Cereus – Page 2 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Two Sides of Shame

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manuel blinked sharply. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Autumn’s First Kiss

The first chill breeze of Autumn came whispering through the City of Elua, hinting at the cooler days and darker shadows and misty mornings of the autumn season, and, like perfect clockwork, the invitations arrived for Dahlia’s Revelry.

The patrons that received the gilded invitations sealed with the Dahlia imprint in the burgundy wax dressed to impress – of course, anyone who came to the Night Court dressed to impress, but the Dahlia Revelry was a little different than just attending the public salons. Invitations were also courteously extended to the other Dowaynes and Seconds of the other twelves Houses, if they chose to accept them.

An invitation also found its way to the Rocaille townhouse at the edge of the Noble’s District. Addressed to Lord Maël de Rocaille and his Bosom Contraband, Maël nevertheless knew exactly what this was: a way to circumvent the scanning of the secretaries and staff of the Royal Palace Courcel. It had taken him two tries to read it correctly; the first time he had scanned it he had seen and his Bosom C and filled in the rest with Companion. It was only when he had picked up the letter opener to slice the embossed envelope open that he realised what it really said. And, young and mischievous as he was, he enjoyed a good chuckle at it. Very well, Dahlia, he thought to himself, I see you appreciate a good game after all!

It seemed that he would need to spirit the Dauphin out of the palace once again, for there was no way Gustav would be missing this Revelry.

The whispers of the Autumn ripened into full fruits and the lanterns were lit in Dahlia House, so it gleamed gold as the royal jewels they wore as monarchs in their pride.

Valerian House had their Mara’s Eve celebration at the end of winter, Cereus House hosted the Longest Night, but Dahlia House began the harvest season with their Grand Revels. In the style of Old Hellas, it was a grand symposium with music and food and drink where patrons courted the favour of the Dahlia adepts, all competing for their regal attention and approval. The fruits of the season were piled high in bowls and on platters; lush apples, rich plums, glossy blackberries, bunches of grapes draped over the gilded rims like wine caught in the illicit arc of spilling. Pomegranate quarters nestled among sweet figs, pears, and cherries. Dahlia adepts wore the jewel tones of the harvest season; some choosing the shimmering gold of the sheaves of grain rippling in the fields, some wrapping themselves in the deep green of the vines bearing the bountiful fruit, some choosing their favourite of the fruits on offer to inspire their clothing.

As this would be the first formal event outside of her own House as Dowayne, Rosanna took the matter of what to wear quite seriously. With Etienne well and truly gone, not too far as he was simply ensconced in his beloved’s townhouse until the new year, the title had officially been passed to her. Now she needed to make a statement with her inaugural appearance. Which was made all the more complicated as her good friend did reside in Dahlia too. Honestly, she relished the challenge.

A deep burgundy gown was finally selected, with a wide neckline and wide trailing sleeves with dagged edges. Her long, autumnal, hair fell to her hips, accented by a copper diadem of fallen leaves. To her right hand was Tryphosa, in burnt orange and deep olive green. As the newly appointed Second, it was her joy and duty to attend.

“Dahlia has not spared any expense,” Tryphosa observed and plucked a drink from the tray of a passing server.

“They never do. As is their right and doctrine. Truly regal,” Rosanna replied. In her mind she was already considering the expense of such an event, the elegant decorations and attention to theme. What surrounded them was the work of an experienced Dowayne. Come February, she would be expected to host the events of Mara’s Eve, the first test of her abilities as a House leader.

“You’re thinking too much, my Lady Dowayne,” Tryphosa whispered.

“I believe I am thinking just the right amount,” Rosanna gently corrected. “We will enjoy ourselves tonight, of course. But this is a unique opportunity. We must learn from Dahlia’s success. Come, let us mingle.” And so she led the way deeper into the revelries, her friend and Second at her side.

Mena was nervous, a first for her. She had of course attended Dahlia’s Revelry before but this time there were stark differences. Olivier was not standing in the upstairs Adept only Salon, fussing with the cut of his tunic, nor was Laurent there to offer his thoughts on clothing or to tease them about going to visit the House he said was “you, but rigid”. In their place was a small army of Adepts, since this was Mena’s first year, the whole process was different. Loir, who would be attending with Mena, sat on a backless stool, her laughter ringing through the Salon as Emilié finished her hair and a servant pulled the back of her dress tight. Her marque was newly finished, by the d’Marrs as Mena had predicted, so her dress was mostly open, held to her body with three ties. In honor of autumn, her dress was the color of the tall grasses that grew outside her family land and hid game and predator alike.

Mena had seen this as an opportunity to use the bolt of deep blue fabric the dye merchant had gifted her. It was a sample of a dye he was sourcing from parts unknown, part of the deal that would make him wealthy. There was no other fabric like it in the city, he’d gifted it to her as thanks for her House’s hospitality. The gown it made was simple; it went to the floor, clung where it needed to, with a high neckline that went from shoulder to shoulder, but a deep back. She loved it and made a mental note to wear it when the caravan returned.

Dahlia House was impeccably decorated, as expected, and Mena felt her nerves being replaced with happiness. She loved parties. Loir slipped her hand into the crook of Mena’s arm and whispered, “This is gorgeous, Mena. I cannot believe they do this every year.”

”They do, and it is always incredible,” Mena whispered back. “You know, every House has a function like this that we traditionally hold. Next year, we’ll hold Helio’s again.”

Loir laughed quietly, “I’ll hold you to that. Now though, we need to go mingle and observe.”

Mena nodded, “Agreed. And remember, Olivier sends his regrets, but he’s got a personal commitment that prevents him from attending.”

Loir nodded and slipped off into the crowd, towards the garden, while Mena moved to circulate through the rooms.

Petrea loved a party. Any party, if she was being honest with herself. But this party was different. She was not here for revelry, dancing, or cavorting, as was her usual modus operandi. She was here in her official capacity as Second of Cereus House. She was here to represent her House, to mingle with the Dowaynes and Seconds of the other Houses, to make the acquaintance of those deemed important or influential enough to be invited to the grand affair, and most importantly, she was here to prove that she was a capable Second. Oh, she had heard the rumors that swirled through the salons and bedchambers of Mont Nuit: that she was nothing more than an aging adept looking for a good time and that she was no more fit to be a Second than a stableboy.

All of these thoughts had swirled through her head the entire morning as she prepared. Aimee had stood by her side, listing off the day’s duties and assisting with the tiny buttons that ran up the back of Petrea’s deep blue gown. It had become their routine. They took breakfast together and then helped each other dress as they each gave the other an update on their respective tasks. Standing there, on the magnificent veranda in Dahlia House now, listing off the many tasks that Aimee would be taking care of while she, the official Second, would be here—indulging in wine and conversation—took away some of her nerves.

She tucked a lock of her golden hair back behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. She had been standing along the wall for too long, and that would not do. She was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to act like it.

Maël’s brows had lifted when he had seen what Gustav had chosen to wear, but Gustav had only smiled his secret smile and assured his friend that it was perfect. And it certainly was when he entered the grand gardens of Dahlia House and saw the adepts and patrons glance at him. He wore only simple boots, soft hose that clung to his legs, and a flowing poet’s shirt of soft white. His hair combed only by his fingers, his collarbone and throat exposed by the loose neck of his shirt, he seemed like he had stepped from the music of the Hellene stories of heroes returned home and he certainly felt like he had come home again as he saw her see him.

Across the garden, Odilia sat draped in a rich plum gown that gathered at her throat and fell in pleats down her body, belted with a chain of golden vines to make her seem a harvest goddess herself. Her dark eyes lifted at the whispers that rippled through the gardens, falling on him bathed as he was in the soft light of the lanterns and gleaming white and gold like Elua Himself. He saw her hand lift to touch her chest, as though soothing her heart that skipped for him and he smiled. When he smiled, it reflected in her own face like a sunbeam, glowing and rosy and focused on her and her on him.

He made his way through the patrons, adepts, and servers, intent on his goal, her face the only thing he could see as he came to her, boldly reaching for her hands as she sat on her couch.

“Odilia,” he breathed to her, savouring the feel of her soft skin under his touch again, as he always did – it was always a gift when he could touch her, when he could see her face and smell her perfume.

“Your Highness,” she said, recovering some of her composure even as her eyes glittered. He tugged gently on her hands to pull her to her feet, standing with her as though they were the only two people in the garden, in the city, in the world.

“I would be a shameful guest if I did not come to Dahlia’s Revelry without a tribute gift for my Dahlia queen,” he said to her with his mischievous, slightly boyish smile. “May I give you my gift?”

She eyed him, her brow lifting, but she permitted him his game, “You may.”

The world spun for a moment as he pulled her into his arms, cradling her close as he kissed her sweetly. She gasped – she wasn’t the only one – her hands gripping his shoulders to help herself balance as he swayed with her, but she kissed him back. She knew she shouldn’t, this was so public and so many people were watching, and he was the Dauphin, she was only a Servant of Naamah. But was this not what the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers was for? Indulgence and delight?

She let herself delight in his kiss, her hands relaxing on him – trusting him – and sliding to comb up through his loose hair to savour him.

Rosanna was conversing with one of the patrons of Dahlia House, a curious one who saw her own marque and came with earnest questions about such a distinctly different practice than the one hosting. They were smiling and making light discussion when from the corner of her eye movement pulled at her attention. The patron’s too, if the shocked and grinning gasp was anything to go by.

“Now I have never seen the elegant autumn revelry celebrated quite so…enthusiastically before,” said the patron.

“Nor have I,” she replied with a perfectly polite smile. On the inside she was positively ecstatic, but those emotions were tempered down. Later, she would seek out her friend and ask all about the Prince who kissed her later.

Loir was standing with a small group of Dahlia Adepts, whispering Night Court gossip when the Prince’s approach caught their attention. Their conversation stopped mid-word as they watched him approach the Second of Dahlia House. They were too far away for even Loir’s well-trained ears to catch their words, but the kiss rendered words useless. One of the Adepts grabbed Loir’s arm tightly as they stood, stunned by what they saw. A Dahlia, kiss in public?! With a Prince! Loir felt her heart racing at the implications. The kiss ended in an intimacy that made Loir look away instinctively, lovers like that deserved their privacy.

“W-w-where were we?” An Adept said with a light laugh, and Loir released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Well, I think we were talking about Bryony House,” she said with a light laugh, “Though I am sure their numbers did not include that development.” As the conversation started back up, Loir tried to organize her thoughts and the events so she could let Mena know when they returned home. This needed to go into the books for sure.

Petrea heard a gasp and turned from her conversation with the young Lancelin of Siovale just in time to catch the kiss to end all kisses. All her years of training at Cereus House could not stop the look of shock from her face. It took her mind a second to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. The heir to the Perigeux duchy cleared his throat quietly, freeing her from her momentary reverie. She blinked and turned back to the gentleman, once again the picture of a trained adept.

She put her hand on his arm, apologizing for her impertinence. He smiled in his dark-eyed way and waved off her concern. He continued speaking about…something…and Petrea continued to nod and make appropriate murmurs of agreement when appropriate. But her mind was not on her companion’s words. There were larger pieces in play now, and Petrea knew that she had just witnessed a major shift in the game she had unwittingly joined. She would need to navigate this carefully as Second, and Aimee was not the one who could help steer her.

When the kiss ended, Odilia looked up at him, bright and beautiful as they smiled into each other’s eyes in a way that could never be feigned. In a way that was noticed by many of the eyes still watching their Dauphin kiss the Second of Dahlia House, a woman more proud and distant than most of her comrades. And she smiled at him like he had sprinkled the stars in the sky above them himself.

“Well,” the Dahlia Dowayne said from her throne among her favourite lovers, lifting her goblet in a toast, “it seems our Revels have truly begun!”

Maël’s eyes swept across the gardens, tracking the ripples of the gossip and seeing the spreading whispers as the fête continued, and it was not just the Autumn chill that came kissing his neck. No, he knew that nothing good could come of this.

Cereus Steel Draws Blood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Elua! What had she done?

Flowers Grow Together

It was midsummer, and Petrea still felt unsettled in her position as Second of Cereus House. Aliks had named her in early spring, and yet still she did not feel secure. To be sure, she had worked hard to put on a good face for the House, meeting with other Dowaynes and Seconds, as Aliks buried herself in paperwork and ledgers, meetings and politics. Petrea met with patrons and arranged assignations for adepts. But there were things that were holding her back. One of which was Aimée.

Petrea suspected that Aimée had hoped, at least in some small way, to be named Second. She and Aliks were romantically involved, so it wouldn’t have surprised Petrea for Aliks to name Aimée to the position. Even if the relationship wasn’t exactly common knowledge, and senior adepts weren’t supposed to be emotionally involved with subordinates. Aimée was responsible, organized, and logically minded. The younger adepts trusted her. She had all of the qualities that Petrea feared she did not. Yet, Aimée was quite young. Many years younger than both Aliks and Petrea, and Petrea suspected this was the reasoning behind Aliks’s decision. But Petrea knew that, as much as the decision made sense, and as much Aimée understood the decision in that logical mind of hers, it would still have hurt. And Petrea felt a deep sense of empathy for her. And perhaps even some guilt. Was she truly suited for the position? Could she honestly say that she was up to the task of Second of Cereus House? It was a heavy mantle. Could she wear it? Would young Aimée have been the better choice?

It was on a hot and damp afternoon that Petrea finally decided she was finished navel-gazing over this. She had been lying on the wood floor of her new apartments, wearing only a dressing gown, furiously fanning herself in a desperate attempt to cool off and failing miserably. Lying on the floor and wallowing in self pity would resolve nothing. It was time to gather her wits and actually speak with Aimée. Petrea had often seen Aimée walk in the large gardens behind the house, so she decided to find her there and talk things out.

After a quick bath, Petrea made her way through the gardens to the tall shade trees. The temperature felt significantly lower, and Petrea began to understand why Aimée felt comfort here. It was a tranquil and protected space, far from the oft chaotic life inside their home. After walking for several minutes, she found Aimée sitting on the lip of one of the fountains, dangling her feet in the water.

“Aimée?” Petrea approached slowly, as one might do a frightened animal.

Aimée jumped up, startled. “Oh! Petrea! I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Oh! No! I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you often come to the gardens, and I thought that, well, I had hoped that we could speak, in private—” She gestured to the large, imposing Cereus House behind them. “—in a less formal place, perhaps away from prying eyes and ears, and be more plain with one another?”

Aimée looked at Petrea and gracefully made a welcoming gesture to the space beside her. Her face had subtly slipped into the perfected mask every senior Cereus adept cultivated. Petrea felt a small twinge of disappointment at the shift in demeanor. She had hoped that Aimée would be more comfortable in the botanical sanctuary.

Petrea sat down on the edge of the fountain and trailed her fingers through the cool water, watching the ripples lap at the stone. “I can see why you came here today. This water feels lovely.” Petrea shook off her shoes and gathered her skirts, tucking them under her lap. She plunged her feet into the water and sighed. “That feels incredible.”

A small hint of a smile teased at the corner of Aimée’s mouth as she replied. “It’s the best respite from the heat. One would have to go to Balm House to find anywhere more refreshing for the body or soothing to the soul than this little corner of Cereus.” Her shoulders loosened almost imperceptively. And she turned to gaze at the fountain and the garden beyond.

After a moment of silence, Petrea cleared her throat and began speaking. “Aimée, I feel as though things between us are tense, to put it mildly, and I don’t like that. I feel that, well, I feel that you may resent me for being chosen as Second when you were not. I want you to know that I firmly believe that I would have been just as happy if you were chosen.”

Aimée’s head snapped toward Petrea; her face had lost its trained air of nothingness. Petrea couldn’t quite decipher the meaning painted upon her features. A mix of shock, defensiveness, anger, hurt…all emotions that Petrea watched pool into a general upset of Aimée’s practiced air. In a second, Aimée forced a roll into her shoulders and several deep soothing breaths in and out her lungs. Petrea waited as Aimee tried to reclaim some of calm. “Petrea…if I have done anything to give you the impression that I am anything other than genuinely pleased for you, I apologize. I always knew that Aliks would choose you for the role. There was no question in my mind that you would be her Second,” Aimée stated. Then quieter, in almost a whisper, “But I did, very briefly, hope.”

Petrea saw Aimee’s posture soften, like a huge weight had been lifted with the admission.

It was then that Petrea finally felt she could share. “I often feel as though you would be a better Second than I am. That the House would be better served if you were leading it.” She spoke her fears in the same hushed tones they had once used to share midnight secrets in the novice dormitory. She locked eyes with Aimée, needing the other woman to understand the seriousness of her next words. Her voice was strong. “I am sorry, Aimée. I think that perhaps I should have told Aliks no and pushed her to name you.”

“What!?” Aimée gasped. “You are more than qualified, you have the skill, the connections, the years of service…”

Petrea swung her feet out of the fountain, using the momentum to swivel her body to face the opposite way and placing her feet firmly on the garden path. She stood and began pacing. She dug a bare toe into the dirt and shook her head before interjecting. “But, Aimée, don’t you see? I am missing things! Aliks spent years being groomed to be Second, while I was nothing but an adept. We all knew she would be Second and then Dowayne. But me? This was a surprise to everyone, myself included! And I know nothing of leadership. For certain, I can pour wine and play the lyre. I know that I am a favorite among several patrons! But I was never trained to be Second! Or, Blessed Elua forbid, Dowayne! I have signed my own assignation contracts, but I do not know how to write them! Patrons are coming to me to negotiate for adepts’ time—what do I know of that? What do I know of drawing other Houses to allyship?” Petrea slumped back against a tree trunk, falling to the ground, giving no care for dirtying her fine clothes. “My days are filled with tasks I know nothing of. My only…my only escape is my time with Santiago.” She smiled sadly.

“I know. Sometimes I see you more often returning from Orchis House than from your office.” Aimée teased. She immediately realized her attempt at levity had the opposite effect.

Petrea’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Precisely. You see, I am failing,” she said in a quiet voice. “It feels as though no matter how many tasks I complete, there is always another. And I know, I know, that I am missing things. I know that there are happenings in the House that I know nothing of.”

Aimée removed herself from the fountain and walked to Petrea to sit with her under the tree. Aimée waited until Petrea looked toward her. “I will be honest with you, things are falling through the cracks. The younger adepts and novices are coming to me to put out spot fires. By the time you smell the wisps of smoke, the proverbial fire has been doused. Sometimes it’s been out for hours or even days.” Petrea sunk into herself. She knew the situation had been bad, but it was somehow worse than she had anticipated. “Every time you leave for Orchis, yes, you have completed your formal tasks, but there are a thousand unwritten responsibilities and unexpected problems that need to be handled.”

A deep sense of shame filled Petrea’s chest, and she felt blood rise to her face. “And a good Second would know these things,” she whispered, unable to meet Aimée’s eyes. She had been right. Aimée did resent her. Aimee was taking care of all of these responsibilities that she was not. Aimee knew all of these things. And she did not.

“I understand now why you resent me so. Here I am, off at Orchis House while you are stuck here cleaning up behind me. I am so sorry, Aimée. I should have known these things. I should have been more aware.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from falling.

“That…This…” Aimee’s arm made an all encompassing movement. “Is. Not. Your. Fault. And I have never resented you,” she stated emphatically. “The plague has caused nothing but chaos. The Court, the City, Terre d’Ange itself is struggling to reorganize and bring back some order. Aliks is completely absorbed with her duties as the First and Foremost Dowayne of the Night Court, the Council to House Courcel, and any House responsibilities that absolutely require Dowayne,” Aimée laid out. “You are not handling the responsibilities of merely a Second. You are dealing with more than half of the responsibilities of a Dowayne and all the requirements of a Second. All while the kingdom is recovering from one of the most destructive plagues in our history.” Aimée sighed. “And you have not been trained for either position. I wouldn’t have known what to watch out for had I not been…” Aimée nearly trailed off into silence. “…with Aliks.” She shyly summed up.

Petrea looked at Aimée, her eyes wild and desperate. “Will you help me? Please. Please, help me. I know the topmost bricks, but you are the expert in the building blocks. You know everything that happens within the walls of the House, and I know that I can talk my way through political meetings and afternoon teas. Aliks was left with mountains of backlogged papers to sift through and piles of scrolls to read, most from before Dowayne Geraunt’s passing. It’s so much. So much…it’s too much. Everything is falling to the Second.” Petrea shrugged and gave Aimée a wry look. “Perhaps—together—we would make a superior Second?”

Aimée gently took Petrea’s hand between her own. “Do you remember when I first entered Cereus? I was a scared little reject from Bryony House. ‘All of the talent, none of the passion.’ They only sent me here because my looks matched the canon of Cereus House. I was certain Cereus wouldn’t keep me either. You held me as I cried those first nights. You told me, ‘All Loveliness Fades, but what doesn’t fade is our bonds to each other. We are desert flowers. We survive.’ Cereus House is my family. You are my sister. You always were; you always will be.”

Petrea threw her arms around her friend. “Thank you, Aimée,” she said quietly into Aimée’s hair. “You cannot know how much your love and support mean to me.” Her voice grew firm as she clutched her friend. “We will do this together. Together we will rise.”

The Unruly Patron

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

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

“Fetch me Dowayne Aliks. Right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aliks raised an eyebrow. “Demanded?”

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

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

“Yes. He simply said to fetch her.”

Aliks and Petrea exchanged a look.

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

“A Lord Pierre Montaban, my lady.”

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

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

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

Lucas gave a nod and left the room.

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

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

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

Petrea grinned at her friend. “I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watering the Garden

Aimee walked elegantly to the back garden of Cereus House. As she made her way past one of the novice lectures being led by a fellow adept, she heard the instructions on the subject of poise and composure and to use the senior adepts as examples in order to learn the art. Little did the instructor know that Aimee, one of the most senior adepts, was a roiling, festering pool of rage beneath her statuesque expression and gliding stride. Having reached her sanctuary, a small alcove hidden from the rest of the garden by lush greenery, she finally allowed her training to fall away. Hot, silent tears streamed down Aimee’s cheeks as she sat and tried to soothe the hurt in her chest. Pondering the events of the past few months, she tried to lay everything out dispassionately.

Aliksandra had asked for space and time away from their affair to adjust when she had ascended to Dowayne, and Aimee gave it gladly. With the lack of a Second, Aimee and Petrea had stepped up to fill the gap until an appointment could be made, as was to be expected. Except, Aimee had not taken an assignation in over a month and hadn’t even left the grounds of Cereus for anything outside of official House business in over two. All the while Petrea had spent more time at Orchis than at Cereus!

Aimee took a deep shuddering breath and breathed it out slowly. “You’re winding yourself up again,” she said to herself.

While the Orchis situation did bother her, it would be unfair to Petrea to make anything of it. Petrea completed all of her duties before going and upon returning to Cereus, she always attacked any new dilemma with fervor. It was the small, unforeseen, unscheduled problems of the day-to-day at Cereus House that were causing such havoc. Because once there was a problem, everyone went running to the most senior adept present, and with Petrea at Orchis and Aliks cloistered with paperwork and imminently important House affairs that required the Dowayne, Aimee was the one desperately trying to keep the place together.

And to ice the cake, Aliksandra had just told her that Petrea was to be the new Second.

Fresh tears welled up in Aimee’s eyes, as the past months’ toll manifested upon her face. Before Aliks’ ascension, Aimee knew that it would be Petrea selected, it had to be. Aimee was young for a senior adept much less a Second, and Petrea had far better connections outside of Cereus with the upper echelon throughout the city. But Aimee had done well keeping everything running. Hadn’t she?

Even with Petrea sharing some of the duties, Aimee was the one making sure that effortless perfection of Cereus House graced the Night Court night after night. Wasn’t she?

Feelings of abandonment surged once again inside her, having become a familiar companion in recent months. Taking a final fortifying breath, Aimee stood, and willed the silver of Cereus House into her spine and rebuilt the loveliness that she had embodied since childhood. Reminding herself as she made her way out of the garden that while “All loveliness fades,” so does everything else as well. Time brings changes and how one reacts to them defines whether that change will be good or ill. And Aimee would forswear Naamah herself before leaving Aliks or Petrea to face those changes alone.

Choosing a Cereus Second

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

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

“Of course.” Petrea nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Petrea’s Concern

The passing of the Dowayne of Cereus House had affected Petrea nó Cereus, an adept of Cereus House, in ways that she had not expected. Something about the death of someone who had been a constant presence in her life for most of her life was causing her to question her own mortality. She was passing four decades, and every time she passed a mirror, the face reflected in it reminded her of the canon of her house: All Loveliness Fades.

She felt in her bones her loveliness fading. The lines at the corners of her eyes and lips. The sag of her skin. The rounding of her belly. And was it her imagination, or were patrons’ eyes skipping over her more often? Was she losing the favor of those seeking beauty? Her skills as a Servant of Naamah had certainly not dulled in her years. If nothing, her experience only improved her ability to entertain and pleasure those who sought her company! Perhaps it was only her mind playing tricks.

So it was that Petrea found herself more often at her place of refuge: Orchis House. An odd choice some might think for a Cereus, but over the years, Petrea had developed a close friendship with the Orchis Second, Santiago. Where Cereus House was a place of decorum, there was nothing of decorum to be found at Orchis House—a breath of fresh air. And since the death of her Dowayne, Petrea had found herself more and more in need of air. And drink. She would slump into a carriage and trudge to the doors of Orchis. She would then be whisked into the house by either Santiago or Xixiliya, the Dowayne, with kisses and strong drink. Once inside, her dark mood would fade, and all thoughts of decay would float from her head.

It was on just such an evening that Petrea was deep in her cups, her feet propped on Xixiliya’s lap, her head lolling on Santiago’s shoulder, her gown half off (how that happened, she could not say), and her shoes…somewhere, that a perturbed messenger arrived from Cereus House.

The irritated man in Cereus livery, his hat askew, was brought into the salon by a grinning adept. “My lady Petrea,” the Orchis adept sing-songed. “You have a message. This adorable thing says it is terribly important.”

Petrea tried to sit up but succeeded only in falling to the floor in an undignified heap. Her face flamed as she looked up at the messenger. He wrinkled his nose at her and cleared his throat. She stood as gracefully as one can when having been plied with drink for many hours and smoothed her dress. She looked around for her shoes. She could not find them. They were in the room somewhere.

She brushed back her hair and gave the messenger a bland look. “Yes? What is this message that is so urgent it could not wait until morning? As I am sure you are aware, there are strict instructions that I am not to be disturbed here.”

The man had the decency to look slightly chastised, as he did know of Petrea’s habits. The former Second, now Dowayne, Aliksandria nó Cereus, was Petrea’s best friend and allowed Petrea her visits to Orchis House. Aliks was the one who gave the instructions to leave Petrea alone.

“Yes, well, my lady, you see,” he stammered.

Petrea sighed, her shoulders slumping. Clearly, her evening was over. She could feel her head clearing of the alcohol as the mantle of belonging to Cereus House dropped to her shoulders. “Please,” she said quietly. “What is the message?”

“Dowayne Aliksandria has requested that you return to the house. She must speak with you. Privately.”

“Oh.” It was all Petrea could think to say. She knew what this conversation was about.

Behind her, Santiago wrapped his arms around her. He rested his forehead at the nape of her neck. “It will be alright. Either way, it will be alright. And you can always come here. You know that,” he whispered softly.

While Santiago was one who never seemed to take anything seriously, he also knew when the time called for tenderness. And that was one of the things Petrea loved most about him. She turned and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Xixiliya appeared in front of Petrea with her shoes. The Dowayne slid them onto Petrea’s feet, giving her ankle a quick pat as she stood. “Go home and get this done. Then come back and tell us all about it.” She gave Petrea a wide grin and pinched her cheek. They smiled at each other.

Petrea turned to the messenger and gave a sharp nod of her chin. “Well, let us go then.”

She followed the gentleman to the Cereus carriage and stepped in. Settling back in the seat, she wiped a hand across her face. She knew this conversation with Aliks had been coming since the day of the old Dowayne’s death, and she wasn’t sure which way she wanted it to go.

A New Dowayne’s Dilemma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: A Year in Review

Here is a review of everything that has happened this year in and around the City of Elua

Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, lights a candle to Eisheth and has a romantic evening with Waldemar nò Mandrake, her longtime lover.
Waldemar is involved in a carriage accident and passes away.
As all of the Night Court mourns the passing of the fallen Mandrake, Aliks visits the Yeshuite quarters to give the news to Waldemar’s mother, who is ashamed of her son.
News comes to Mont Nuit that King Gustav is to marry Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale.
Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, and longtime lover of the king, leaves the City of Elua, retreating to the estate of Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace. Roland proposes an advantageous, political marriage to her.
Philomena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope House, wonders how the Night Court will handle the news of the king’s betrothal in light of his relationship with Odilia.
Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House and granddaughter of Roland, visits her family’s country estate to discuss the state of the Duc’s proposal to her best friend. The family is stunned and unsupportive, viewing it as disrespectful to their grandmother, Roland’s late wife.
Gustav and Corrian are shocked that news of their nuptials was leaked to the Night Court. They write to Odilia, asking that she come to the palace to clear the air.
Odilia leaves Roland’s estate, much to his chagrin.
Gustav and Corrian ask Odilia to be their official Royal Consort and Royal Companion. Odilia does not give an answer, as she must consider Roland’s proposal. She says she will give an answer before the wedding.
Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, suspects that Aliks may be with child. This is confirmed by an Eisandine chirurgeon.
Rosanna visits Roland, who asks her to convince the family to support his proposal to Odilia—who is her best friend—and help settle the gossip in the Night Court.
Mena ponders her duties as Dowayne, overcome with all of the responsibilities given the current situation.
The Dowaynes meet to discuss what is to be done about Odilia. Odilia informs them that she must leave her decision of which proposal to accept to the council. It is decided that she must choose the king. A subtle show of support is proposed.
Petrea writes a letter of support to Odilia
Two nobles enjoy a romantic night at Balm House.
Aliks tells her parents she is pregnant. They suggest that she could retire, and she balks at the suggestion.
The King of Terre de Ange marries Lady Corrian de Borean of Azzale and they publicly name Odilia as Royal Consort and Royal Companion.
The Court of Night Blooming Flowers celebrates the royal wedding long into the night.
Rosanna meets with Roland, and they discuss his plans for how to proceed now that Odilia has rejected his offer. In a strategic move, Roland invites Odilia to join him and Rosanna at the theater.
Gustav, Corrian, and Odilia negotiate Odilia’s contract as an adept of the Night Court. They make the decision that she is not to serve them exclusively in an attempt to be a conduit of information.
Corrian struggles with her duties as queen and looks to Odilia for help.
The City of Elua celebrates the harvest festival of Steward’s Eve in celebration of the Good Steward, the angel Anael.
Aliks’s baby is born, and she names him Patroclus.
Mena relates the story of a troubling patron to her Second, Loir.
Petrea tells Mena that she intends to retire from her position as Second of Cereus House after the Longest Night.
Aimée nó Cereus, unofficial Third of Cereus House, goes to the tailor to put together a stunning costume for the Longest Night.
Valerian House makes preparations for the Longest Night and discusses their preparations for Mara’s Eve, the special vigil that they celebrate in February.
Roland and Odilia make peace with their relationship and the path that it has taken.
Aliks and Petrea reminisce about their childhood at Cereus House and come to terms with their future together, and apart.