Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin.
“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”
Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”
Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”
Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.
Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House.
Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much.
Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”
“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.
“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”
Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”
“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.
“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.
Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”
Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’
Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body.
Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”
The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.
Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House. There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.
“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder.
“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.”
Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly. She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this. The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement. Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses. And thus did they come.
Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself.
Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting. They might as well begin.
“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes. I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”
“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace. Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”
“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”
“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”
Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.
“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.
Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”
Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”
“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”
“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman. “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”
“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”
Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.”
“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”
She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”
“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered. And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words.
“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”
No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia. Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched. She would not back down from this.
“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”
Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?
“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers. I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”
“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”
Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone.
“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”
Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could.
“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice. “I am sure we are ready to hear.”
Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking. Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.
“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate. We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer. I blame my romantic heart. It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful. While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace. The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”
She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too. He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”
Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished.
“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”
She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”
Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant. Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself.
One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”
“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider. And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”
“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second.
“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court. I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”
Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.
“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”
Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.”
This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons.
Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”
Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes. For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years. And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this.
The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”
Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.
It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness. But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics.
Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court. Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept. She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics.
“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.
Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.” After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.
So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”
“Aliks!”
She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house. We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations. Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day. I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”
Odilia nodded, “Very well.”
Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”
Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.
“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?”
Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?