Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: A Candle in the Night

The decision was made. Aliks had talked to nearly every person of import to her. She had called upon Count Shahrizai, Manuel from the Cassiline Brotherhood, Petrea, even her parents.

Count Shahrizai had told her that she was strong and would do well regardless of her choice. That, while he had never expected her to become a mother, he could see her being a great one. In the end though, he had no opinion nor advice on her choice.

Manuel had written a lengthy letter back, reminding her that while both their lives had been chosen for them by their parents, they loved their paths. He also took care to point out that crofters’ children usually became crofters, and merchants’ children usually grew up to become merchants, so how was her profession any different (a decidedly un-Cassiline thing to say)? His final statement was that his only regret in his path was his lack of children and advised her to have them.

Petrea, on the other hand, had been furious. First, because Aliks had not told her first (though the reason she had not was because she wanted to be sure before she involved her Second). Second, because she feared for her friend. An adept from Gentian House had passed in the child bed not a year gone by, and they had both gone to her funeral. Finally, she had reminded her that every child at Cereus House was Aliks’s child. It was part of the Dowayne’s duty to guide the children under her care.

Her parents, having retired from Naamah’s service and taken up a residence in the city, told her what it was like raising a child in the Night Court. They shared their challenges of living in different Houses and how her father had made a point to visit his child twice a week, at least until her marque was sold. It was not easy, they said, to be a parent and a Servant of Naamah, but it was emphatically worth it to them. They left her with the reminder that the choice was hers alone, but help and advice would always be available from their home.

Aliksandria sent a missive to Mandrake House, requesting an assignation with Waldemar at the Shahrizai hunting estate outside the city. Count Niklos had been kind enough to offer it. This was a conversation she wanted to have away from Mont Nuit.

The day arrived, and with it early snows. They arrived at the manor separately, Waldemar arriving about an hour before Aliksandria. They greeted each other warmly then went to the sitting room to talk.

A large fire was roaring in the hearth when Aliksandria pulled the single beeswax taper in its box from her cloak. She looked at him expectantly, his face was schooled to stillness, but she knew his mind must be racing.

“There is a Temple to Eisheth in the city,” she said softly, “but I wanted to do this alone with you.”

Carefully she took a twig and ignited it from the fire, then lit the candle. She sank to her knees abeyante and began the prayer. Though it was one she had learned years ago, she had never said it before, but her voice held true, and her words did not falter.

They honored Naamah as only a pair of her Servants could, in front of the roaring fire as the candle melted. Their union blessed by both goddesses.

——

As they had arrived in separate carriages, they needs must leave the same way. But Waldemar gave her a departing kiss and assured her he would call upon Cereus House tomorrow.

A funny thing it was. Aliks was a Servant of Naamah and had lain with many a patron, and Waldemar more than any of them. Yet that night in the hunting lodge felt different, and she was giddy as a schoolgirl about it.

Aliks owed it to Petrea to tell her first, so when she got back to Cereus House she summoned her friend and Second to her office. It was during that conversation that the footman burst in.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” Aliksandria demanded, rising from her chair.

“My lady Dowayne, I am so sorry, word has come from Mandrake House. Master Waldemar’s carriage overturned in the snow. He did not make it.”

Storyline: An Argument at Cereus House

Petrea stormed into Aliksandria’s private sitting room where the Dowayne was having tea with Aimee nó Cereus, the unofficial Third of the House.

“Well,” Petrea demanded angrily, “is it done? Have you done it yet?”

Aliks looked up from her cup and gave her Second a bland look. “What are you stamping in here, interrupting my tea with Aimee to yell at me about?”

Petrea huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath and turned to Aimee. “Aimee, I apologize for the interruption. Could you please excuse the Dowayne and me for a few moments? I have some business I must discuss with her in private.”

Aimee looked from one woman to the other, confusion coloring her gentle features. She rose gracefully. “I shall be in my office should anyone need me,” she said, shaking her head and retreating from the room, closing the door behind her.

Petrea gave Aliks a heavy glare and spoke through gritted teeth. “Have you lit the candle to Eisheth?”

Aliks calmly placed her teacup on its saucer and motioned for Petrea to sit. Petrea shook her head. Aliks rolled her eyes. “No. It is not done. I have yet to make a final decision about a babe.”

Petrea let out a small sigh of relief, a bit of tension leaving her shoulders. “Well, I suppose that’s a small comfort. At least I found out about it before you went ahead and began your conception.” Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Aliks, you are considering a child, and I find out about it from overhearing initiates gossiping in their beds! Why was I not one of the first to know? Why did you not speak to me before this monumental, life changing decision”—She threw her arms out to the sides— “reached the gossiping adepts?”

Aliks looked taken aback and pressed a hand to her breast. “The adepts know of this? But, how? I have only spoken to two…no, three people know. You were to be the next.” She frowned, her brows knitting. “Someone on Niklos’s staff must have overhead and opened their foolish mouths. No one in the Cassiline Brotherhood would tell tales, and certainly Waldemar and I have been discreet in our discussions…”

Petrea had begun pacing the room. “Really Aliks?! Your concern is who told whom? This is a serious consideration. Having a child? Are you mad? How could you even contemplate this? How could you do this? To the House? To me?”

“To you?” Aliks replied indignantly. “My having a child has nothing to do with you, Petrea.”

“Does it not? Would you not retire from the Night Court to raise the babe, leaving me as Dowayne?” Petrea arched an eyebrow.

Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Well, of course not. I have no intention of retiring as Dowayne, and I am shocked you would even consider such a silly notion.” She waved a hand dismissively. “We would raise the child in the Night Court. Just as I was. It’s a common enough practice. The child would live here at Cereus House until it was old enough to be adopted into the appropriate House, at which time, we would sell its marque to that House. Or, Waldemar could retire from the Night Court and raise the child in the City—again, if I choose to have said child. A choice, I will remind you, I have not yet made.”

“And you would, what, be a half-time Dowayne?” Petrea’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Don’t you dare take the tone with me,” Aliks snapped. “You know very well that I would never neglect my duties here, and besides, is it not your responsibility as Second to step in where I cannot? And did I not allow you an entire year to go gallivanting around with your Marco? So, do not speak to me of being a half anything, Petrea.”

Petrea looked at her feet, chastened by her Dowayne’s words. But there was more to her concerns than just fears of where the child would be raised. “What of the risks of carrying and birthing a child?”

Aliks blinked at her. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out.

Petrea’s words were barely a whisper. “I cannot lose you, Aliks. I simply could not bear it.”

Their eyes met, and some understanding passed between them. “You are not going to lose me, Petrea. I have every intention of being here for quite a long time.”

“But you cannot know that!” Petrea’s voice rose again. “You cannot know what the fates hold for you! And now is not the time to be toying with this, Aliks. There is too much at stake! And I say this not as your friend but as your Second. You are a leader—no, the leader—of the Night Court, and we have just begun to garner respect from the Judiciary again. We cannot afford to look weak or fractured. Our leadership must remain strong and firm. Now is simply not the time to take any risks—any risks at all.” Petrea’s agitation was clear; she had begun pacing the room and her voice grew louder as she spoke.

Aliks sighed. “Petrea. Even if I were—and Blessed Elua, it will not happen—to pass, you would simply step up as Dowayne. You are the Second, and we have been training and preparing for my retirement since we were but children.” She shrugged. “It would merely mean that you would take over sooner than we planned.”

“But Aliks, I don’t think you understand: I do not want to be Dowayne!”

The words hung in the air.

Aliks gaped at her friend.

The two women looked at each other—one shocked, one desperate.

It was Aliks who finally broke the silence, her voice full of confusion. “What do you mean you do not want to be Dowayne? It has always been our plan for you to be Dowayne when I step down. If you do not wish to be Dowayne, what do you plan to do when my tenure is finished, Petrea?”

“I will step down as well.” Petrea’s voice was soft, her eyes on the floor.

“But…I do not understand. We have been working towards this for practically our entire lives. It has always been our dream for you to follow me as Dowayne of Cereus House—”

“No!” Petrea’s eyes blazed as her eyes met Aliks’s. “It has been your dream. Your plan. And I have but followed along. I have followed you all these years.”

“But…why?”

“The first night I was here. Do you not remember? I was crying and you approached me. You told me that you were going to be Dowayne. You informed me that I was going to be your Second. And ever since that night, I have been by your side, following you.”

Aliks gritted her teeth. “Drying your tears for one night does not indenture you to me for your entire life. You make your own choices, Petrea. Do not put this on me.”

Petrea sank into one of the soft chairs across from Aliks. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost pleading. “I know. I know. I do not mean to say that I blame you. And I would not change our lives for anything, Elua knows.” She looked around the room as if something would give her the answers she sought. “It’s just…how could I follow you as Dowayne? Even as a child, I knew that I did not have your leadership abilities, your charisma, your ability to think on your feet. I am not you. I cannot be Dowayne, Aliks.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from spilling.

“Oh Petrea. You can absolutely be Dowayne. And regardless of what choice I make, one day you will.” She gave her friend a small smile. “But that day will not come any time soon.”

Storyline: Music and Mystery

When the request came from a certain patron of Cereus House for Elodie’s presence a week before Midwinter, she made no attempt to refuse. After all he was a Lord in good standing and, perhaps more importantly to her, she’d heard a rumor of a new harp acquired from abroad in need of quick fingers to play it. And so, Elodie arrived an hour before the party, taking care of the more intimate parts of her employment with rather more impatience than Cereus’s reputation expected in her haste to go see the harp. The patron in question seemed more amused than dismayed, fortunately; he knew where he ranked in her list of interests when he hired her.

“After all,” he said, “I count myself fortunate to have your services at all. Cereus’s Midwinter fetes would make the angels themselves proud in their choreographed perfection, and music is no less a part of it all than the drink or decor. To have Cereus’s most prized harpist performing for me, a week before Midwinter, on an instrument obtained at no mean price… My guests will still be talking next weekend as they dissemble to parties all across the most elegant parts of the city. That is what I have truly brought you here for. The rest is merely a lovely perk of your presence.”

“I thank you for your kind understanding. The harp, my lord?” Elodie prompted and, laughing, he led her to it.

The instrument made no secret of its high price with a pillar gilded with fresh-polished gold and held up by carved angels. It dominated the room, lithe and powerful as a swan. For all the instrument’s delicacy of sound, the tension of each tight-wound string pulled powerfully against the structure, and there was not a musician in the city who could not tell of some friend-of-a-friend whose poorly maintained harp had given weigh under that pressure and exploded into splintered wood and alarmed onlookers. But this gleaming instrument – this was freshly made and built to last.

Elodie got to work at once, checking the tuning. “A servant already took care of that,” the Lord told her.

“Yes,” she replied, “but the strings are new and must be tuned more frequently. Every hour, I will take the instrument aside to check the tuning once more – do you have a room where I might do so unobtrusively, and two servants to help me carry it there?”

“Of course,” he replied and then watched as she, at last, allowed herself to try the strings for more than just tuning.

The first note was tentative, quiet as a cheeping songbird. The second bellowed like a hurricane.

“Good dynamic range,” Elodie muttered and her fingers flew. High notes chimed like temple bells, low boomed like lion roars. Here was a fragment of song as sweet as new love; here was one as grim as death. Notes rising, surrounding, filling the ballroom with frenetic energy and joy and –

The music stopped. Elodie stepped back from the instrument, though she couldn’t resist one last soft brush over the strings. “It will do.”

—

High nobles and cultural figures from across not only Terre d’Ange but many allied nations as well came to the city to celebrate Midwinter. Tonight’s guest list was the sort that could only be managed at such a time as this: when all had already arrived in the city but none had yet been lost to the many parties and other obligations planned long in advance. They eyed each other in a canny way, each in turn doing their best to secure an alliance while promising no decisive aid. Pockets of conversation formed and dissipated across the ballroom whose open nature thwarted hope of private negotiations. People made do. Here they congregated in the closest thing to a shadowy corner they could; there they danced closer than even the local fashion with one’s mouth always be at the other’s ear. And here – close to the harp whose wide belly was formed to boom out sound loud enough to fill a ballroom, here where the songs surely concealed all voices from any but the companion closest by – they talked.

They talked, watching carefully for the approach of any other guest.

They talked, and paid no heed to the harpist.

Elodie ignored them at first, focusing entirely on the new instrument – some of the strings in the middle range were quieter than on her own harp, so she needed to remember to pluck them more deeply to compensate; the string spacing on the low notes was ever so slightly wider than she was accustomed to, so she watched her fingers until her instincts had adjusted. But this was one week before Midwinter, a performance she’d been practicing for months, and all too soon the muscle memory took over. It was meditative for a time, to simply let her hands do as they’d been taught as her consciousness drifted after them. But then, well, although she’d never admit it, the playing got a little boring. It was good to be bored while playing – it meant your tune was well learned and without surprises, after all, provided you could avoid being so bored that you became completely unfocused and made a mistake. But it was, well, boring.
The conversations meant to be unheard were so, so easy to eavesdrop on. Keep your eyes low and no one paid any heed to a musician. She was as much a part of the scenery as the paintings on the wall except that – irony of ironies – people tended to keep delicate conversations away from the paintings in case they concealed hidden passages with hidden listeners. The harp, though – people conversed around that.

It was something about trade, she could hear that much. Trade, and warnings about people who might get in the way of it. Phrases like “I’ll handle him,” with a faint and ominous emphasis on “handle.” Or “don’t worry about that. Changes are coming,” with “changes” spoken much the same way. She played a little louder, that they might raise their voices, and a little softer, that she might hear them better, but, for all she strained her ears, it was hard to make out just what they were talking about, until –

Until –

And then it happened. She heard the truth, she heard the plan, she heard what all those ominously emphasized words meant, and she got distracted. Right as the song changed keys. And her fingers kept dancing along by instinct, just as they were supposed to, but her feet – that should have hit the pedals just there, that should have changed those sharps to flats – her feet didn’t move. And suddenly the song was a cacophony of clashing pitches. Suddenly she wasn’t invisible anymore.

Their conversation stopped. Their eyes were on her. She improvised as well as she could, trying to make the wrong parts sound like they’d been a daring choice, a flirtation with dissonance always meant to resolve into sweetness. Perhaps it worked. Perhaps it was convincing. Perhaps.

By the time the clock next tolled, the pair had wandered off. Using all the poise she’d been taught at Cereus House and inwardly thanking Blessed Elua that her makeup hid her skin’s shocked pallor, Elodie calmly swept away with the harp to the side room for re-tuning.

“Thank you,” she told the servants distantly. “It should be about ten minutes until I need you again.” Alone at last, she allowed herself to let out a long breath and tried to think. It was urgent that the news of this plot be passed on, but to whom?

With all the nobles in the room, surely someone- surely-

And then the door opened.

She looked up.

—

Petrea, the Second of Cereus House, was aghast when she was awoken by a servant hours later.

“What do you mean, she vanished in the middle of an assignment?”

“I’m… afraid what I mean is that she vanished in the middle of an assignment. The city guard has been told, and our own guards have been scouring the city as well, but… Elua’s angels, I promise I would have woken you if I’d any inkling she’d still be gone! I assumed some patron at the party offered to pay her marque, or perhaps there’d been a secret lover, or…”

“A secret lover for Elodie? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, a secret musician looking for a duet partner then. I swear to you, I didn’t know! If anything has happened to her… Well, Elua willing, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And if we don’t? We’ve already lost six hours. If she hasn’t shown up already, she’s either hiding, being hidden, or dead. We’ll have to make investigations. If anyone knows anything…”

“We’ll find out. I promise, we’ll find out.”

“A bold promise. … I know it must sound terribly cold, but… it’s a week until Midwinter. She was to play the harp.”

“Is. She is.”

“Even if she is not gone entirely, she may return in no state to perform. Or she may have just proven herself untrustworthy to do so. In any case, we must plan alternatives.”

“Fayette?”

“Contracted out for the night already.”

“Marlene?”

“Out. All of the musicians fit to perform are out, hired by patrons who paid very dearly to have them away from Cereus House on that night. Are we to save our fete at the expense of ruining theirs? Shall we become known as the House for those who fetishize unreliability?”

“Fine – fine! I have an idea. Her party – she went because the Lord had recently acquired a new harp from overseas. The harp merchant, I remember her – Chantae d’something-or-other. Sister of one of the patrons here and I’ve heard she plays. The sailors say the winds have been abnormally fair lately; if she’s newly back from traveling and arrived earlier than expected, she may not have other plans for Midwinter.”

“Will she play well enough for Cereus House?”

“What other choice do we have?”

—

Chantae stepped into the courtyard with a rather bemused expression and a cloth bag nearly as tall and twice as wide as her on her back.

“Please, come in. May we help you with your, um,” a servant said, glancing uncertainly at her burden.

“My harp. Cased. No, thank you; you look very strong and capable, but I wouldn’t ask you to carry my head for me either.”

She followed him inside, placed the instrument delicately on the ground next to her seat and accepted an offer of tea. “I hear you need a harpist?”

“Yes,” the servant answered. “The Second, Petrea, will be along in just a moment to discuss it with you.”

“Fine. Has she been warned that I’m a harper instead?”

“Um,” the young man mumbled. “May I ask the distinction?”

“The large harps with pedals and carved pillars and such are played by harpists. I deal in them, as they’re popular in Terre d’Ange, but they’re delicate; wrapping and unwrapping them on the road is a slow process and they really shouldn’t be exposed to too many different temperatures or humidity. The smaller, simpler harps of Cruithne have no such troubles; since I spend most of my time on the road, that’s what I play. I can pluck out a tune on the larger, but it’s not what I have the most practice on, and a week’s not enough time for me to be able to pretend otherwise. So, Cruithne harp, harper. Is that acceptable?”

“I’ll ask, but – given the royal family’s history with Cruithne, I suppose it could be said there’s a certain exotic romance to having a harper rather than a harpist. I’m certain it will be acceptable, my lady.” He hesitated a moment, before adding,

“Will you be alright with working for us for the evening? I’m certain your musicianship is superb, it’s just – those working the Midwinter Masque have usually trained for many years in the arts of humble servitude, and -”

“And I don’t act like a delicate flower of the Night Court? Don’t worry,” Chantae laughed. “Merchants only succeed if they know when to speak up and when to shut up. I’ll act every bit as delicately as you need me to.”

“Thank you. And… we still don’t know why Elodie vanished, so…”

“So I’ll be careful, too.”

Storyline: Gentlemen Bring Word from Afar

The evening was chilly, so Petrea and Marco sat by the fireplace in her private apartments at Cereus House. He was in the City of Elua for several days, stopping on his way to Alba from Caerdicci Unitas. The silver embargo had been lifted, so Marco had no shortage of work and found himself passing through the City of Elua much more frequently over the past months. The past year had been slim, so he was making up for lost time and profits this fall.

Petrea had been quiet over dinner, much more distracted than usual when Marco was visiting. Her attention was elsewhere and they had retired early.

He sat against the corner of the chaise with her in his lap. She curled against him, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“You are troubled, my love. What can I do?” he asked, stroking her hair.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against him. She mumbled something into his chest.

“My ears are up here, not inside my shirt,” he laughed.

She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose in mock anger.

“I said: it feels like everything is going wrong and there is nothing I can do to fix it and unless you are here for the next month and able to step in as Second of Cereus House as well as plan the Midwinter Masque, then I do not believe that you will be able to fix it, either.”

“Ah. Well, yes, I think that may be beyond my capabilities. I am here to listen to you, though, if that will help.”

“I don’t know. I am just, well, it all feels as though it is falling apart. I laid out a very clear plan for the ball and, at every turn, there is some problem or someone has made a mistake. How do the silk dyers mistake blue silk for white? Why did the servants bring out brandy glasses instead of champagne flutes? Why have pheasants been delivered and not duck breasts? Where are the gooseberries for the jam? These are not small mistakes, Marco!” Her voice raised at every sentence and her face grew redder.

Marco took her chin in his hand and silenced her with a finger to her lips, “My love, you have time. The ball is not tomorrow. People make mistakes. You are clearly frustrated, but you are speaking of fabric and glasses and foodstuffs. You have planned this ball for many years and certainly there have been mistakes before. You have a large, experienced staff to assist you. What truly troubles you?”

Petrea looked away, her face falling.

“It is not just the ball; you are right. In years past, I have been able to focus solely on that and nothing else. This year, however, my attention is forced elsewhere and, if I’m being honest, my absence from the Night Court last year contributed to this. I fear that many of these ‘mistakes’ in the ball preparations are guild leaders testing my mettle, seeing how I – how our House – responds to the constant pressure from them. They want to see me fail so that they can talk of our crumbling leadership.”

Her voice grew bitter. “And Aliks certainly is not doing me any favors. Did you know that she – ”

She was interrupted by a light knock on the door and a young adept peeked his head in. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but the Aragonian gentleman has just returned to the City and is asking for you and, er, you did give specific orders that, uh, he was to be admitted the moment he arrived no matter what, and, um, well…”

The adept rambled and looked at the floor. Everyone in the House knew that she was not to be disturbed when she was with Marco, yet she had told them to admit Ramiro as soon as he set foot in the door.

Her face brightened noticeably. “Oh! Yes, please invite him to my chambers. Immediately.”

“Ramiro back in town, eh?” Marco smiled at her mischievously and tugged on a lock of her hair. She had made no secret of her relationship with Ramiro and took no steps to keep the two apart, yet this would be the first time the two had crossed paths for more than a brief conversation.

“It would appear so. You know that lifting the silver embargo has been even more beneficial to him than it has been for you and he is gobbling up the attention of the nobles here as he swaggers around, negotiating deals.”

“And I am sure that’s not all he has been gobbling up in the City,” he teased, pinching her thigh.

She laughed aloud as Ramiro burst into the room. His eyes flew to Petrea, his gaze full of fire.

“Mi florecita, how I have missed you!” He was at her side in an instant, on his knees before her.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving hers, “It has been too long since I have been in your presence, mi amor. I have counted the hours until we could be together again.”

She turned to him and leaned forward, giving him a deep smile and a kiss on the cheek. “It is good to see you, too, Ramiro.”

She gestured towards the man in whose lap she sat. “I believe you are acquainted with Marco Meridius?”

Ramiro blinked, coming out of his reverie. His eyes slid to Marco, who grinned at him. “Ramiro, how nice to see you again.”

Ramiro dropped Petrea’s hand and jumped to his feet. “Marco!” he cried, “What a wonderful surprise to find you here, as well!”

Petrea bit her lip to cover a smile. Surprise? Yes. Wonderful? Not as much.

“Perhaps we should not be shocked to find each other here. It was bound to happen sooner or later with the trade embargo being lifted,” Marco said plainly.

Ramiro nodded. “And what better place to meet than here?”

Marco chuckled.

Petrea motioned Ramiro to sit in the chair across from them, but instead he grabbed a tufted stool and pulled it close to the chaise. Petrea waited for Marco’s reaction, but none came. Ramiro liked to engage in intimate conversation, no matter the topic, but his tendency to ignore social niceties of personal space, which often put others ill at ease.

“So, Ramiro, what news from Aragonia?” Marco asked, lazily draping an arm across Petrea’s shoulders.

“Ah, well, things are much better now that we can trade for our silver. My father was extremely impressed with the way I finagled that Lancelin fellow into pushing for the embargo to be lifted.”

“That was your doing?” Marco raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. It was an interesting turn of events. One day, an embargo. The next, no embargo. I expected proclamations and fanfare, but, instead, business just went back to usual. It was quite an odd situation.”

Ramiro shrugged.

Petrea rolled her eyes inwardly. Of course Ramiro would believe that it was he who was responsible for lifting the ban. She truly hoped that word did not reach his father about what really happened with both the dinner and the lifting of the embargo. Strange that it seemed to simply vanish as though it had never existed. Perhaps, though, not so strange. Those who worked in the shadows clearly wished to remain there. She wondered what moves her chess playing friend made for the Duc de Chalasse to relent.

“So Marco, my friend, your business has picked up, eh?” Ramiro was all business.

Marco nodded. “Truly the lifting of the embargo has been a great boon. Not just for silver, either. With the movement of the ore, other materials and goods are finding their way back onto the trade routes, as well.”

Ramiro’s head was bobbing as Marco spoke. “Yes, yes, all excellent news.”

Ramiro took one of Petrea’s feet in his hands and began massaging it, as he often did when they were alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back against Marco’s shoulder. After a moment, Ramiro paused, as though something important had occurred to him. He looked up and gave Marco a questioning look. Marco shrugged and Ramiro went back to rubbing Petrea’s foot.

“Your muscles are extremely tight, my sweetest,” he commented. “You are troubled.”

Marco huffed a laugh. “She was just beginning to tell me of her troubles when you walked in.”

Petrea sighed. “I am frustrated with everyone and everything, Ramiro. Keeping up with my duties as Second, trying to keep up with the goings on in the City, plans for the ball – you are coming, yes?”

Ramiro shrugged. “I will do my best, but I make no promises. I still do not understand these duties you have. You are a Servant of Naamah, you call it. Is it your duty not to serve her? What else is there?”

Petrea gave him a smile. “The Second is a position of leadership in one’s House. It is not all parties and patrons. We are still a business, as we fought so dearly to prove, and must operate as such. There are accounts to keep, adepts to bring in and train, hired staff to manage, and now my Dowayne is considering lighting a candle to Eisheth!”

Ramiro frowned, working his fingers into her muscles. “What does it matter why she is lighting candles? Everyone lights candles every night?”

“It means she wants to have a baby. It’s some D’Angeline thing,” Marco explained.

“Ah, that would complicate matters for you. She would retire?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea shook her head. “Oh no, not Aliks! That would be far too easy for her. Her plan is to simply continue running Cereus House – essentially managing the entire Night Court – while carrying a child, lying in after giving birth, and then raising a child.”

Marco frowned. “That does seem…complicated. I assume this is with Waldermar?” Aliks’s love affair with the Mandrake adept was the worst kept secret in all of Terre d’Ange. Nevertheless, everyone pretended it was a secret.

Petrea nodded. “I have no idea what her plans are for his involvement. Who knows where this child would live? I assume here.”

She waved her hand. “The whole thing is simply preposterous. The ripple effects of the Dowayne of Cereus House having a child with an adept of another House are too many to even begin to list. And she accuses me of scandal.”

Ramiro nodded sagely and continued his ministrations.

The trio sat in silence for a moment. Neither man knew which scandal Petrea referred to; both secretly suspected it was the one he had caused.

It was Ramiro who finally spoke first. “Marco, word about town is our lady has taken a new Tiberian patron. She has been seen with Crescens Emerentius. Perhaps you have some competition, eh?”

Marco chuckled, toying with a lock of Petrea’s hair. “Ah yes, I know the man. He’s here with his sister, to present her to King Gustav in hopes to marry her off.”

Petrea groaned. “He is one of the most arrogant men I have ever encountered!
It takes every bit of my extensive training to get through the assignations. Of course, I have dealt with men of ego, but this is beyond the pale. He cannot stop talking about himself and his accomplishments – how much he has done in such a short time. Oh how, it is tiresome! Not one that, but he seems to believe that he can impress me with the names of people he has met while visiting here in the City! I must bite my tongue not to retort that I have had half of them in my bed!” She paused and poked Ramiro with her free foot. “I am trusting you two with private information.”

In fact, she trusted that none of this would stay private, what with Ramiro gossiping worse than any new adept. She wanted this to get out. Petrea knew that information about Crescens’s sister, Aurea, was scarce and rare information is always valuable. Petrea knew from Marco that Aurea was proud; she would likely not appreciate insults to her brother and would want to confront the person starting them. If Petrea could draw Aurea to her, so much the better. If nothing else, knowing the Second of Cereus thought poorly of someone would close other doors in the Night Court to him…and keep him away from her. Perhaps deflate his overly large ego.

Marco barked out a laugh. “That would fit with what I have seen of him. His father is well liked enough, but the little I know of Crescens? I would not have picked him to accompany Aurea. Let us just say that he does nothing to bolster her chances.”

“Aurea seems rather quiet, does she not?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea frowned. “She has been seen out and about and does the appropriate amount of socializing, but nothing more. She certainly has not visited the Night Court. Yet.”

“Yet? You have plans to change this?” Marco teased, pulling her closer and placing a kiss on her brow.

Petrea shrugged and gave him her most innocent smile. “Mayhaps.”

Ramiro put her foot on his thigh and motioned for her to give him her other foot, which she did. “Ah, Ramiro, you could make your marque at Balm House.”

“I think that would be quite boring,” he responded.

“Balm House is nice for a night, but there are more preferable Houses.” Marco grinned at him.

“Ramiro, have you had a chance to make the acquaintance of Évrard de Bretel? He spends much of his time in the Gaming Room at the Palace and I understand that you have been given apartments there,” Marco mentioned.

Ramiro brightened. “Beautiful accommodations! And yes, I have met Lord Bretel. Wonderful fellow. We have traded much money over dice. I believe he is engaged in a new love affair.”

“His family invests significant funds in various trading enterprises. I have worked with them often. Évrard always has a story to tell about someone, knows everything. He is most interesting,” Marco explained.

Petrea knew Lord Bretel well; she had used him as a contact many times to keep up with the gossip of the City. She wondered if Évrard had been in contact with Aurea Emerentius. If nothing else, he would have tried. She would have to ply him for information at their next assignation.

Ramiro’s hands had moved up to knead the muscles in her calf. Petrea let out a soft sigh of contentment. Absent-mindedly, Marco trailed his fingers up and down her hip as their conversation continued. Petrea could feel her attention waning. Trade, politics…much though she tried, she could not seem to focus on these topics much longer.

She felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy and the men’s voices seemed to fall away. “I am bored of this,” she said abruptly, untangling herself from Marco and Ramiro and standing.

The two men stopped talking and looked at her.

She looked slowly, deliberately, from one to the other.

“I am going to bed. You are more than welcome to sit by the fire and continue your business conversation, but I am finished here.”

She snatched her skirts and stalked off towards her bedroom.

Marco and Ramiro looked at each other, stunned. What had just happened?

After a momentary pause, Marco gave Ramiro a broad smile and gestured towards Petrea’s departing figure.

“Shall we?”

Ramiro grinned devilishly. “Oh yes. We shall.”

Storyline: An Old Friend’s Advice

It was shortly after sun set when Dowayne Aliksandria’s carriage arrived at the Shahrizai town house. The hostler took charge of her carriage, horses, and driver while a servant with downcast eyes led her in to the dining room.

Dinner was amazing, as always. Each course more delicious than the last. And the company – well how does one describe dinner with a dear friend? Aliks had known Count Niklos Shahrizai for many years. They met when she was still making her marque. She had been cast as the Winter Queen in the Longest Night Masque the same year he was selected to be the Sun Prince. Later, he contracted her as a patron and their friendship had never faded.

“My lord, please send my compliments to your chef.” She said, dabbing her lips with the silk napkin.

“And your usual marriage proposal?’ he asked with a smirk, gesturing a servant to deliver the message.

“Not this time, my lord.”

“Oh?’ he said, his eyebrows raising a bit, “Was the dinner not as good as usual?’

“Oh no, if anything she appears to have out done herself yet again, but there is something I wish to discuss with you that may affect my ability to wed.”

“I am intrigued.”

“My lord,” she began, “you and I have known each other a great many years and I would like to think that, as such, we have developed a certain familiarity with each other, In that vein, I would ask if I may speak frankly with you this evening?”

“Aliks, please, say what it is you wish to say, you know we don’t suffer on pretense betwixt us.”

She smiled, looked down, took a deep breath then began, “I have been, for some time, engaging in a clandestine affair with Waldemar nó Mandrake.”

Count Niklos nearly choked on the wine he was drinking as the laughter took hold of him, “That is the least clandestine of affairs my lady.”

“Well, that may be true, but I have to at least pretend it’s a secret. After all, what would it look like for the Dowayne of Cereus House to be going to Mandrake to be tied up and whipped?” she said indignantly.

“I trust that’s not all you do there,” he said with a smirk.

“Well, as it happens, Waldemar has asked me to light a candle to Eisheth.”

“Hence no marriage proposal,” he noted.

“Exactly.”

“Congratulations.”

“I haven’t said yes,” she replied.

“Is it your intention to say no?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, I wanted to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“I think it matters not what I have to say, but what you want, my dear. But since you asked, I think you will make an amazing mother. Elua knows you’ve raised enough adepts in Cereus House. But in all the time we’ve known each other, I’ve never heard you express any interest in children of your own.”

“Both of those things are true and I worry about if and how my life would change once I had a child. I have worked very hard to get where I am. I do not wish to give it up.”

“A lady can do both,” he pointed out.

“But can this lady?”

“This lady stood up to the City Judiciary. I don’t know if there is aught this lady cannot do.”

Storyline: A Discussion in the Garden

Once again ensconced in Marco’s arms on the chaise – as she had been before being so oddly interrupted by her Dowayne – Petrea took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Marco was telling me of his travels, Ramiro,” she informed her new guest. “I believe you two just missed each other in Aragonia.”

Ramiro shook his head. “Such a shame, such a shame! What news do you bring of my homeland, mi amigo?”

Marco shrugged. “Well, your father says that you should stop spending all his money and come home with either a deal on the silver embargo or a beautiful wife.”

Ramiro slapped his knee and laughed. “I am working tirelessly on the first. The second,” He waved a dismissive hand. “No me importa.”

Marco grinned. “I thought as much, my friend. There is talk that others are more keen on marriage, though not for themselves. There is word of a gentleman bringing his niece to woo the King.”

Petrea’s ears perked up. A young woman to woo the king? She would be an interesting piece on Odilia’s chessboard.

“Who is this young woman?” Petrea asked.

“Yes, tell us of this lady. Perhaps I know her or her family.” Ramiro scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I might have valuable information for the King!”

Petrea gave him a small smile. The young man was looking for any way to improve his reputation and knowing a suitress of the King would certainly help him curry favor with the right people. Despite his initial failings, he had somehow managed to secure an apartment in the palace and was now making friends with every other young noble he could find there. Word was he spent hour upon hour in the gaming rooms.

“She comes from…Qart Hadast, I believe? What was her name…ah! Elissa Ylenia Barca de Cartagena. Yes, I remember now. Her uncle is Hasdrubal Magon Barca de Cartagena, her father the Barcid Duque de Murcia,” Marco explained. “Someone said they are an old family.”

Ramiro’s brow wrinkled. “Hmm…yes, I have heard the name. An old family indeed. They claim they have been in Aragonia since the time of Carthage. Their great ancestor gave his name to Amilcar and Barceno. No one knows for sure,” he shrugged. “It is boasting. But, we all have our family boasts.”

Marco chuckled. “For certs. But, that is all I have heard from Aragonia. There is, of course, talk from all over, but it seems Aragonia – and your father, Ramiro – is concerned with the silver embargo.”

“Sí, sí. I have done what I can. There are others at work. Sadly, I cannot stay forever.” Ramiro winked at Petrea. “Though it would be my pleasure to. It is time to return home.”

Marco kissed the top of Petrea’s head and smiled into her hair. “You must not monopolize everyone’s time.”

Ramiro stood. “And I think I have. Perhaps I shall see you before I go, Marco. And you, florecita, I shall certainly see you before I go.”

He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned and left the garden.

Marco sighed and tightened his arms around Petrea. “What an odd event. Did you not tell Aliks that I would be here?”

“No, I certainly did. And even had I not, there are few secrets in this House and someone would have told her. I know not why she brought him. Something is wrong. But, it is done now. Tell me of other things.” She toyed with a piece of lace on her bodice.

He took her hand off her dress and laced his fingers in hers. “Trade in ore and metals is difficult, as one expects. This, in turn, makes everything else more difficult. Fewer ships are sailing, so captains are moody and sailors out of work.”

Petrea frowned. “This embargo truly is affecting everyone.”

“Oh, yes. Whoever dropped this stone caused a ripple much larger than I believe he imagined it would. It will take time for things to level out once this stoppage is lifted, too. We are all pawns in someone’s game, love, but I do think the game has gotten away from him.”

It was someone’s game, Petrea knew. But everyone was not merely a pawn and Petrea doubted that the orchestrator of the silver ban was anything but in control.

She sighed. Much though she hated it, now was the time to play her part. As Aliks had said, she made her choice and had to stand by it.

Untangling herself from Marco, Petrea picked up their two glasses of wine and passed one to her companion. Turning to him, she put on her brightest smile. Her heart sank. She never wanted to play act with Marco. But she was a piece in something larger than herself, larger than Marco.

She made her voice light and jovial. “So, love, is the Aragonian Duque the only one seeking to marry his daughter off to King Gustav? I imagine there is much competition for this powerful alliance.”

He gave her a confused look. It was strange for her to ask of courtly gossip. “Well, I think a Tiberian senator is sending his son and daughter here.”

“Oh? Was this more dockside talk?” she joked.

He shook his head. “No, not at all. The senator deals in fine art, a valuable commodity right now. I spent much time with his family of late.”

“Ah, I see. Was this senator trying to marry his daughter off to you, my love?”

Marco grinned at her. “Oh no, my love, you have nothing to fear there. Leonius Emerentius has aims far higher for Aurea than a simple trader.”

“Aurea?”

Again, Marco gave her a confused look. She was looking for gossip and this was something she never did.

“Play the game, Petrea. Just play the game,” she implored herself silently.

“Er, it is just a pet name. Her full name is Leonia. Why are you asking? This is not like you to care about such things.”

Petrea shrugged. “I have been gone so long. I simply wish to know who is being spoken about town. I cannot be seen to be…behind the times.”

“You? Behind the times? Talk about town? This is so unlike you to care of such things. Have you been replaced by a lookalike? Are you truly my Petrea?” he joked, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

Petrea traced the pattern in the damask of the chaise. She could not meet his eyes.

“It’s not all games and laughter here, Marco,” she said carefully. “There is much at stake here and, perhaps oddly, part of my role is knowing the goings on in and around the palace. One never knows what that information may be worth to the right party.”

She gave him a sad smile and he saw a flash of defeat in her eyes.

“So, love, what tidbits can you tell me of this Caerdicci girl?”

Marco thought for a moment.

“Her name is Leonia Emerentius Secunda. She is the second daughter of Senator Leonius Emerentius. She is being escorted by her brother, Crescens Emerentius. She has golden hair, so they call her Aurea. I believe it is a childhood nickname?”

He shrugged, “While I did much business with her father, I only saw her once, at dinner, but she gazed at me with such intensity I thought she might bore holes in my chest.”

Petrea quirked a smile at him. “Oh, she was quite focused on you?”

Marco chuckled. “Not hardly. She had taken an interest in our dealings. Her father claims that once something draws Aurea’s attention, nothing can distract her. He is not the only one who spoke this way.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Others have speculated that her head could bear a mighty crown.”

Petrea looked at him quizzically. “Bear a mighty crown?”

Marco nodded. “Your friend Odilia may think to advise the King, but a Queen? The two do not even begin to compare in their influence over a country.”

Petrea’s heart stopped. In her mind, a powerful piece had just slid across a chessboard.

Marco’s voice drew her back to the garden. “Love? Are you alright? You look scared.”

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had much to ponder, but this was not the time.

“I am fine, my darling. Just done with gossip and politics for one evening. Let us not waste our time here. It has grown too warm and my dress too tight.”

Standing up, she took his hand and led him out of the garden. She was finished being Second for the night. She could go back to being just Petrea.

Storyline: A Chance Encounter Not by Chance

She was sick of him. Blessed Elua help her, she was sick and tired of him. He was too loud, too bawdy, and was drinking far too much of her wine. Worst of all, he was monopolizing her Second.

Aliksandria nó Cereus had decided that, somehow, she needed to get rid of this Don Ramiro. He was an inappropriate patron for any Cereus adept, but particularly for the Second. Regardless of what Petrea might claim, she was certainly not putting in enough work to earn this “plaything.” So, Aliks had devised a plan that she was sure would remove this…distraction…and get Petrea back to work.

Marco Meridius, Petrea’s long time lover, had returned to the City of Elua days before and was spending the evening with her. Don Ramiro was off doing Elua knows what he did with his time when he wasn’t hanging about her House. Petrea had specifically told Ramiro that she was unavailable for the evening, but Aliks had invited him to drop in. She was positive that his Aragonian pride would not be able to endure seeing Petrea and Marco together. Oh, Ramiro knew that Petrea had other patrons, but actually encountering it? That would be unbearable for him. Aliks was certain that he would cause a ruckus, maybe even become violent? And that would allow her to ban him from Cereus House, as she had sworn to do weeks before. He had managed his behavior thus far, mostly at Petrea’s behest, but Aliks was sure that this would be too much for him.

Petrea nó Cereus and Marco sat in the lush gardens of Cereus House, curled up on a chaise and speaking in low tones. It had been months since they had been together and Petrea was relieved to be back in his arms. No matter how many other patrons she might take and how much she might enjoy their company, her heart, at its core, belonged to Marco. She could never be his wife and could never leave the Night Court, but she could not imagine a life without him in it.

She leaned back against him and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the summer flowers blooming in the gardens as she listened to Marco’s voice in her ear. He had been quietly regaling her with stories of his travels from Menekhet through Caerdicca Unitas. Menekhet! She could hardly imagine just how far away that was. Marco’s trading took him all over the world; she had seen but a fraction of it on her journey with him. It amazed her how he slid so easily from one country to the next, seeming to fit into every culture as though he had been born to it. She was so caught up in his story of a parrot trader that she almost didn’t hear the voices coming from the hallway.

“…believe she’s in the gardens. Please come with me and we’ll see if she’s there.”

It was Aliks’s voice coming closer. But who was with her? Aliks knew how much Petrea and Marco wanted their privacy. Who could possibly be so important that she would interrupt them?

“Aliks,” she said, seeing her Dowayne come through the doorway, “what is it that merits this interr…” she trailed off as she realized who followed Aliks through this doorway.

It was Ramiro. But what was he doing here? She had informed him that she was unavailable this evening and he had made plans to go to Balm House. Why had he changed his plans? Why had Aliks brought Ramiro into the garden and not simply turned him away? One patron did not interrupt another and certainly not these two patrons. Something was terribly wrong with this situation.

Petrea looked from one to the other in confusion. Aliks smiled blandly at her, but Petrea caught something flash in her eyes for the briefest of moments. Was it…triumph? What was going on here?

Marco rose from the couch, disentangling himself from Petrea. She stood behind him, unsure what to do with herself.

“Ramiro,” he said casually, “it has been so long. A year? Longer, perhaps?”

Petrea again looked at Aliks as Ramiro strode towards Marco. Again, Aliks gave her a blank look.

“Marco!” Ramiro threw out his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Mi amigo! It has been too long!”

Marco laughed and the two men embraced like childhood friends. “Ah Ramiro, you are right, it has been too long! I meant to visit you, but my travels have not taken me through Aragonia. I am so pleased that we happen to be here together. What a surprise!”

Marco returned Ramiro’s grin as they clapped each other on the back.

Petrea was certain she caught a look of shock and, perhaps, disappointment? cross Aliks’s face. Clearly, this was not at all what Aliks had expected – had she wanted something different? It was, however, exactly what Petrea had expected.

Ramiro and Marco had met the past year when Petrea had arranged for lodgings on Ramiro’s estate during their travels. He had agreed to house them in exchange for a night with her. Marco had been neither surprised nor perturbed at the Marqués’s request. She was, after all, a Servant of Naamah and he was well aware that she took other patrons. During their time in Aragonia, the two men had discovered they had common interests and became friends, promising to write and visit each other.

“Ramiro, I am surprised to see you. I thought you were going to Balm House tonight.” Petrea said mildly, giving him the kiss of greeting.

He shrugged. “I heard you might receive me should I stop in.” He gave her a grin. “And you know I am always pleased when you receive me.”

He winked suggestively.

Nexto to them, Marco snorted. “Eh? Been receiving you often, has she?”

“But, of course! Dolce Petrea is always eager to deepen her connections with her favorite patrons. And I’ve connected quite deeply with her.”

He licked his lips lasciviously.

Marco chuckled. “Hungry, Ramiro?”

“Starving! Always! And the dessert here is quite delicious.” Ramiro gave Marco a sly look.

The two roared with laughter.

Aliks cleared her throat loudly.

“Don Ramiro, perhaps we should leave these two to their evening?” she said tersely.

Marco glanced at Petrea, who gave him a tiny shrug.

“Nonsense! We have plenty of time to ourselves. Please join us for some wine, Ramiro. We can catch up.”

Petrea swore she caught a flash of annoyance on Aliks’s face, but couldn’t be sure. What on Earth was happening with her? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Por supuesto! I would love to catch up with you. Lady Aliks, bring us more wine! You know which one I prefer!”

“Aliks, could you please ask a servant to bring us more wine,” Petrea requested. “Whatever we have fully stocked would be perfect.” She gave Aliks a placating smile, knowing that Ramiro’s declaration was not received well.

“I have to have someone check. Our inventory has not been completed recently.” She gave Petrea, whose job it was to oversee the audits, an intentional look. “And many, many bottles of that vintage have been served recently.”

Turning back towards the hallways, she gave Marco a brief nod. “Marco, a pleasure as always.”

Aliks clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

Her plan had failed. Spectacularly.

They were friends?! How could that blasted Aragonian scoundrel be friends with Marco?! How could kind, caring, and intelligent Marco be friends with that foolish cad?! It was just unfathomable!

Storming down the hall, she nearly knocked over a young adept carrying bed linens.

“Oh excuse me, my lady Dowayne!” he yelped, jumping out of her way.

“Get some wine to the patrons in the garden! I don’t care what, just something!” she snapped.

“Y-y-yes, milady,” he stammered, scurrying off.

Aliks stomped into the kitchen and headed towards the back door. A shocked cook looked up from chopping vegetables as Aliks flew through the room.

“My lady! Did you need anything?” she questioned, flustered by the sudden appearance of the obviously annoyed Dowayne.

“No! I’m off to Mandrake House. If anyone needs anything, go bother the Second!”

Storyline: Stitching a Scandal

“We are going to get into so much trouble,” Aliks said, giggling.

“Truly? More trouble than for stealing tarts from the kitchen or more trouble than for reading books from the restricted section?” Petrea taunted.

It had been nearly a year since the night she had talked to the crying girl and declared they were now best friends and, even though she had seemed skeptical at the time, Petrea had become just that. This time, however, the game was to see how far they could push their luck.

The initiates were learning embroidery, to practice dexterity. They had been told they could have freedom of expression, but to remember that these would be put on cushions for the salons. The idea had been Aliksandria’s at first, but Petrea had been the one to bring it to fruition. When Petrea showed Aliks the sketch, both girls burst into fits of laughter. But they embroidered the designs nonetheless.

Aliksandria was shocked when the Second looked at their work and declared their stitching to be fine and their use of florals in blues to be elegant. Petrea had actually held her breath. They had to see it, right? But either way the cushions were made.

It was almost another year later when they were summoned to the Dowayne’s office to be dressed down. As it turned out, no one had noticed, until an eagle-eyed and bored patron looked too closely at the cushions. Rumor was he laughed uproariously and told the Dowayne he was honored to see Cereus House care so much for their male patrons. It had been then that the Dowayne picked up the cushion, turned it sideways and saw it: a man’s member where the flower stamen should have been.

The Dowayne glared at the two girls who stood in her office. They tried to appear contrite, but struggled to hold their laughter. A year! It had taken almost a full year for anyone to notice their naughty embroidery, prominently displayed in a salon for all to see. Truth be told, they were almost proud of themselves.

“This behavior is absolutely unbecoming of a Cereus adept. Perhaps Orchis House might accept it, but not here,” she snapped. “Now, which one of you is responsible for this idea? Who is the troublemaker?”

Aliks took a deep breath and managed to speak over her friend who was about to confess. “It was my idea. We are Servants of Naamah, after all, my lady, and is there not beauty in the human form?”

Next to her, Petrea was biting her lip to keep from laughing at Aliks’s blithe tone.

“The celebration of our bodies is one thing, but this is mockery. It is beneath us. We must hold ourselves to a high standard here.” She looked pointedly at Aliks. “I know you have ambition, Aliksandria, and if you want to rise to prominence, you cannot engage in such childish nonsense!”

At this, all humor seemed to drain from the room. Aliks wanted nothing more than to become Dowayne of Cereus House someday. She and Petrea were, perhaps, old enough now for their behavior to be noted. She was being warned.

Next to her, Petrea cleared her throat, glancing at her friend. She had come to the same conclusion. “What Aliks says is true, but we do now understand how our…work…could be seen as a mockery. We both truly do regret our actions and we see that such behavior is below our station.” She paused. “Thank you for your guidance, my lady.”

The Dowayne nodded once and then looked at each girl, meeting their eyes. “You must take care. Now, take your leave.”

Want to stitch your own scandals? Click the links below for Petrea and Aliks’s embroidery patterns.

Phallus

Naamah’s Pearl

Storyline: Petrea’s First Night at Cereus House

The room was too warm and the night dress too tight. Petrea tugged at her neck and flopped on her back, sighing. It was her first night at Cereus House, her first night of her new life, and she hated it. Her parents promised joining the Night Court would be a better life than what they could provide, but what could be better than home? Petrea loved the thatched roof of their tiny house and she didn’t care that it leaked in the rain. She loved curling up in her blankets next to the fire on cold nights and she didn’t care that she woke up shivering when the fire went out. But she knew that Mother cared. Petrea saw the tears in mother’s eyes as she counted the meager coins to take to market, though she knew mother tried to hide them.

So when the Priest of Elua had suggested to Mother and Father that their daughter could improve her lot in life – and provide a tidy sum for them – by joining Cereus House, Petrea reluctantly agreed. The Priest explained that she would move to the City of Elua and live in the palatial Cereus House, learning the skills of a fine courtesan, making her marque, and earning enough money to live as a fine lady. The sum that her parents would receive from Cereus House would be enough to help them buy a new house and start a small farm. And more than living a luxurious life herself, Petrea wanted her parents to be comfortable.

So, she went with her parents and the priest to the fine City of Elua and rode in a carriage up Mont Nuit to the fine Cereus House. She was ushered into a fine salon, where her parents made arrangements with the Dowayne, a tall woman with pale blonde hair and sharp hazel eyes. She was permitted to say goodbye briefly; Mother and Father promised to write; they did not promise to visit. Petrea took note of this. And then it was done. They were gone, along with her entire life.

Petrea sighed again and pulled at the tangled night dress. She threw off the thick covers. Unfamiliar though everything was, the night dress was soft and smooth, and the mattress thick. She looked around the room, lit by the huge fireplace. Tapestries hung on every wall and a plush rug covered the stone floor. Petrea had never seen tapestries or rugs before; the floor of her house had been dirt. Her eyes fell on the clothes she had been given, draped over the chaise.

The dress was fine velvet, trimmed with silk ribbons, the slippers satin. She didn’t know such fine fabrics existed. The undergarments had felt odd – almost slippery – against her, after a childhood spent in rough spun wool. Everything was just…strange and she longed for home, for something, anything familiar.

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Petrea rolled onto her belly and began to cry. She sobbed desperately, silently pleading with every angel to take her away from this place, to take her home.

She was so consumed by grief that she didn’t notice as someone sat down beside her on the bed.

“You have to stop crying. You will wake everyone up.”

Petrea startled at the voice and sat upright. A young girl, about a year or so younger than she, sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her.

“Wh- what did you say?” Petrea wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

The girl made a sound of distaste and shook her head. “Don’t do that either. It will make your eyes and nose even redder. And that’s not attractive.” She said the last word like it was the most important word in the world.

Petrea blinked at her. “I’m sorry, who are you? And why are you sitting on my bed?”

The girl smiled. “I am Aliksandria. I have the bed next to you.” She gestured to the bed to the left. “You woke me up, so I thought I’d check on you, see what was wrong with you and if I could help.”

Petrea gave her a puzzled look. “Help me? How are you going to help me?”

Aliksandria looked her over. “My first piece of advice to you: do not cry; it makes you look weak. One thing Servants of Naamah are not is weak. Certainly not those of Cereus House.”

“I miss my home and my parents. I don’t know if coming here was the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aliksandia incredulously. “We are going to be Servants of Naamah! What could possibly be better than that?”

“You don’t miss your family and home?” Petrea asked, confused.

“Of course not. My parents live here on Mont Nuit, though not in Cereus house, but this,” she gestured about the room, “is my home. One day I’m going to be a Dowayne like my grandmother was.”

“Your grandmother was a Dowayne?” Petrea asked, finding the idea of a grandmother living in a place like this odd.

“She was, but she died when I was a baby. So, what do you want to do with your life?”

Petrea blinked at her. She didn’t know what else to do. This conversation was difficult to follow.

“I suppose I never thought about it.”

Aliksandria frowned at her briefly, then began speaking again. “I’m eleven and I’ve been here a year. How old are you?”

“I’m twelve.”

Aliksandria tapped her chin. “Hmm…that could work.”

“What could work?”

“I’ve decided we should be best friends. I think it would be beneficial to both of us. You’re new and need someone to show you around. And I need a best friend. You should call me Aliks. I would like my friends to call me that.” She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Petrea’s mind reeled from this conversation, or rather, monologue. But she had never had a best friend and the idea was appealing, so why not?

“Um, alright…Aliks.” She smiled.

Aliks nodded and jumped off the bed. She crawled into her own bed and looked over at her new best friend.

“You know, every Dowayne needs a good Second.”

Storyline: A Cereus Letter

From the desk of Dowayne Aliksandria nó Cereus
To: Manuel Cass’id, First Under-Prefect of the Cassiline Order

My dear friend,

It has been far too long since I have written to you and, for that, I am deeply sorry. I could tell you of the trials of the Night Court that have kept me busy, but you likely have heard about them already even if such gossip is, as you used to insist, beneath the dignity of a Cassiline brother.

Events of late have prompted me to think on the past and the paths that one might take. I value your advice and candor, and I am writing you now to ask your thoughts on a particular situation.

As you may well remember, I have been known to be fond of the company of Waldemar nó Mandrake. You were observing Cassiel’s vigil the night I met him, but often I have spoken of his charms to you. Though we have not declared each other consorts, we find ourselves quite devoted to each other. Recently, he made me quite the request of me and asked that I light a candle to Eisheth for us. It is on this subject I seek your counsel.

For one in my position, the choice to have a child brings a great many questions. My parents continued to work as Servants of Naamah after I was born, but neither was a Dowayne. Would I be able to continue in my duties if I became a mother? Would I want to?

I was born to the Night Court, my mother was born to it, and hers before her. And yet, I wonder, do I want a child of mine to be born to the same life? If the answer is no, does that mean I judge my parents for their choices? And if I say yes, what then does that say? Like me, your life was chosen for you as a child and I wonder if you would choose the same for your own offspring were you allowed that choice for them?

This weighs heavily on me, as I suppose it should. A decision this impactful should not be made easily. I eagerly await your thoughts on the subject, my oldest friend.

Aliksandria nó Cereus
Dowayne of Cereus House