They were all watching. She could feel the eyes, in the House and whenever she left on errands or business. The events of the previous year’s Longest Night Masquerade were still in everyone’s memory. The image of the sangoire cloak hanging at the gates would not be forgotten anytime soon. And the Longest Night was coming again. What would happen this year? Would someone try to outdo the warning of last year? Would the sacred night be interrupted with violence?
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…
She had been thinking more and more about the epic poem. She had sat in the theatre next to the Duc de Chalasse and listened as the poet sang about the violence and war and blood and death that had come to Troy, armies fighting and men dying for possession of a woman. THe Gods themselves cast their lots and chose sides. She had sat there, knowing what it was Jocaste had wanted her to hear in the song, the warning that it was.
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…
She sat in the carriage now, across from her Dowayne, as the two of them travelled across the river to the Noble’s District, to the Rue Courcel that had the best shops of the City. She sat there, knowing the people outside were watching the carriage go by, seeing the dahlia design embossed on the outer door, whispering about who was inside. The Longest Night was fast approaching, Odilia could feel the City holding its breath to see what would happen. The matter of the Judiciary still needed to be resolved, it had been postponed until after the Longest Night out of respect for the holy day and the preparations that the Night Court needed to make, but it would still need to be addressed. Which meant she would have to see him. Would have to speak to him.
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of the common folk of the City. Sing, O Goddess, the rage of the silversmith. Sing, O Goddess, sing!
Sing, O Goddess, the chaos of Odilia the Dahlia.
“Odilia?”
She brought a smile to her face, “Yes, Jocaste, I’m listening.”
Her Dowayne didn’t look like she believed it, but she didn’t pry, only saying, “Are you sure about the statement you want to be making with your costume?”
“I am.”
“As I am unable to attend the Masquerade this year, you will be representing Dahlia House with it as well, you understand that?”
“Are you requesting I change my costume?”
“No,” Jocaste said. “Your choice is your own, I just want to make sure you know the possible messages you will be sending as you represent us all.”
“I know the risks,” Odilia responded.
“After last year, I should hope you do,” Jocaste said gently. “As you are determined, I will not order otherwise. I trust you, Odilia. Remember that.”
“I know.”
They came to a stop and Odilia stepped down from the carriage first to offer her hand to her Dowayne. The couturier was already bowing at the door to the tailor’s shop, welcoming them in for Odilia’s final fitting to ensure the costume was what she wanted. Payment was given and the package was handed reverently over with a whisper from the tailor that she hoped it pleased the Dahlia Second. Returning to the carriage, they were stopped by a voice calling, “Ah, two of my favorite flowers! What a lucky chance.”
“There is no such thing when you are involved, Roland,” Jocaste said with a smile, giving him a kiss of greeting.
“Odilia,” he greeted her with a tiny bow, “You have been in my thoughts much as of late.”
“Have I, Your Grace?” She gave him a curtsy just as small as his bow to her, “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about our evenings at the theatre this past summer.”
“Were you?” His brows lifted as he claimed her hand for a courtly kiss, “What song are the Muses singing for you?”
“The song of the Longest Night, of course.”
“Let us hope it has more peaceful verses than the song of the previous year.”
“Keeping the young nobles of your province in line, Your Grace?”
“I would not dream of having them disrespect you again.” His eyes dropped to the package tucked under her arm, “Something for the Masque?”
“The tailors have finished my costume,” she said lightly, “Will you be in attendance at Cereus to see it, Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said, “My Longest Night invitation came from the palace, not the Night Court. I am surprised that you were not requested at the palace to dance with the young King.”
“There are some traditions that no Servant of Naamah will refuse,” she said, “The Longest Night at Cereus is one of them. His Majesty understood my polite refusal.”
“Then I will have to endure the palace fête without your clever company to keep me entertained.”
“I’m sure you will find a way to manage.”
“What brings you out today, Roland?” Jocaste asked it of the Duc, lest her Second entirely monopolize his time with her witty conversation, though she was proud that it seemed her advice had been followed. Odilia was polite and courteous, clever and warm, but not overly familiar and there was nothing of substance said under the words. She was doing well to keep Roland de Chalasse out of her head. Jocaste was pleased.
“I was on my way to the jeweler in the Palace District,” he said lightly, “I had commissioned a gift for my granddaughter that I was going to retrieve. I would be honored to have your company on my errand. I know little about baubles and you are familiar with dear Rosanna’s preferences through your work together at the Night Court. Additional advice on her gift would be deeply appreciated.”
“You old fox,” Jocaste laughed, “You just want to be seen with us.”
“Two of the loveliest flowers of the Night Court? Absolutely.”
“You are fortunate we are not so prone to flattery, sir,” she smiled at him even as she looped her arm through his. “Odilia, we must go with him now to save his pride.”
“I don’t think that is ever at risk,” Odilia said lightly. “Give me a moment to put my package in the carriage and I will be with you.”
She turned and opened the door to the carriage so she could settle the parcel in the corner of the seat. She heard Roland and Jocaste strike up their conversation again, light and pleasant. This was what the Longest Night was supposed to be, excitement and joy and joie, no dark thoughts, no worries or cares, just the celebration of the night and the return of the Sun Prince to his Winter Queen. She dared to smile.
That was when the hand closed on her wrist. It was a tight grip, wiry and strong and it jerked her around to face the man that the hand belonged to. Greying hair, a lined face, once-handsome eyes now tight and hard with fierce hatred.
“You,” she breathed, looking Jacques Halceaux full in the face. The open carriage door was between her and her other companions on the side of the Rue, and Halceaux had waited to approach until they were both distracted so he could be uninterrupted.
“You have the rest of the City fooled,” he hissed, his grip on her wrist keeping her from pulling away as he stepped closer to snarl at her, “But not me. I know who you are, Odilia, who you really are. Wear your pretty flowers and let them worship their precious Dahlia, enjoy it while you can. You have them all fooled but not me, I know your truth and I will use it.”
His grip tightened and her eyes widened as she saw in his face just how deep his hatred and contempt for her went. What had gone wrong? When had he chosen this path?
“It’s a pretty little fantasy world you’ve built for yourself,” he said, standing so close to her they were almost touching, his other hand brushing the front of her thigh as he leaned even further, lips brushing her ear as he breathed, “But I will tear it down, piece by piece, until you have nowhere to go but the real world with the rest of us. I will drag you back to where you belong, you and the rest of those fancy whores.”
She looked up at him, lips parting, “Please…”
He was gone, vanished back into the traffic of the street with only the dull, tingling pain in her wrist to know that he was ever there.
“Odilia?” Jocaste called, “Is everything alright?”
Odilia slowly closed the carriage door. They were both watching her; Jocaste curiously, Roland intently. She looked her Dowayne and friend in her eyes, pulled up a bright smile, and for the first time, lied to her face.
“Of course,” she said, “Everything’s fine.”