Vouloir never closed her door. As a small child, she’d not had a door on her quarters, nor did any room in her home have a door, so she’d never understood the D’Angeline need to do so. The constant heat in Jebe-Barkal made airflow the most important factor. Her family was well-off; they’d owned their piece of land for generations, and they’d been lucky enough to build their ancestral home on a hill. While they were not close enough to the sea for it to be seen, they were close enough that the wind that came off it blew through the rooms and kept the family comfortable.
*
Vouloir never closed her door. She found it easier when she arrived at Heliotrope. Adepts and novices alike had more questions than the stars in the sky, and an open door made her life more peaceful. Even after being in the House a decade, she could remember almost all of them.
‘Vouloir, are you D’Angeline’ Yes, my father is a merchant from Camlach.
‘Loir, how did you get to the City?’ We came with my father’s family caravan across Jebe-Barkal and Menekhet, then on a ship across the sea to Bourdes in Siovale, then we made our way to the city.
‘Vouloir nó Barkal, why are you even here?’ Namaah sings in my blood and she drew me here. Who better to understand love like the sun than one who’s only ever known the sun?
One day, she’d told Philomena about the questions. Mena had taken her under her wing from the day she arrived, and she took these questions with less patience than eleven year-old Loir had. After all, Mena was already an adept and was raised by the Dowayne and his wife. Of course she did not stand for such things. She had moved Loir into a room that was next to hers, and she stopped closing her door as well.
The questions dwindled.
*
Loir never closed her door. Three days before she was to officially pledge herself to Namaah’s service, her mother burst through the curtain and scooped Loir up in her arms. Loir had no knowledge they were coming, her tears flowing easily as she soaked up her mother’s warmth. Her grandmother came in just after, embracing the two of them and speaking softly in the soft and comforting tones of her native tongue. She could hear her father and grandfather in conversation with Dowayne Olivier in the hallway, and her heart was full to bursting with their love.
*
Loir nó Heliotrope never closed her door. She was five years an adept now, and the children came to her when their parents needed personal time, and she told them about her home. They were always spellbound by her stories: her parents meeting in the market, and her father abandoning his home to stay in sun and her mother’s love; her great-uncle with his love of the land that led him to spend his life working to make the land able to sustain the people while its own life blossomed unrestrained; the lions that lived near, and the strength of their matriarch that drove male lions to try to take control of her family from her mate; the tales her grandfather told her of the shapes the stars made, always told while sitting on the roof of the barn and eating the ripest mangos. The years had shown that she had a talent for painting, and she’d painted countless scenes from memory. The sound of her voice drifted through her open door most days, one of the sounds that made Heliotrope House a home.
*
Loir never closed her door. On this day, she was writing a letter home to her parents when a young adept burst in, holding out a thick missive with the d’Marr deep red wax seal visible.
“Loir, a letter arrived from the d’Marrs,” he said excitedly.
She smiled and took the letter from him. “Charles, would you like me to read it out loud?”
Charles nodded. “They always write the most beautiful love letters, Loir. I hope to one day receive letters half as wonderful.”
Loir patted the bed next to her. “Charles, you will. You are worth letters this lovely and more. Now, let us see what the d’Marrs have to say today.”
The wax released easily and Loir unfolded the paper and began to read.
Our Dearest Beloved, can you believe we have been your Patron for five years this moon? We can not believe it ourselves, but our seneschal reminded us of that anniversary when he came on business. As is our custom, this upcoming visit will be the last, and it will make your marque. Of all the Lovers we’ve had over the years, you are easily the most memorable, so your upcoming visit will be as well. The carriage will arrive to bring you to us in three days, you need only bring yourself, wear whatever you want, you shine like a pearl in everything that adorns you. Our home is dim without you to bring warmth and light to it. It is true that we sense the darkness of your loss on the horizon, but still, we feel cold and empty without you. The large bed that you helped decorate and that you grace with the lines of your body is akin to a wasteland without you here with us. With the grace of Namaah, we will somehow survive until you arrive.
Eternally Yours,
Emillië and Frances d’Marr, Lady and Lord of Temelle Estate, Namarre
Loir folded the paper again with a smile and Charles sighed happily. “When you come home, you must tell me about this visit.”
“Of course, my door is always open.”