
“Ahhhhh,” Rosanna put the pieces together, “so he’s come to see what’s going on. And then, when he heard, he went to Cereus House, to the contact he already has, to see what can be done.”
“He might have saved himself half the trip if he had only crossed the mountains and remained in Siovale to petition the Duchesse de Perigeux,” Odilia said, “since it was her borders that were closed to the silver trade.”
“No, it made sense for him to come here,” Rosanna disagreed. “Since the Judiciary mess was so important to the embargo, he needed to come here to get a lay of the land and see where things stood within the city so he could plan the best way to approach Her Grace.”
“Don Ramiro is also a shameless flirt,” Roland said easily. “I’m sure he relished the chance to enjoy both business and pleasure while he was here.”
“As though you have ever denied yourself the same chance,” Rosanna teased her grandfather.
“Did I say it was a failing of his?” Roland smiled at her. “Not at all. I quite respect it.”
“We shall have to wait and see how persuasive he will be,” Odilia said, choosing a ripe strawberry from the crystal fruit dish, feeling the Duc de Chalasse’s eyes on her as she took a bite of the fruit, relishing the tart sweetness of the berry on her tongue and on her lips. “I don’t know how much longer the Silversmith Guild will be able to survive an embargo.”
“Well, the bastard shouldn’t have let his personal grudge get out of control,” Rosanna said vehemently. “He deserves what he got.”
“Perhaps,” Odilia allowed, “but he is not the only one who is affected by the embargo. The other members of his Guild also have families they need to provide for. Are they to be punished as well for the actions of their Guild leader? What about their children that need food and clothing?”
“How sentimental of you, little Dahlia,” Roland said idly.
Rosanna frowned. “No, no, she has a point, Grand-père. As much as I want that pompous, arrogant ba-” she paused, as not to use foul language a second time. “Arrogant man to suffer forever for what he put Odilia and the rest of us through. It was just his grudge. Even if the embargo humbles him, what will the cost be for the rest of the silversmiths that had nothing to do with his motion?”
Her face screwed up, “But he can’t get away with it either!”
“The embargo has been going on for months,” Roland pointed out. “I highly doubt he will consider months of no silver and no work as ‘getting away with it’, my dear.”
“An embargo is such a big, public gesture,” Odilia said with the tiniest wrinkle of her nose, “surely, there are more subtle and elegant ways to make it clear our displeasure with him without resorting to something so large.”
“I have heard that Cereus House has banished the silver from their table,” Rosanna said, “They’ve replaced it with gold and I’ve heard that Aliksandria has put in a grand order for aluminum with the Dyers Guild.”
“I have also noticed fewer silver jewelry pieces in the Dahlia salon,” Odilia mused. “Everyone has been wearing much more gold or bronze. It seems that silver has fallen out of fashion.”
“Well, that’s all we need,” Rosanna said, perking up. “If it’s out of fashion, then let the embargo end and let them get their ore again. No one who is on our side will be caught in silver! What a way for us to know who is on our side or not!”
“Now, that’s an idea,” Odilia said, swirling the dregs in her cup. “What do you think, Your Grace? What would be the opinion of the other nobles about such an action?”
Roland looked at her, into her clever eyes, and had to suppress a small smile, “I think that the nobles are ever looking for their next amusement, little Dahlia. And I am sure this will entertain plenty of them.”
“We’ll have to tell Aliksandria, of course,” Rosanna said. “Since we got the idea from her. I’m sure I can convince the other Dowaynes, if they need much convincing at all. Who would have thought that one little metal could become such a political statement!”
“The embargo hasn’t been ended yet,” Odilia reminded her friend. “We can’t do anything with the guild in a stranglehold as it is now.”
“That’s easily fixed,” Rosanna waved the concern away. “Grand-père, you are friends with Duchesse Niniane, aren’t you? You could easily write her a letter to convince her to listen to Don Ramiro’s request to end the embargo and open the silver trade again. Then once she does, because of course she will, no one can refuse you, then we can set about making it clear that just because he has his silver trade back doesn’t mean Halceaux is in any way forgiven for what he has done.”
“I could easily do that,” Roland said slowly. “Are you asking me to, Rosanna?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Now that we have a plan, I think it can be ended.”
“Very well,” Roland said, pushing himself slowly to his feet and looking down, not at his granddaughter, but at the Dahlia that had arranged this so neatly. “Excuse me, then, ladies. I have a letter to write.”
She let him see it for just a moment. No more than a flash, but it was there in her eyes all the same. Triumph. She had won this round and they both knew it. He bowed to them both and showed himself out of her salon. And Odilia hid her smile behind her cup as she finished her drink and set the painted glass down on the table.
“You didn’t have to do it like this,” Rosanna said after a long moment.
“Do what?” Odilia asked it absently as she rose to cross to the sideboard with the decanter of apple brandy.
“You didn’t just invite me here to have a conversation with my grandfather.”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
“Odilia, please.”
The Dahlia turned to look down at the seated Valerian, who continued quietly, “You could have just asked.”
“Really?” Odilia poured two glasses of the brandy and returned to the table to set one down in front of Rosanna, “And if I had – if I had asked you to use your influence over your grandfather to have him remove the embargo on silver that he put into place to punish an upstart peasant that challenged both the Night Court’s power and your friend’s position – would you have agreed?”
Rosanna pressed her lips together before admitting, “No.”
“Mmm,” Odilia hummed, nodding. “So I had to convince you, convince you both, that the embargo was not the way to punish him, that there were other options once it is lifted to satisfy both your revenge and his old-fashioned classicism.”
“And you couldn’t persuade him to do it yourself,” Rosanna said, “Because you knew you didn’t have the same influence over him as I did.”
“You’re his favorite granddaughter, Rose,” Odilia said, crossing to her personal chessboard. “He’d do almost anything you asked him to do.”
She picked up the queen-side bishop and set it down next to a pawn, “And so the pawn dictates the bishop’s next move.”
“You used me.”
“I use everyone.”
“Yes,” Rosanna said, “and that’s why I’m your only real friend.”
Odilia turned to look at her, dark eyes meeting hazel, acknowledging the truth of that for a moment. It wasn’t wrong, but it was unusually cold of Rosanna to say it so blankly. Perhaps she was genuinely hurt by Odilia’s maneuvering this time.
“And,” Rosanna continued, getting to her feet, “It’s one of the reasons he likes you.”
Odilia’s brow lifted as she smiled, “Oh?”
Rosanna nodded. “Mmhmm, I can tell.”
She came to join Odilia at the board, looking down at the setup. “Which piece are you?”
Odilia tapped it. “The king-side bishop. Close enough to advise, powerful, but still limited in how I can move.”
“Grand-père?”
“Queen-side bishop. Not as close to the throne, a powerful player of his own with less clear ties to the crown, but still very much on our side.”
“And me?”
“Queen-side pawn,” Odilia said, picking it up. “Able to direct the other, more powerful pieces with your position, and easily overlooked and underestimated when the enemy focuses on the bigger pieces behind you.”
“And who is the enemy of this game?”
“I don’t know yet.” She set the pawn down. “Perhaps its no one. Perhaps I’m just playing against Fate. Perhaps its just the game of Life.”
“We’ve done well thus far,” Rosanna said, clinking her glass against Odilia’s. “Let’s keep playing and see what happens.”
From the desk of Dowayne Aliksandria nó Cereus
To: Manuel Cass’id, First Under-Prefect of the Cassiline Order
My dear friend,
It has been far too long since I have written to you and, for that, I am deeply sorry. I could tell you of the trials of the Night Court that have kept me busy, but you likely have heard about them already even if such gossip is, as you used to insist, beneath the dignity of a Cassiline brother.
Events of late have prompted me to think on the past and the paths that one might take. I value your advice and candor, and I am writing you now to ask your thoughts on a particular situation.
As you may well remember, I have been known to be fond of the company of Waldemar nó Mandrake. You were observing Cassiel’s vigil the night I met him, but often I have spoken of his charms to you. Though we have not declared each other consorts, we find ourselves quite devoted to each other. Recently, he made me quite the request of me and asked that I light a candle to Eisheth for us. It is on this subject I seek your counsel.
For one in my position, the choice to have a child brings a great many questions. My parents continued to work as Servants of Naamah after I was born, but neither was a Dowayne. Would I be able to continue in my duties if I became a mother? Would I want to?
I was born to the Night Court, my mother was born to it, and hers before her. And yet, I wonder, do I want a child of mine to be born to the same life? If the answer is no, does that mean I judge my parents for their choices? And if I say yes, what then does that say? Like me, your life was chosen for you as a child and I wonder if you would choose the same for your own offspring were you allowed that choice for them?
This weighs heavily on me, as I suppose it should. A decision this impactful should not be made easily. I eagerly await your thoughts on the subject, my oldest friend.
Aliksandria nó Cereus
Dowayne of Cereus House
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Petrea nó Cereus awoke to the sound of voices, or rather, a voice, speaking animatedly on the other side of her bed chamber. Struggling to come to full consciousness, she attempted to focus on the voice and determine just who was prattling on so early in the morning. It must be early if she was this tired, mustn’t it?
Opening her eyes, Petrea realized that it was not, in fact, early but rather, quite late. Bright sun streamed through the windows and a half-eaten breakfast lay on a table. She sat up and took in the room – torn clothing strewn about, furniture knocked over, items from her desk swept haphazardly onto the floor.
Ah, yes.
Ramiro.
She smiled to herself and turned to see her visitor. Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, the Marqués of Almazan, was strutting about the bedchamber, nary a stitch of clothing on, chattering – to her apparently – about the previous night’s dinner. In Petrea’s mind, he had been something of a disaster. It did not appear the Marqués had the same impression.
“…have him exactly where I want him.” Ramiro cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned. “These soft D’Angeline noblemen just don’t know how to handle a strong Aragonian negotiator.”
Petrea made a noncommittal sound.
“And that Odilia! I think she was quite taken with me, no?” He raised his eyebrows at Petrea, looking for confirmation.
She struggled not to laugh at him. “It was an interesting conversation, to be certain.”
He looked thoughtful. “I shall call on her the next time I come here. She would enjoy a night with me.”
He sauntered over and sat down next to her on the bed. “Of course, I shall call on you as well. For I would enjoy that.”
She smiled coyly as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck. Perhaps they had a little more time this morning.
As her hands reached for him, the door swung open and Aliksandria nó Cereus strode in.
“Sleeping in this morning, are we, Petrea?”
“It was a late night, Aliks,” Petrea replied lazily. She was the Second of Cereus House, not a beginning adept. She could lounge with a patron if she pleased. “A…busy one.”
Ramiro leaned back on his elbows and smirked at Aliks, absently trailing his fingers against Petrea’s leg.
The Dowayne rolled her eyes. “You are certainly more than welcome to…” She took in the condition of the room for the first time, a brief look of surprise crossing her face. She cleared her throat before continuing. “…whatever activities you please; that is not my concern. What happens in public during your assignations – as Second of Cereus – however, is my concern.”
Aliks drew herself up to her full height and gave Ramiro a cold, hard stare. “You made quite an impression last night, monsieur. Your drunken, crass behavior has been the talk of the city this morning. I understand that you have been banned from the Aviline Club.”
She glanced quickly at Petrea, then turned a dark look on Ramiro. “Let me be perfectly clear. If you cannot conduct yourself as a gentleman while you are in our city, you will find yourself banned from Cereus House, as well,” she snapped.
With that pronouncement, she swept from the room.
Panic shot through Petrea. No! She couldn’t let Ramiro be banned from Cereus House.
Grabbing a dressing gown, she raced after Aliks.
“Aliks!” she shouted frantically, catching up with her friend in the hallway.
Aliks turned, fire in her eyes, and grabbed Petrea by the arm. Glancing around, she yanked Petrea into a bath chamber and closed the door, unwilling to chastise her Second where prying ears could hear.
“And you!” She whispered harshly, her eyes full of fire. “How could you?”
Dumbfounded, Petrea tried to speak, but no words came out.
“I heard of your behavior last night, as well!” She glared at Petrea, her voice low. “I heard all about your unruly display outside the Club! It’s all over the City! You are the Second of Cereus House, not a lovesick serving girl on Night’s Doorstep!”
Petrea glanced away, unwilling to meet Aliks’s gaze.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have known better. I…I got caught up in the moment. I just…I…” Her muted voice faded to nothing.
“Petrea, you are not Marco’s betrothed and this is not Tiberium! You are the Second of Cereus House and this is the City of Elua! Even more so than any other adept, when you are in public you represent our House! You are Cereus House!” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“I know.” Petrea murmured. “I know, Aliks. I’m sorry. I forgot myself.”
Aliks poked a finger at her. “We cannot have an unruly patron running about the City of Elua with the Second of Cereus House on his arm! It. Is. Simply. Not. Done. If he wants to get drunk and lecherous, fine. But send him to Jasmine or Orchis – he cannot come here, Petrea. He cannot. I don’t care how much you fancy him. We are just getting over one scandal. The Night Court’s standing is tenuous and I–we cannot afford another. We will not survive.”
“I know. I know, Aliks! It is just, just very difficult sometimes, adjusting to being in the City again. Being the Second of Cereus House once more. I was gone for so long.”
Politics. Ultimately, it always came down to politics, Petrea knew.
Aliks sighed, her face softening. She placed a hand on Petrea’s cheek. “I know, love. But you are back now. You are the Second of Cereus House. You made your choice and you must stand by it.”
Petrea nodded silently. What else could she do?
Aliks gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Go back to your patron, my dear. Just promise me you won’t go falling in love with this one, too.” Aliks patted her cheek.
Petrea waved a hand dismissively. “Ramiro? Oh, you have no need to worry about that. I consider these assignations simply a, shall we say, reward for the hard work I do as Second?”
“Given what I saw, it seems a significant reward. Be sure you are earning it, love.” Aliks grasped the door handle, then paused, turning to Petrea. “I shall see you are not disturbed today.”
Petrea nó Cereus sat at her dressing table and checked her reflection in mirror for the hundredth time. She was determined to look perfect for this evening’s assignation. She adjusted the gem encrusted silver necklace at her throat. The jewelry was a gift from Don Ramiro, the Aragonian Marqués, who was in the City for trade negotiations on behalf of his family. He had contracted her for the night, which would begin with dinner in the City for some type of business and end in her apartments. She had no idea what dinner would entail, but she would bear it for the sake of the rest of the night. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of her last night with Ramiro a year past. Whatever this boring dinner entailed, it would be worth it.
In Dahlia House, the novices flitting around the Second worked very hard to still seem haughty and regal as they finished lacing up her dress and setting her hair. The boy sliding the silver and diamond pins into her dark hair fumbled it, accidentally yanking on a lock of her hair as he tried to save the pin from falling to the ground. He caught it, but was already bracing for the scolding the Second would surely give him for being so clumsy and inelegant over something as simple as a hair pin. But she never moved, sitting perfectly still to let him try again. Her dark eyes were far away, focusing on something across the room and, as he slid the hairpin more surely into her hair, he glanced to see what it was that had so captivated her.
Her chessboard was set on a small table by the tall window, the late afternoon light spilling through the glass and drapes to gleam on the polished wood and ivory pieces. He had seen her at the game in the salon, had often rushed to make sure he was one of the pieces on her side of the board when she took to the grand, life-sized chessboard to play with a patron. The boy didn’t mind only being a pawn when she played, it felt like she knew how to move even the little pawns so they were important.
So he risked, “Who are you playing against, my lady?”
Her head moved and her dark eyes turned to him, appraising him, before Odilia smiled and said, “Myself, I suppose.”
“And who is winning?”
Her smile widened, glittering in her eyes, “Me, of course.”
“Your invitation tonight,” he ventured, toying with the last hairpin as the other novice waited for Odilia to choose her jewelry for the evening. “Is it part of your chess game?”
He had heard whispers, all the novices had, of the grand game that Odilia was playing with the King. Some of the more jealous adepts claimed she was heartless and was only kind to people to use them in her game as she tried to take more power for herself. It wasn’t enough that she had the King’s eye, she also needed to put all of them at risk by bringing the Jucidicary’s attention onto them. And now she flaunted her power with the embargo! But some of the kinder whispers said she genuinely cared for the King and was only trying to use her game and her influence to protect the Night Court and their way of life.
But what everyone agreed on was that she played a bigger chess game than just the grand one in the salon.
Her dark eyes considered the boy, weighing the options of how to answer him, and he refused to fidget, standing tall and proud under her gaze before she rose from her seat before her mirror and gestured him over to the table, saying, “Yes, tonight is part of my chess game. Look.”
She pointed to where one of the pawns from the other side was advancing on the King-side rook, “Here are the other guests tonight – the foreign noble and the Cereus courtesan. He advances on her, trying to woo her to his side as she stays strong to her allegiances and the power she has on our side of the board.”
The boy followed the gesture of her fingers to another set up, the King-side bishop with the Queen-side knight placed defensively in front, “And there is my host and me. The young nobleman with the power of his family behind his name, ready to use as he pleases depending on how he is influenced. And the Dahlia courtesan sliding him closer to the foreign pawn to see that influence used how she wants to affect the knight’s path the way she wants it to go.”
“That’s really how you see the world?”
Odilia gave a small shrug, “It’s the way that makes the most sense. Everybody uses each other to get what they want. At least I don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Then…” the boy hesitated, wondering if he dared to be so bold. He looked up into her expectant eyes as she waited patiently for the rest of his thought. He took the plunge, “May I suggest the pearl and onyx necklace?”
Black and white like her chessboard.
Her smile widened and she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving squeeze, “I think that would be lovely.”
When Odilia nó Dahlia swept down the stairs, several heads turned at the sight. She wore a gown of some exquisite fabric that both clung to her curves and yet rippled like water, light and slithering as it bushed her thighs and followed at her heels in a small train. The warm, deep blue of the fabric made her eyes seem almost black in contrast, and her sleeves were of a loose, floating fabric embroidered with stars and stitched with diamonds to seem like the constellations of the night sky. The string of pearls and onyx around her throat was so long it could be looped about her neck once and still drape nearly to her breasts.
The novice watched from the gallery above, watching the way she seemed to float down the stairs as she reached both hands to greet the young man waiting for her. The nobleman took both of her hands in his and kissed them, saying, “You are a vision, my lady Dahlia. Let all the sailors on the seas tonight set their course by your star.”
She curtseyed, a smooth, silken movement that complimented her low laughter as she said, “And take from Azza his gift of navigation? Not even I am so bold.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Lancelin de Perigeux was a striking young man with strong cheekbones and delicate features. He had the lean muscles of a fencer and moved with the grace of a dancer. His dark hair was a riot of curls that fell artfully into his green-hazel eyes and there was something perpetually mischievous about the curl of his lips. He was a very fine man but that was not what made him so valuable for Odilia. He was the son and heir to the Duchesse Niniane de Perigeux of Siovale. It was her order that began the silver embargo and it would be her order that ended it. Once Odilia had the time to influence those closest to the Duchesse. Lancelin was the pride of Siovale, a brilliantly clever scholar and gifted orator, he was certainly a very advantageous friend to make.
Lancelin offered her his arm to escort her from the house. His carriage was waiting for them, with the crest of Siovale painted on the door. It was a light, fast thing, only enough room for the two of them, open to the sky. And there was no driver. The sentry at the door, wearing the Dahlia livery, opened the door to the carriage easily and helped Odilia into the seat and Lancelin sprang up beside her, sliding soft gloves onto his hands before taking up the reins himself and snapping them briskly over the hindquarters of the prancing grey horse.
“Have you been to the Aviline Club before, Odilia?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“I’m sure I’ll get into some trouble for bringing not one but two ladies to dinner there. It is supposed to be a gentleman’s club. Ladies are not welcome.”
“Surely two Servants of Naamah are, though?”
“We shall see.”
“Regardless of what happens, I am honored by the invitation.”
“Yes,” Lancelin said as the carriage rolled down the hill, away from Mont Nuit, “though you certainly caught my curiosity with this Aragonian man.”
“Do you know him?”
“I have only heard rumors,” Lancelin said, amusement glimmering in his eyes, “and I certainly hope they aren’t all true.”
Odilia laughed lightly and Lancelin’s mouth curled into a smile as the carriage drove on.
Ramiro had clearly spared no expense on either the carriage he hired, nor the bottle of fine Namarre he had drunk in the carriage on the way to the Aviline Club in the Merchant’s District. Petrea had politely sipped a goblet at his insistence, thanking every angel for her strict training at Cereus House that allowed her to drink from stemware in a moving carriage without spilling on her gown. She was immensely relieved when the carriage stopped and Ramiro passed the almost empty bottle to the footman. The Marqués was slightly unsteady on his feet, but composed himself quickly enough to push the footman out of the way and help Petrea out of the carriage himself. As he had been doing during their ride, he cast a hungry gaze down at her.
“Later,” she whispered and patted his cheek. “We have all night. For now, you have important business to attend to, my lord.”
He waved a hand dismissively and winked at her. “This? I will take care of this business quickly. There is a reason that I am here and not my father. This nobleman has no idea who he is dealing with.”
He placed a kiss at her throat and spoke low into her ear. “Don’t worry, mi florecita, I get what I want.”
Petrea cringed inwardly. Lancelin was no fool; the Siovalese nobleman certainly did know who he was dealing with. Ramiro’s arrogance and already tipsy state would not play in his favor and there was a good chance that he was not going to get what he wanted at dinner.
The Club was exquisite, a building of stone foundations and strong wooden supports, with tall windows to enjoy the best views of the river for which it was named. It stood on the edge of the Merchant’s District, the better to see the river without having to endure the slightly seedier reputation of the Harbor District. The attendant at the door gave them a single glance before offering a crisp bow and opening the polished wood door for them with a soft, “My lord, my lady.”
Inside, the entryway was carpeted in a soft green-blue that resembled the shade of the river water and at the center of the hall was a marble fountain with mosaics of fish at the bottom so that the water rippling across them made it seem as though the fish danced underneath the water’s surface. Petrea paused for a moment to marvel at how the mosaic fish seemed to watch her with their tile eyes, flicking their fins at her in curiosity.
“My lord,” the voice of a finely dressed majordomo pulled her attention from her reverie, “My lady. May I have your names for our guest book?”
“This is Petrea nó Cereus, the Second of Cereus House,” Ramiro said, his chest swelling with importance, “And I am Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués de Almazán.”
“Yes,” the majordomo said with a professional smile, “we are expecting you, sir. If you will follow me, please?”
He turned smoothly leaving Ramiro and Petrea little choice but to follow him to the river-side wing of the building and up a little half-flight of stone steps with wave accents carved into the corners to the public salon of the Aviline Club. It was a long, grand room that spanned the width of the building, the outer wall almost entirely windows that opened out to the narrow veranda that had the view of the river. The inner wall was done in simple, tasteful tapestries of rivers and forests to suggest the lush banks of a river. The first half of the salon was done with armchairs and couches for a more casual lounge experience, with bookshelves along the inner corner and plenty of places to sit and read or sit and converse. The back half of the salon, which the majordomo was showing them to, was done for dining with neatly spaced tables and carefully arranged chairs and flatware to catch the sunlight reflecting off the river.
A servant was already waiting with a tray, offering the Aragonian and the courtesan tall aperitif glasses of crisp, sparkling wine.
“I thought we were meeting someone,” Ramiro asked, gesturing blandly to the empty table, “Have we arrived first?”
“No, my lord,” the majordomo said patiently. “The Lord de Perigeux and his companion are on the veranda enjoying the view.”
“Ah, bueno,” Ramiro said. He tucked a lock of Petrea’s hair behind her ear and trailed his fingers down her neck. Sliding his hand down to her waist, he guided her to the veranda. “Let us go get the introductions out of the way.”
Noticing for the first time who Lord de Perigeux was with, Petrea’s stomach knotted. This was not going to be a smooth evening for Ramiro. He would need his wits about him and he did not have them. She prayed to Blessed Elua that this business would be concluded quickly one way or another, as the longer he stayed, the easier it would be for his Aragonian behaviour to be misunderstood. His reputation was on the line tonight, as was her own, and this needed to go well. She considered Odilia a friend, as much as two Seconds could be friends in the Night Court, but she also knew the Dahlia’s reputation. Odilia was clever and cunning, enough to see through Ramiro’s bluster all too easily. Lancelin’s decision to bring her to this dinner was a brilliant one. Ramiro would need to work twice as hard to impress them both.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled sweetly at him. “Come, my lord. Let us begin our dinner.”
At the sound of the voices, the figures on the veranda turned together to greet the new guests. Lancelin glanced only once at Odilia as she made the first move to greet Petrea with a smile, “Petrea, you look lovely, like an exquisite lavender flower kissed by the sun. I’m so delighted to have the chance to see you tonight.”
Petrea accepted Odilia’s kiss of greeting and returned her smile, “Odilia, good evening. Please, may I present Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués de Almazán.”
Odilia’s dark eyes slid to the Aragonian man and she dipped him an elegant curtsy, greeting him in Aragonian, “Un placer en conocerse, Señor Marqués.”
Ramiro’s brows lifted at the Aragonian greeting but he took her hand and gave it a courtly kiss with a smug, “El placer es solamente mio, Señora. Mucho gusto.”
“Encantada,” she replied with a smile.
“Petrea, who is your charming friend?” Ramiro affixed his most attractive smirk on his face, “I did not expect to be greeted in my mother language. Her Aragonian is accented, yes, but it only adds to her charm.”
“Don Ramiro,” Petrea said, “may I introduce you to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House.”
“Ah but this is the great Odilia?” His eyebrows lifted further, his eyes immediately dipping to examine her, from the tips of her slippered feet to the diamond pins sparkling in her hair. “Even Aragonia has heard of you, Señora Dalia.”
“I do not doubt you, Señor Marqués,” Odilia said, accepting his compliment with a graceful nod before she effortlessly turned the attention to the other gentleman waiting, saying, “But I am not our generous host for the evening. May I, then, present to you my lord Lancelin de Peregeux, heir to the Duchy of Siovale.”
One would think Lancelin had been Night Court trained by the way one could see nothing in Lancelin’s face of his true thoughts. Petrea was impressed even as she offered him a curtsy.
“Ah,” Ramiro barked a laugh, “Siovale! I understand now. Petrea tells me we are coming to dinner to talk about business, I see now that we will be discussing the silver you refuse to accept from our mines.”
“I am willing to discuss this business with you, Don Ramiro,” Lancelin said with impeccable manners and a scholar’s soft voice, “and let us hope we come to some agreement. I would not wish to waste the ladies’ time and efforts otherwise.”
Petrea hid a wince. Already this was not going well. But she summoned her Cereus smile and gestured back inside to the table waiting for them in the salon, “Shall we sit, then?”
Ramiro settled himself into a seat easily with careless, confident grace, watching as the dark-haired lordling pulled the seat out for the Dahlia courtesan himself, pushing it in for her so she could be settled before he sat himself. Thrown off balance for a moment, Petrea shot a glance at a servant standing nearby who quickly pulled out her chair. With that finished, the servants brought forth the first of the courses for the evening, a thick onion soup in a fragrant wine broth topped with shavings of tangy cheese.
“So what have you D’Angelines been doing without your silver?” Ramiro asked, holding up the spoon for his soup, “Clearly you still have your silverware.”
“Some salons are turning to gold,” Odilia said lightly, “But it is so soft a metal, it can’t endure too much wear. Though, Cereus House just recently hosted a party without a single piece of silver, none on their trays or on their tables or on their adepts either. Cereus House has replaced it with…what was it called, Petrea?”
“Aluminum,” Petrea replied, placing one hand on Ramiro’s arm. “Aliksandria acquired it from the silk dyers. Its appearance is almost identical to silver, but it is lighter.” She gave him a serene smile. “It is fit for purpose, but the quality does not match that of true silver.”
Ramiro kissed her lightly on the cheek. “In that, you are correct. Nothing could match the quality of Aragonian silver. And I would wager that one cannot fashion such fine jewelry from this…aluminum, eh, mi florecita?” he said, giving a long look at her throat.
Petrea placed a hand lightly on her necklace and beamed at him. “My lord was too kind in his gift to me.”
Lancelin cleared his throat pointedly. “It will continue to serve as a suitable replacement as long as necessary,” he said coolly. “The dyers guild may be getting more aluminum orders in the future if we decide not to accept Aragonian silver again.”
The thought that perhaps he would need to put more work in than just preening and posturing was not what Ramiro wanted to hear. He wanted a nice, quick dinner, an easy win because who could resist him? And then he wanted to go back to Cereus House to enjoy Petrea’s charms for the rest of the night.
He considered this through the second course of grilled fish filets in a delicious yellow sauce of saffron, ginger, pepper, and white wine vinegar.
“Of course, what the embargo continues to hurt more than the silver trade,” Lancelin said evenly, slicing through his fish, “is the relationship between Terre D’Ange and Aragonia. As my mother’s duchy borders your country, of course we are interested in preserving a cordial if not friendly connection with our proud neighbor to the south. This embargo makes that more difficult but something must be offered in exchange to persuade us to lift it.”
“But why was it put in place to begin with?” Ramiro gestured broadly with his glass, large drops spilling onto the linen tablecloth. “That is what I still do not understand? We have done nothing to earn the anger of your country so much to block trade like this. We have done nothing wrong, why then should we offer anything in return?”
“We cannot lift the embargo without a clear reason being given,” Lancelin countered. “It would seem to be a petty, childish endeavor and if there is one thing my mother is not, it is childish or petty. She began the embargo, she must be convinced that it is in our best interests to end it.”
This was the larger challenge, Odilia knew. Duchesse Niniane de Perigeux had started the embargo, this was true, but not to punish Aragonia or their silver trade. She had started it at the request of one of her oldest and most powerful friends for purposes that Odilia had yet to puzzle out. One thing she knew for sure was that Roland de Chalasse had not done this for her. No, he had his own plans and his own goals and she was only tolerated at his periphery for the moment. She needed to take some of that power back for herself. Which was why she was working on Lancelin first.
While Petrea had not been in Terre d’Ange for the beginning of the embargo, everything she heard pointed to it being centered on the fight between Odilia and the head of the Silversmith’s Guild. While Petrea had found it difficult to believe that a single woman could be the cause of a nationwide embargo, it was by far not the strangest thing to happen in D’Angeline history.
The discussion continued through the courses of lumps of lobster meat in a savory broth, river pike simmered with pomegranate juice, fat pigeons split between each couple roasted with fresh herbs, red wine, and a dessert of quince cake served with hippocras.
Most nights, the training in propriety and manners Petrea had received at Cereus House came to her as naturally as breathing. Tonight was not most nights. As dinner wore on, Ramiro seemed to grow less and less interested in discussions of trade relations and more and more interested in the wine – and her. For the umpteenth time, she felt his hand creep across her thigh under the table and she almost rolled her eyes. She struggled to maintain her composure as she continued to silently fight him off. She knew from their prior assignation that he was bold, but this was becoming inappropriate. She grasped his hand, perhaps a little too firmly, and removed it from her leg. He took this as an invitation to attempt to pull her hand into his lap. She dug her nails into his palm and snatched her hand back. Dinner was not going well. Well, the food was excellent, she did have to compliment the Club chefs on their fare.
Petrea felt her cheeks burn as Ramiro took the chance while the cake was being served and the hippocras poured to whisper in her ear the things he planned to do once they returned to Cereus House. She prayed to Blessed Elua the light was low enough that Odilia and Lancelin couldn’t tell how red she was or how heavily she was breathing.
“My lord,” she whispered through gritted teeth, “now is not the time to speak of our plans for the rest of the evening. You must conclude your business here first.”
He swore in Aragonian and licked her earlobe before turning back to the table. Odilia raised an eyebrow at her and Petrea gave her a helpless look.
“So, where were we?” Ramiro asked, a touch too loudly.
“I believe my lord de Perigeux was asking you about excise taxes, my lord,” Petrea prompted, grateful he was finally focusing.
Instead of returning to the business at hand as she had hoped, he turned a smoldering gaze on Odilia and put his chin in his hand, quite done with business. “So, you are the famous Odilia, yes? The one who has captured the King. I have enjoyed the First of your Second – no, Second of your First – House, but I would very much love to sample that which pleases royalty.”
Petrea bit down hard on her tongue to keep from laughing aloud at his brash pronouncement. A small sound escaped her lips and she covered it with a cough.
“You know,” he continued, grinning at her, “Petrea and I will be returning to Cereus House after dinner. We would love for you to join us for something more…entertaining than these boring trade negotiations.”
“My lord,” Petrea spoke gently but firmly, “you have not contracted with Odilia for tonight. If you wished for her to join us later, you would have needed to arrange that with her and with Dahlia House ahead of time.
“You’ll have to excuse the Marqués,” she said to Odilia with a politeness honed by years in the Night Court, “this is his first time in Terre D’Ange and our prior engagement was not the traditional assignation arranged through a House.”
“Clearly,” Odilia said in her low, soft voice with the tiniest lift of her dark brows.
Ramiro blinked. Confused, he looked from one woman to the other before drinking down his glass of wine. “You D’Angelines make things so complicated! In Aragonia, if you wish to be with a beautiful woman, you tell her! Why should I not simply invite one beautiful woman to join me with another beautiful woman?”
“Of course you may,” Odilia said, a hint of warm amusement in her voice, “Once such things have been established. This is as yet our first time meeting Don Ramiro. Cereus and Dahlia have different traditions, what woos one will not sway the other.”
He frowned at her.
“In this,” she continued lightly, “I think both nobles and courtesans understand the importance of a good impression.”
Lancelin de Perigeux was too well bred to snort his laughter, but he nevertheless hid the twist of his mouth behind the rim of his goblet. Don Ramiro’s eyes flicked to the younger man and he drew himself up in his chair, defensive and put-upon, managing a crisp, “Claro.”
“If you are to catch my interest,” Odilia said, her dark eyes glinting, “it is unlikely to be in the same way you have won my friend Petrea’s affections. To capture so much of her attentions is no simple feat, Don Ramiro, you have every reason to delight in your time with her. As does she.”
Odilia had caught her blushing, of that Petrea was certain now. She stifled a groan. Dinner was not going well for her, either.
“The most famous of the entertainments at the Dahlia salon is the human-sized chessboard that makes up our ballroom floor,” Odilia continued idly, “I flatter myself to think that I have some skill with the game.”
“It is hardly flattery,” Lancelin said in his soft, cultured voice, “if it is true.”
Odilia gave him a smile from under her lashes, a look that Ramiro wanted her to give to him. Wasn’t he worth her attention? Didn’t he deserve the chance to see what had captivated their young king?
“Then you are challenging me to a game, Doña Dalia?”
Those dark eyes turned to him and there was a glitter of something in their depths that he couldn’t quite define. But Lancelin had seen and he knew what it was; it was a glitter of victory. The Dahlia had gotten him right where she wanted him.
“I would not presume to challenge if you were uninterested,” she said softly.
“I have played the game before,” he said, pride prickling. Now he had something to prove, “I will not be an easy opponent.”
“Then show me,” she murmured, leaning towards him ever so slightly to keep his attention, “Show me how clever a player you are. Let this be the start of our game and let us not rush through to the conclusion. The best games are the ones that draw out the anticipation. Show me here in these opening moves with my lord of Siovale how cunning a chessmaster you are.”
“You would play with politics?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I will win this game,” Ramiro warned her, wagging a finger, “I am very competitive.”
Her smile gleamed in her eyes, molten and confident and coy, “Perhaps.”
Petrea could tell that Ramiro’s head was spinning, caught in the Dahlia’s net, maneuvered so neatly on her chessboard. The Dahlia Second knew what she was about and would be pulling the strings in Aragonia.
“So,” he grinned at Odilia, “you will be coming back to Cereus House after all?”
“My lord,” Petrea put her hand on his and smiled blandly at him. “As I said, if you wish to partake in Odilia’s services, you must formally arrange for them. It is a business agreement. And I believe you and Monsieur de Perigeux are still in the middle of conducting some of your own business? About the silver embargo?”
“Ah, this wretched embargo!” Ramiro’s hand came down sharply on the table, making the plates clatter. “I come here to see why the embargo is happening and all I see is that some petty squabble has spilled across our borders to disrupt my family’s business.”
Odilia’s eyes flicked to the side where she could see the majordomo standing at the door with a look of disapproval on his face. She very much doubted Lancelin would be permitted to invite guests to the club for a while, at least until the memory of this night had faded from the majordomo’s mind. And that might take a while.
“Of course it was not the intention to cause difficulties for your house,” Lancelin said and the courtesans could hear the slightly testy note under his voice. “The embargo was not meant to have such an effect upon your family’s business in particular. I find myself surprised that your family does not have enough silver trade in place elsewhere to cover for the loss of our revenue.”
Petrea watched the way Odilia busied herself with carving a piece of her cake onto her fork to cover the way her brow had lifted and her lips had twisted with amusement at Lancelin’s words. Clearly he was young, but he had learned well from his mother the business of negotiating.
“Of course my family has plenty of other dealings for our silver,” Ramiro argued.
“Then I fail to see why the urgency and desperation in trying to reopen trade, since your family has so many other opportunities.”
“But none come with the same prestige as Terre D’Ange,” Ramiro’s voice took on a vaguely wheedling note, trying to flatter Lancelin’s pride. “It is an honor to provide silver to the great nobles and courts of Terre D’Ange, of course we want that opportunity again.”
Odilia could read in the tilt of Lancelin’s head that he was unconvinced and less than impressed.
“Perhaps a better trade rate could be negotiated with the Duque de Soria,” she suggested lightly, “This is not an issue that can be resolved overnight. Further discussion might be needed between your esteemed parents.”
“Do you suggest that we cannot handle this deal between us, like men?” Ramiro’s voice was too loud and Odilia’s brows rose as she regarded him for a moment.
“Certainly not,” she said softly, evenly, “only that you are proud sons of proud houses and even prouder countries trying to make an agreement in one meeting while you represent these grand powers. No one can work miracles and these things will take time. Like our chess game, Don Ramiro. These are but the opening moves, would you see our game ended so quickly?”
“No,” he subsided, taking another long swallow of the hippocras, “no I would not, you are right, pretty dalia. I forget myself in my excitement.”
“Anyone would,” she said coyly.
“Then let us say these opening moves are finished,” Lancelin said, setting his glass down firmly and shifting his weight forward in his chair to signal that he was about to rise. Odilia read the cue and rose with him, she was his companion for the evening after all, her place was at his side. The Siovalese man looked expectantly down at the Aragonian as the Cereus also rose. “Odilia is right that to finish this too soon would be unsatisfactory to all involved. We have done what we can tonight. The next moves are not ours to make but our Duchesse and Duque, respectively. Only from there may we see how successful this night was. Or not.”
He offered his arm to Odilia and she was already moving with an elegant swish of her skirts to take it, letting him guide her, falling into her place at his side easily. Eager to recover some shred of Ramiro’s honor, Petrea leaned down and began whispering in his ear; he stood up quickly and ushered her towards the door.
As she was working, the majordomo came to meet Lancelin at the door, making no effort to be secretive as he said, “My Lord de Perigeux, we are always delighted to enjoy your presence here at the Aviline Club, it is an honor not quite eclipsed by the presence of the Seconds of Cereus and Dahlia House. However, may I suggest in the future that your Aragonian friend would enjoy the other entertainments that our beautiful City has to offer? The jousting lists, perhaps? Or the Night’s Doorstep taverns.” His eyes flicked to the side where Ramiro stood at the door with Petrea, his hands a little too low on her hips, and the majordomo’s mouth twisted disdainfully, “Or wrestling sailors at the docks.”
Lancelin smiled, a bright and disarming thing on his elfin face, “Forgive my friend, Perrin. He is new to the City and is still enjoying the D’Angeline delights.”
“Clearly,” the majordomo said with a sniff before pasting his professional smile onto his face and saying, “You, of course, are always welcome here, Lord Lancelin. It is a delight, as ever.” He even offered Odilia a slight bow and a polite, “My lady.”
She gave him a courteous curtsy and her secret smile to help smooth some things over for Lancelin before allowing the Siovalese man to guide her away towards the front of the Club, their companions following.
Petrea and Odilia found themselves alone outside the club as their patrons went to fetch the carriages.
“Please accept my apologies for the Marqués’s behavior this evening. He is just passionate and, well, clearly imbibed too much this evening.” Petrea gave Odilia a tight smile. “I fear he may have done more harm than good here.”
“Nonsense,” Odilia returned the smile, “he did exactly what I needed him to do.”
Petrea’s eyebrows lifted, “Oh? What move was this on your chessboard, Odilia?”
“The foreign pawn,” the brunette answered softly, “influences the queen-side knight.”
Petrea’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lancelin?”
“Yes,” Odilia smiled. “In response to Don Ramiro’s display tonight, Lancelin, young and ambitious as he is, will be all the more ready to prove that he is a better heir to his family’s affairs. He is a highly educated man, his family helps to sponsor the university, his mother is a stern and traditional woman. He will be proud of himself for maintaining his composure and will see this as a chance to prove to Ramiro that the D’Angeline way of doing business is much more effective than what they know in Aragonia. He will make the suggestion to his mother, Duchesse Niniane, that they be magnanimous, since it is clear how desperate Aragonia is for us to reopen trade. And since Lancelin wants to prove how well he can play the game too. Through Ramiro, I’ve influenced Lancelin’s next moves, and the embargo is that much closer to ending.”
“We both know that it is not Monsieur de Perigeux who truly controls the embargo; it’s the Duc de Chalasse. I’m aware that you have a close relationship with him and I know you are against this embargo. Do you think your influence is enough to sway him?”
“No,” Odilia said easily, “the Duc de Chalasse is a proud and powerful man. No matter what game he plays with me and no matter what I may seem to be to him, I have no such power over him. Not directly.”
“Directly?”
“I know just what strings to pull to get him to do what I want,” Odilia said with a hint of a smile. “You know I always think four moves ahead.”
“I would love to hear more of this chessboard of yours and who you have placed where. This has been an…interesting evening. We should meet again, perhaps when there aren’t so many distractions at the table.” She smiled wryly.
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” She paused. “If I may, Petrea, I am surprised you put up with Don Ramiro. He is far from the typical patron of Cereus House.”
“Oh quite the opposite. I put up with Cereus House because it gets me Don Ramiro.” Petrea looked at Odilia, a small smile playing on her lips.
The carriages arrived and Ramiro sauntered over to the two women wearing a bold grin. He snatched Petrea about the waist and swung her in a circle, burying his face in her neck.
“Come, mi florecita!” He said, far too loudly before setting her back on her feet. “Dinner is finished! I am taking you back to Cereus House now! Let us see just how sturdy all of your furniture is!”
A lifetime of Night Court training failed spectacularly and Petrea threw back her head and laughed – looking anything but the Second of Cereus House. Catching herself, she turned and bid Odilia a quiet goodnight, attempting to recover some small bit of her dignity. Barely a moment later, Ramiro caught her up in his arms and carried her to the waiting carriage. The look she gave him made it clear that there would be nothing dignified about the rest of that assignation.
In direct contrast to the Aragonian’s exuberance, Lancelin de Perigeux offered a composed hand to Odilia to hand her up to her carriage. He would not be driving her home, it seemed; his attentions would be directed to the majordomo of the Club, attempting to smooth things over for tonight. Nevertheless, he brushed his lips over her knuckles in a courtly kiss, “A delight, Odilia nó Dahlia.”
“An honor, my lord de Perigeux.”
“May I call upon you at the Dahlia House salon sometime soon?”
She looked down at him, this handsome young man with black curls and his green-hazel eyes, a brow lifting, “Oh?”
“I am interested in your chessboard,” he said, a single caress of his first finger to the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. “I would love to see it, and you, in play.”
Her dark eyes hooded ever so slightly even as she let him see the tiniest hitch of her breath at his caress to her skin. And she smiled, “I will look forward to your visit, then.”
A twisting curl of his lips at the corner of his mouth was the only tell he gave for his little victory. But it was enough.
Yes, the chessboard was coming along nicely.
“Summer parties might really be where Cereus house shines,” thought Aliks.
The flowers were in full bloom and their perfume was intoxicating in the garden. This had been the first event that Petrea had helped plan since her return and she could tell that Aimee was finally relaxing back into her old self.
Not that she wanted to ruin Aimee‘s reverie, but Petrea’s absence had made some things incredibly obvious, so Aliks walked over to Aimee.
“Aimee my dear, I know last year was challenging for you and I do not think either Petrea nor I want a situation like that to ever happen again. The truth is that I’m not immortal and one day someone will have to be Dowayne after me, and Second after Petrea. I would like to think that you would come after her and I would like to know if you would consent to begin shadowing her and learning a Second’s craft.”
Aimee mulled it over. “May I have some time to think it over?”
Aliks smiled and said, “Of course, this is not a decision that needs to be made today.”
Aliks continued to wonder through the garden party, smiling at this patron and that adept, enjoying overhearing the gossip and nibbling on small dainties. “Truly, this is Naamah’s Service at its height,” she mused.
She was walking past a group of adepts from Cereus and Heliotrope house and patrons when she over heard a man comment on Cereus house’s choice to continue to use silver platters for its fêtes.
“Oh no, my lord,” she said, feigning distaste, “this is not silver. In fact there is no silver in this garden at all. If you notice all the adepts are wearing gold finery today, and what you mistook for a silver platter is actually a new material called aluminum.” She waved a server over and asked for the platter he held then held it out to the patron.
“See how light it is, my lord, no silver platter could possibly be so light.”
The patron took the platter and his face took on a momentary look of shock, “By Elua, it’s as if it were made of parchment. Where did you acquire such a thing?”
The Dowayne smiled, happy to flaunt her find, “The silk dyers my lord, thought their method of refining and manufacturing the material was a closely guarded secret.” With that she returned the platter to the server, thanked him and continued to weave through the guests.
“Very nicely done,” a voice whispered in her ear. Aliks turned to find her lover, Waldemar nó Mandrake and gave him the kiss of greeting.
Their affair was something of an open secret, as it was unseemly for the Dowayne of Cereus house to go be flogged at Mandrake, but Elua had said “love as thou wilt.” And she did love him, so no one begrudged her the affair.
“I didn’t think you would make it,” she noted.
He smiled, and inclined his head toward a tall woman with dark hair. “My Dowayne requested an escort.”
“Of course she did.”
“Have you a moment to talk?” He asked, uncharacteristically shy.
“For you, I have several.”
The two of them walked to a niche at the far end of the garden. They did not touch as they walked, but the string between them felt so strong she was certain all could see it.
“Aliks, I love you. I did not want to have this conversation until things were settled with your Second, but Petrea has returned and I feel it is time. You have achieved everything you ever told me you wanted. You are Dowayne. You are a pearl among courtesans, and Cereus House and the Night Court shine brightly. But there is something I have always wanted for my life that I have yet to achieve.”
He pulled out a parcel and handed it to her. She gently opened it to find a single beeswax taper on a silk cloth.
“I want to have a child with you.”
It was approaching dawn when the Dowayne of Heliotrope finally closed her chamber door. The heavy wood muffled the sounds of a night winding down and she exhaled deeply. She knew that she should be grateful that nights like these and that the business they brought to this quarter were finally back, that the stress of the spring behind them – and she was. It was true that the adepts in her beloved House all smiled easier, laughed more fully, and embraced each other and their patrons more deeply, and she thanked Naamah and Elua alike for that grace.
She smiled to herself as she crossed her room. Well, thanks to Naamah, Elua, and Aliks’ iron backbone, sharp tongue, and sharper wit. The Courts were lucky to have her, though the Sun didn’t always realize its dependence on the Night. Untying the waist of her dress, she made her careful way to her balcony. She did have to admit that this King seemed to be intimately aware of that fact; as much as it pleased her, she knew that was the lion’s share of trouble. She sighed heavily and pulled open the balcony door; damned if you do, damned if you don’t was a saying for a reason after all.
The summer breeze that greeted her smelled like a garden full of flowers and she felt a bit more of her Dowayne worries slide away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much relief, just like the breeze that brought no cooling, only heat and that sweet smell. She pulled on the tie that held her dress to her. It hadn’t fully relaxed with her simple untying of its bow and now she felt an almost frantic desire to be free from it. It wasn’t constricting, merely holding a voluminous light summer gown to her in a pleasant shape, but at the moment even that was too much. The long ribbon slithered from around her, slipping silently to the floor in a puddle and she exhaled shakily, sinking into her desk chair and laying her cheek on the cool surface.
Now, now she felt like she was just Philomena nò Heliotrope, Mena to those she surrounded herself with, and no longer Heliotrope’s Dowayne. She closed her eyes and let the surface of the desk pull some of the heat from her face. Her predecessor, Tarthan, was a brilliant man, a kind and generous leader of their House, but at this moment she was most grateful for his aesthetic sense. The slab of rock he’d had made into the desktop was a stroke of genius.
Tarthan’s sudden death in his sleep eight months gone had shattered the joy and comfort of her home and as his devoted Second, she had found her sudden promotion a struggle. She wanted to guide the House in a way that was a credit to his memory but had not counted on her own grief and anxieties.
The turmoil from the silversmith’s tantrum was a distraction Mena had welcomed, despite how hard it had been to see Odilia navigate the situation. She meant the other adept no harm and she could only imagine how insulted the Dahlia had been, but the fact remained that Mena had absolute faith in both her King and Cereus House, so Mena had never felt that they were in any real danger. Outside worries were always easier to manage. Now that the dust was settling, there was no avoiding getting her own House in order.
Who to pick as Second? The children needed to be evaluated and she’d heard from a former adept that worked in an orphanage that there were a few there who could be destined for the Houses. There were a few adepts nearing their full marque that she needed to speak to.
The dawn sun slipped above the city skyline and she sighed again. All she could do now was sleep, so she stood and closed the balcony door. The darkness closed around her like a familiar friend and she felt herself start to relax, fatigue rushing in. Stepping out of her gown, she collapsed onto her bed, savoring the coolness of her sheets as sleep pulled her under. Now, sleep. Her work and her worries and the Court intrigue would be waiting.
The morning sun streamed through the window as the young girl looked at herself in the mirror. Her red curls had been washed to a shine and pinned so they framed her pale face and blue eyes. Although the face looking back at her was her own, nothing else seemed to belong. The dress she wore was new, sent over from Cereus House by the Dowayne. A pale blue damask with cactus fines and Cereus flowers embroidered all over it.
“You look beautiful,” the woman said, standing back to admire her daughter.
Aliksandria wrapped both arms around her mother in a warm embrace. She had been looking forward to her tenth birthday for so long, it seemed hard to believe it was truly here.
A knock came at the door, and then a man with black hair and the same blue eyes as Aliks walked in. “My, you truly are the two most beautiful ladies on Mont Nuit.” Her father’s flattery made her giggle.
He held out a small wooden coffer with enamel inlay. “A birthday gift.” She opened the lid to find a pair of pearl earrings nestled on a velvet cushion.
“Thank you, father,” she said, as she removed the small hoops most fosterlings wore and replaced them with the new pearls.
It was time. Holding onto the coffer – her only possession – Aliksandria walked with her parents out of the nursery of Bryony house, the only home she had ever known. The clothes she had worn as a fosterling would stay here, to be worn by future adepts. Her bed would be slept in by another. All the things one could need would be provided to her by her new House, as evidenced by the dress she now wore.
Several people stood in the Dowayne’s office when the trio arrived. The Dowayne of Bryony House, her Second, the guild secretary, and the Dowayne of Cereus House. The paperwork was completed in short order, first her parents each signed, then the Bryony Dowayne, followed by the Cereus Dowayne. Then the group turned to her. Her new Dowayne held out the quill to her. “I don’t understand,” Aliks said quietly.
The Cereus Dowayne smiled gently then said, “Ever since the time of Phèdre nó Delaunay, guild law has stated that no marque may be sold without the holder’s consent. You must agree to this, child.”
“What happens if I say no?”
The Bryony Dowayne answered. “You would stay here. But I assure you, I would not sell your marque unless I thought you better suited for success in a House other than Bryony.”
And with that, Aliksandria nodded and signed the parchment, consenting to have her marque sold to Cereus house.
~
Aliks had been living at Cereus House for a few months, learning to wait at table, speak Cardicci and Helene, and prepare a bed chamber. Sometimes a guest instructor would come by to teach the initiates something of their specialty, which is what happened on this day. Regular lessons were canceled and the initiates went to the library. That is when Aliksandria saw who their instructor was.
It made perfect sense. Naamah’s service was a business and that required its adepts to have an understanding of money. Who better to teach that than an adept of Bryony House?
“Mother?” Aliks said, stopping short when she saw the rusty auburn hair. The woman smiled and motioned for her to sit with everyone else.
After the lesson, Aliksandria and her mother walked about the gardens and caught up. She hadn’t realized she was lonely until that day.
It was not an insignificant decision and, in fact, it was almost unheard of on Mont Nuit. Once one became Second of a House it was a foregone conclusion that they would ascend to the position of Dowayne upon the death or retirement of the current Dowayne. A Second simply did not step down. Perhaps in the case of severe illness or injury, it would be understandable, but to simply give up one’s post as Second? No. It was not done.
Petrea nó Cereus considered this as she paced the halls of Cereus House. She had been away from the House and her duties for almost a year, traveling with her lover Marco. While the time had been enjoyable, she had come to realize that her place was here on Mont Nuit. But was her place as Second? Did she truly want to return to the responsibilities of being one of the most prominent Servants of Naamah in all Terre d’Ange? The anonymity of being simply Marco’s lover – passed off as his betrothed when necessary – had been blissful.
But. She had long ago made a promise to Aliksandria to stand by her. They had risen in the ranks together, side by side. From Petrea’s first night in Cereus House, Aliks had guided her through the murky waters of Naamah’s service. Petrea doubted she would have survived without that. And truly, she enjoyed her success. Enjoyed somewhat her prominence. Enjoyed the prestige of her position.
What to do?
Petrea’s wanderings led her unexpectedly to the rooms of Aimee nó Cereus, who had been de facto Second in Petrea’s absence. Aimee sat bent over a desk, surrounded by piles of documents, a deep frown marring her lovely face. Petrea’s heart contracted with contrition. Aimee had been thrust into a role for which she had no training and no preparation. And yet, she had managed everything with great aplomb. Petrea did notice, however, that Aimee looked continually harried and had taken to muttering under her breath, racing about the halls.
With all of this in mind, Petrea stepped into the crowded office and settled down onto a chaise.
She cleared her throat to get Aimee’s attention. When Aimee did not look up or cease her fierce scribbling, Petrea cleared her throat again, louder this time. Again, Aimee did not appear to notice.
Finally, Petrea gave up with subtlety and spoke.
“Good morning Aimee. How does the day find you?”
Aimee started and dropped her quill.
“Oh! Milady! Excuse me,” she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “I was deep in thought. There are many plans to be made for the upcoming fête and I fear we are not keeping a close enough eye on our ledgers to meet expenses for it. I have to speak to Louis about this today.”
Petrea moved to look over Aimee’s shoulder at the documents on the desk. Her practiced eye scanned the lines of the ledgers and estimated expenses for the upcoming ball.
“Ah, here it is!” she said a moment later, pointing to a line in the expense document. “The flower vendor is trying to overcharge you. We do not pay this amount. Ever.”
She smiled slyly at Aimee. “Louis is not the one you need to speak to. We’ll go together this afternoon to the flower shop and make this right. Shopkeepers cannot think that they can overcharge Cereus House.”
Aimee sighed. “There is much work to being Second. One does not have a moment to think!”
Petrea put her hand on Aimee’s shoulder. “You did not ask for this and I am so grateful that you stepped in while I was gone. You have done the House proud. I hope you know this. You would make a wonderful Second.”
Aimee gestured to the chaise and the two sat down across from each other. Petrea poured glasses of wine as they continued their conversation.
“I could not continue as Second on my own, you know. I have not taken a single assignation for myself in months. I feel as though I do not sleep and have no energy to even eat.”
Petrea looked down into her glass. “I did not know that,” she said quietly.
Aimee continued. “I did not have the opportunity to make connections in the city as you did and you see the results of that with the flower shop. I did not learn to be a leader over time as you did. I have not earned anyone’s respect as you have. I have not learned the administration skills you have. I simply do not have the training and teachings that you have.”
“You would need a great deal of help….were you to become Second,” Petrea said slowly.
“I would need assistance, yes.” Aimee appeared to be thinking aloud now. “An assigned group of adepts or hired hands to help me with the position. I could not simply continue as I have. But a dedicated committee? Yes, that would work.”
Aimee blinked, ending her reverie. She lowered a gaze at Petrea.
“Do you intend to step down?”
That was the question.
“I do not have an answer to that,” Petrea said sadly, her shoulders sagging. “My heart is torn. I have no desire to leave Cereus House, but I waver on what to do about my position.”
“You must decide.”
Petrea nodded. “I know.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, sipping their wine, each considering their own thoughts.
Petrea was the first to speak. “I should like to do something for you to show my gratitude for your work during the last months.”
Aimee smiled. “That is kind of you and I appreciate it.”
“I was thinking a grand ball. Invite all of our adepts and your favorite patrons. Certainly they have missed you!”
Aimee’s smile began to fade as Petrea rushed on. “I, of course, will handle the planning. You will not need to lift a finger. Would you like a new gown? I could have a new gown made for you if you would like?”
Aimee raised her hands. “Petrea, please! I do not want a ball. In fact, I cannot think of anything I should want less than a ball.”
Petrea was stunned. “No ball?”
Aimee shook her head vehemently. “No! I have been drowning in planning balls and fêtes and purchasing gowns. All I want is some peace. Some time to myself.”
“Something like a night at Balm House?”
Aimee laughed. “A week at Balm House would be suitable for my needs!”
Petrea looked at her curiously. “Truly? That is what you desire? A full week at Balm House? I could arrange that if it is what you want.”
Aimee looked at her in surprise. “I was not being completely serious. While, yes, a week at Balm House would be my dream, I cannot imagine the expense of that!”
Petrea waved her off. “That is not your concern. If I can express my gratitude to you by sending you to Balm House for a week of restoration, then I shall.”
“Well. In that case, I shall pack a bag.”
Petrea nodded and put a gentle hand on Aimee’s arm. “I shall speak to the Dowayne as soon as we finish speaking and arrange everything. You have done great things for this House and for me, personally, and should be appropriately rewarded for that.”
“You must make me a promise, Petrea. You must promise me that when I return to Cereus House, you will give me your decision. I do not want to spend my week worrying. I want to come back and know my future.”
“I promise. One week is enough time for me to come to a decision. I shall bring word when your assignation at Balm is arranged.”
Petrea embraced Aimee and left the room.
One week. Petrea knew it would not take long to schedule the assignation at Balm House and Aimee would leave perhaps even that day. She had little time to decide her future. She returned to her apartments and sat down at her desk. She shuffled papers absently, not looking at anything, simply needing something for her hands to do.
Presently, a House attendant knocked on the door.
“A letter has come for you milday. From Aragonia, I believe.”
Petrea took the letter and broke the seal. “Aragonia? Who would write me from Aragonia?”
The attendant shrugged. “I know not. You traveled far this past year and met many people. Perhaps one of them?”
A jolt hit Petrea as she remembered whom she had met in Aragonia. Her heart racing, feeling a bit giddy, she read her letter.
Mi querida Petrea,
Long have I thought of our night together and wished for another. Your words, your kiss, your touch. I cannot seem to forget you and I seek a reason to see you again.
Finally, my longing ends as I shall be traveling to the City of Elua on business for my family. Will you make time for me amongst your many other important patrons, cariña?
With all my affection,
R
Ramiro Pascual De Soria y Borja, Marqués of Almazan
A warm feeling spread in Petrea’s belly at the memory of Don Ramiro. She had exchanged an assignation with him for lodgings in Aragonia. It had been…enjoyable. The news that he was coming to the City on behalf of his family was not necessarily surprising. The silver embargo was affecting the mines in Aragonia and the Aragonian nobility was sending the young Marqués to make political overtures on behalf of the family. He would, of course, be seeking to make his own political connections in Terre d’Ange. He had only his family name to trade on presently and that was a thin thread.
He likely believed, however, that he had another ally. Her. Being seen about the City with the Second of Cereus on his arm gave him clout that could open doors that might otherwise be closed to him. Regardless of what he might say about their night together, it wasn’t only her he wanted, it was the Second of Cereus House.
Petrea knew from experience that politics trumped personal feelings every time. Ramiro might personally desire her, but he would spend his time with whoever occupied the Second’s seat.
“Well,” Petrea thought, “that’s not an assignation I’m willing to give up. I suppose that’s that.”
She dropped the letter on her desk and went off to find Aimee.