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.