Aliksandria nó Cereus – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

A Ripple in Still Water

Weeks earlier at Cereus House…

The Dowayne of Cereus House sat, as she had for the past year—year and a half?—at the large desk in her office. As soon as she had taken over, she had ordered the staff to move the desk closer to the window so that the light might shine through the glass. Aliksandria had never liked where Gerault had the large, polished oak desk during his tenure. It had always seemed to her to be too far from any light, too hidden in the dark corner. And now she knew why. Gerault had, in truth, been hiding. Hiding so much. From her. His Second. Aliks had always held her Dowayne in the highest respect, but that had been dashed to smithereens in the days, weeks, and months since his death. He had driven the House into practical poverty, and secret disrepute. And how she was left to pick up the pieces of her House. To return it to its place of glory.

Aliksandria nó Cereus was a proud woman, and she held herself to the highest standards, higher than she held any other of Cereus House. She expected nothing less than perfection from herself. And her recent visit with her best friend and Second, Petrea, had been troublesome to say the least. For certain, Aliks knew that she had let some things slide, but she had been utterly confident that she was still conducting her duties as Dowayne. That she had simply been passing some things along to Petrea, as one did with the Second, while she fixed Gerault’s mess. But it was apparent that this was simply not the truth. Was she just blind? She had missed the signs of Gerault’s deceptions, and now she had missed the signs of her struggling friend. And her still struggling House.

Aliks shook her head and straightened her shoulders. Perhaps it was this perfection that had led her astray. Perhaps, it had been just this trait that Gerault had preyed upon that had allowed his many follies—her desire to take care of everything by herself. Perhaps, she need not take on everything alone. Petrea’s words echoed in her mind. Do you really think that you would not do better with this if the three of us worked on it together? Petrea had said that she and Aimée missed Aliks. And in the dark depths of the night, when Aliks was alone in her bed, she admitted to herself that she missed them, too. Her last encounter with Aimée had been an angry one, and she fretted about it when sleep eluded her.

The Dowayne rose from her desk and swept from the office, closing the heavy door behind her. She walked silently to her private apartments, requesting a bath and clean clothing be brought to her. A young adept filled Aliks’s bath with hot water and scented salts then helped wash her hair. She luxuriated in the bath but did not tarry long, as she knew that her Second—Seconds—were waiting on her.

A simple gown of green taffeta, embellished with fine embroidery at the decolletage and a delicate silver necklace were laid out for her. She dressed with care, pinning her hair in a low chignon with a mesh caul. It was not a formal look, but one befitting her station. She was meeting friends in the privacy of their own home, and she would dress for the occasion. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she noticed that her cheeks were paler and her face more drawn. Dark circles had formed under her eyes. It was not the visage of a new Dowayne. Aliks vowed to change that. Loveliness might fade, but one was not to help that along.

Aliks slid her feet into a pair of slippers and stepped from the room. She gave nods to the adepts and servants in the halls as she made her way to one of the larger salons, where they often hosted smaller dinners. From behind the cracked door, she heard Petrea and Aimée speaking in low voices. Though she could not make out their precise words, from their tones, she noted that their conversation seemed intimate. They spoke as two who held a close bond, and Aliks could not decide if she was glad of this, or if she was jealous of this. She could not take the time to examine these emotions, however, as she had been summoned to meet them.

Pushing open the door, Aliks entered the room. A table was laid with the finest tableware, set for three, and cloches covered steaming dishes. Candles illuminated the space, filling it with brightness and warmth. Petrea and Aimee stood from their chairs, both giving her smiles, though Aimee’s might have a touch colder than Petrea’s.

“Aliks,” Petrea greeted her. “Thank you for taking the time to dine with us.”

“I do not believe I was offered an option not to,” Aliks responded dryly. Aimée gave a small sound of disapproval, and Aliks cringed inwardly. “But,” she continued hastily, “I would not have turned down your invitation, and I do appreciate it.”

Petrea motioned toward the third chair at the table. Aliks settled into it gracefully, and her dinner companions followed suit. They sat in silence for a moment, none of them knowing quite what to say to one another. It was only the extensive training of their House that kept them from fidgeting.

As though by some unspoken agreement between the other two women, it was Aimée who spoke first. “Aliks,” she began, her voice stiff. Petrea reached over and placed her hand on Aimée’s arm. It was a small gesture, but Aliks recognized it for exactly what it was. Calming. Steadying. Soothing. And it made her ache. She wanted to be the one to calm, and steady, and soothe Aimée. Aimée shifted her eyes and inclined her chin ever so slightly at Petrea before beginning again, her voice far more smooth. “Aliks. Petrea and I fear that you have been living in Gerault’s shadow, hiding in your office, buried under his misdeeds for far too long. We must move forward. Cereus House flounders while you comb through ledgers and letters, trying to uncover his secrets.” Aimée shook her head. “You must move on from it. It is time to focus on the path ahead.”

Petrea took over. “The Dauphin is to be crowned at the end of this year, and you may be called upon to advise him. Your position as Dowayne of Cereus House is a crucial one. And our, well, my position as Second is also a crucial one. If we are to serve the Crown, we must retake our place in the Night Court. For too long we have left other Houses to lead by default.” She glanced at Aimée. “Aimée and I have been planning, and we have come up with ideas for regaining our rightful seat at the head of the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers.”

Hearing Aimée and Petrea’s speeches, Aliks’s mind began to spin. Her eyes brightened, and a grin spread across her face. She steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned forward. “Oh? Please, do elaborate. I am very interested to hear this.”

Aimée and Petrea exchanged large smiles and leaned forward. “We thought you would be interested to hear of our ambitions,” Aimée replied somewhat smugly.

The Desert Begins to Bloom

Petrea nó Cereus found her Dowayne without trouble. Aliksandria was where she always was: squirreled away in her office. Aliksandria nó Cereus had been Dowayne for over a year, and it seemed that she had yet to leave that office. While Petrea’s heart went out to her friend, she did hold some measure of resentment towards her. There were so many other duties to attend to, and Aliks had been almost entirely absent since Dowayne Gerault had died. Petrea was tired of making excuses, tired of handling everything in both her own role as Second and those of the Dowayne. She thanked Blessed Elua every day for Aimee—her right hand.

Petrea knocked lightly on the closed door and entered before Aliks had a chance to answer. The entire room was littered with papers, scrolls, books, and ledgers. The sheer amount of paper shocked Petrea. She had not entered this room in…she couldn’t remember how long…but it had certainly not been this disorderly the last time. Behind the massive wooden desk sat Aliks. Her hair was tied up messily, her face drawn, her fingers ink stained. And her eyes. From the dark circles below them to the blankness in her gaze, Aliks looked less like a Servant of Naamah than a beggar in the streets.

“Aliks?” Petrea said quietly. She was, at the sight in front of her, now questioning her decision to interrupt the Dowayne, but needs must, and this interruption was truly critical.

At her voice, Aliks started and dropped the parchment she was perusing. “Oh, Petrea! I’m so sorry, I did not hear you enter.” Her voice sounded tired and unused. She cleared her throat and offered a weak smile. “Please,” she said, gesturing around the room. “Come in. If you can find a please, sit down.”

Petrea gazed around the crowded and messy office as she stepped in. She moved a stack of ledgers from a sofa and sat. Her eyes scanned Aliks’s face. Yes, this needed to happen. “Aliks,” she said slowly. “Please come sit with me.”

Aliks nodded and stood from her chair. She stretched her neck and shoulder, working out the kinks that had surely developed from hunching so long. Striding over to Petrea, she sank down next to her friend. She took one of Petrea’s hands. “What can I do for you, love?”

Petrea reached up and undid Aliks’s hair to run her fingers through the tangled strands. “This is too much, my dear,” she murmured. “You have to stop. You cannot go on like this.”

Aliks sighed, her shoulders slumping. She closed her eyes and leaned into the soft touch of Petrea’s fingers massaging her scalp. “I know, Petrea. I know. But there is just so much. You cannot possibly imagine how terrible things truly are. How much Gerault lied. How much he cheated the House. It is going to take me…years, I fear, to untangle us from this web that he has left me in.”

Petrea made a soothing sound as she continued to gently work through Aliks’s hair, scratching her nails against Aliks’s scalp. “You’re right. But, love, this is not the way.” She gave Aliks a shake, and Aliks opened her eyes. Petrea’s voice was firm as she continued. “Aliks. You have been hidden away in this office while the rest of the Night Court spins around us. Things in the City are happening that you have no idea about. We cannot have that.”

“I know! I know!” Aliks began, but Petrea held up a finger to stop her.

“Aliks,” she said with great seriousness. “You are the Dowayne of Cereus House. The First and Foremost of the Houses of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. You—we—cannot have you absent. We are floundering. We need you.” She paused. “I need you.”

Aliks blinked. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. It was as though this was some great revelation. “But you…you…I have heard that…you are doing so well! Everything I hear is so positive about you! What could you possibly need from me?”

“Aliks! I have been scouring the Night Court for other Seconds to advise me! What do you think they will be saying about that? I am constantly making excuses for why no one can meet with you! I have turned to Aimee for guidance time and again—”

“Aimee?” Aliks interrupted, puzzled. “What does Aimee have to do with this? She is not the Second.”

Petrea clasped her friend’s cheek. “You have no idea of Aimee’s strengths. But I do. And I tell you now that she is likely the only reason I am not the laughingstock of Mont Nuit. And to be fully honest with you: I am not the Second, we are the Second. Aimee and myself.” Aliks gasped, and Petrea nodded. “It has taken both of us to lead in your absence. With no training or assistance from you, I have turned to Aimee to be my partner as Second,” she said sharply.

Aliks’s face fell at her friend’s admission. “Oh, Petrea, I am truly sorry. I had no idea!”

“Of course not. You have not left this office, save to sleep.” Petrea’s voice then gentled. “But that must change.” Aliks bobbed her head in agreement. “If nothing else, we miss you. You are my best friend. You are Aimee’s lover. We miss your company. You have abandoned us in a time when we should all be coming together. We need you. And you need us.” Petrea waved her hand around the room, indicating the mess. “Do you really think that you would not do better with this if the three of us worked on it together?”

Aliks shook her head, her eyes falling to her lap where she still clutched Petrea’s hand. “No. But I cannot ask this of you. I cannot let either of you into this mess. It is mine, as Dowayne, to clean up.”

“You and I both know that is simply not true.” Petrea squeezed Aliks’s hand. “The job of the Second is to be the Dowayne’s shadow. To protect and prop up the Dowayne. To assist the Dowayne in all matters of the House. You know this. I know this. Aimee knows this. We are not prepared to let Cereus House sit in ruin any longer. Things are afoot in the City—no, the country—that may cause instability. And as goes Cereus House, so goes the Night Court. We must have stability and strength within these walls.” She raised her chin. “I suffered at Gerault’s hand with only my love of this House to keep me sane. I will not see my House fail. Not now. Not again. Not ever. Now,” she said, rising. “Go take a bath and change your clothes. You are dining with Aimee and me in an hour.”

“But, Petrea, I cannot leave this—” Aliks began.

“I will accept no excuses,” Petrea interrupted. “We begin planning tonight.” She placed a kiss on her friend’s brow. “I will see you in an hour, love.”

With that, Petrea turned and walked out of the room, leaving her Dowayne sitting on the sofa, quite stunned.

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Cereus House was abuzz with activity as servants and adepts alike prepared for the upcoming Midwinter Masque. It was the highlight of the year for the House, and this year had been one of changes, to put it mildly.

Petrea nó Cereus sat in the Second’s bedchamber, waiting for her friend Aimée nó Cereus to arrive so that they could dress together. Petrea marvelled at how different this was from a year ago. This time last year, Aimée had been ensconced with Aliksandria—then Second herself—drinking wine, giggling, and likely just getting out of bed from an afternoon romp, to begin dressing in finery for the masque. Petrea had been alone in her own room, her plain costume laid out on her bed. Marielle had poked her head in and asked about borrowing thread to fix up some mishap with a mask or dress or trousers.

But this year, Petrea was the Second. And Aimée was not in bed with Aliks. She was on her way to Petrea’s room. Their friendship had blossomed over the year, and with Aimée’s assistance—and the invaluable advice of the Seconds from Dahlia and Heliotrope Houses—she was beginning to feel less like she was fighting stormy seas in a rowboat.

Aliks was now the Dowayne. An overburdened, burnt out Dowayne, thanks to the untimely death of her predecessor, Gerault, who had kept so many secrets from her, they might never truly discover them all. Petrea’s heart went out to her best friend, who spent her days locked in the Dowayne’s office, seemingly only emerging in the wee hours of the morning to take in a few hours of sleep. At the same time, Petrea wished that Aliks had taken more time to help train her, so that she need not turn to others for help. But almost more than that, Petrea wished that Aliks’s and Aimée’s relationship had not become so deeply damaged and strained. She knew that Aimée was hurt and angry. Aimée did not want to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, so Petrea did not pry.

Petrea knew that Aliks could not push the two of them away forever. She knew that Aliks needed both of them. And Aimée and Petrea both needed Aliks. But greater than their personal feelings, Cereus House needed the three of them to come together to bring it back to its glory.

The Shahrizai townhouse was quietly gearing up for the Longest Night. Numerous cousins had flooded into the City as the days got shorter, and there was a constant flow of invitations to various fêtes on the actual night. A number of the older members of the family were invited to the event at the Palace, and the younger members had invitations to the houses of their friends in the City. All save Niklos, whose invite lingered on his desk. Not just an invitation, but an invitation with a token. His invitation was signed by Petrea nó Cereus and was for the Masquerade on Mont Nuit itself. That news had been a wildfire amongst House Shahrizai when it arrived. Older family members commented that they couldn’t recall the last time a Shahrizai had been invited to spend the Longest Night on Mont Nuit, and the younger cousins pestered Niklos about how he had received the token and why he had been singled out. All he could tell them was that he had spent a significant amount of time in the City since he had arrived this year, and apparently his attempts to make connections with people were paying off. There were numerous late night conversations in the library, and Niklos had explained his plans to the family. The Longest Night would be a time for them all to enjoy themselves…and to gather what information they could; there was already a strategy going into the new year.

The Heliotrope carriage ride to Cereus House was uncharacteristically silent. News of Dowayne Olivier’s death hit the House hard, he was deeply beloved and had been their Dowayne for decades. Even though they had all been preparing for months, it still hit them like a kick to the chest.

None were hit as hard as Mena, the new Dowayne. Olivier was her grandfather, the man who raised her, taught her about Elua and Namaah, who’d shown her love that truly felt like the gentle, constant rays of the sun. The death of his wife, her grandmother, a decade prior was hard, but this was crushing. She knew that his presence, his reputation, had kept her shielded from a lot of things that could come crashing down on her. In the back of her mind, she hoped that the affection people had for him could be transferred in some way to her. The coming months would likely be hard ones; his funeral would have to be held right at the start of the new year, his estate would need to be handled, the House still needed to be kept together, and she had an uneasy feeling about Kyrie. Someone as full of hatred, entitlement, and heresy was not going to go away as quietly as it seemed he had. Without Olivier, she felt adrift, like she had no idea where to begin. Tonight was easy, the House would attend the Midwinter Masque, they would throw themselves into the revelry in Olivier’s honor. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was for Olivier.

As she did every night before laying down her head for sleep, Rosanna prayed. At the niche in her bedchamber, where incense burned and offerings were made, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

In turn, she repeated the prayers taught to her in childhood, turning to the comfort she always found in the presence of the divine. One by one, she spoke the names of the angels from whom her people descended, who to this day watched over them all in times of peace and turmoil.

Azza the Navigator, Anael the Good Steward, Camael the Flaming Sword, Cassiel the Perfect Companion, Eisheth Lady of Healing and Music, Kushiel the Punisher, Naamah the Bright Lady, and Shemhazai of Keen Mind

A little rhyme was gifted to each Companion, and from them she named a facet of her life where their guidance would be appreciated.Only in the most dire of times did she outright ask for anything from the angels.

Now was not such a time…yet she still felt very much in need of some divine intervention, even just a little.

This year had begun with the change in her path as a servant of Naamah, progressing forward toward that aspiration she had so longed for. Yet, for her to ascend from the office of Second to Dowyane, she lost the mentor who named her to that position to begin with. Eitene was surely a character and for some an acquired taste, but he was her dear friend, someone who believed in her even when the Dowayne before him expressed doubts.

And now he was off to live his happily ever after with the Lord he adored, out in the idyllic countryside. Truly she was glad for him. It was a fairytale, and he deserved his happiness.

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

Which was more intimidating than she had allowed herself to understand. Even with her own Second, Tryphosa, to help with the many responsibilities, the sheer volume of planning, especially for the Longest Night, was nigh overwhelming. Seeking solace, she had gone to the temple district on her usual weekly schedule, and where now she became acquainted with a fellow leader of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. Together they began attending services, discussing faith and duty. Slowly but surely, the worry subsided.

Now the Prince was set to ascend, too. They would have a new King. On her very first Longest Night as Dowayne. It felt as though the stars were aligning.

Snuffing the candles, she left an offering of wine and sweets then pulled herself to bed. Everything was falling into place, no matter if she was prepared or not. Best she face the dawn with a good night’s sleep and faith in the powers that be that all would be well.

At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.

Odilia had barely slept since Lord Maël had come to bring the news. Too many thoughts roiled through her head. Was he ready? What help did he need? What could she do? What was her place and responsibility to do? His letters, sent regularly over the years he had been gone from the city at his studies in the Rocaille University, had a special place in her private desk, kept under lock in their own drawer, but she had read them enough that she hardly needed to look at them to remember his words.

Ah, his words! Young and impassioned, excited to share with her all of his triumphs and asking her advice on his challenges. Some of them had been sent with small gifts, books and bookmarks, or a fine new pen with an inlaid handle, some were only his words and his honest voice. It was strange, she thought abstractly, to feel such a rush of true and dear affection in her chest for the young man in her letters. He hadn’t signed them with his title, only his name, which had made it easier to let herself forget who he was. Then the plague changed it all. He was poised to rise like a brilliant star, shining in glory for the entire country. She was a loyal subject, surely that was the only reason why she worried for how to help him. He was to be her king, it was her duty to serve the crown in whatever it needed. It couldn’t be anything more than that.

“Odilia?”

She came back to herself with a sharp blink, refocusing on the details of her personal dressing room and tearing her eyes away from the chessboard before her.

Silvére hovered in the door. “Are you ready? We’re gathering for the procession over to Cereus.”

“Yes,” she said, rising. “Yes, I am ready.”

She was an adept of Dahlia House, she had to be ready for whatever would come next. Upright and Unbending.

Manuel Cassid sank to his knees, preparing—as he had every year since the age of ten—to offer prayers to the Perfect Companion on the Longest Night. This night, however, he was praying not just for himself, but perhaps for his entire country. And unlike every other Vigil, he was not alone.

Kneeling beside the Cassiline brother, Gustav closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to quiet, sinking into a meditative calm as he began the Vigil. While the rest of the city danced and drank and feted the night away, waiting for the midnight hour when the Sun Prince would return to rejuvenate his Winter Queen and begin the cycle of the year again, he would kneel in Cassiel’s Vigil.

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before.

Cassiel, he whispered silently in his heart, Guide me in this year to come, that I may be the Perfect Companion to my country. As Cassiel was the Perfect Companion to Elua, what was a king but a perfect companion to his people?

He still had so far to go.

The sun slowly set over the City, and the Longest Night began.

Two Sides of Shame

“I don’t know, Aliks,” Manuel said, sipping tea in her sitting room. “I knew it would be hard, being the first Cassiline to ward a member of the Royal House since the Rocaille incident, but it feels as if my very presence in the palace is an insult to be borne by those around me.”

“Pray tell me what has happened since you were last here, perhaps I can help,” Aliksandria urged him. It had been months since her old friend had shown up on her doorstep, and she was eager to hear how his life had gone and the gossip of the palace.

Before the expression of incredulous shock could fully form on Manuel’s face, she smiled and assured him, “I will keep Naamah’s confidence, you can speak freely.”

He let out a long breath before sighing. “It started the day I arrived. I was to meet with the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, and when I told the steward of my appointment, he huffed and bade me wait outside like a merchant. When the commander arrived, he was just as curt and ordered me to follow him with such swiftness that I nearly stumbled attempting to bow. Every servant we passed in the hall would not deign to look upon me. The nobles, however, could not keep from gawking at my presence.”

It was hard for a Cassiline Brother to live through this all once, let alone relive it in telling. Manuel was brave, however, and continued. “I was thus admitted to an audience with Her Majesty Queen Anielle, who had requested my appearance in the first place. She was kind enough, though I would better describe our interaction as neutral than as pleasant. She informed me she was concerned about her son and wished for him to be accompanied by a Cassiline Brother during this transition. Though it was well above my place, I ventured to ask her why she saw fit to resume the practice of a Cassiline warding the scions of Elua. She told me that while she had many reasons, her father had always spoken so highly of the Cassiline training, and she was minded to grant an olive branch to the Brotherhood. I am not sure how exactly I feel being the meter the entire order is judged by, but I will do my duty with honor.”

He looked down into the teacup, clearly not seeing any of the details of the pattern on the cup as he continued. “The Dauphin was amenable enough, after his own fashion. He accepted my presence with no argument but on the word and request of his own mother. But only in the role of warder. He made it quite clear he did not appreciate having his mother select his companions for him. I can hardly begrudge him that. His friends find my presence quite the nuisance and are repeatedly attempting to thwart me by sneaking him off. If only they would tell me where they were going, I would be able to ascertain the situation and know if my presence is required. For example, this afternoon they snuck off here, to Mont Nuit. I know that His Highness is currently safely ensconced in Dahlia House which is how I was able to come here for a brief visit.”

Aliks laughed lightly. “I was wondering how you were able to pull this off. I can’t imagine your Prefect would look kindly upon you taking free time to visit the Night Court.”

“Not in the least. But all this is made worse in that one of his companions is a Rocaille, Aliks. And he does not like nor trust me in the least. I can handle not being everyone’s best friend, but I run the risk of being forsworn if the situation does not abate.”

“I cannot imagine it is an easy situation for either of you. You have lived long in the prefecture, but even you must remember how the Brotherhood is spoken of in the Night Court. And many a noble in the palace, nay even all of them, are counted amongst our patrons. You cannot expect D’Angeline nobles to easily abide what they perceive as judgement of their frivolities.”

“I do not judge them, I merely ask they not judge me!”

“I know, love, but they do not know you as I do. And palace memories are long.”

Manuel took the gift of the brown cloak Aliks offered him, wrapping it around his shoulders to hide his grays and cover his sword. However, he was naïve to think a simple brown cloak would disguise a Cassiline Brother in the Night Court. He should have left through the kitchen, but he had stayed too long enjoying tea and cookies with his friend and needed to get back to Dahlia House quickly. The fastest route was through the front door.

“Cassiline?” A voice drifted over to Manuel as he crossed the street to Dahlia House. He turned around, looked both ways until he saw him. A cocky, self-assured man leaning against the garden wall, his auburn hair pulled in a tail over one shoulder as his eyes examined the unlikely sight of the Cassiline sneaking his way out of Cereus House. Maël.

“My Lord de Rocaille,” Manuel said, bowing reflexively in the Cassiline fashion.

“This is a surprise, I did not expect to see you of all people indulge in the Night Court. I wonder, what would Her Majesty have to say about this?” His tone was teasing, but his point was clearly made.

Manuel flushed, not with embarrassment at being caught out but in indignation at the suggestion. “I assure you, good sir, it is not at all what it looks like.”

Maël raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Because it looks like you chose to abandon your charge and break your vows at Cereus House. Tsk tsk, very naughty.”

“I did not abandon my charge, the pair of you snuck away from me and forced me to follow you on foot through the city!”

Maël shrugged innocently. “You weren’t invited.”

Manuel stood his ground as best he could in this profoundly uncomfortable movement. “Regardless, you know as well as I that His Highness is safer in Dahlia House than he is in his own bed chamber! “

“Now you insult the royal guards of the palace and the quality of their service?” Maël pushed himself up from the wall, continuing to eye Manuel with an almost innocent suspicion, like a scholar studying a new specimen. “Is that what you will tell Queen Anielle when she summons you for the next report on her son and his pastimes?”

“My ward is the Dauphin! I do not betray that confidence!”

“No? Not even to whichever fragile flower has caught your eye at Cereus House? What do you see in them, Cassiline? I wouldn’t have expected so stalwart a warrior to be drawn to such frail and delicate lovers.”

Manuel remembered suddenly the way he felt in the training ring when one of the older Brothers sparred against him, pressing him relentless step by relentless step toward a defeat he could see coming but couldn’t figure out how to avoid. It sounded desperate even to him as he tried to defend himself. “I was merely visiting with a friend!”

Maël smirked at Manuel’s anger, a petty kind of delight playing on his face at how easily the Cassiline was thrown off his guard without weapons in his hands to help him save face. “What sort of friend does a Cassiline have in the Night Court?”

Manuel blinked rapidly, his mind scrambling for an answer that would not come. “I…well…I…”

Maël waved him off dismissively. “Was visiting a friend. I suppose that’s the way you would have to phrase it.” He paused, looking thoughtfully into the distance. “I do wonder, though, what do you do with this friend when you have spent your life devoted to the chastity of the Cassiline Brotherhood?”

Manuel looked at his feet. How would he explain without actually explaining? “We do what friends do,” he said quietly.

Maël threw his head back and laughed. “Well it would seem to me a waste of money to sit and, what, chat over tea and biscuits at Cereus House? Why, you could do that with any number of your boring Brothers!” He laughed as though this were the funniest thing he had ever heard. “You must be a rich man, Manuel!”

“It’s not like that!” Manuel burst out. “I am not a patron!”

Maël’s laughter stopped, and he locked eyes with the other man. “You meet with an adept of the Night Court? In the First and Foremost House of the Night Court? Not as a patron?”

Manuel bit his lip, but he held Maël’e eyes. “That is correct.” Though his heart thundered in his chest, his voice held firm.

Maël narrowed his eyes, his brows knitting. “Who. Are. You?” His voice held a sharpness to it.

Manuel’s shoulders fell a fraction of an inch, it was time to tell the truth. “I was born in the Night Court. At ten, I took myself to the Brotherhood rather than pledge myself to Naamah. My oldest friend happens to be from Cereus House, and she is the one whom I have just come from seeing.”

Maël’s head reared back a fraction, hazel eyes very obviously starting at the top of Manuel’s head and scanning slowly down to the tips of his toes and back again, considering what this new information meant. A glint of something mischievous kindled in the depths of his eyes and the smirk spread across his face. “Well, no wonder you’re less of a stick in the mud than I’ve heard your brothers can be.”

Manuel blinked sharply. “What?”

The smirk spread into a full smile, bright and impish. “You heard me fine, Cassiline.”

Manuel blinked again, trying to figure out what to say. “I…I thought…don’t you hate me?”

Maël gasped theatrically. “Hate you? Don’t be absurd. I don’t care about you enough to hate you. I don’t trust you, I don’t know you, but I don’t hate you. In fact—” His eyes sparkled wickedly. “—this just made you much more interesting to me.”

Manuel got the distinct feeling that this was somehow a bad thing.

But Maël merely jerked his head towards the Dahlia House mansion and asked lightly, “Shall we? I believe we have a princely package to pick up.”

Whistling nonchalantly, he strolled across the avenue to the gates, leaving Manuel to catch up. The Rocaille and Cassiline walking together in some strange kind of initial peace towards the House where the Dauphin was being entertained.

Cereus Steel Draws Blood

The late morning sun streamed through the window as Aliks finished with the last scroll. The Last Scroll! Oh, there would be more tomorrow, but for today, for the first time in months, Aliks actually had nothing to do. She couldn’t even remember what free time felt like. A giggle escaped her lips when she recalled who she used to spend her free time with.

She rang for the footman and requested a decadent tea service with champagne to be set in her rooms at the second hour after midday and then instructed him that she was not to be disturbed this afternoon. Any issues could go to the Second or wait for tomorrow.

She was nearly skipping as she went to the hall that contained the rooms belonging to those adepts who had completed their marques and chosen to remain in the House. She knocked on the last door and then entered with the invitation that followed.

“Aliksandra?” Aimée said as she stood from her desk, stunned to see her Dowayne. “Is something wrong? Am I needed downstairs?”

Aliks reassured Aimée as she moved toward her lover. “Oh Blessed Elua, love, no. I have a free afternoon for the first time in months and wanted to spend it with you. I have ordered up a lovely tea and champagne to my rooms and—”

Aimée raised her hand, cutting Aliks off flatly. “I cannot join you this afternoon. I have duties to attend to.”

“Duties? What duties do you have that I, your Dowayne, could not free you from?” Aliks teased, leaning in enticingly. It had been far too long since they had played this game. Aimée was so dedicated. It made it all the more fun to tempt her away.

“I have an assignation, for starters. I also have classes. I do teach the novices, in case you’ve forgotten, Aliks,” Aimée said, her tone growing a bit sharp.

“Aimée, I am sorry, I did not know. This assignation, can you reschedule or pass them to another adept? As for the novices, unless they are very different from me at their age, I am sure they will enjoy a spontaneous free afternoon,” Aliks said mischievously, inviting her lover to indulge in an afternoon of companionship. Her girl always did get a bit cranky if left to her own devices, all work and no play, and all that

“Of course I cannot put off my patron. I’m astonished you would suggest such a thing. Did you think I would sit around here, biding my time? Waiting for you, my Dowayne?” Aimée delivered it coldly, the last word dripping with venom.

Visibly taken aback, Aliks dropped the teasing tone and asked earnestly, “Are you actually mad at me for doing my job? Geraunt died! I had to become Dowayne. We agreed that, with the transition, it would be too much. That we should pause our affair. It never meant I didn’t care for you, or we wouldn’t resume once the waters calmed.”

Aliks’s words, her attempt to soothe Aimée, had sparked a rage in her lover that took Aliks completely by surprise as Aimée lashed out. “We didn’t agree. You made your decision and informed me of the Dowayne’s wishes. You came to me the day of the funeral and said we had to stop. That ‘the responsibilities of the House took priority.’ I agree with you, a Dowayne should prioritize their House above all. I wouldn’t have remained with you when you were chosen as Second if I believed otherwise. What did you think I would do? Demand that you forsake the House, your calling, for me? Do you truly think so little of me?” Aliks opened her mouth to answer, but Aimée continued her impassioned diatribe. “I am a Cereus Adept. I have completed my marque. And I have chosen to remain in Naamah’s service. If I wasn’t going to put the House first, I would have left. So don’t say ‘we decided.’ We—” Aimée gestured with her hand, encompassing the both of them. “—didn’t decide anything. The decision to end our affair was yours and yours alone. The thing that galls me is that you never considered if I could help you shoulder the burden. If I could be your partner!” Tears were streaming down Aimee’s face as she gasped to catch her breath.

“I never said ‘end.’ I never wanted us to end, I said ‘pause’,” Aliks said, trying to explain, trying to help Aimée see what she had meant.

“You can say ‘end,’ or you can say ‘pause,’ but your actions said we were over. You show up to my room, expecting nothing has changed. As though time had stopped simply because you said it should. You haven’t spoken more than two words to me in months. You choose to be nothing but Dowayne! You choose Petrea as Second without consulting anyone! You choose to be a lover now that it suits you! You didn’t even know that I had an assignation! What kind of lover doesn’t know their love’s schedule?”

“Petrea?” Aliks gasped, taking a step back. “You are upset about Petrea?”

“I am upset with you! I am upset that after shadowing you for three years and being the de facto Second for several months after Geraunt’s death, you picked an adept who was spending more time out of the House than in it,” Aimée flared. She glared at Aliks, demanding, “Have you spoken to her? I have, and she is overwhelmed. You were trained to be Second, and Dowayne, but she wasn’t, and she doesn’t even know what she doesn’t know. You know there is a minutiae and delicacy that goes into the day to day around here and she had no clue what was being missed. And I dealt with it for months, for the House, for you!”

Aimée spat every word as she looked Aliks in the eye. “Every time there was something that needed doing, I did it. Every adept or novice that came running for an absent Second or an overworked Dowayne, I handled. Petrea finally got tired of drowning and asked for help. Your best friend, Your Second, even she came to me instead of our oblivious Dowayne.” Her hands clenched, the anger racing through her veins as she continued relentlessly. “I know I was capable of being Second. I was trained for it…by you. I did the job, and I did it well. Not that you thanked me or even noticed. Petrea will be an amazing Second. Not because you named her so, and then threw her to the wolves. But because I helped her, because she saw me and knew I was capable and asked. So I can only assume that you didn’t choose me because you thought I was ‘too young,’ or ‘not dedicated enough,’ or maybe you just didn’t want a relationship on a more equal footing.”

Aimée finished with a fury, her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. The words had been long in her mind, her anger honing them into the weapons she now used in her own hurt to hurt Aliks in return.

With tears falling down her cheeks, Aliks said, “That isn’t why I chose her, Aimée. I chose her because she spends so much time out of the House. The Night Court is not what it once was, and our leadership must be able to represent the House outside of Mont Nuit. Petrea can get the other Houses to follow and join together without infighting. She has a skill for diplomacy and a patron list that rivals the official peerage list. I chose her to be an ambassador. I chose you for something altogether different.” Aliks’s gaze begged for Aimée to understand.

“You haven’t chosen me in some time, Aliks. Now if you don’t mind, I have an assignation to prepare for,” Aimée said as she turned her back to Aliks and walked deeper into the room. “My patrons have been sorely neglected, since I’ve been busy cleaning up your mess. Do show yourself out,” she said in a flat emotionless voice.

Aimée’s tone had less warmth than a frigid desert night. It froze Aliks to the spot and stole her breath as she watched her lover walk away. Feeling a strange emptiness, she shakily exited the room and closed the door with a soft click. Aliks hadn’t been so summarily dismissed since before she had become a novice. She quickly wiped her face and began to slowly make her way back to the Dowayne’s apartments. Aliks struggled to reconcile the woman she had just spoken to with her lover of five years.

Dear Elua! What had she done?

The Unruly Patron

The doors to Cereus House flew open, knocking Lucas almost off his feet. He recovered himself just in time to see the man burst into the foyer.

“Good evening, my lord, welcome to Cereus House. How may I assist you?” It was only his years of training as a servant at the house that allowed him the grace not to stumble and stammer at the glaring noble in front of him.

“Fetch me Dowayne Aliks. Right now.”

Lucas paused for a moment. As the doorman, part of his responsibilities included knowing when the Dowayne or Second were expecting visitors so that he could show them to the appropriate rooms. “Is she expecting you, my lord?”

The visitor grew angry. “Just fetch her,” he replied, snapping his fingers impatiently.

Lucas bowed and led the man into one of the front salons and offered him tea, which the man refused with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Who shall I say is calling, sir?”

“Tell her Lord Pierre Montaban is here. She is to come at once.”

Lucas bowed and left the room. Despite his outward appearance, he was shaken. Who was this man who had blown in like a stormcloud, demanding an audience with the Dowayne? His manner was unlike any Lucas had seen in all his years as a servant on Mont Nuit, and indeed, all his life.

Petrea and Aliks were sitting in the Dowayne’s office, discussing an upcoming Showing when they heard a knock at the door. When Aliks indicated entry, Lucas, the servant who manned the front doors, entered. He was clearly upset about something.

“Lucas! Whatever is the matter?” Aliks’s eyes flew wide at the state of the servant. Lucas was nothing if not stoic, and to see him so uneasy led her to believe that something was truly amiss.

“A visitor…a visitor is here…here…” he stammered.

Petrea frowned. “A visitor?” She asked. “Why does a visitor have you so out of sorts, Lucas?”

Lucas took a deep breath and composed himself before continuing. “He demanded an audience with the Lady Dowayne.”

Aliks raised an eyebrow. “Demanded?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “He said to fetch Dowayne Aliks.”

Petrea’s face grew hard. “He used those precise words?” One did not refer to the Dowayne of Cereus House in such familiar terms.

“Yes. He simply said to fetch her.”

Aliks and Petrea exchanged a look.

“And who is the demanding gentleman?” Aliks asked primly.

“A Lord Pierre Montaban, my lady.”

“Ah,” Aliks said simply. She gave Lucas a gentle smile. “Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a pastry? You have had a bit of a fright, I fear, and I want you to take a moment to yourself.”

Lucas started at her comment. “My lady! I am fine.”

Petrea waved him off. “It’s all right, Lucas. Go sit. We have this matter in hand. Go speak to Cook. She is good with these situations and a little chat with her will calm your nerves.”

Lucas gave a nod and left the room.

Aliks turned to Petrea. “Is this who I think it is?”

Petrea nodded sharply. “Yes. This is Kyrian.”

Aliks hummed. She gave Petrea a conspiratory smile. “You will handle this?”

Petrea grinned at her friend. “I will.”

Petrea sat back on the chaise and took another drink of her wine, and Aliks returned to her desk. They took up their conversation about the Showing for several minutes before Petrea looked at the clock. “Have we let him stew long enough?” She asked.

Aliks nodded. “I leave you to it, love.”

Petrea entered the front parlor where Kyrian had been sitting for more than ten minutes since his arrival. A woman in formal dress was sitting on the sofa across from him, drinking tea and eyeing his ever reddening face.

“Good afternoon, Lady Elaine, it is a pleasure to see you,” Petrea greeted the woman warmly. “I do apologize for keeping you. David is waiting in the upstairs salon, and he is most excited to see you. If you step outside, Louis will take you to him.” Petrea gestured toward the door, and the noblewoman exited.

Petrea turned her attention to Kyrian, whose face was red with anger.

“That woman—” He flung himself to his feet and pointed towards the door “—arrived no more than moments ago, and you have the gall to apologize to her when I have been waiting here for Elua knows how long! How dare you?”

Petrea sat down calmly on the sofa vacated by Lady Elaine, folded her hands in her lap, and poured herself a cup of tea.

“May I offer you some tea?” She asked placidly, finally raising her eyes to meet his. “You seem,” she gestured with her cup delicately, “out of sorts.”

“I do not want tea!” He almost growled the words, starting to pace the room, his hands clenching and unclenching as he walked. “I am here to see the Dowayne, not whoever you are. Fetch the girl, now.”

“No,” Petrea responded, holding his gaze for a moment before returning her attention to her tea.

Kyrian’s jaw dropped open. His mouth opened and closed silently, gaping like a dying fish. Never in his life had anyone told him no. He stared, trying to comprehend how this woman, a mere adept, found the nerve to tell him so and look him in the eyes.

Petrea said nothing, sipping her tea silently and seeming to ignore him. She waited, knowing that the next move had to be his.

His wits returned, and he stalked closer to where the woman was seated. He could feel his rage starting to build “What do you mean ‘no’? Who do you think you are, speaking to a peer of the realm, a man that way? I will see your Dowayne, and I will see her immediate—”

Petrea held up a finger to interrupt his tirade. She still did not look at him, treating him like she would a child or a servant who needed to be scolded. Speaking calmly and evenly, she said. “Your behavior is unacceptable here. We simply do not conduct ourselves in such a way at Cereus House. David will escort you out now.” She stood and gracefully slipped past him like she would a potted plant and began to make her way towards the door.

“I am not leaving until you bring me the girl! Do you not know who I am?” His voice rose, loud enough now that it bounced off the walls of the salon.

Petrea turned and finally met his eyes again, a small smile playing on her lips. “I do know who you are, Lord Montaban, and perhaps unfortunately for you, your reputation precedes you. David will escort you out now.” Though her face was calm, her voice was steely.

Kyrian opened his mouth to speak, but Petrea stopped him. “You are not welcome here. I am offering you the opportunity to leave with your dignity. I suggest that you take it.”

Kyrian strode over and pressed in close to her, his hand tight around her upper arm. “I will be back. You mark my words.”

Petrea’s eyes flashed as she jerked her arm free. “No. You will not. Should you attempt to return, it will not be a pleasant experience for you. Not only that, but I shall see that you are not welcome at any House on Mont Nuit.” Her voice was icy.

She turned and stepped to the doorway. “David?” She called. “Please see this gentleman to the door and ensure he gets into his carriage. He is to be escorted off the grounds.”

A large manservant appeared in the doorway and gave a small bow. “Yes, my lady Second. I will inform the servants and guards.”

“Thank you, David.” With that she strode from the parlor, leaving Kyrian to face the large manservant.

Petrea strode purposefully out the door and took several steps down the hallway before she stopped to take a deep breath. Her heart was pounding. Hearing rumors of this man and his tantrums was one thing, but experiencing it in person was quite another.

Looking around, she saw a maid busily dusting a sconce that had no need of dusting. When they made eye contact, the maid blushed furiously.

“You have been dusting that sconce for quite some time now, haven’t you?” Petrea asked with a wry smile.

“Oh, I, well,” the maid stammered, her cheeks turning redder by the second. “It’s just, I, um…”

Petrea stepped up next to the maid and ran her finger along the sconce. Her voice grew quiet. “You know,” she said, her tone mild. “It would never do for the Second of Cereus House to be seen gossiping about the goings on with visitors.” She paused and held the other woman’s gaze. “Things are different, however, with servants.”

Changing Times and Different Paths

“My lady Dowayne, you have a guest in the front parlor,” the footman said. He seemed a bit excited about this particular guest, which was odd. This was Cereus House, and while they certainly had a very respectable clientele, it was still the Night Court, and outliers were never new.

“That is odd, I have no appointments that I am aware of. Did the guest give you any indication as to what they needed?”

“No my lady, he simply said he wished to speak to you. In fact he was quite terse about that.”

“Well, that is unusual. I suppose you will have to send him in.” Aliksandria nó Cereus closed her book and took a sip of her tea as she awaited this mysterious new visitor. Her days in her new position had certainly included strange new experiences, and she supposed unannounced, terse visitors would be included on that list, as well.

The door opened, and the footman reentered followed by a man of some three decades or more whose dark brown hair starting to be gilded with the barest hints of silver. His long hair was pulled back from his face and tied in a club behind his neck. He wore a serviceable tunic and breeches of dove gray with a cape over top and peeking up from behind his shoulder was the pommel of a sword.

So this is why the footman was amused, thought Aliks. It is not every day one sees a Cassiline brother in the heart of the Night Court. Aliks herself was taken aback. What on earth could the Brotherhood want with her? While the Night Court and the Cassiline Brotherhood did not stand in opposition to each other in the strictest sense, they certainly did not view each other with any flattery. All these things went through Aliks’s head until she looked into the brother’s caramel brown eyes.

“Manuel?” she gasped, barely able to believe her own eyes.

He nodded then crossed his arms, bowed, and said, “Manuel d’Cassid, in Cassiel’s name, I protect and serve.” Then he straightened and relaxed, and his face cracked a smile. “And look at you, Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.”

Forgetting all sense of propriety, Aliks launched herself into his arms and hugged him. As she did that, Manuel lifted her off her feet and spun around. As he set her down, they both heard the shocked gasp from the poor footman and laughed.

“You can relax,” Aliks said to the footman. “Manny here is a dear old friend and is most welcome in Cereus House. You may return to your duties.” And with that the footman left the two in the Dowayne’s office. Turning to her friend, Aliks asked the obvious question, “What are you doing here?”

“I am on Cassiel’s business. I have been given a posting in the city, and am to report tomorrow morning. As I have the very rare luxury of a few spare hours, I thought I would visit.”

Tears began to fall down Alik’s cheeks. “The last time I saw you…”

“I know,” he said, gently then reached out to touch her hand. “A lot has happened since then, and we are neither of us the people we were at ten years of age.”

Wiping her tears, Aliks began again. “What is your posting? And where are you lodging this evening?”

“To answer the second, I have a room at an inn at Night’s Doorstep.”

“You could stay here,” Aliks offered.

“I can’t. It isn’t even proper for me to have come here at all. I can’t spend the night in the Night Court.”

“I understand,” she replied. “But know you are always welcome, and should you choose to stay, a private room away from adepts and patrons alike will be available to you. And the posting?”

“I am to join the personal guard for His Royal Highness, Dauphin Gustav de la Courcel.”

“My, we have both come up in the world, haven’t we,” Aliks observed then rang a bell to order some tea and luncheon.

Choosing a Cereus Second

Aliks was sitting at her desk when Petrea walked in. The mountain of paperwork had not diminished, but she had just barely managed to keep it from growing. When Petrea walked in, Aliks motioned for her to take a seat on the chaise.

“I appreciate you coming so quickly,” Aliks began.

“Of course.” Petrea nodded.

“As I am sure you know, Cereus House needs a Second. We simply cannot go on as we have the last few weeks without one, and it is my duty to name my Second and successor.”

Petrea nodded carefully. She knew this was coming, and yet, she was not sure which way the wind would blow, nor which way she hoped it would.

“Petrea, we have known each other for a very long time, and I feel I can be quite frank with you. You have recently been engaging in behavior somewhat, how can I say this, wild for a Cereus adept. Your time spent at Orchis House seems to bring you joy, but it concerns me as well. The Second of Cereus House must represent the House by my side. So, I would ask you to please alleviate my reservations as I am naming you Second of Cereus House.”

Petrea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She found tears filling her eyes.

Aliks looked at her, stunned. “This is not the reaction I had expected of you.”

Petrea could do nothing but throw herself into her friend’s arms. The chair squeaked under the weight of both women. Aliks patted her friend’s back and then pushed her away gently. She looked at Petrea’s watery eyes, and found herself utterly confused.

“Petrea, what in Blessed Elua’s name has gotten into you?” Her shock was evident, though her voice was quiet.

Petrea sat back on the chaise and wiped at the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. “Yes, well…” she began. She cleared her throat and started anew. “I…” She paused again, looking around the room, gathering her thoughts. “These past weeks have been difficult for me. I have felt, well, lost since the death of Geraunt. I feel my years are catching up with me, and I have been wondering what I am supposed to be doing with myself. I have been melancholy, full of sorrow, perhaps not just for Geraunt, but mayhaps for myself, as well. For my youth. I have been, well, I think I have been drowning my sorrows, as it were.”

They shared a rueful chuckle at this. “I think one could argue that point, my love,” Aliks scolded gently. “But, as I have said, if I am to name you as my Second, I must be able to trust that you can fulfill the duties of the office. And they are not small, nor few. Are you up to this challenge?”

Petrea’s eyes glimmered with hope. “I am! More than certainly I am! This gives me…a purpose I fear I have been lacking. I know that much work goes into being a Second, and I know that you will need to depend on me. And I swear to you, on the names of Blessed Elua and Naamah themselves, I will not let you down.” Her voice had grown with determination as she spoke.

Aliks reached over and took her friend’s hand. “I trust that you will not. Now that that matter is settled, I have your first task.”

A New Dowayne’s Dilemma

Aliksandria nó Cereus sat behind a desk covered in papers and folios. She looked at the left most pile with some degree of satisfaction then looked at the right pile and groaned realizing it was still the taller of the two. She reached for the folio on top of the right pile and opened it. It contained invoices for the last month’s wine deliveries. She flipped through the third stack of papers and found the inventory for the wine, made sure the two documents corresponded, then signed the invoice and set it on the left stack.

It had been a month since Dowayne Geraunt nó Cereus had passed, taken away by the fever that ravaged the city, and even claimed the Crown Prince’s life. The funeral had been held with all due honors, and now Aliks was Dowayne of Cereus house. And as Dowayne, Aliks was swamped in paperwork.

This would only get easier, she mused to herself, once she named a Second. As it was, Aliks was trying to do both her old job as Second and her new job as Dowayne while relying on two of the senior adepts to catch the pieces that fell through. But this was no way to go on, the roles of Dowayne and Second were clearly defined and so done for a reason. It was a system that had worked very well for centuries, and this last month certainly showed her why it was needed.

The truth is that she had put it off for far too long. She only had two choices, the very senior adepts who were helping her now. But how does one choose between their two best friends? They had been through so much together. When she had been raised to Second, they were the only adepts to not change how they interacted with her. Many others had become distant due to her new authority, but not Petrea and Aimee.

Petrea was the older of the two, and she and Aliks had grown up together. She had come to Cereus House not long after Aliks had and they had gone through their training, schooling, and juvenile antics together. She was an exemplary adept and never failed to do what she was called on to do, but she had a penchant for wildness. She was one to push the very bounds of what was acceptable for a Cereus adept, and Aliks wondered if she would thrive or balk under the responsibility.

Aimee was younger, both Aliks and Petrea were sworn adepts when Aimee began her training, but she rose through the ranks well and quickly. Even though she had started years after them, Aimee had made her marque made less than a year after the older girls. She was graceful and exuded the air of Cereus House but was the shyer of the two, and Aliks wondered if she had the grit to handle the pressure.

The decision was made all the harder with the reality that Aliks had been having an affair with Aimee for the last six months. They had tried to keep it quiet, but nothing travels faster than gossip in the Night Court.

Aliks reached for another sheaf of paper, knowing a decision had to be made soon and with it she would likely hurt someone she cared about.

Storyline: The Shortest Days

Odilia

It was not the sunlight kissing her face that woke her gently, it was the soft kisses of her lover. In the start of this shortest day, he was not the King of Terre d’Ange, he was only Gustav, and she was not the Second of Dahlia House, she was only Odilia. Wrapped together in each other’s arms, this was precious time. All the most precious for how brief it was.

He looked at her, his Courcel blue eyes looking deep into her brown ones, and he stroked her cheek. She leaned her forehead against his and let her arm drape around his waist. Nothing needed to be said. They had fought too hard to get to where they were now not to appreciate the peaceful morning for what it was.

When finally they rose, he helped her into her dressing gown. She did the same for him, a quiet kind of reserved intimacy, and accepted his hand to join him for the breakfast laid in his solar. Fresh oranges and pomegranates were presented in a bowl along with the warm, crusty bread with goat cheese and honey. A pot of warm lemon water sweetened with honey was set on a warmer.

“So much citrus and honey,” Odilia said warmly, letting him serve her with his own hands. “Is this a hint from your staff? Will you be the Sun Prince at the palace masque tonight?”

“Not as far as I know,” Gustav laughed lightly. “The Master of Revels has seen to all the details, I know very little about what is planned for tonight.”

The footman entered and announced the arrival. “Her Majesty, Queen Corrian,” followed shortly by Corrian herself, dressed in a simple day dress of pale green.

She beamed at her two favourite people and swept to the table before sitting and reaching for an iced bun. “Good morning, husband, Odillia. I trust you had a pleasant night?” But that really wasn’t what she was most excited to talk about as she continued, “Are you excited for this evening? I am! My gown has been set out already, it will truly be a delight.”

“We were just discussing the Masque ourselves,” Gustav said.

“Oh, Odilia.” Corrian leaned forward to catch her eyes. “I cannot wait to dance with you this evening. Please promise me you will not let my husband monopolize you.”

Odilia paused as she reached for a quarter of a pomegranate, the tiniest furrow appearing between her brows. “This evening?”

“Well yes, of course. The Longest Night Masque, whatever else would I be talking about?”

Gustav coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter, and Odilia ripped the pomegranate quarter in two. She reached to lay the fruit onto the Queen’s plate as she said lightly, “Surely you are aware I will not be in attendance with you at the palace.”

Corrian looked aghast. “Why ever not? Haven’t we made your position in the palace and our lives quite clear? Who could object to your presence?”

Odilia watched the exuberance of the outrage completely transform Corrian’s face and she pursed her lips slightly to restrain her smile. Corrian was so full of life. She would be good for Gustav and balance him in ways that Odilia couldn’t. So, the Dahlia said, not unkindly, “My position is not in doubt in any way, but I will celebrate the Longest Night on Mont Nuit with the rest of the Night-Blooming Flowers. As I must. I am still the Second of Dahlia House.”

A flush of red spread across Corrian’s cheeks. “Oh my, I had completely forgotten.”

“Nevertheless,” Gustav interjected with a warm smile, “I am certain that we will find another occasion for the two of you to dance soon.”

“I would like that,” Odilia said, allowing herself a small smile. She could allow herself this hard-earned joy.

Her chess game was far from over, but at last she had achieved her own victory for herself. Jocaste had once asked her who she was playing against when she studied the chessboard in her private chambers. She hadn’t known how to answer. Now she did, because she was finally at peace.

Her heart and her head were finally balanced.

~*~

Aliks

“You look lovely, my lady Dowayne,” the cook said when she entered the kitchens for a final pre-Masque check.

“Thank you, I am just checking to make sure all is well in here.”

“Of course, my lady, the meats are being cooked as we speak, the savories are being plated, and the fruit ices are in the cold box. All is well and on schedule.”

“Very good, I’m off to get ready, then I shall ensure the initiates are ready to serve, have a good Longest Night.” And with that Aliks left the kitchen.

Aliks went to the nursery to see Patroclus before going to her own chambers. He was spending more and more time there these days. He still slept in his mother’s chambers, but time had come for him to go to the nursery during the days.

“Good Afternoon, my lady,” said Cecile. The adept had recently finished her marque and was beginning to train in the running of the House. As such, she was put in charge of initiates for the Longest Night. Aliks went with Cecile to gather the initiates and watched approvingly as she gave them their instructions. Before she left, she wished them all a happy Longest Night.

Folk of the Night Court would begin arriving in a few hours time. Tonight would be Petrea’s last official night as Second, and tomorrow Aliks would be returned to full Dowayne duties. She would miss her friend, but Aimee was more than up for the job of Second of Cereus House. And Aliks, in truth, had missed working, she loved her job and was excited to get back to it.

~*~

Rosanna

Nothing was so hectic as the hours leading up to the opening bells which heralded the beginning of the Longest Night festivities. From one point of the country to the other, celebrations of all kinds were had by royal and commoner both. On Mont Nuit, this was no different.

Valerian House was all perfectly executed chaos. Through it all, those who were directing said madness remained as calm as possible. Dressed in a combination of costume and dressing gowns, the Dowayne and Second answered questions as they sat at their boudoir tables, applying makeup and checking hair. During this time, a young novice navigated through the crowd with a missive clutched in hand.

“For the Dowayne,” he said to the apprentice watching the door. Taking a look at the familiar seal of black wax, embellished by a golden honey bee, she took it and gave the young messenger a cinnamon sweet for his efforts.

Rosana accepted the letter, opening it to read even as another member of the House was attending to her long, red hair. Grandfather had written to her.

Abandoning all preparations, she opened the letter with her bare hands rather than reach for an opening tool, her eyes voraciously scanning the words within. Of all the grandchildren, she was closest to the Duc. When he deigned to show an emotion, it was to her he expressed it. What she read was bittersweet. He would not challenge the suit Odilia accepted, of course not. That she was happy and had made the selection of her heart was what mattered to him, especially since he had once made a scandal by choosing Grandmother all those years ago. While there was a possibility that he and Odilia may one day have another tender moment, their affair was settled and settled well. All this he told her because she was the one he trusted in the city, in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, to guard their secret. To be present for her friend as he knew she always would be.

She did not have time to write a reply, but to be sure, Grandfather would be at the palace ball. Seeing as she would be there for part of the night, perhaps she could seek him out. They could dance and mingle and watch the crowd, speaking to one another about who they estimated would be the next to spin the gossip mill.

Life had returned to something that could be called normal.

Blessed Elua was kind to give them such peace.

“Back to the work,” she called and placed the letter in a locked box where all her most intimate correspondence was kept.

Eventually came the time to don cloaks and make their way to Cereus House. The procession was to begin soon, and all those attending the event needed to be ready to make the trek up the hill. During this time, Rosanna spoke to her Second.

“I will most likely not return until late tomorrow or the morning of the following day. But not later than that,” she reiterated. “Should the latter happen, I will send a page. If you should need me, should some accident occur, inquire at the Baphinol home first. No matter if I am not there at the time, my family will handle anything you might need.”

Since the processional was in alphabetical order following Cereus House, they need not rush. Valerian always rounded out the show, and they could afford a leisurely stroll.

“All will be fine, my friend. Do not worry, the House will be fine. I am more interested in hearing how you wind up spending your night. Such as the gossip you will get up to with your bosom companion from Dahlia.” Tryphosa grinned under her mask.

“Whatever we shall gossip about will be confidential, thank you very much. However, you are correct, I look forward to a celebration with her. Like old times. Just, happier and more settled.”

As she had received news of how things had concluded, sweet and hopeful, but in peace, with the Duc de Chalasse, she was eager to see her friend. Watch her be happy again and enjoy such a holy night with her. At least until Rosanna was pulled away by the call of family and the chaos of the royal party.

“I am excited to watch the changes in our quarter, the whole city, and even beyond now that the King has both a Queen and Courtesan,” Tryphosa said, twirling her fur lined cloak about as they prepared to leave the House. Outside was a dusting of snow. Not so much to make the walk to Cereus difficult, but enough to make the Mont sparkle.

“I am excited for the new year, and all the joys it is sure to bring. We all deserve it, having come through the bitter cold as we have,” Rosanna replied.

~*~

Petrea

Petrea sat at her dressing table and frowned at her reflection. She fiddled with the long strands of beads at her neck for the thousandth time in the last hour. Nothing felt right. Her hair felt too puffy, her makeup too bold, her jewelry unmatching, and her costume just…wrong. She looked over at the shimmering gown that hung over the door of her armoire. It was beautiful, and she had loved it from the moment she saw the design through every pinning and fitting until it was brought to the House the prior morning. But tonight, every bead looked askew, every seam crooked.

Petrea looked down at the myriad cosmetics and baubles strewn about the table. She knew in her heart that everything was perfect. The only thing off was inside her. Her heart ached knowing that this was her last Longest Night as Second of Cereus House. Her last Midwinter Masque processing next to Aliks—next to her best friend—as they led the Houses through the grand ballroom. Next year, it would be Aimee at the front of the procession. Next year, she would be relegated to the ranks of the other adepts. Next year, she would wear the matching costumes of the rest of the House. No more special designs for her. Just something delivered in bulk and fitted tacitly in a room of twenty others at the last minute.

No more would she be charged with planning the Masquerade Ball at Cereus House. No more would it be her responsibility to oversee the most important ball in the City of Elua. And while, yes, that would take a massive weight from her shoulders, it had been the one weight she had carried with joy. The one responsibility she had truly loved as Second. But, if she was giving up her position, she had to give up everything that came with it. There was no such thing as an a la carte Second. Perhaps, she considered, as her fingers toyed with a string of beads, Aimee would allow her to assist with the planning. Perhaps Aimee would allow her this one small concession? She could ask.

But this is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She had never wanted to be Second, and she certainly had no designs on becoming Dowayne. So where had this melancholy come from? Perhaps it was simply that her life was being upended, that all that she and Aliks had planned since the night Aliks had found her crying in their bedroom was ending. A piece of her identity was dying. And did one not mourn any death?

But tonight was not a time for sadness, for melancholy, for mourning. This was a night for celebration, for love, for joie. It was the Longest Night, and she was Second of Cereus House. This was her Masquerade Ball. And by Blessed Elua and Naamah, she was going to enjoy it.

Petrea turned to look at the shining gown behind her. Now she could see the way the fabric hung flawlessly, the way the beading seemed to glow in the light of her dressing room, the perfection of each stitch and seam. It was an ideal dress, and indeed an ideal theme, for her last Masque as Second. She cast her gaze into the looking glass and smiled a true smile for the first time that evening as she began again applying her cosmetics. Tonight she would sparkle and shine like a jewel.

~*~

Philomena

The Shortest Day in Heliotrope House was always a chaotic struggle, behind the scenes at least. The patrons never knew how hard the adepts and novices struggled with the loss of the sun, how the busyness of their patrons made the loss feel sharper. What the patrons saw was a House single-mindedly focused on the upcoming Midwinter Masque at Cereus House. Favored patrons were granted a favor that would allow them entry, they were told how they could subtly coordinate with their adept, and they were swept up in the food and drinks and laughter of the season. Dara’s new games continued to be in rotation, keeping everyone laughing and happy.

Behind the scenes, Mena and Loir were both fighting hard to keep things running and make sure the House was ready. Loir had to go herself to the fabric merchant to get the bolts and bolts of fabric needed to get everyone Masque ready. The theme was Innocent Love, and each adept was wearing garments that mimicked undergarments and sleepwear, with delicate masks of stiffened lace, calling to mind the hopeful feeling of fresh pledges to Namaah, the first fluttering of love, and honesty of the first assignation with a Patron that will make their way into your heart. It was Loir’s job to make sure that everyone’s costume was on schedule as many adepts chose to make their own while the rest were being made by the adepts and novices with deft hands. Mena knew that Loir fell exhausted into her bed each night and rose as soon as she could to make sure things were done, and for that Mena was eternally grateful. Despite her youth, Loir was an incredible Second. Mena also knew that most nights, Loir’s bed was far from empty. Her new favorite patron, Leandré, came every evening when Loir took her evening meal and left when she did, so she knew Loir was being well taken care of.

For her part, Mena had to take care of the adepts themselves. It was the nature of Heliotrope adepts to become attached and invested in each of their patrons, so when they had obligations that kept them away, the adepts tended to feel melancholy. That was where Mena came in: she went room to room, visiting the adepts, keeping their spirits up with news of the costume progress, fresh gossip, and food. When that wasn’t enough, she sat and listened, talked them through their thoughts, and encouraged them. She had one, a lovely man named Antoine who struggled more than most when the nights lengthened. No one understood why, but the less sun there was, the harder it was for him. She’d moved him to a room on the highest floor of the house, with windows that faced the sunrise and the path it took across the sky, and she made a point of climbing the stairs every day to see him.

“Antoine,” she said as she pushed his door open. “It’s Mena.”

He was awake but still abed and she smiled gently at him. “How are you today?”

Antoine sighed and gestured for her to sit, which she did not. Instead she opened his curtains, and started finding clothes for him to wear.

“Today is not a good day, Mena. I have no interest in the dark sky or putting on clothing.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you do, you just don’t know yet.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it, but tell me why?”

Turning around and holding his clothes out to him, she said, “I think the Comté and Countess sent word.”

The smile he gave at that news lit up her heart. They’d made it through the Night.