2026 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Rumors and Intelligence

Late spring was shaping up to be a good season, and summer looked even more productive. Nothing significant had caught Jacob’s ear, though Niklos’s instincts with regards to the coach and the dinner at Cereus had proven enlightening. Not for what had been said, but for where the rumors had come from. A serving maid at the Palace had overheard some minor Kusheline lordling mention that it seemed like the Shahrizai were “going soft,” which had not merited a response… yet. And some of the folks in the jewelry district had thought it was romantic, which was why, when Jacob later reported rumors from the jewelry district, it first puzzled and then concerned Niklos.

“My Lord,” Jacob interrupted him one evening, as Nik was staring out over the city from the window in his study. Jacob never interfered unless it was a pressing matter, and Niklos nodded to him, knowing that the report would be brief. “There are rumblings in the jeweler’s district, sir. You know of Jacques Halceaux?”

Niklos started, his head turning and his eyes focusing on Jacob. “I know the man is purported to be one of the best silversmiths in the city. I believe his work has even graced some of my cousins…” Niklos trailed off. The man made a living from the nobility. What would he be doing to cause rumblings? “Isn’t he the Guildhead for the Silversmith’s Guild?”

Jacob nodded in response. “Exactly the man, my lord. He has apparently been heard expressing his… frustration… at the closeness of Odilia nò Dahlia and the Crown Prince. It could be nothing, but it could end up being something serious.”

Niklos shook his head slowly, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Find out more if you can. Lean on sources if you must. There has to be a reason for all this. I am surprised that a man like that would make this sort of noise, there must be a reason. Was there anything else?”

Jacob’s lips twisted into a brief frown. He didn’t like the directive he’d been given, Niklos could tell. Neither of them liked pressing sources, it made them far less likely to want to give you more information in the future. Either that, or they’d start asking for favors, and those favors were usually expensive. He took a breath and nodded.

“There is something else. The former betrothed of the Dauphin Daniel, Casiopée de Fhirze, appears to be readying for a return to the city. The de Fhirze townhouse, which has been closed since the former Dauphin’s death, presumably for the lady to go into mourning, is being readied by some members of the staff. She’s a scion of the Marquis de Fhirze, an old Naamarese family, and might be someone to cultivate. She was close to the throne before, and she may be again once she returns.”

Niklos nodded, his brow furrowing in thought. “Let’s wait on her. Give her some time to be settled back in the city before we make any moves. It might be that they are preparing to sell the old place.” He had a vague memory of the house, but only because he had driven past it. “Or something else might be brewing. Besides, if she does return, we will look gauche if we send her an invitation when she’s barely freshened up from being in the country. There’s time.”

Jacob nodded, a mental note obviously being added to a prodigious list in his brain. “Oh, one final thing, and I only know this because one of the sculls just mentioned something as I was making my way to your chambers. Apparently, the Duc de Chalasse has returned to the City. That Idaeus Lacordaire has been summoned to his townhouse a number of times, and there are even credible rumors that the Duc has been sending letters to Dahlia house.”

Niklos blinked, then barked out a laugh, a grin creasing his face. “That old lion is back in the city? This summer is going to be even more fantastic than I could have hoped for! Definitely keep an eye on that. Don’t press anyone, but start thinking about a way that we could invite the Duc to dinner. Perhaps at the Palace in the family quarters. They’re opulent enough even for him. And it’s curious he is reaching out to Dahlia house. I think one of his grandchildren is in the Night Court. Perhaps more than one… but I don’t think any of them are with Dahlia. See if you can find out something there. Oh, and Idaeus Lacordaire… he and I met at Valerian for their Mara’s Eve fête. See if you can’t send an invitation to him to join me for drinks here at the townhouse some night. He’s an interesting sort, and it might be worth our while to keep him as an ally.”

The muscle in Jacob’s cheek twitched at that last statement, Niklos noted. Apparently he’d read something into Idaeus, but not what the butler already knew. He let it pass, knowing Jacob would provide him the information in due time.

On Dove’s Wings

Rosanna was not a woman easily rattled. Being trained for years to handle all manner of pain, the deprivation of sense, to feel fear in congruence with pleasure, to find joy in arts that would make others pale and run, she was not prone to flights of deep worry or fright. Now though, she dared to think she felt it. And that was a difficult realization to make. Upon returning to her House after visiting her grandfather, she waited until the duties of the day were completed before pulling Tryphosa aside.

“What I tell you now does not leave this room, am I understood?” She asked with a certainty and depth of seriousness that almost mirrored their friends in Mandrake.

“Of course you have my confidence,” Tryphosa assured her. “Why though? What has happened?”

“I can only tell you in summary but I promise you it is vital to keep this to ourselves.”

So she did. Informed her trusted friend and Second what had happened with her grandfather, what was discussed, and what possibilities now lay at the delicate feet of another courtesan and her unprepared prince. By the end, her fellow Valerian and confidante was pale-faced herself, sitting down on a fainting couch and asking for a drink. Luckily, the office was always well stocked for just such troublesome times.

“Do you really think someone would start a war over a love affair?” Tryphosa almost whispered.

“Is there not a famous poem from your mother’s homeland about just that? Did it not last ten years?” Rosanna shot back.

“I do not see Odilia being stolen away like Helene but…all epic tales have a kernel of truth in them, in some way. Blessed Elua preserve us if anyone really takes their love so offensively!” They each made a quick sign to the gods above and in the true Terre D’Ange beyond.

“If the Dauphin makes his affections publicly known there is no telling what some of the nobility may do. His Dahlia is an intelligent, successful, and beautiful woman. But she is common born and for some that is a sin that cannot be forgiven, holy precept or no.”

Tryphosa looked quite uncomfortable at that but she nodded slowly. She sipped her wine, the cup held in both hands quite tightly. Nervous, that was easy to tell for one who knew her so well and for so long.

“Speak, my friend. You have something to say, I can hear it.”

“It is just…sometimes I forget that you come from that same rank. We see the nobility and wealthy merchants every night, so it is no surprise how well you handle them. Then there is the matter that we have been here, together, for so long that it is far too tempting to forget what lies beyond Mont Nuit,” the Valerian Second confessed. “To think something could actually be capable of harming one of our own for the crime of loving our Dauphin and for him loving her in kind. It feels…against all we are.”

Rosanna listened and nodded lightly along. Yes, it was so easy to fall into the sensuality and rhythm of life amongst the great Houses of Naamah. To pretend that the politics and machinations of the Court and the elite could not reach them. A fine dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“They can and, if given reason to feel offended, they would. I cannot say who, but he is still to be King. And someone will want their daughter, their noble daughter, to be a bridal candidate for him. To compete against a woman such as Odilia? I fear one of them might dare to forget good sense and precept to keep the royal line as free of what they consider bad blood as possible.”

Such thoughts kept Rosanna up all night. Tossing and turning, she could not help but think of the words of her grandfather. Roland had not survived, and thrived, as he had by underestimating the ambitions of others. There was a reason the old King had a healthy respect, some even said a healthy fear, of him. Taking back the sovereignty of an entire duchy was no mean feat either.

Valerian House was her duchy, in that sense. Her domain. To protect it was to protect herself and all those under her roof. As well as the honor of her family name. Of all times to become Dowayne, her luck would have it be during a time of completely unprecedented social change.

Which was why, some days later when she found the time, she left early for the temple district. Her carriage was en route when the sun was just rising, when no prying eyes might see her. Not out of shame, of course not, but to keep this business to herself. It was to the Temple of Eisheth, her own ancestress, that she went for divine advice first.

Leaving offerings of sweet wine and fruits, Rosanna lit the incense, bowed her head, and prayed, “Blessed Eisheth, mother of my father’s line, I beg for your grace and calm in this time of turmoil. I see around me the chapters of a greater story being woven, but I do not know if I am a spectator or if I have a part to play. What reads as a simple love affair is spilling into places I worry for, that its players are the first act in a drama which has the capacity to unmake and harm. Please grant me insight to see the machinations around me, and to continue to live in your grace.”

After that it was to the Temple of Naamah, the small building of white marble which held so much sway in her life and in those she cared for. Surrounded by gardens, it was a familiar and calming place. Rosanna purchased a dove from one of the sellers just getting set up for the day before moving within. At the entrance was the likeness of the divine patroness, which always inspired awe in Rosanna. She would never tire of looking upon the perfectly serene and enchanting face of the angel. Arms wide in welcome, the holy artwork bid all who came in love and times of need into the sanctum. Around the domed ceiling were rows and rows of doves, sleeping or nesting in the perches placed there. Some flew through the oculus at the center, as the one she brought. Whispering a wish and prayer, she let the pure white bird make its own way. Up into the sky it went. Perhaps right to Naamah herself, or so one could hope.

“Lady Dowayne, you honor us with your presence this fine morning. What might the holy order do for you?” A priest in scarlet robes smiled in greeting. Hands spread wide in imitation of his goddess, he was a man of middle age, long blond hair and a handsome countenance. Rosanna had always liked him and felt peace already by simply being in his presence.

“I have a somewhat…worrisome matter on my mind, Priest Jaques,” she admitted and came to hold his offered hands. “And find myself in need of sage advice. Might we speak in private?”

“Is this serious, my lady?” He inquired, brow furrowed. Still, he nodded and led her along the marble hall to a room meant for meditation and divine assignations.

“For the Servants of Naamah, yes. As well as for some beloved figures high in society,” she confessed as the door was shut behind them. “But I must ask that what I speak of here does not leave this room unless you think the priestly order must be involved.”

“My dear girl, of course. You always have my confidence. Now sit, tell me whatever is the matter.”

…It’s Another

Mena did not sleep easily the day after Florian’s visit. Belisario was out of control, even for him. She knew that she could go to Bryony and get his Dowayne to get him in hand. However, she wouldn’t do that. Belisario was vindictive, conniving, shameless, and capable of the particular brutality of someone raised in Heliotrope possessed. She didn’t want to cause him to turn on Bryony if she could avoid it.

So, she tossed and turned, failing to really rest. When sunset finally came, she pulled on her robe and headed down to see how preparations for the night were going. She helped the adepts readying the front parlor, the routine soothing her more than she had expected. One of her close friends Dara was in the back salon setting up games for the patrons and adepts. Dara had an almost unstoppable good humor and sunny disposition. When Mena peeked in, she was seated on the floor in trousers and her chemise top, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

“Dara, what are you up to now?” Mena asked, laughing lightly.

“Oh Mena! I didn’t hear you,” Dara said with her trademark rich laugh. “I’m trying to come up with new games! The Longest Day is coming, I know our visitors would love some unique entertainment!”

Mena grinned at her. “You know I always love your games. Let me know when they’re ready to be tested, I’ll make sure to come down.”

Dara nodded and bent back over her work. Mena wandered away, enjoying the familiarity and comfort of her House coming to life. The kitchen smelled incredible, but she knew better than to intrude on Cook so she wandered back towards the front of the House.

There was a loud knock at the main door, so she headed over to answer it. There was no one standing there when she got there, making her shake her head. As she was closing the door, she looked down and saw a small box. Bending down, she picked it up and turned back into the House, greeting Loir who was coming down the stairs.

“Hello there, sleepy-head,” Mena said teasingly as she opened the box lid. “I hope you slept well, I’ve been up—“

Her scream had people come running from all parts of the House. She stood, frozen in shock, the box and its contents lying on the formerly clean rug. A decomposing and headless rat lay oozing on the carpet, causing more screams and running to get something to clean it up. The box lid lay near Mena’s feet, the inside covered with words written in what looked at first glance like blood:

precious pet

it took a while but i found this

it reminded me of your future

so i had it brought over

think of me

-K

If It’s Not One Thing…

“Philomena, you’ve got a guest.”

Mena looked up, confusion on her face. A young novice stood in the doorway of her office, clearly nervous. Clara was new, a transfer from Orchis. “A guest? You should just bring them to me, darling. No need to be nervous.”

Tension slid from the young woman’s shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when an advocate showed up at Orchis, someone was in trouble. Particularly one with special privileges.”

Mena smiled. “That makes sense, Clara. Trouble is much less likely here. Please show them in.”

Clara nodded and disappeared for a few minutes, then returned and held the door open for someone to enter. “Dowayne, your guest, Special Advocate Bonheur.”

Mena laughed and quickly came out from behind her desk. “Oh, Florian, you had to scare the novices didn’t you?”

She quickly embraced the man, gesturing for him to sit. “Clara, this is Florian Boneur, my mother’s husband. Please send up light tea. Florian, what brings you here?”

Florian was a handsome man, thick, dark hair, cut short, styled fashionably. He looked younger than his almost sixty years, something he used to his advantage at all opportunities. He laughed richly. “Oh Mena, you know I can’t resist! I do it in court all the time, it’s the one joy I still retain. “

She laughed, scoffing at his dramatics. “Oh. I wouldn’t let Chrysanthe hear you say that. You know how she pouts.”

Florian nodded. “Your mother sends her regards. by the way. She is very proud of her ability to keep me entertained, let’s keep my wording to ourselves, shall we?” He nodded his thanks to the novice who had returned with their tea. “All jokes aside, I’m here for serious reasons. First, it is time to read Olivier’s will.”

Mena didn’t mean to inhale sharply, but she did. “Is it that time already? Very good, I’ll have it sent to you”

Florian nodded, “Very good, very good, even though we all know he left it all to you, Laurent, and the House, we need that official copy. The second piece is that your father is contesting it, claiming that it was made under duress and undue influence. He’s had an advocate file his claim with the Judiciary.”

Mena sat for a second, trying to process this, her hands starting to shake. “Even for him, this is unmitigated gall. What do we do, Florian?”

“You give me the document and leave the rest to me. I was Olivier’s advocate, this is mine to handle.” He took her hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I should be able to keep you out of the mess for a while, maybe even the entire time. Please, trust me Philomena.”

Mena nodded. “Thank you, Florian. You’ve always been kind to me, more so than Chrysanthe. I trust you.”

Florian sighed. “Your mother tries, you know she does. You were wanted, so much. She just didn’t count on Belisario causing so much grief and pain.”

Mena nodded. “I know, I’ve heard some of what he did after. What does Belisario want, exactly?”

“Everything that’s not Heliotrope.”

Of Gardens and Gossip

Perhaps some among the Court of Night Blooming Flowers would raise delicate brows if they knew to what degree she made herself ready to leave at the first notice of a footman in black and yellow livery. There to summon her across the city with a short and to the point message. Yet she was excited, happy even. Binding up her long, red tresses in a beaded net and tossing a light shawl to ward off the still slightly brisk spring breeze, Rosanna left the House and hopped into the carriage awaiting outside. Tryphosa was more than capable to tend to the day’s responsibilities as the Dowayne took some hours to visit family.

For those who recognized the honey bees painted on the side of the carriage, gossip was sure to follow, as the Duc de Chalasse only came to the capital when he deemed the business important enough. Every time he came to town, the nobles clamored to find out why.

Her mother’s father was a powerful man, the sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, and his grand townhouse mirrored that privilege. Windows with many panels, colored glass and gleaming iron. Tall ceilings, heavy stone, the pillars and keystones engraved with the buzzing insects which made up the family coat of arms. The scent of flowering fruit trees from the interior courtyard were carried in the wind, almost welcoming her back. As a child, she had often visited the estate in L’Agnace, but this home was still dear in her memory. Very different from her childhood home in Eisande too, more weighty.

The footman helped her exit the carriage and she walked up to the door where a servant was already waiting and opened the portal to her.

Inside was a display of wealth none could ignore. Rich, wood wall panels with gold gilt, polished marble floors, niches with fresh flowers grown out of season in a hot house, works of art from near and far. Some were new, but she did not pause to examine them yet. When called, Rosanna knew better than to dawdle. Another servant in the same livery escorted her to the grand salon, where his master was waiting.

“Lady Rosanna, Your Grace,” he announced. No sooner than had the words left his lips than she was hurrying across the room to greet him.

“Grandfather.” She smiled brightly.

He turned from where he had been standing at the window that looked out to the courtyard garden behind the townhouse, releasing his hands from where they had been clasped easily behind his back.

“Rosebud,” he said with what passed for a warm smile on his face. He was not an affectionate man, not even with his family, so he accepted her kiss of greeting only briefly before gesturing her to sit with him at the chaise. The servants had set a decanter with his newest honey wine made from his own honey, on the low, gilded table along with crystal cordial glasses and a selection of seasonal fruits. Roland seated himself with unhurried ease of the wealthy and said, “I trust Valerian House will survive your absence for this brief visit?”

It was phrased as a question, but they both knew it was only a silent reminder of the expectations to which he held all members of his family, extended or otherwise. Excellence was the standard in all things.

Rosanna, used to the serious nature of her grandparent, took the seat next to him happily. As the servant set the small table, she adjusted the flow of her long skirts and nodded with ease.

“I have picked a dutiful Second, she will keep our House running like clockwork in my absence.” Nothing less would be acceptable for the leadership of Mont Nuit. Delicate as she might seem, she had been raised to excel.

The servant poured the two glasses full before retreating to just outside of the salon door, ready in case the master of the house needed anything, leaving the family to some privacy.

Rosanna sipped the honey wine and hummed with satisfaction. “Another superior bottle. Your hives never fail to impress.”

A few bites of the fruit and some of the usual light conversion filled the room. They exchanged news, asked about the projects either of them were spearheading. It might be small talk, but the genuine interest was there. To know what was happening in the city as well as the countryside was a vital thing to the both of them. And it was just this that brought Rosanna to finally ask, “It was a member of my order who interested you in your last letter. How can I help? What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” he said, leaning back against the chaise in a deceptively casual lounge. “Everything you know. You said her name is Odilia? What else can you tell me about her?”

An advantage was only an advantage while it was a carefully controlled manipulation of information. The young Rocaille was right that he could get Roland access and information regarding the Dauphin, but he let slip that he wasn’t the only one, and Roland would tease out that other opportunity like a hunter flushing out his prey. Rosanna had already told him the girl’s name, it was enough to start his search—and he had, sending his trusted servants to take the temperature of the city and subtly inquire to find out what they could—but since she was another Servant of Naamah in the Night Court, there were some things only another adept would be privy to knowing about her.

“Yes, Odilia is her name,” Rosanna confirmed. Youngest in her family though she may be, unlike a good portion of courtesans in the city she still hailed from a noble family. A very well connected family, and so her duty to her calling and her blood were split. It was a fine line she had walked from the moment she had been accepted into holy service.

“I had the honor and pleasure of hosting her at Mara’s Eve. Although she came in disguise, knowing her need for privacy I made the event a masked one. All the better for her and her companion to observe the festivities. Only observe though, not participate.” She sipped again and made that important distinction. “It was she who reached out to me, asking for an invitation. His Highness used the fête as a means to learn new dynamics of power. No one was the wiser of his visit, I made as sure of that as anything.”

“Tell me of her,” Roland said immediately. “Spare no detail. Describe her for me, her features and colouring and bearing. She has caught the eye of the future King, Rosanna, I do not think I need to tell you that eyes will be watching her and His Highness very closely. What she is and how she is seen will make an impression on those who look to see how the future King’s head can be turned. This is our first hint at what kind of Queen our nation may have.”

Rosanna did as she was asked. As though there was any other option. While no politician herself, she understood what her grandfather needed and why. Even if that resulted in her giving over information about a fellow courtesan. Because what happened in the bedrooms in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers often had a guiding hand in the machinations of the elite. So she described Odilia, both from what she had seen of her in public, though that was little, and how she appeared at the masked fête at Valerian House. Her coloring, her bearing, anything at all she could recall.

“And she is city-born, if the little birds who whisper to be have it right. Her father is a tradesman. Which will be yet another reason so many eyes will be drawn to her. She’s risen high, through Namaah’s grace.”

“Some will say too high,” Roland said firmly. “Naamah may dispense her grace how she wills, but there are some lines that are not crossed, no matter how Elua’s precept guides d’Angeline hearts.”

No amount of Naamah’s grace would change her Servant’s common blood. Roland knew there were plenty of his peers who would strongly object to the thought of the great royal house of Courcel, who traced their line directly back to Elua himself, thinning the blood of angels with a common-born womb. The scions of the Companions were those who made the great Houses of the country, those that smelled of apples and carried the violet eyes and understood the exquisite pain-pleasure of Kushiel. A commoner was not born to these things, did not understand these things. A commoner would only distract the young King from his great duty and purpose to lead.

“If he clasps her too closely,” Roland said, his eyes hard and heavy on his granddaughter with his warning, “if he places his crown at risk because of his infatuation with this common girl, there will be war over it.” Perhaps not immediately, perhaps not obviously, but this was a delicate line to tread, and Roland de Chalasse had no confidence the boy could manage it.

“What would you need from me to protect his Highness and try to keep my fellow holy servant out of the line of fire?” The question was near instant in asking.

“Your responsibility is your House, Lady Dowayne,” Roland said. “No matter what will come next, eyes will turn to the Night Court. When the storm comes—and there will be a storm if the Dauphin declares his love for her—your House must be beyond reproach, no matter what. Let me handle the rest.”

Rosanna certainly did not want to see Odilia hurt simply because she had the fortunate misfortune of finding herself the object of a prince’s desires. Yes, they had attempted an educational experience by coming to her House, to speak and listen and observe the ways of power unknown to the future monarch. Her ways were not for him, but at least he knew how they operated. Not everyone would be so willing to help when they could attempt to manipulate.

“Would arranging some meeting between you do the trick? I would be glad to continue providing you with information, Grandfather, but perhaps it would do you best to meet Odilia yourself. How better to understand the Dauphin’s thoughts than to meet her yourself? Dahlia House was one of your favorites, I am sure the Dowayne would be happy to introduce you.”

“Oh yes,” Roland said, crossing his ankle over his knee as he lounged. “I have an old friend in Dahlia House. It may well be time to pay Jocaste a visit.”

La Gemme Charmant

Dotted sporadically along the great Rue Courcel were squares where the tree-lined boulevard opened into wider, pedestrian areas. Carriages and horses could still pass through, but there were areas paved with flat stones and cafés with tables and chairs where people could gather. To maintain a storefront in one of these squares was the dream of any shopkeeper in the City of Elua, and La Gemme Charmant was well-established. They were in no danger of losing business. The storefront was painted a deep, tasteful green to compliment the grey stone of the rest of the building, and the tall windows had clearly been recently cleaned. The lettering in the banner running above the door and windows was carefully done with a precise hand, the calligraphy a little old-fashioned but nonetheless tasteful.

It was the pride of the square. Perhaps they were not so neatly positioned or well-connected that they could boast patronage by the royal house itself, but most of the nobles that kept their townhouses on Rue Courcel came to La Gemme Charmant for quality and design. They had a legacy of excellence and both of the Master Jeweller’s children exemplified it—albeit in different ways.

The young man stood patiently at the door, his dark eyes watching as the carriage marked with the livery of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers came rolling to a stop in the square outside. His arms folded over his chest, he watched the footman offer a hand to help the passenger down as she disembarked with Night Court grace. The appearance of a Servant of Naamah was always of note to the citizens of the City of Elua, so the jeweller watched as heads turned and steps slowed to see the courtesan. She handled it with the casual acceptance and poise of all the Night Court trained, keeping her head high and her steps even as she crossed the square towards the jeweller’s shop, but the whispers that followed her would be impossible to miss.

The gentleman at the door gave her a small bow. “Welcome. Please step inside.”

The footman waited outside as the adept vanished with a swish into La Gemme Charmant, and it was only once the door had closed and the jeweller had brought the woman into the rooms further back from the windows that both of them let their masks crack. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he drew her close in a tight embrace as they held each other briefly, relaxing into the comfort and familiarity of each other. No matter what the Night Court had done for her when it took her, it hadn’t separated her heart completely from her family, and she held her brother tightly for a long moment.

“Alesander,” she exhaled into his shoulder, letting some of her tension go as she tightened her embrace before pulling back. Her dark eyes looked up into her brother’s dark eyes, and she asked, “How is Father?”

Alesander squeezed her hand before releasing it and saying, “His hands shake more and more every passing week. I am all but running the store myself.”

“The reputation of the work is still well-regarded,” she said, accompanying him to the back rooms of the store where the clients were served infused waters and fruits while they discussed design details. “I hear it. The adepts speak highly of the patron gifts they are given that come from here, and I see the patrons themselves wearing your designs. Even without Father’s hands, the reputation is secure.”

“I hear things, too, Odilia,” her brother said, sitting down with her. “Things I should have heard from your lips, not the gossips that think I cannot hear them while they peruse the jewels.”

To her credit, she did not deny it. She merely looked at him, accepting his words with the strength that Dahlia House had given her before she nodded slowly. “Yes, I should have told you.”

“The Dauphin, Odilia?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“We met during his Grand Tour at his majority.”

“Years, Odilia? Years, and you said nothing?”

“I did not think it would become anything. He was a patron for a night, like all the others. Then he sent me letters while he was at university.”

“Letters?”

“At first just simple correspondence about his classes, about how he was doing, how he missed the city but was coming to love the Siovale mountains. Then he wrote me poems and asked for my advice.”

“What replies were you sending that encouraged this?”

“He was a patron, Ales! I was maintaining the connection as all adepts are taught to do so that a patron may return!”

“And when he did, he kissed you at the Revelry for all to see! See and then gossip! Odilia, people are wondering.”

“People always wonder, certainly about royalty and certainly about Servants of Naamah.”

“But not so often the two together. You understand the implications this may have? What some people will use this to say?”

Her gaze sharpened on him. “What people?”

Alesander sighed heavily, rubbing his hand down his face. She turned toward him. “Ales, what have you heard?”

“Nothing,” he said wearily. “At least, not enough to know for sure. Yet…there are whispers. Some are…discontent with the influence someone like you may exert over the future King.”

“Someone like me?” She couldn’t quite keep the sting from her voice. “A Night Court adept? Or a commoner?”

“Either?” He shrugged helplessly. “Both? For all the great history the Night Court has, the power and beauty and glamor of it can cause as much resentment as admiration. And you, a common-born girl, rising so far as to have the Dauphin in your bed? It’s too much for some to take.”

“Who, Ales? Who is saying these things?”

A muscle worked in Alesander’s cheek before he admitted, “Jacques.”

“Uncle Jacques?” She clenched her hands in the fabric of her skirts. “How…? Why?”

“I don’t know, O. He’s soured, something has made him angry. He’s blaming you for it, for it all.”

“You have to stop him,” she said urgently. “Please, Ales, you have to talk to him. These kinds of whispers won’t be tolerated, not with Gustav poised to be crowned next year. He can’t risk the slander of it, his powerful friends won’t allow it. If Uncle Jacques stirs up too much trouble, then—”

“Does he love you, Odilia?”

She sat back slightly. “What?”

“Gustav de la Courcel, does he love you? Truly?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

“Love as thou wilt, Blessed Elua said.” Alesander stared hard into her eyes. “Is it love?”

“I’m not…sure.”

“If there’s one thing you always are, it’s sure. It’s why Dahlia took you. You were always confident and sure.”

She clenched her teeth so tightly they began to ache before she finally allowed herself to admit it quietly, “I think he does.”

Alesander nodded. It was no less than he expected. “You understand how that will change things, of course you do. You know better than him, I expect.”

“Which is why I know how badly this could go if Jacques isn’t handled delicately,” she said urgently. “Please, Ales, the last thing we need is for him to get too much attention or, Elua forbid, get the Judiciary involved. This cannot escalate. Please, help me.”

“He barely speaks to me anymore,” Alesander said bluntly. “Whatever grievance he has against you, he’s taking it out on me, too.” He rose to his feet, pulling back away from where she tried to grasp his hand, brushing out his trousers as he said quietly, “I’ll fetch your order for you. You’ll look beautiful in them.”

He withdrew into the back room where the finished orders were kept, and she closed her eyes against the sting of his words, sitting alone in the place that had once been her childhood home before everything had changed.

Season of Again

The sun rose in a clear blue sky on the 100th day after Olivier’s death. The time of official mourning had ended and seemed like the House took a deep breath. Servants, novices, and the children swept the House with brooms made of dried herbs and flowers, other servants took down the black curtains and threw open all the windows. Adepts shook out bedding, took down the black buntings that hung on the outside of the House, uncovered paintings, and talked animatedly about returning to their lives. Word of the sounds of conversations and uninhibited laughter coming from Heliotrope quickly spread around the City. Regular patrons made preparations to attend the House once the sun set.

Mena stood on her balcony and listened to her House, her family, bloom back to life. The first flowers had just sprung from the cold ground, and it seemed fitting. She smiled and for the first time in a long time, it came easily. While the death of her Grandpère had of course been a brutal blow, his illness and decline had been harder in a way. Now she stood alone, for now, at the head of Heliotrope and alone, always, in her blood family. Loir had told her of whispers that Belisario was scheming, that he’d been in Bryony’s library with a visitor who had arrived early in the morning when only the servants were awake and had left before lunch. Mena had a feeling that he was up to something but until she knew, he was of no concern to her.

The knock on her door drew her attention back to things that were her concern, and she crossed her room to the door. When Mena pulled it open, she saw the smiling face of Loir. “Good morning my friend!” She said, pushing her way past Mena into the room, her hands full of a tray with covered dishes and a stack of letters. “I hope our illustrious leader is ready for the day.”

Mena laughed quietly. “I am ready, but I am not illustrious. What do you have for me?”

Loir smiled and set the tray down on the low table Mena kept near her couch. “To me, you are always illustrious,” she laughed, taking the covers off the dishes. “Aevelline sent up your breakfast; porridge, meat, bread with jam; your coffee, and an extra slice of bread with jam. She said to tell you, ‘Philomena. You are getting thin, you’re not eating all I give you and I’m over it, eat!’” Loir did her best impression of their cook’s voice, making Mena laugh.

“I will do my best to eat better,” Mena said, sinking down onto her couch and pulling her robe around her. “I expected this loss, you know? I didn’t expect the loneliness that came with it.”

Loir sat next to her and handed her her bowl of porridge. “Eat while you talk.” The other woman leaned back on the couch, stretching languidly before gathering up her own robe. “I suppose that makes sense if you think about it. Taking care of Olivier and the House took all your time before, so you didn’t see patrons often, you certainly haven’t had a favorite in a long while.”

”Plus Kyrian,” Mena said between bites. Aevelliene’s food was incredible as always. “You’re right, I need to make the time to see patrons again. I can’t yet.” She gestured with her spoon at the paperwork that remained on the tray. “I am behind in this paperwork. Once that’s under control again, I’ll make myself available.”

Loir nodded and scooped up the papers. “I will also keep an eye out for someone for you. It’s my job as your best friend. Now, let’s work on these.” She looked quickly through the papers, nodding to herself. “It seems that these are requests for assignations for specific events.”

Mena nodded, set down her empty bowl, picked up one of the breads, and took the first paper off the stack. “Hmm, let’s see. This one is an easy one, a noble whose son died suddenly. Send Adam, he seems to fit her description of her son, and he’s so gentle. He’ll be a good fit to help her grief.”

As she kept eating, she went through the letters and assigned adepts for each. Several were like the one she sent Adam on, standing in for a loved one. The first time she had spoken to someone who wanted that kind of assignation with an adept, she was surprised. It seemed to her that Balm would be better suited. The patron said that what they needed was the chance to say what they wished they had to their loved one, not to feel better about having not said it. Heliotrope adepts were taught to give themselves fully to their patron and to receive their patron’s all in return. If the patron needed their adept to be someone else, they did. After some time filling these kinds of requests and hearing the adepts reports afterwards, it made sense to Mena. She was surprised that she was fielding so many of these requests, it seemed that their initial patron had spoken to their friends and spread the word.

She managed to eat all the food that had been sent to her while they finished the letters. “Loir,” Mena asked as she drained the last of her coffee. “I need to make you officially Second.”

”Is that the best choice, Mena?” Loir was staring off at the door to Mena’s balcony.

”What do you mean, who else?” Mena was surprised that her friend would even ask that question.

“Perhaps I am better suited to handle the information gathering part of the House work. How will people deal with Heliotrope having a Second who is not a full D’Angeline?”

Mena stood up, her irritation clear in her movements. “I do not care what people think, Loir. Your parentage has nothing to do with your ability to help me run this House. I am not stupid, I know that some at Court treat you as a novelty. I see the requests, remember?” She exhaled noisily. “Honestly, I can not imagine running this House without you, hang the rest of them. If you find that you’re having issues, we’ll address it then. It’s not like I’ll bend to them, I am no Valerian nor am I an Alyssum. Devotion is not blind worship after all.”

Loir laughed quietly. “I am happy to see that you are feeling better enough to be spirited again. Okay, my friend, I will be your Second.”

Mena made a show of bowing dramatically. “Thank you. Now, let’s go down and supervise the preparations for tonight’s salon opening. It’s our first since Olivier died, it needs to be everything.”

Pressing an Advantage

From the desk of His Grace, Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace to the Armateur Official, Lacordaire Trading Company

Dear Sirrah,

The expansion of Aegon Lacordaire’s business ventures and his ensuing successes continue to impress as the legacy of Lacordaire Trading Company only grows in the wake of his passing. The reputation built by the ships of the Company have ensured continuing returns on investments, something that I value greatly. Master Aegon had a clever mind for business, one from which I enjoyed significant profit. It is in the spirit of this prior trade arrangement that I seek to make use of the Lacordaire Trading Company’s network.

The presence of a Company representative is requested at my ducal townhouse on the Rue Courcel before the week is finished. The Chalasse estate seeks to import some fine and rare plants, expected to be brought to the City of Elua in excellent condition. A full inventory of the requested species will be provided in person.

Present this note to the steward upon arrival and entry will be granted.

I expect great things from Lacordaire.

Signed,

Roland de Chalasse

Idaeus drummed his fingers on the thick wooden desk that used to be his father’s place of command. The Duc wanted rare and living plants. An interesting request. The Lacordaire Shipping Company prided itself on the ability to transport anything, no matter how impossible it seemed. Under the command of his father, they had moved art so fragile a person could destroy it with only their touch. A variety of animals had found their way as cargo, the sailors given strict instructions with their care.

Once his father sent a ship to southern Alba to pick up large blocks of ice, the hulls packed with earth and clay to slow their melt. They transported hundreds of tree-ripened plums to a fête Aegon had put on. The ship, an older one, was practically destroyed with the effort. But his father had his show and didn’t care. Thankfully, he only attempted it once. Otherwise, Idaeus might have taken over a failing company.

Idaeus would attend to this request himself, in person. At some point, he’d have to trust at least some people his father had employed. But he wasn’t there yet. Besides, a request from a Duc was important, and this one was interesting.

Carefully dressed in a well-fitted doublet, Idaeus exited the carriage, ignoring the offer of help from the coachman. The predominantly black outfit accented his pale features, contrasting starkly with his white hair. A light blue trim softened the look and caught the hints of blue in his nearly gray eyes. If he learned anything from his former life as a Mandrake adept, it was how to catch someone’s eye and command a presence. His father also taught him the latter, albeit in a very different way.

A young clerk followed him outside his carriage, a large, leather satchel held carefully at her side. He’d hired her himself, asking around for talent, but also someone new with very few loyalties elsewhere. So far she had proven worth the extra effort in finding her. She did as he asked and didn’t ask annoying questions.

Idaeus walked to the door, knocking, anticipating the business deal with a new-to-him customer.

The footman in the gold-and-sable livery of House Chalasse opened the door for him, welcoming him into the entryway of the fine townhouse where the butler waited, his face schooled to professional neutrality as he greeted his duc’s guest. “Welcome, sir. Is His Grace expecting you?”

Idaeus turned towards his clerk, who quickly presented the note, pulling it from the satchel without looking. He smiled ever so slightly. He’d given her some pointers on how to be prepared properly. It was a fine line. Making sure everything was as he wanted it without being a complete ass.

“Please follow me, Master Lacordaire. His Grace is on his terrace.”

The back of the townhouse opened to a grand courtyard garden. A trellis with an aged grapevine ran the full length of the side, and there was a fountain set against the furthermost wall that added music to the air. The rest of the plants carefully tended by the Chalasse gardeners were all local flowers, all known for providing the best pollen for the bees that came to visit. Two bee boxes were constructed in the corner, and the little denizens darted happily through the honeysuckle, violets, lavender, and early mints.

Standing at the terrace and listening to the report of a young woman wearing the woven basket headdress of a beekeeper, was the Duc de Chalasse. A tall man, still strong and toned even in the beginning of his twilight years, he cut a fine figure in the sunlight as his head turned to regard the butler.

The servant bowed and announced, “Master Idaeus Lacordaire, Your Grace.”

Roland turned to study the man before him. He could see very little of Aegon Lacordaire in his features, but there was something in the bearing and the way the man carried himself that betrayed the family resemblance. So he greeted him cordially enough, “Yes. Welcome. Please, join me.”

His servants had set out a tray of smoked cheeses, bright fruit preserves, and the wine of the house. With a careless gesture of his hand, the Duc de Chalasse made it clear Idaeus and his companion were welcome to partake however they pleased.

“Bring me my ledger from my study,” Roland ordered, and the servant bowed and withdrew. The beekeeper was also dismissed, and she leapt lightly down the steps to return to her dear hives.

“Duc de Chalasse, ” Idaeus said as he took the offered seat. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your garden is impressive.”

He’d noted the elaborate plants as he walked in. He had little experience with the care of flowers. There was one marked on his back, and he’d been in gardens. But he’d never paid much attention to the keeping of them. He was interested now and would be even more so if there was a contract.

“This is one of my clerks, Enora Daviau.” Idaeus introduced the woman as he picked up the offered glass of wine, taking a small sip. He wouldn’t ignore the food and drink offered by his host, but he also had no intention of taking advantage or allowing any drink to soften his mind.

Enora gracefully helped herself to the offered food. Idaeus knew she especially liked tasting different things, but she’d been taught to be mindful before he’d employed her. She extended those lessons now, thanking the Duc for his generosity.

“Your letter intrigued me,” Idaeus said, deciding there was no reason to pretend it had not.

“That was the intention.” Roland took his own seat once his guests were seated. Pouring his own glass of wine, he surveyed the younger man across from him. “Aegon Lacordaire was an excellent businessman. I enjoyed the profits of his ventures, and he never failed me when I contracted him for my own requests. I hope that I can expect the same discretion and success from you, Master Idaeus.”

“I have no wish to destroy my late father’s business,” Idaeus said. It was true, even if had no love for Aegon. “You can expect the same level of perfection. He had the foresight to train me as his heir. Of course, he had expected more time, but he also loved the trading company and took pleasure in showing me its function.”

The Duc selected a slice of smoked cheese mixed with cracked pepper for a sharper bite underneath the creaminess. Following it with a sip of his wine, he addressed the young Lacordaire. “Shall I take, by your presence here following my letter, that you are interested in accepting my proposed venture?”

“I am,” Idaeus said, after another brief sip of the wine. It was good. “I respect your patronage as a client, and this will be my first time managing this particular type of request. I wanted to ensure I had all ‌the information I needed. I have asked Enora to take notes as well, once we’ve started addressing those details so nothing will be missed or forgotten.”

He’d tracked down charcoal and the appropriate type of paper so there would be no mess with ink. Once they returned, Enora would transcribe the information. The contract itself would, of course, be written with ink directly.

“I appreciate a prepared and thorough professional,” Roland said with a nod. “I have prepared a list of the specimens I would like to have imported, and I am willing to pay properly for them. Well do I know the hazards that can come with this kind of work, cost will be no object to see it done right.”

Idaeus gave a slight nod as Roland said cost was no object. He would quote a fair price. One didn’t need to inflate prices when their business was solid. The Lacrodaire Company was prosperous, though he had plans to make it better than his father had. He didn’t need to cheat his customers to obtain that goal. He also refused to risk that reputation.

The Duc’s butler returned with the ledger and a small folio, bowing crisply to present them to his master. Roland extracted a piece of parchment from the folio and passed it across the table to his guests. Upon it, in his exacting penmanship was written the following:

Item: four (4) barrels lotus flowers from Menekhet, packed in water, white and blue

Item: four (4) crates tulips from Khebbel-im-Akkad, assorted colors

Item: two (2) crates white ginger lilies from Bhodistan

Item: two (2) crates marigolds from Bhodistan

“Thorough as your company is,” Roland said as he watched the merchants survey the list, “I do not expect you to travel to these countries personally to survey the packing of the specimens. However, I expect your agents along the trade routes to do their due diligence to ensure that the flowers are of the best quality and kept in excellent condition as they are brought to Terre d’Ange. I’m sure this is reasonable?”

If Idaeus didn’t have a company to oversee, he would have been tempted to fill the order himself. He had traveled outside of Terre d’Ange’s waters, but not as far as Bhodistan. At some point he would see every port, but he needed to be here until he was more established as the owner outside of his father’s shadow.

“It is reasonable,” Idaeus said. “I will ensure they are delivered in pristine shape. The price will be fair and all care taken to ensure they are not damaged in transit. Would you like an invoice drawn up before they set sail?”

“The sooner the ship sets sail, the sooner it may return triumphant,” Roland said easily, taking up his wine again and choosing a slice of creamy sheep’s milk cheese from his tray. “I would not want to delay them with the drudgery of paperwork. No, I will send my financial representative to your company office within two days, but I am a man of honor as I know Master Aegon once was. I am satisfied for the moment with a gentleman’s agreement.”

Idaeus gave a small smile when the Duc said the ship should sail soon so it can return triumphant. A genuine one. The nod of agreement he gave at the notion of his father being a man of honor was less genuine. His father probably was honest with the Duc. Attempting to cheat the Duc wouldn’t have fit in any of his father’s goals. But Idaeus knew who Aegon truly was.

Setting his goblet down and courteously wiping his fingers clean on the napkin cloth prepared with the tray, Roland de Chalasse extended his hand to the young Master Lacordaire across from him, asking, “Are we, then, agreed to do business?”

“I will not disappoint you,” Idaeus said, knowing he wouldn’t. If he was good at anything, it was details. Everything would be just right. He would follow the Duc’s requested storage and check his father’s books for any shipments of a similar nature to see if there’s any additional notes. “I appreciate the hospitality as well. The wine is excellent,” he said as he handed the list to Enora.

“I will send a case of it as a gift of my gratitude when the shipment is delivered successfully,” Roland said easily, giving the gift with the thoughtless ease of the wealthy. “If there are no further details to discuss, then I look forward to your message when the cargo arrives. My financier will come to your company office for the paperwork, but I believe we are done here. Please do not think me rude, I have been away from the City for some time, and the appointments do pile up. Lorin will see you out.”

“Your gratitude would be appreciated,” Idaeus said. He would most likely use it to impress future clients coming to him. It was good wine, but a case would be lost on him. He hated losing any sense of clarity even when business wasn’t a factor. But he also knew that some would take offense to a rejected gift. “I always appreciate business that is kept to the point, I take no offense. Besides, I have cargo that requires special considerations to plan.”

Roland rose to dismiss his guests, green eyes watching them as they left. He certainly hoped this gambit paid off. It would certainly serve to see if young Maël was as useful as he seemed to think he was.

Idaeus stood with the Duc, glad to have a shipment that would give him the opportunity to show his ability. He was also glad the Duc was straightforward. There would come a time where he’d enjoy having his negotiation skills challenged. But first, he wanted to learn every aspect of this business perfectly.

Two Letters, Sealed with Honeybees and Roses

From the private desk of His Grace, Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace to Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House

Granddaughter,

Now that the spring has come, and the flowers are in their budding and blooming, I hope to host you in my townhouse for an afternoon. The duties of your position have kept you from coming to visit me, and that will not stand. You have written to me of some of your struggles and some of the stories of Mont Nuit, I would like to hear you regale me with them in person.

How did the celebrations of Mara’s Eve fare in your House? I hope you did your House proud with your arrangements? I wish to hear of it, you know what high expectations I have of you, especially in your dear grandmother’s memory. I know she watches you in the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond, filled with pride for all you accomplish.

I seem to remember another letter you sent me with some gossip from last autumn. You wrote to me how the Dauphin was seen showing some clear affection to one of the other adepts of the Night Court. I wish to know what you know of her. The King-to-be surely has discerning taste in courtesans, and I am sure the attention will turn to her soon enough. I am relying on you to provide me an advantage.

Prepare yourself to receive my carriage, Rosanna. I expect your visit when I send it for you.

Your Grandfather, R

From the private desk of Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House to His Grace, Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace

Dearest Grandfather,

Be assured that nothing would make me happier than to visit you here in the City! Being away from L’Agnace in the autumn was a struggle, but I bore it well, I am proud to say. Hopefully, this coming year I will have settled into my role and have a little time to come to you during the height of the apple season and hear all about the new hives and varieties of honey you craft as well. I do miss you so, but I am sure you know that.

Mara’s Eve was a resounding success, and I am very proud not only of myself but of my adepts. We had the pleasure of three making their debut, and they did us all great honor. As such, I have, of course, made my thanks known by taking great time in the temples to send prayers and lay offerings at the feet of Namaah, Kushiel, and Blessed Elua. I will let you know that the prayer scrolls you gifted me from Grandmother are well cared for and very well used, they are among the greatest gifts I have ever received.

You ask about the gossip of our King in waiting—well, there is much to tell. While I trust our messenger to deliver this letter to you safely, I will not write down what news I have for you in great detail. Just know there are many moving pieces, but when are there not?

What I can say here is that I have made the acquaintance of the courtesan upon whom the Dauphin has bestowed his affection and that you will be most delighted—as she is a Dahlia. Odilia is her name, and I have had the pleasure of her conversation. And I recall how you were once a favored patron of that House. A good companion for a member of the royal family, I should think.

I look forward to visiting you, Grandfather. I will have our footmen look for your carriage!

All my love,

Rosanna

Evidence of Things Not Seen

Marielle nó Cereus had been a Night Court for nearly twenty years, long enough to develop a sense of when something was happening. And something was certainly happening. Her years of training to listen carefully to what was said—and unsaid—to watch for subtlest movements of her patrons’ faces and bodies, were telling her that something was going on.

The mood in Cereus House was lighter as of late. The adepts’ faces were less dour, their chins held a touch higher. The servants hugged the walls a little closely as they went about their duties, and their eyes didn’t dart away from Marielle’s as they passed her in the halls. And if the candles burned a touch brighter, well, that Marielle was sure she was imagining.

No one spoke of the difference at Cereus House, but all within its walls felt it. The household went about its business with a lifted spirit. No one questioned anything, seemingly content to exist in the better climate. That was enough for them. Marielle wished it could be enough for her, but she was too curious. She always had been. Was this simply the House recovering from the long, dark days under Dowayne Gerault’s iron fist? Perhaps. But Marielle, with all her years of experience and tutelage, knew—she knew—that more lay beneath the surface.

The House continued to run. Assignations were scheduled. Patrons came and went. Novices took their lessons. Children received their care. But everything that came from the Dowayne was in Petrea’s voice. Or even Aimee’s voice on behalf of the Second. Aimee—a Senior adept with no title. No true standing in the House. Why was Aimee speaking for the Second? It was such an odd thing. All these words coming from different mouths. Marielle had mentioned this in passing to the cook one morning. Cook had simply shrugged and replied that everyone proceeded in their own way. A fellow adept said the same—and why should they question favorable circumstances? Marielle nodded and continued with her duties. The servants were happy. Her fellow adepts were happy. Her patrons were happy. Why could she not simply be happy? Why must her mind snag on every small thing? Why must she fixate on the small expressions in Aimee’s and Petrea’s faces that told her there was more going on?

As Marielle lay in her bed, she turned over everything that was different in the House. Perhaps new leadership always took time for adjustments. Perhaps it was simply the Second coming into her own. A new friendship emerging. A new Dowayne finding her footing. Could that be all? Marielle doubted it very highly. She noticed those small gestures and tiny looks between Aimee and Petrea. The way that quieted when others approached.

And then…A few weeks past, the Dowayne had emerged! Looking something worse for the wear, but present, nonetheless. Aliks took breakfast in a salon with Petrea, sat in on lessons with younger adepts, attended a Showing. And she smiled. And, Blessed Elua, she even laughed. It was a lovely thing to see and hear. Something had changed. Something caused Aliksandria to emerge from her dark cocoon.

But what had changed? Marielle’s mind spun with the possibilities. She could find no specific event or action to point to, but the effects were all around. Perhaps it didn’t matter. If all was well, was the reason truly important?

It was with these thoughts that Marielle made her way along the dark corridor. The hour was late, and she had gone to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Her sleep had been uneasy lately. Blessed Elua, it had been uneasy for months. She was returning to her room when she heard laughter coming from down the hallway. Creeping slowly, she followed the sound. She found herself standing not far from the Dowayne’s office. The door stood slightly ajar, and bright, hot firelight burned from within. Great gales of laughter exploded from inside the office. Marielle stood stock still. Who could be making such a racket in the middle of the night?

She knew she should turn around. Knew she should take her tea and go back to bed. Knew she should walk away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. On silent feet, Marielle made her way to the Dowayne’s office. She peered through the crack in the door, hiding in the shadows so as not to be seen by the occupants. What she saw inside made her gasp. It was only through sheer force of will that she did not drop her cup.

Within the office, a huge fire burned in the fireplace—not uncommon. What was not common, however, was for the Dowayne, the Second, and a senior adept to be dancing in front of it, clearly deep in their cups. The three held glasses aloft, empty bottles of wine and strong spirits strewn about the room. The desk was empty, piles of papers swept onto the floor. Most shocking of all? They were tossing sheaf after scroll after page of parchment into the fire. With each page that burned, they let loose whoops and cackles like fishwives.

“To Gerault! May he rot in the ground!” Petrea slurred loudly, falling to a chaise.

Aliks threw a large scroll into the fire and watched it crackle and curl, turning black. She clinked her glass with Aimee. “May his eyes be eaten by worms!” She shouted and smacked a kiss to Aimee’s lips.

“And his skin turn to mush!” Aimee said, her voice as wobbly as her feet. She turned to Petrea, attempting to toast her, but succeeded only in falling next to her on the couch. Their glasses fell to the floor, shattering.

The three fell silent, looking at each other like naughty children who had just committed some offense, worried they might be caught. Aliks was the first to recover, doubling over with laughter. She threw her glass to the hearth, where it smashed against the stones. Petrea and Aimee stood on unsteady legs, picking their way carefully through the broken glass on the floor. Aliks grabbed a paper, looked at it, and went to throw it into the fire.

Marielle caught a look at it—it was a ledger! Written in Gerault’s hand! They were destroying House records! She could not let them do this!

Her teacup fell from her hand as she shoved open the door and burst inside. “You criminals!” She shouted, slamming the door behind her. “You are…you are…you are destroying our records! You are hiding our finances! You cannot do this! I’ll not allow it!” She pointed a finger at them. “How dare you!” Marielle would not stand for this. She would have them brought to the Judiciary. Hanged for this crime.

Aliks’s hand stopped, midway to the fire, and the page fell to the floor. The three women gaped at her, staring, then their eyes darted to each other. A look passed between them. An instant decision made.

Petrea’s soft voice seemed to echo through the silent room. She held out her hands in a placating gesture. She stepped toward Marielle tentatively, as though she were approaching a frightened animal. “Marielle, this is not what you think.”

“It is!” Marielled spat out. “I know what I saw!”

Petrea shook her head slowly. “Marielle, please. Come in. Please. Sit down.”

Her voice was so gentle, so soothing. So trusting. And Marielle wanted to trust her. This was Petrea, after all. The woman who had sat with her for so many hours, helping her, teaching her, all while suffering silently. Marielle wanted to give her a chance. A chance to explain. A chance to make this right. Her feet took her into the room, almost unbidden. She nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Explain this to me.” She gestured at the mess of papers, bottles, and crackling fire.

Petrea took Marielle’s hands and led her to the chaise. Her voice was tender as she spoke. “Marielle, there is a grave secret, one that could take down Cereus House should it be revealed. I trust you. Because of my trust, we are willing to take you into our confidence. But you must keep to yourself all that you hear. Do you understand? Speaking of this could ruin our House.” Marielle dipped her chin at the seriousness in Petrea’s tone. “This is all about Gerault. About everything he was doing to destroy our House. And everything we are doing to fix that. All that Aliksandria has been working these last months to reconcile.”

The puzzle pieces began to slot themselves into place as Petrea explained Gerault’s treachery and the plan to bring Cereus House back from the brink. Marielle nodded along, the mystery finally solved, her mind finally at rest.

“Just tell me: how can I help?” She asked. “I want to help.”