cereus – Page 2 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: The Royal Wedding

Corrian had little opinion on her dress for the wedding, which was good because the royal dresser had not asked for it. A gown of pale blue with accents of silver and midnight blue had been constructed for the occasion. The trim had swans and lilies embroidered on it, making sure all knew that this was a royal wedding gown. Her auburn hair was left long with its curls, giving a joyous bounce as she walked. Her head was crowned for now with a simple garland of flowers. Before the day was done, it would be replaced with the Queen’s Crown of Terre D’Ange. It was better to remain simple and celebratory now. She wore simple slippers in the carriage to the temple at the heart of the city, knowing she would remove them when she entered and not wishing to waste overmuch time fiddling with laces or buckles.

For her bouquet, however, she had put her foot down on that. She carried a bouquet with anemones, which was traditional and symbolized Blessed Elua’s precept. She also had lilies to represent Terre d’Ange, the country of which she would soon be queen. She included oleanders, as a nod to her home of Borlean in Azzalle. And finally, she carried three large dahlia flowers in the bouquet. She was no fool, she knew every aspect of this day would be scrutinized, and she wanted the country to know that she supported Gustav and Odilia.

Gustav stood ready to hand her up to the carriage and he looked every inch the king. Resplendent in Courcel blue and gold, he had chosen to forego his great crown for this day. Instead, his golden head was crowned with a wreath of anemones and lilies – Blessed Elua and Terre D’Ange together. He smiled at her.

She returned his smile. Theirs was not a love match, but this was better. It was a match of mutual respect and understanding. A kind of love could grow easily from those seeds, even if she would always know that her husband’s heart belonged to another woman.

And that other woman had chosen to embark on this journey with them. Odilia’s answer had come, and she knew Gustav had wept in relief. She had herself slept much easier since that letter had arrived.

The team of horses pulling the open-top carriage were pure white, with blue and gold ribbons braided into their manes and tails to toss in the sunshine as they pranced impatiently. The carriage would take them only to the great oak in the center of the city. From there, it would be on foot to the Temples. And the way was filled with the people, the citizens of the City of Elua gathered to watch the procession of their king and his bride.

It was the sound of their joy that first greeted the couple, the cheers and singing of joy that guided them on their walk through the winding streets – like so many royal couples before, treading the path from palace to temple to be joined in marriage.

The flowers were next, the sights and smells of the flowers being waved, the petals being strewn before them as they walked together.

The colors of the ribbons as they danced through the air, the garlands draping from the eaves of every building – evidence of how the people loved their king and celebrated his marriage.

Gathered in the square of the temple district were the nobles and courtiers of the royal court, gathered there in all their finery to witness the arrival and entrance to the temple of the royal couple. And arrayed along the side of the square closest to Mont Nuit were the Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.

Aliksandria stood with her fellow Dowaynes and their Seconds as the Royal procession passed. They bowed to their king and soon to be queen, though Aliks had a bit of difficulty doing so in her present condition. As they rose she turned her head almost imperceptibly to look at the second of Dahlia House. Odilia’s face showed no emotion. Jocoste had offered to her Second the option to attend the ceremony as a private individual and not as a member of the Night Court, but she had declined, insisting that her loyalty was to Naamah’s service above all.

Rosanna stood with Tryphosa at her side, in line with the other leaders from Mont Nuit. Arranged, as always, with Cereus House at the fore and then descending down according to the alphabet, they stood last but never least in line. All the better to see the scope of the procession and the reactions of those watching. The Dowayne and Second of Valerian House wore gowns of silvery white and accents of shimmering bronze. When the time came, they tossed flowers upon the cobblestones with the other citizens, celebratory as could be.

“I do not spy anyone seemingly unhappy with how things turned out,” Tryphosa whispered as she tossed another handful of petals.

“They would not do so here. Today we are celebrating, and keeping our eyes and ears open.”

Her own eyes followed the couple once she rose from her deep curtsy, until they vanished from sight into the most sacred of temples. No one outside of the closest family members and highest ranked nobles of the king’s inner court were permitted to actually watch the ceremony. Surely, they could not comfortably fit any more guests in the temple courtyard anyway. But the sanctity of the marriage ritual was something to be respected, and so that Rosanna understood.

As the crowd quieted and awaited the royal couple’s return, she took the time to pray. Always a devout woman, the Dowayne of Valerian House asked Blessed Elua to watch over the king, the new queen, and her friend who was soon to be linked to them both in an unprecedented motion.

They needed all the divine guidance one could hope for to navigate the path they would forge together.

Mena stood with Vouloir, wearing simple flowing dresses in the palest purple, their hair held in fine bronze mesh cauls, waiting for the procession.

“Odilia looks well today,” Vouloir said quietly by Mena’s ear. “I’m interested to see the bride. My friend in the palace says the mood in the royal wing has much improved.”

Mena made a noise of agreement. “She does look quite well. Her expression matches her bearing again. I’ve missed that.”

Vouloir nodded, but before she could respond, the roar of the crowd let them know the couple was approaching. A huge smile bloomed across Mena’s face at the sight of them. Love, in all its forms, made her heart happy. She threw petals when the couple was near and delighted in the smile on her King’s face. His bride looked at peace, her face relaxed.

As the couple passed, Vouloir leaned in again. “Her Majesty’s bouquet told the tale quite well, don’t you think?”

Mena looked at her. “I managed to miss it somehow.”

Vouloir smiled like a cat in the cream. “Oh, then wait until they return, she’ll be on our side then.”

Mena looked up the hill where the couple had disappeared into the temple proper. Everyone settled around her, a peace falling over the crowd that was tinged with excitement. Weddings were loved in the capital, the rare royal weddings were exciting. Everyone, herself included, was looking forward to the holiday and festivals that would last for a week. The plans they’d made for the House had been implemented quickly, the food was prepared, the wine and juices were ready, the salons were lively already when she’d left, the adepts excited for the occasion. Now all that needed to happen was for the couple to emerge.

When they did appear once again, the city was positively deafened by the cheers of the happy citizens. Cries of blessings, congratulations, and prayers were sent to the young king and his new queen. A great wedding feast would be served at the palace upon their arrival, and the celebrations would go for days. Every house on Mont Nuit would open their doors at a pittance for payment as their way of celebrating so that all who wished to make the event memorable in their own way might afford to do so.

“Is all in readiness for tonight?” Rosanna asked her Second once the loud frenzy had died down somewhat.

“To the best of our ability,” Tryphosa replied.

To the great joy of the gathered people of the city, the newlywed couple stood together under the great arch of the Temple of Elua and shared a long kiss together. When they parted, there was a bright sparkle in both of their eyes as they looked at each other. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. But some people, those who thrived on gossip and whispers, snuck glances at the Second of Dahlia House. She stood tall in the midmorning sun, and there was a small smile on her face – her Dahlia composure wasn’t compromised, but it was clear that she was happy.

Mena cheered as loudly as all the other D’Angellines. Seeing the peace on her king’s face and on his bride’s made her relax even further. Things were going to finally get back to normal. Remembering Vouloir’s comment about the bouquet, she looked at it and felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

“Oh. Oh, really,” she said as she leaned towards her Second. “Well, my, my, my, Her Majesty certainly made her stance known. No one could confuse that.”

Vouloir smiled. “I know! I wonder what it will mean in the long term?”

And the affection in Odilia’s eyes only grew, sparkling and crinkling with her smile as the Priest of Elua laid their hand on the clasped hands of the couple, intoning for all the gathered peoples to hear. “Bound now in the sight of Blessed Elua, blessed by His Companion Naamah, Gustav de la Courcel and Corrian de Borlean are now husband and wife. The wife of a king is his partner in all things and must be crowned as the new queen of our Terre D’Ange. She will be crowned in the shade of the great Elua’s Oak, witnessed by the Clergy of the Companions, the Royal Court, and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. Let the songs be sung as the king and his new queen process to the great oak tree!”

Gustav and Corrian exchanged a look and stepped together down the stairs of the temple, but they did not begin the procession as the High Priest said. Rather, they walked together to where the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers stood arrayed. The adepts all bowed and the king and his bride smiled graciously at them before Corrian stepped forward to stand before Odilia. The women looked at each other, and it seemed like a great many of the adepts and courtiers all held their breath.

“Odilia,” Corrian said, gracious and smiling, “would you accompany us to the oak?”

“My lady, it would be my honor.”

The implication of those words hit Mena like a bucket of iced water. She managed to keep her cool, but Vouloir gasped quietly, her hand suddenly gripping Mena’s tightly. What could this mean?

“Did you know about this?” Tryphosa whispered to her Dowayne.

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” Rosanna replied with a conspiratorial little smile.

Corrian beamed and lifted the garland from her own head to place it on Odilia’s head, leaving the new queen bare-headed as she turned to begin the procession. Gustav took his place at her left hand, Odilia stepped up to her right, and the members of the royal court slowly filed in behind them, the Servants of Naamah following.

Gustav turned to glance at Odilia – there had been a childish dream that he had once held of seeing her in garlands and ribbons as they were wed together. That dream could not come to be, the world got in the way. But this was still almost like it, she was still beautiful and with him as they made this walk.

Odilia turned her head to look at Gustav. She had always known she would never be able to have him the way other lovers could be with each other forever. Anything now was a gift she had never dared to hope she could have. This was a more mature, adult agreement, and it suited the people they had become over the years that they had loved each other.

The great oak tree stood in the center of the city, the true and beating heart of Elua’s grace and blessing. It was here that the queen had chosen to be crowned. The royal court arrayed themselves to the left of the tree, where the king stood. The Night Court arrayed themselves to the right, where Odilia stood in her flowing bronze gown.

And there, in the shade of the tree, Corrian knelt.

Mena sharply drew in a breath. There was a crackle of tension in the air, she could feel it. They were on the precipice of something.

The High Priest of Elua stood before her, their hands open to the sky. They said, “Corrian de Borlean de la Courcel, do you present yourself here in the sight of Blessed Elua and witnessed by the nobles of this great kingdom, ready to swear yourself to the sacred duty of queenship?”

Odilia watched Corrian’s chest rise and fall with her deep breath. “I do.”

“As you are wed to His Majesty, King of Terre D’Ange, Gustav de la Courcel, you understand your duty as his wife is to be his partner, equal, and support in all things. This duty is ever more important when the nation is looking to him to lead. Are you prepared to take your place as his queen, to support him and help guide Terre D’Ange for the years to come in which you remain bound together?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to wear this crown with grace and poise, understanding the weight and responsibility that it bears to serve the people of this land and bear the mantle of leadership?”

“I do.”

The High Priest nodded and turned to the side where another of Elua’s priests held a cushion of Courcel blue where the queen’s crown rested. The king’s crown was of gold with fleur-de-lis in silver. The queen’s crown was the opposite – a thin circlet of silver with gold stars. Together, they were the lily and stars of the D’Angeline flag. Together, they were Terre D’Ange.

The crown settled on Corrian’s auburn head, and she closed her eyes, exhaling with the acceptance of her new title and duty.

“Arise now, Queen Corrian of Terre D’Ange.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she carefully stood, turning to face the gathered court and courtesans, who bowed to their new queen. Gustav reached for her hand, taking it and laying a kiss upon her knuckles as he joined her underneath the foliage of Elua’s Oak.

Mena sighed happily, a huge smile on her face. It was done, life was balanced again.

“I accept this duty with a humble heart,” Corrian said, pitching her voice so all could hear. She knew that the pages in attendance on their lords were scribbling down every word she spoke so that copies of her speech could be spread across the city and countryside in the days to come. “It is my honor to stand here, and it is my challenge to become the queen that my king and country need. However, no one person may handle so great a responsibility alone. None of us walk the journeys of our lives by ourselves. As your queen, I would embrace all of the royal customs of House Courcel, including that of a Royal Companion. It is the right of a member of House Courcel to choose for themselves a member of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers to instruct them in the arts of love and to serve as companion and counsel. I would like to choose Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, as my Royal Companion, in the sight of Elua and His angels and witnessed by courtier and courtesan alike.”

Now they knew why she had been gifted with the queen’s garland, now they knew why she was invited to walk with them to the tree. Mena felt almost unable to breathe. Her eyes found Odilia’s profile, and she saw the knowledge of this evident in her small smile. The nobles turned their eyes to the Night Court, where the Dahlia stood shining in her metallic bronze among the Dowaynes and Seconds who wore their own hints of her color like badges of honor.

“The queen has named her Royal Companion,” the High Priest of Naamah said, stepping forward to stand at the tree with the High Priest of Elua. “Does the Companion accept the title?”

Odilia’s head was high as ever – upright and unbending – as she took her own step forward. “I do.”

“So it is witnessed.”

The High Priest of Naamah beamed as the queen and her new Royal Companion clasped hands and sealed the agreement with a kiss. Corrian smelled like the flowers that had been her natural perfume; Odilia smelled like the cedar and amber that she favored. Together they were florals and spice, herbs and woods, balancing beautifully. They parted after a long moment, Corrian slightly breathless and Odilia slightly smug.

Gustav smiled at Odilia and stepped forward himself to reach for her hand, declaring, “It is the greatest and most sacred of our tenets to love as thou wilt. It is the message that Blessed Elua sought to bring to this world and one that we as D’Angelines embrace completely. All of the city, all of the country knows how much I love you, Odilia, it has never been secret. This marriage will not change that. I, too, wish to embrace you as we continue our journey together forward.”

She smiled at him, and Petrea thought that maybe the sun sone little more dim in comparison to the shared joy that rose from the king and courtesan together.

Rosanna held her breath as the king made his heart known for the entire country, for the world to see. Her heart was full of happiness for Odilia. However, she could not easily spy the other man who had made her dearest friend an offer. No doubt he was happy for her as well but had stepped back so that the lovers might enjoy their triumph, they so deserved this moment.

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Gustav de la Courcel said clearly, making sure no one could confuse his words. “I love you with all that I am. It is my intention to name you my Royal Mistress, officially, so that all of the world may know what place you have in my heart.”

Corrian held Odilia’s other hand, making her own stance absolutely clear as the courtesan looked at the man before her – seeing in his face the young prince she had met all of those years ago – and said, “I will accept it.”

The High Priest of Naamah was ready again, scarlet robes swishing as they laid their hand over Odilia and Gustav’s clasped ones. “Gustav de la Courcel, you have named Odilia nó Dahlia as your Royal Mistress, and she has accepted. Witnessed by Blessed Elua, by the angel Naamah and all of the Companions, and in the presence of the royal court and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, let it be done.”

Gustav reached into his pocket and produced a ring. A swan ring identical to the ones he and his wife wore. It was clear how seriously all three of them took this moment. Corrian wrapped her arm around Odilia’s waist, both women leaning their heads together to watch as Gustav slid the swan ring onto Odilia’s heart finger.

The sight of the ring made Mena gasp, though she took comfort in the fact that she was not alone. A Royal Companion, a Royal Mistress, these were things that she had been prepared for. But to announce the titles and to treat them as if Odilia was an equal marriage partner, witnessed by Elua’s tree and both courts? She was happy for them but shocked just the same.

Another kiss, shared between Gustav and Odilia, then Odilia and Corrian, then Corrian and Gustav, and it was done. The king was married, Terre D’Ange had a Queen, and all the country saw the Dahlia raised up to stand with the royals.

Storyline: A Night Court Legacy

Aliksandria nó Cereus was, as far as anyone could tell, Night Court royalty. She was a sixth generation servant of Naamah on her father’s side (her great-great-great grandmother having been a Gentian adept of some renown) and a fourth generation adept on her mother’s side. Her maternal grandmother had herself been Dowayne of Bryony House in her day. She, herself, now stood as Dowayne of Cereus House, to which her marque had been sold when she was but ten years of age. And yet, given all this, she had never given thought to continuing this illustrious line.

Her life’s work was Cereus House, not her bloodline. Which made the conversation she was having with her parents all the stranger.

Aliks arrived at the modest town house her parents lived in shortly before noon. Her parents had bought it when they retired from Naamah’s service so they could finally live together. Her father, ever the Camellia, kept the house perfect. The garden was tended with the perfecly correct ratio of flowers (though no one could have told Aliks exactly what that ratio was), every surface inside gleamed, and the pictures hung so neatly that one could be forgiven for thinking the frames themselves feared to be askew.

The trio sat in the sitting room, eating small pastries and enjoying warm tea. It was comfortable, and though she had not grown up in such an environment, Aliks had become used to the warm visits with her parents over the years.

“How have you been since the funeral, cher?” Guilliam nó Camellia asked his daughter. He was known for getting to the heart of matters, though he did so with gentleness.

“We have been so worried about you, love,” Annette nó Bryony added.

Aliks took a sip of tea, then set her cup and saucer on the low table in front of her. “I’ll not lie, it has been hard. Petrea has been a godsend, and Aimee has also stepped up a great deal. I thought at first, throwing myself into my work would help, but I don’t think that will be the solution I had hoped.”

“Oh,” said Annette. “Why is that?”

Ailks took a deep breath, and she was certain her parents could see her hands tremble. “It seems Eisheth found my candle acceptable.”

The next few events happened simultaneously, hard though that may be to believe. Annette gasped, her hands going straight to her mouth. They did nothing to hide the large smile that split her face as she said “Oh, honey, that is marvelous.”

Guilliam jumped up, knocking the table over in the process and causing the pastries and tea to fly across the previously white rug. He thrust his clenched fist in the air as his feet physically left the floor and he released a shout of jubilation.

Annette moved to embrace her daughter but was knocked out of the way when her consort grabbed said daughter about the waist and spun her in the air.

If Petrea had been cautious with Aliks, and by all the gods she had, her parents were ecstatic. It took Annette a few minutes to realize Aliks was processing the level of joy in the room, but not quite participating in it.

“Oh, love,” she said softly, realizing belatedly how complicated this must be, “She answered you and Waldemar’s prayer,” emphasizing Waldemar. At this, Guilliam calmed down, righted the table and sat back down (uncharacteristically ignoring the rest of the mess).

“Yes mother, she answered our prayer, his prayer.” Aliks fought back the tears. “I don’t know how I feel. I get to keep a part of him. He will never truly be gone from me. And yet, will looking at a child with his small face make this hurt more or less? I don’t know.”

“I cannot imagine anything in this world or the true Terre d’Ange beyond can make this hurt any more. My daughter, you have suffered a hurt I cannot fathom.”

Guilliam put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I will not tell you a babe fixes everything, or that it won’t hurt to be reminded of what you have lost, but I will tell you that the day I held you in my arms for the first time, my world changed. I truly understood Blessed Elua as I had never before, and I wish only for you to feel that, too.”

Annette smoothed her skirt, then looked at Aliks and decided to go with a more pragmatic route. “What was the plan for this, with Waldemar?”

“He intended to retire from Naamah’s service. I was going to allow him to live at Cereus House with me as my official consort, and we were going to raise the babe in the Night Court,” Aliks responded.

“Is it still your intention to do so?” Guilliam asked.

“As opposed to what?”

“You do have other options, my dear,” Annette responded.

“I’m not retiring!” Aliks said with more force than she intended. “I mean, I have no intention of leaving Cereus House. It is my home, my work, my dream, my life. Besides, both of you continued to work for many years after I was born. Why should I do differently?”

“No one is saying you should retire, merely that you could,” Annette stated. “Also, we could help. After your lying in, if you return to Cereus House, you could leave the child here, and we could help rear them.”

Aliks shook her head. She looked at her parents, whom she loved so very much, and said words she didn’t know she felt until they left her mouth, “No. I want to raise Waldemar’s child myself, at Cereus House, the way he intended.”

As Aliks waved goodbye from her carriage, Guilliam put his arm around Annette. “I would have loved to raise our grandchild,” he whispered.

Annette smiled. “We were never going to raise them, she just needed to realize that this is her dream, too.”

Storyline: Silken Pillow Talk

Marion Basilisque could not believe how much her life had changed in the past year. Why, it seemed just days ago she had been following that brat Oudine like a shadow, doing her bidding and putting up with her nasty demeanor. Now here she was, on the morning of her natality, in the fine patron quarters on Balm House, in bed with her lover, the man she had pined over for as long as she could remember. He had taken her to Balm to celebrate her—to celebrate her—with a night of relaxation and love, brought a handsome young man to attend to them, and now here they were, nude in bed, enjoying an overabundance of delicious chocolates from her favorite chocolatier. The bedclothes were piled with wrappings from the candy they had been feeding each other.

“Oh, Évrard, I still cannot believe you have done all of this for me!” Marion said happily. “You are so attentive. No one has ever done anything this kind and generous for me before. Why, I don’t think even my family has taken so much care on my natality.”

Évrard chuckled. “Well I certainly hope you have not spent nights like this with your family, my love.” He gave her a gentle kiss and picked up a chocolate, unwrapping it and feeding it to her. He tossed the pretty paper onto the duvet.

Marion gave a squeal of surprise and playfully smacked his bare shoulder as she chewed the candy. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Of course, dearest.” His eyes sparkled. “I just love teasing you.” He lay back in the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Did you have an enjoyable night?”

“You know I did.” Marion sighed and looked into her lover’s eyes. She could not believe that Évrard had chosen her. That he was with her. That he loved her. “This has been…everything.” She ran her hand down his chest, tracing circles with her fingers. “Did you catch what the adepts were saying in the salon last night while we were eating?”

Évrard’ ears perked up. While he considered himself a proper gentleman, city gossip had always been a weakness of his, and Marion knew this. “Why no, I did not. What did you overhear?” He curled his body around his lover’s so that they were face to face. Wrappings from their chocolates fell to the floor as they moved under the bedclothes.

Marion’s eyes lit up. She, too, adored city gossip, and they spent many an evening speculating on all manner of social politics. “Two young girls were speaking of a meeting of all the Dowaynes—all of them, Évrard, can you imagine!—just a few weeks past at Cereus House. In addition to the Dowaynes, Odilia was there! So, they must have been talking of her ‘situation,’ as it were. You know she left the city several months ago and was gone for weeks? Well, the adepts were starting to say something about the Duc de Chalasse when the Second came over and chastised them for gossiping in front of patrons. Now, we all are well aware that everyone in this city speaks to everyone of goings on, so this must be of great importance and secrecy if this is being kept quiet.”

Évrard nodded and stroked Marion’s hair. “Yes, that is strange. And the entire city is on tenterhooks over Odilia’s situation, so I do not understand why this would be kept from anyone. Perhaps we chose the wrong adept to join us last night.” His gaze was wicked.

Marion giggled. “Well…I don’t know about that…I enjoyed myself…and it appeared you did, too, my darling.” She blushed, thinking back to the prior evening’s activities.

“Oh yes, I certainly did.” He gave her a soft smile. “But it is most important that you were pleased.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I only want you to be happy.”

“Oh Évrard.” She cupped his cheek. “Some days I have to pinch myself simply to ensure that I am not dreaming. That this is indeed real. How am I so fortunate as to have you?”

“Blessed Elua and Naamah have smiled upon us, have they not?”

She sighed and smiled at him. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot something else I heard.”

Évrard blinked, shaken from his reverie by Marion’s sudden change of demeanor. “Oh, yes, love?”

“Well, it was quite fascinating. There appears to be some…something…going on at Cereus House. No one will say what, but shouting has been overheard by the stablehands and grooms. No one inside the house will say anything about it. Quite tight lipped, they are. Adepts of other Houses and Cereus patrons have noticed an Eisandine chirurgeon visiting—and not as a patron, it is said. And, again, everyone is quite tight lipped about it. It is the strangest thing. No one can discern if there are instructions not to speak or if the adepts and servants simply do not wish to speak out of loyalty to whomever is ill, but you must admit it is odd.”

Évrard nodded, his face drawn in thought. He ate a chocolate, his mind spinning. “Hmm…that is odd, although I have heard nothing of this.”

“It seems no one has, and no one can pry any information out of anyone. I do wonder what is happening.”

Évrard hummed in agreement. “My cousin is visiting Cereus House tomorrow night. I shall ask him to look into this.”

“Oh, yes! You must. Évrard, we have these two large secrets here in the Night Court. Why do you think that no one wants them getting out? What could be of such great importance?” Marion felt almost concerned. “Do you think there is something amiss here? We know what happened with the Judiciary last year. Do you think there is somewhat similar going on? Is there some danger or threat to the Night Court that the Dowaynes wish to keep hidden?” Marion took another piece of chocolate and bit into it. The pile of wrappings on the bed continued to grow as they spoke.

“Hmm…that could be. But how might an illness at Cereus House and the Dowaynes meeting about Odilia be connected?”

“Well…” Marion thought for a moment, her brows drawn. “What if they weren’t meeting about Odilia, but she simply attended the meeting in her position of Second of Dahlia House? Surely that could be allowed, yes?”

Évrard nodded. “True enough. So, what then?”

“What if the meeting was to discuss this illness at Cereus House? What if, say, the Dowayne or Second of the House is…dying?” Marion’s voice rose. “What if one of them has some terrible sickness? What if that is why all of the leaders had to meet? What if they must plan for another funeral?” Her hand flew to her mouth.

Évrard gathered her in his arms, chuckling. The chocolate wrappings crinkled as the sheets tangled underneath them. “Oh, my darling, you are working yourself into a tizzy. I am sure it is nothing that dramatic. If the Dowayne or Second of the House was ill or had some…condition…that would not be kept quiet. No one could keep a secret like that!”

Marion sighed, calming. “Yes. Yes, you are right. If anything were happening to the Dowayne or Second, the news would have gotten out.”

“Of course. I suspect one of the adepts has taken ill or has injured themselves in some embarrassing fashion, and the House has been instructed not to speak of it. The yelling is likely some discipline gone awry. Again, embarrassing to the House if word were to spread.” He fed Marion another chocolate, which she chewed daintily.

“Ohhh, yes, that is like to be the situation. And the Dowaynes?”

Évrard thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Unconnected. The royal wedding is coming. It is like the House leaders met to discuss plans for it. As I said, Odilia was attending as Second of Dahlia.”

“But what of her situation with the king? Or the Duc de Chalasse?” Marion questioned.

“I think that, with the king being wedded, her days as his lover are sadly over. The king must produce an heir, and an adept of the Night Court cannot do that. The king must focus on his new bride. No queen would allow for formal or long term liaisons on Mont Nuit. Perhaps Odilia will be attending the wedding with the Duc de Chalasse?”

Marion made a sound of agreement. “That would make sense.” She sat up and made to grab for another chocolate, but found only piles of empty wrappings. She grasped, looking around the bed. “Oh, Évrard! We have eaten the entire bag of chocolates! Look at this terrible mess we have made!”

Évrard surveyed the bed, which was indeed, covered in candy wrappings. He craned his neck and saw more wrappings on the floor. Seeing Marion’s shocked expression, he could not help but burst into laughter.

Marion’s hand flew to her breast. “How can you laugh? Look at this!”

Évrard’s laughter grew harder, and he clutched his belly, tears springing to his eyes. “I am sorry, my dear,” he gasped. “But I do find it comical!”

“How can you laugh? Someone will have to clean up!”

After a moment, Évrard was finally able to calm himself. He took a deep breath. “Marion. How can you not appreciate the humor in the two of us eating an entire pound of chocolates? I meant for that to be a gift to you to enjoy over time. And here we are, having devoured the entire bag in a single morning, before breakfast. And you must admit, this is quite the sight.” His eyes grew soft as he saw her concern. “My darling. I can think of nothing better than lying in bed, eating sweets with you.”

Marion nodded slowly. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose this has been a lovely morning.” She gave her lover a small smile. “And I, too, can think of no better way to spend my time than here with you.”

The two embraced and fell back under the covers.

Distracted as they were, they had not heard the adept in the hallway, knocking to announce their breakfast. The young man had been standing in the slightly opened door for several minutes, listening intently to their conversation.

Storyline: Petrea reaches out

From the private desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

My dearest Odilia,

I have watched over these last many months as your personal struggles have been a public spectacle and your name dragged through the mud of the street of the City of Elua. Gossip on Mont Nuit and Night’s Doorstep is to be expected; your situation is not. It is not acceptable for one to be treated as you have been. And yet, you have handled all with grace and dignity. You are a paragon of the Dahlia tenets, and all should look to you with awe.

I have had my own troubles with love and heartache, though nothing close to what you have experienced. Please know that my heart is with you. Know that my feet stand beside you. Know that my shoulders carry your burden as though it were my own.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, I pray to Blessed Elua for strength for you. Should you ever need a confidant or a friend, you have me. You need only send me.

Yours,

Petrea

Storyline: The Meeting of the Dowaynes

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin.

“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”

Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”

Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”

Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.

Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House.

Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much.

Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”

“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.

“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”

Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.

“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.

Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”

Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’

Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body.

Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”

The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.

Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House. There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.

“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder.

“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.”

Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly. She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this. The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement. Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses. And thus did they come.

Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself.

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting. They might as well begin.

“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes. I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”

“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace. Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”

“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”

Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.

“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.

Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”

Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”

“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”

“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman. “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”

“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”

Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.”

“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”

“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered. And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words.

“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”

No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia. Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched. She would not back down from this.

“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”

Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?

“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers. I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”

“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”

Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone.

“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”

Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could.

“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice. “I am sure we are ready to hear.”

Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking. Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.

“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate. We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer. I blame my romantic heart. It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful. While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace. The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too. He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”

Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished.

“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”

She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”

Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant. Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself.

One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”

“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider. And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”

“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second.

“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court. I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”

Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.

“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”

Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.”

This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons.

Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”

Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes. For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years. And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this.

The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”

Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.

It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness. But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics.

Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court. Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept. She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics.

“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.

Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.” After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.

So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”

“Aliks!”

She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house. We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations. Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day. I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”

Odilia nodded, “Very well.”

Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”

Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.

“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?”

Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?

Storyline: A Discovery at Cereus House

Petrea’s head hurt. If she was being honest, her entire body ached. She felt as though she had been tied to the chair in Aliks’s office for the last several months. Perhaps this was how Valerian adepts felt when they were practicing bondage…but without the pleasure. Her Dowayne had been so overcome with grief at the sudden and violent death of her lover that she had been all but absent from Cereus House. And when Aliks had been physically present in the house, she haunted its halls like a spirit.

It was not that Petrea begrudged her best friend time to mourn Waldemar. Her heart was not only broken on behalf of Aliks, but a little on her own behalf. Waldemar was both a highly respected member of the Night Court and frequent visitor to Cereus House, and over the years, Petrea had become fond of him. Though he and Aliks made an unlikely couple, they complimented each other, and he made Aliks happy. And there was nothing Petrea wanted more than for her friend to be happy.

But, in the absence of a Dowayne, it was the duty of the Second to take on the duties of managing the House. So, much to her dismay, Petrea had been thrust into exactly the position she had feared when Aliks first mentioned a babe: that of Dowayne. In addition to overseeing the entirety of the social aspects of the House, with which Petrea was intimately familiar, there were the incomes and expenses to account, the correspondences to write, and the contracts to manage. Petrea did not know how Aliks kept everything organized in her head while still maintaining relationships and taking on patrons. Every night, Petrea dropped into her bed exhausted, only to be woken in the early morning hours to begin it all again. She thanked Blessed Elus that she had Amie. Amie had stepped in when she, herself, had taken leave of the House two years prior, and Amie’s executive skills had been invaluable then just as they were now. The two had huddled together over accounting books and schedules, menus and letters. Amie was the only thing preventing Petrea from bursting into tears and curling on the floor in a tiny ball like a child.

Petrea rubbed her eyes, the candle burning low. She guessed it must be close to midnight. Everything was silent, save for the sounds a house makes when no one is awake. She wished not to be awake herself, but one cannot always have what one wished. She sighed and stretched her arms above her head.

She heard the swish of skirts and shuffle of slippers on the floor and looked up to see Aliks step through the door. Her face was drawn and gaunt, and dark circles swelled beneath her eyes. Aliks had lost no small amount of weight in the months following Waldemar’s death, and Petrea frowned to see her friend’s gown hanging off her withering frame. Aliks had not even bothered to have her clothing retailored.

“Good evening, Aliks. I am so pleased to see you up and about.” Petrea gave her friend a wide smile. Though she did not like the look of her friend, she was nonetheless happy to see her.

Aliks smiled wanly in return and dropped wearily onto the settee across from the desk, sighing. “It is far past evening, Petrea.”

“I am quite aware, dearest, but you know as well as I do that a Night Court House does not actually ever sleep.” Aliks hummed in agreement. “Are you hungry? Shall we sneak to the kitchens and fetch a bite like we used to do?”

“I could do with something small. Do you know if the cooks have any of the pickled herring in the pantry? I have been absolutely tortured with cravings for it of late.” Aliks gave a small chuckle. “It seems I cannot get enough.”

Petrea shuddered and made a face. “Pickled herring? How can you eat that? It is disgusting! I could never stomach it.” She paused. “And neither could you, for that matter. Why the sudden desire for it?”

Aliks lifted her shoulders. “I know now, only that it is the only thing I wish to eat.”

Petrea gave her friend a soft look. “I suppose grief does strange things to the body.”

Aliks nodded, tears springing to her eyes. Petrea stood quickly from her chair and moved to sit next to her friend. She put her arm around Aliks and pulled them close. Aliks leaned into Petrea’s side and allowed Petrea to stroke her hair. It was a complete turnaround from the roles they most often played, with Aliks comforting Petrea.

“I cannot seem to wake up from this, Petrea. My body craves sleep, and even when I wake, I am still tired.”

“You have been through something terrible. It would seem to me that it is not odd that your body wishes for rest.”

“But it is not simply sleep I crave. As I said, I am eating this pickled herring that I formerly could not stand. And it seems that is the only thing I can eat.”

“We all grieve in our own ways, love.” Petrea soothed.

Aliks looked at Petrea, her eyes full of tears. Petrea could not remember a time she had seen Aliks cry. It was distressing to her. Aliks played absently with the threads on her gown. “I am sick with grief, Petrea. I cannot hold food in my belly, and scents make me ill.” Aliks gave a sniffle.

Petrea nodded, looking closely at her friend. “I wondered why we no longer had the roses you so love in the halls. I thought it was perhaps simply out of respect…” Petrea trailed off, something tickling the back of her mind. She reached for the thought as the two women sat in the quiet office.

“What am I to do without him, Petrea?” Aliks whispered in a voice so unlike her own.

The tickling thought in the back of her mind slammed front and center, causing Petrea to gasp aloud. The exhaustion. The cravings. The illness. The overwhelming emotions. Could it be?

“Aliks,” she said carefully. “You and Waldemar lit a candle to Eisheth before he died, did you not?”

Aliks’s body stiffened and she pulled back from her friend. “Yes. We did,” she answered, her eyes going wide.

“Do you think,” Petrea said, her mind churning. “Do you think, Aliks, that you might be with child?”

“With child?” Aliks gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.

“Well, yes. You crave foodstuffs you hate. You have been physically ill. Scents you love make your stomach turn. You cannot sleep enough to feel rested.”

“Oh.” Aliks’s face went blank.

“I think, my dear.” Petrea put a steadying hand on Aliks’s arm. “That is is time we call an Eisande chirgeon.”

Petrea took Aliks to bed immediately and lay with her throughout the night. The next morning, the chirgeon was summoned, and Petrea’s suspicions confirmed: the Dowayne of Ceres House was, indeed, with child.

Storyline: A Fallen Mandrake

Officially, Mandrake House closed its doors for three days of mourning. Unofficially, it would be more than a week before the adepts began entertaining patrons again. For two days after Waldemar nó Mandrake’s passing, Aliksandria was inconsolable. She shut herself in her room and refused all food. On the third day, she emerged in a black gown and attended his funeral.

At the funeral, Aliks sat next to Dowayne Kali nó Mandrake, in the seat usually reserved for the deceased’s wife. She had no legal claim to it, as they were not married and had not even declared each other consorts, and yet no one begrudged her the space of closest family member. The service was overseen by Priests of Elua, as was customary. Afterwards, when everyone left, Aliks stayed in her seat. Only Petrea remained, supporting her oldest friend.

As dusk began to settle, Aliks rose and looked at Petrea. “You should go to Mandrake House, give Cereus’s regards.”

“What? I should go? Where are you going?” Petrea asked, shocked.

“There is somewhat I need to do, and I must do it alone,” replied Aliks, and she left, walking to the carriage and leaving.

Aliks didn’t go to Mandrake House. If she had she would have seen her lover’s flogger laid on a silken cushion in his honor. She would have heard the adepts talk with grim merriment about their lost friend. Likely, she would have been deep in her cups, and she certainly wouldn’t have been alone in that.

No, Aliks went to the Yeshuite quarter.

Her carriage pulled up in front of the Yeshiva, and she bid the driver remain. He was in service to Cereus House and would, of course, never leave the Dowayne stranded.

When she rapped upon the door, a young boy answered it. His eyes grew big upon seeing her, and while she was wearing a modest gown, she knew it was modest by D’Angeline standards not Yeshuite ones.

“I am looking for Esther Negron, do you know her?” she asked the boy, and he quickly nodded then opened the door further to let her in.

She stepped into a small hallway and was directed to sit upon a very uncomfortable bench as the boy left through a different door. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only half of an hour before the door opened, and the Rebbe appeared.

He was a man of middle years with a beard only slightly streaked with gray and a sour look on his face. Clearly, he was not happy about having a Servant of Naamah appear on his doorstep. Nevertheless, hospitality demanded he permit her entrance and curiosity prodded him forward.

He opened the door to permit Aliks into what appeared to be an office of sorts. Seated in one chair was a woman of elder years, eyes downcast. Aliks took one of the other chairs unprompted, followed by the Rebbe.

“Why are you looking for Esther,” he asked coldly.

Aliks looked at him and said, “that I can tell only her.”

The Rebe nodded toward the woman, and Aliks addressed her in Aragonian. “Señora Negron, I am her to talk to you about your son.”

The woman raised her head and looked Aliks square in the eyes. “I speak D’Angeline, girl,” she spat in D’Angeline. “And I do not wish to speak of my son. He made his choices, and I have made mine. Until the day he repents his sin, leaves your goddess’s service, and returns to the One God, I will not speak of him.”

“Señora, I am very sorry to say, but I have come from his funeral. Your son is no longer with us.”

Tears fell down Esther’s face, and she wrung her hands for many minutes. “You loved him.” She said it as a statement not a question.

“I did, Señora.”

Esther stood and turned to leave then paused at the door. “Are you one of her Servants too? Like him?”

“I am, Señora,” Aliks replied.

“And does it bring shame to your family too?” Esther spat.

Aliks sat up straighter in her chair, which was equally as uncomfortable as the bench had been. “My family has been in Naamah’s service for generations, both my parents before me and my grandparents before them serve her. It brings them pride.”

With that, Esther left, and then the Rebbe addressed her. “You have delivered your message, do not come here again.” And she was shown out.

On the ride home, Aliks shed all the tears she had been holding back. She grieved for her lost lover and for his mother too. It had been a thing of great trust that he had even told her where to find his mother. Though his choices had grieved his mother so, they brought joy and pride to Aliksandria and to the others who were fortunate enough to call him family.

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.”