Tag: Cereus

Tea for Two…

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, paced nervously in the small salon. Her counterpart of Dahlia House, Odilia nó Dahlia, was to arrive any moment, and Petrea’s anxiousness was on full display. Petrea had invited Odilia to afternoon tea in hopes of learning more about her and, if fortune favored her, beginning a friendship. Odilia was one of two Seconds who Santiago insisted Petrea could trust for advice and guidance. This would be a test not only of Petrea’s skills as in diplomacy, but in Santiago’s trustworthiness.

“Stop pacing!” Aimée nó Cereus, senior adept and Petrea’s confidant, hissed at her. “You will wear holes in the carpet.” Petrea had asked Aimée to serve the tea and cakes the kitchen had prepared and possibly join them should it feel appropriate. It was well known within Cereus House that Petrea and Aimée were joined at the hip, so to speak, but neither knew if that information extended beyond the House walls. Aimée had joined Petrea in the salon before Odilia was to arrive, supposedly to assist with preparing the room, but in truth it was to keep Petrea calm. Aimée had been adjusting cushions on the chaise but now put her hands on her hips and glared at her friend.

Petrea stopped moving, and Aimée stepped up to her and made a small adjustment to the cinnamon colored ribbon tied at the front of her dress. “Are you sure this was the appropriate dress for the occasion?” Petrea asked. “It’s not too formal?” She picked an invisible speck of lint off her sky blue skirt and frowned. “Was this really the best color? It feels like it would be more appropriate for spring, Aimée.”

Aimée grasped her friend’s hands. “Petrea, look at me,” she said firmly. Petrea raised her eyes, her brows furrowed in worry. “You look immaculate. I saw to it myself.” She patted Petrea’s cheek gently. “And your dress is perfect. It is one of your loveliest, and the color brings out your eyes. It is not too formal, nor is it wrong for the season.” She paused and gave her Second a serious look. “Now, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath. I am going to the kitchen to see to the refreshments. Marielle will bring your guest in when she arrives.” She gave Petrea’s hand a squeeze, then turned and left the room.

Petrea did as she was told and lowered herself to the loveseat. She touched her hair, then quickly removed her hand. It had taken Aimée almost an hour to curl and pin her long, blonde locks earlier, and Petrea had been warned in no uncertain terms not to touch a single strand . She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. This simply would not do. She was Night Court trained; she was an adept of Cereus House; she was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to remember that.

A moment later, there came a gentle knock, and the door to the salon opened. Marielle, a young adept of the House and well known gossip, stepped into the room. “Your guest is here. May I show her in?” She asked quietly. 

Petrea nodded and gave the girl a smile. She had specifically asked that Marielle be the one to greet Odilia. She would speak to the girl later and find out any information Marielle might have gathered on their walk in. Petrea suspected that Marielle would have little, if anything, to report, but one could try.

The rivalry between Cereus and Dahlia was well known. To have the Second of one House invite the other for tea would certainly ripple through the rest of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers as the gossip spread. But there was nothing of the rivalry in Odilia’s face as she entered, except for perhaps the way she glanced around the salon to study the decor, which gave Petrea the chance to look at her without the immediate pressure of conversation.

Odilia was a tall woman, and willowy. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and her eyes were a rich warm brown as well. All of her browns were warmed by the bronze satin dress she wore. The chemise, a soft goldenrod embroidered with gold thread, showed at the decolletage where the bronze dipped lower and at her forearms where the bronze gown’s full sleeves opened. Her dark hair was caught up in a gold net studded with pearls but she wore no other jewelry, choosing to let her beauty speak for itself. 

There was nothing that could be read on Odilia’s face as she looked at her host, greeting her in her low voice, “Second Petrea, thank you for the invitation to your table.” Though her manners were perfect, as anyone raised in the Night Court would be, she did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of greeting. Her composure was iron-clad and impregnible. 

Petrea dipped her chin in acknowledgement, her expression placid. She was not surprised by the lack of a friendly greeting but hoped that they could exchange more than cool pleasantries upon their next meeting. “Odilia, I am pleased that you came. Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward a luxurious couch across a small table from where she, herself had been sitting. “I shall ring for tea and refreshments. Our cook is known for her petit fours, and I am told she prepared a special batch.”

The two women sat facing each other, both as graceful as only those trained in the Night Court could be. Petrea picked up a small bell and rang it. She folded her hands in her lap and gave Odilia a gentle smile. “I had hoped you would accept my invitation, though knowing the history of our House rivalries—” She raised an eyebrow at the word. “—I would have understood if you felt it inappropriate and sent your regrets.” 

Moments later, the door opened and Aimée entered, carrying a large tray. On it sat a gleaming silver tea set, polished to a mirror shine, complete with milk and sugar bowls and delicate cups painted with the emblem of Cereus House in blue and gold. Gilding lined the edges of the cups and saucers, sparkling in the light of the room.  Behind Aimée came Marielle, who gave Odilia a polite smile, carrying a second tray full of refreshments. The trays were set down on the low table between the two Seconds. 

“Would you like me to pour, Petrea,” Aimée asked quietly.

Petrea gave a small gesture of dismissal. “I will see to it, but thank you. I will ring if we need anything else.”

Aimée and Marielle curtsied and left the room, the door closing silently behind them. 

“It certainly caused a stir in our salon when your messenger arrived in your so distinctive blue and gold livery,” Odilia said, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as she surveyed the Cereus Second and the tray that had been brought for them. She did not know this woman well and every choice that had been made for this meeting, from the decor of the salon to the clothing she wore and the tray that she had ordered, told Odilia a little more about her. 

“Though I must confess,” Odilia said, watching impassively as Petrea’s soft hands carefully lifted the silver pot, “I did not expect you to write to me. Your preferences for other Seconds are well-known. Even though you are yet still new to your position, what I have heard of you did not make it seem as though you had much interest in connecting with Houses to which you were not already acquainted.”

Only Petrea’s lifetime of Night Court training hid her wince and kept her hands steady as she poured the tea into the cup meant for Odilia. Yes, she had not started her tenure as Second as well as she could have, but she was making her efforts now. She motioned to the sugar bowl and creamer, but the other woman said firmly, “No, thank you. I take my tea black.”

Petrea could see that Odilia was not a sweet woman. She was formidable and strong, a different kind of strength than the Cereus steel, but strong nonetheless. So, she simply smiled politely and offered Odilia her cup with both hands. The Dahlia Second accepted it with a low word of thanks and rested the saucer in her lap as she watched Petrea go about making her own cup.

Petrea took a small sip before setting her cup on its saucer and placing it on the low table. A moment of silence stretched between the two women, before Petrea finally broke it. “Odilia,” she said, her tone measured. “I could sit here and attempt to engage you in conversation about the weather and the latest fashions. But neither of us have time to sit and chatter idly like fishwives; we both have much work to attend to. Nor would I insult you by acting as though either of us believe I invited you here simply to eat cake and drink tea. We are not fools. Lies do not become us.” She gave her counterpart a steady look. It was a bold gambit, to be certain. 

Odilia did not even blink, merely continuing to watch the blonde across from her as she said, “Why then am I here, Second Petrea? What is it you want from me?”

“Plainly, I want your advice,” Petrea responded evenly. 

That did get a reaction, only a small lifting of her brows as she said, “Is that so? My, what would the rest of the Night Court think if they knew?”

Petrea held her gaze, her eyes calm. “When this conversation is over, tell someone or don’t tell someone. It’s entirely up to you. The entire Night Court knows that Cereus House has been in…disarray…for some months, and I was chosen Second somewhat unexpectedly. I am making myself, and indeed my House, vulnerable in asking for your assistance, and I know that. But needs must. Odilia, I know of social niceties, hosting galas, and I have—” she paused, searching for a word— “assistance, in the daily running of the House, but there is far more to being a Second than that. What counsel would you give?” 

Odilia took a sip of her tea, savouring the smokey flavors of the dark, rich brew. She considered the question and the woman who asked it before finally saying, “I hardly think your House runs things the way mine does. Why come to me? There are eleven other Seconds, have they all been hosted for tea as well?” Something sharp glittered in her eyes as she pressed her advantage of information slightly. “Or was this Santiago’s idea first?”

At that, Petrea could not help but chuckle. “I certainly have no intention of parading every Second on Mont Nuit through the doors in hope of finding useful advice. And Santiago is one of my dearest friends and has provided me much comfort over the past months. Our relationship is no secret. Yes, it was Santiago who suggested I speak with you. After informing me that he could be of no assistance. Orchis House operates far differently from Cereus. And Dahlia, I would imagine.”

“Naturally,” Odilia said drily. Her head tilted slightly as she inquired, “But your Dowayne has been no help to you in this? She was Second, wasn’t she? She cannot give you advice from her own tenure?”

“It is no secret that Gerault left the House in chaos after his death. Aliksandria has been spending long hours each day attempting to disentangle from the disorder. To say her time has been limited would be a gross understatement. She has had barely a moment to take a breath, let alone instruct someone who had no designs on becoming a Second.” 

“Ah, the unwilling and unprepared thrust into power,” Odilia finally smiled, even if it was slight. “Many an epic begins so.” She took another sip of her tea and asked, “What do you want out of your new status? What do you want to accomplish for yourself and for your House during your time in the Second’s seat?”

Taking a small teacake, Petrea seemed to think over her answer before replying. “I believe that Cereus House must be strong in order to uphold the strength of the Night Court. That has not been the case for some time, and I seek to remedy that, assisting my Dowayne. As for myself?” She shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps I simply wish to see myself be seen as someone who can be relied on to accomplish things. I do not, however, see myself featuring in any epics.” 

“Ah,” Odilia said, her head tilting back slightly. “You cannot say? Then how can you help to lead if you do not know where you are going?”

“And that,” Petrea said, splaying her hands in her lap, “is my challenge. I do not know where I am going, so I ask the advice of someone who seems to know where she is. Where she is supposed to be. I do not know where I should be going. I am thrashing in the sea. You stand on a ship.”

Odilia acquiesced to the image with a small nod. She leaned forward to set her teacup down on the low table between them, resting her hands on her lap when she straightened, entirely composed as she considered her answer. Finally, she said, “The Second does not stand in the shadow of the Dowayne. The Second is the shadow of the Dowayne. We are their partners in all things, we are also their balancing force in the running of the House. We maintain the expected order of the House so that the Dowayne may focus on the external affairs, but we are also the left hands that take care of their troubles so they may better serve the House in the spotlight of their place. For a House like Cereus, where not just the other Houses of the Night Court but all of the City of Elua is watching, that…weight of responsibility is increased. Aliksandria cannot be seen as vulnerable. She must be above reproach. You are the force that works to ensure that. You are the one that silences the questions before they even arise. It is not enough to simply do as asked, you must also learn to read between the lines and anticipate what needs to be done.”

Petrea nodded, carefully considering Odilia’s words. “Gerault was vulnerable. He was never above reproach,” she said quietly. Her fingers toyed absently with the lacing of her gown. She gave Odilia a small smile that looked almost sad. “He was a petty tyrant, and I truly believe that it is because of his actions that we find ourselves in our current plight. He acted rashly, and everyone knew it. He was unkind, and everyone knew it. We lost many patrons, and our fêtes went unattended. This is unacceptable for Cereus House. It is my greatest hope that Aliksandria and I can repair the damage that he did to our House’s reputation. I love this House, though I never intended to be, I am proud to be its Second. I know that Aliksandria will be an indomitable Dowayne. I want to do right by her. She deserves no less than that.” 

“And what about what you deserve?” Odilia watched her with eyes that showed nothing of her inner thoughts. “Who will do right by you? Yes, of course, support your Dowayne. Do what she needs, and anticipate what she will need so she never needs to worry that you will not be there for her in everything. But you cannot serve her or your House if you are not sure in yourself; who you are, what you want, what you need.”

“This is not anything I had considered before today. It seemed to be a simple matter of what needed to be done for the good of the House. You have given me much to think on. I appreciate that. And your candor. Whether you choose to keep my confidence or not, I trust the truth of your advice.”

“I have no reason to lead you astray,” Odilia said, some wry amusement dripping from her words. “If Cereus House falters, the rest of us are then called into question by extension. Our Houses’ rivalry is an internal one. It does not leave the halls of Mont Nuit. I will not gain anything by lying to you now. But the core of my advice is that the best Second you will become is only the best Second you can be. No one else is Second of Cereus House. You are. So be the best of yourself and by that you will serve your House.”

“Reasons can always be found to lead one astray, but I don’t doubt your intentions,” Petrea replied with a small shrug. “Your advice is unexpected but more than helpful.” She gave a small, but direct smile. “Now, I know that I was quite vocal about Cook’s petit fours. She is ever so proud of them, and if she finds out that you did not eat any, she will tan my backside. So, please, have one.”

“She fostered in Mandrake, then?” Odilia asked it lazily, but did reach forward to choose one. They were a selection of soft, springy colors as though in direct opposition to the cold autumn outside and smelled of rosewater, lavender, or orange. Odilia chose one of the orange ones, topped with a curl of candied orange peel and bit into it. 

Petrea gave a wry look. “Something like that.” She chose a lavender cake and took a small bite. She ate daintily, set the cake on a plate, dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and took a sip of her tea. “I wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed Dahlia’s Autumn fête. I have attended many formal gatherings before, I have not attended this particular one, as this is my first autumn as Second. Aliksandria did ask me to personally convey her regrets.”

“I will assure Jocaste it was not a slight against us that she did not attend,” Odilia said, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before they hardened into something unreadable again. “But we are glad you enjoyed the evening. We take pride, of course we do, in the success of our revelry.”

“It has been my pleasure to enjoy many a gala and fête over the years, and I would count yours as a true success. I had a chance to speak with Lord de Perigeux, from Siovale, for quite some time. He is a lovely gentleman. I appreciate that I had the opportunity to make his acquaintance.” 

Odilia smiled, slightly more genuine, and said, “Lord Lancelin, while not a regular patron due to the distance he must travel between his family lands and the city here, is nevertheless one of our guests that we are always sure to invite to our events. Naturally, we hope that his time spent visiting the City of Elua is only made more enjoyable by the visits he is able to make to our House.”

“I can see why you would invite him. I consider my time well spent in his presence. And he could not give enough compliments to your House. Or his visits. Or to the entertainment when he offers his patronage therein.” Petrea’s smile was soft. 

“We may not have the grand gaming salon that Bryony does,” Odilia said, brushing out some of the sugar crystals that still clung to her fingertips from her now finished petit four, “but we manage our own kind of entertainment. Your Cereus House has the grand Longest Night Masque, Dahlia’s Autumn Revelry is our grand engagement of the year. No expense is spared, as I am sure you know with your own preparations now.”

“Oh, yes,” Petrea replied, “I am well aware of the preparations required for a grand gala. Already things are underway for this year’s Masque. It is a huge undertaking.” She took a sip of tea. “Are you much involved in the planning of the Autumn Revelry?”

“Of course,” Odilia said, lifting her teacup again. “All of my decisions are presented to my Dowayne for approval, but her mind creates the vision that I execute. I handle the orders of the food and drink, the design of the decorations once she decides upon the layout of the gardens. I manage the timing and the details while she handles the guest list and the concept. It is how we serve our House as a team.” She took a sip of her tea and said, “Thankfully, once the guests begin to arrive, the details are finalized and done, and my Dowayne and I are free to enjoy the evening with the guests.”

“It would seem that you had a very prestigious guest list this year. I was impressed,” Petrea hedged.

Odilia’s smile was a shade too flat to be genuine, her eyes glittering with something unreadable—a mixture of pride and wariness, perhaps?—as she lowered her teacup to her lap, watching Petrea through slightly narrowed eyes. She said softly, “I shall consider that a compliment coming from the lofty Cereus House.”

“It was meant as such. While it was no secret that the Dauphin had returned to the City, it was a pleasure to see that he was able to enjoy the company of those close to him.” Petrea’s voice was steady and not ungentle.

Odilia could well have been carved from Tiberian marble for all the response she gave. She set her teacup down on the saucer with a quiet, frigid clink, tipping her chin up as she said deliberately, “It was the honor of Dahlia House to have His Royal Highness accept the invitation to our fête.”

“I am certain it would be. Having His Royal Highness attend a House’s event is quite an honor.” Petrea gestured to the sterling tea set. “May I refill your cup?”

Odilia leaned forward to place the teacup and saucer back on the table, “No, thank you. I will save the rest of the tea for the other Seconds you will be hosting here. Besides, you have your masque preparations awaiting you. I would not wish to take up too much of your time with idle gossip or speculation.” There was the tiniest bite to the last few words, something just a little sharp in how she clipped her consonants.

“Yes, I suppose it is time for the parade of Seconds to continue,” she said airily. “But Odilia,” she said, pinning her guest with a firm look, “if any of them seek to gossip, they’ll not find it in my salon. I have seen people’s lives ruined by idle tongue wagging, and I have neither the time, nor the inclination to engage in it.” Her voice regained its neutrality. “I thank you for accepting my invitation. I have appreciated our conversation.” She stood gracefully, her manner only those trained in Cereus could attain.

Odilia remained seated for just a moment longer, sitting as though a throne as she looked up at the Cereus Second. For just that moment, that span of a single breath, the power balance in the room tensed. 

The moment passed, and Odilia rose to her feet as well with a rustle of skirts, saying, “How familiar. Thrice you have used my name without any title or form of address, as though we were old friends. We have not crafted such familiarity yet, you are presumptive in it. Nor have you earned enough of my trust that I will readily answer the questions you are trying so hard not to ask.”

She did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of parting, only saying coolly, “Should you wish for any further advice on the nature of our duties, Second Petrea, do feel free to send a note. I will advise you how I can, even with the clear differences between us.”

As though she had not heard the statement, Petrea turned and rang the small bell from the table. A young adept stepped into the room. “Marielle will show you out. I trust you will have a pleasant rest of your day.” The dismissal was clear. Marielle curtsied to both women, then indicated for the Dahlia Second to follow her back to the main entrance of Cereus House, thanking her for visiting and praying that she had a lovely time and would return soon. Odilia swept from the mansion without a backward glance, stepping up into the waiting carriage marked with the golden dahlia on the door and vanishing inside to return home to her House.

~

After her guest left, Petrea walked through the main hall of Cereus House, tactically timing the walk through the hallways so she could catch the other woman as she returned from her errand, Petrea grabbed Marielle by the arm as the two passed—seemingly accidentally in a hallway—and, seeing no one in the vicinity, pulled the girl into a small chamber.

“So? What did she say? Is there anything of note about our meeting?” Petrea pressed in a hurried whisper as they stood in the dark.

“Not a thing!” Marielle whispered back, her voice filled with frustration and dismay. “I asked all that I could think of without seeming like a fool! Her answers were, dare I say, practiced? Petrea, this woman is the paragon of Dahlia House. She holds to herself.” The young woman paused, gazing into her Second’s eyes. “Did you do something wrong? She seemed…angry?..when she left. If she betrayed any emotion at all. What did you do?” She batted at Petrea’s arm. “Have you fouled up yet again?!”

“Stop hitting me, Marielle!” Petrea whispered back. “I don’t know! Possibly? It was going so well, and then…I suppose I struck something. Tapped something sensitive. I’ll not share personal details. You know that.” Petrea leaned against the wall. That had to be it: something sensitive, private. Odilia couldn’t possibly be made of stone. There was more going on. But Petrea didn’t think she would find out; Odilia was as a closed book to her now. She could only hope her next tea ended better than this one.

~

Days after their meeting, a letter on the finest parchment, sealed in blue wax with the Cereus flower, was delivered to Dahlia House. The messenger requested it be delivered to the Second of the House with haste.

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

Second Odilia,

I wish to thank you for your thoughtful and generous advice. You have given me much to think on as I begin to come into my own, and I appreciate the guidance of an experienced and knowledgeable Second. I know your time is both valuable and limited, and I am grateful that you were able to accept my invitation.

Yours sincerely,

Petrea nó Cereus

Let Us Be Friends

Petrea knew that she trusted her friend Santiago, but there was a deeper intimacy between them that allowed her to take his word that she could trust whom he trusted on whom to trust. She sighed. How many levels of trust was that, she wondered?

~

Several months prior…

“Stop frowning, Petrea! You don’t want the Dowayne to see your face like that,” Marielle nó Cereus hissed under her breath at her fellow adept. The two women sat in one of Cereus House’s many solariums, practicing the lyre. They had been sent to practice by the Dowayne, who declared that two adepts of their age were “less competent than children” and “an embarrassment to the House.” 

It seemed to Petrea that she was being punished for some imagined infraction every day as of late. She knew that her music was perfect; she hadn’t missed a single note on the stringed instrument in near twenty-five years, and she had perfected her singing decades ago. And yet, here she sat with an adept young enough to be her child, playing until her fingers blistered. And how was she to explain blisters to a patron? Was that not an embarrassment to the House?

Petrea knew the songs well enough that she did not have to pay attention. And as she played, her mind wandered, as it often did. The weight of the Dowayne’s ire weighed heavily on her mind. She could not imagine what she had possibly done to even draw his eye, let alone his anger. She had tried asking her best friend, Aliksandria, but Aliks merely shrugged her shoulders and suggested that Petrea continue on as she always had. Petrea was grateful for her friend’s subtle support. She knew that it was Aliks who ensured Petrea’s invitations to small gatherings at other Houses and kept patrons coming to her. But she also knew that, as Second of Cereus House, Aliks had much work of her own. Petrea did not envy her that. In fact, Petrea could not imagine how Aliks accomplished everything she did. 

Marielle missed a note and sighed, drawing Petrea from her musings. “I’ll never get this right, Petrea! Whatever am I to do?” The girl whined.

“Here, let me show you,” Petrea responded softly. She demonstrated the notes slowly. “Now, repeat only that phrase until you know it. Then add in the rest.”

Marielle nodded, and the two went back to their playing.

“You’re doing it again…” Marielle said in a quiet sing-song voice several minutes later.

“Hmm?”

“You’re frowning. He’ll never put up with you if your face wrinkles,” Marielle warned Petrea.

Petrea heaved a sigh and set aside her instrument. “Marielle, I cannot do this anymore. Something has drawn his attention, and I do not know what.”

Marielle gave an unbecoming snort. “We all have. Do you not feel the growing tension in the House? Everyone is on tenterhooks here.” 

Petrea shook her head. She had not, in fact, noticed. 

“But you,” Marielle continued,  “you’re strung tighter than a bowstring. Blessed Elua, Petrea, you ought to just go to Orchis House! Maybe they can relax you.”

Petrea gave a small smile. Marielle clearly spoke in jest. But the idea had lodged itself in Petrea’s brain. Orchis House? What could be the harm? She could already do nothing right in the eyes of the Dowayne…

A fortnight later, Petrea found herself in a dark corner of a bright and colorful salon at Orchis House. The walls of the salon were splashed with vibrant hues and shimmery fabric caught the light of hundreds of candles. Lively melodies danced through the air, spun from fiddles, flutes, and tambourines by wandering musicians weaving between guests.. A raised dais stood in one corner and there seemed to be some type of dancing going on where an adept undressed in time to the music while patrons whistled and clapped, cheering her on. Revelers engaged in raucous dancing such as Petrea had never seen. She observed what appeared to be a game—she thought it was a game—where partygoers dashed around a ring of chairs while playful music bounced through the air. The music would suddenly stop, and everyone would dive for a chair. But there was one fewer chairs than there were people. Everyone would laugh as the person without a chair would remove an article of clothing. Another chair would be removed, and the game would begin again. The common theme seemed to be nothing more than fun. Everyone was just…smiling…laughing…having a good time.

Petrea could not decide whether to be scandalized or entertained. Part of her wanted to run away and never returned. But there was another, smaller part of her that wanted to race into the room and join all of the games and dancing and joyful revelry. She shrunk back into the dark alcove, hiding away from everything, afraid to make a move or a sound, lest she be discovered.

She was so distracted she did not notice the dark haired woman in a silk negligee come up next to her. Petrea gasped as the woman threw her arm around Petrea and grinned at her. It was Xixiliya nó Orchis, Dowayne of the House. 

Petrea’s stomach dropped. She had been discovered! And by the Dowayne no less! “My lady!” She said quickly. “Please accept my apologies! I know I am here without an invitation! I simply—”

Xixiliya smacked a wet kiss to her lips, interrupting her. The Dowayne turned to the crowd and gave a loud, shrill whistle. Immediately, everything stopped and the room went deadly silent. “My friends! We have an interloper here!” She shouted to the assembled gathering. She turned and gave Petrea a wide, wicked smile. Petrea stood stock still, terrified. 

The crowd whooped and hollered, cheering and laughing. Xixiliya put a finger to her chin as though in deep thought. Then her face brightened and she held up her finger, an idea coming to her. “Fifty lashes with a wet noodle!” She declared. “Tomas! Bring me the pasta!” She waved her arm at an adept clad only in a pair of shoes.

“Yes, Xixiliya!” He shouted happily and ran from the room.

Xixiliya grabbed Petrea by the arm and dragged her out of the alcove and into the middle of the room. The revelers applauded, clearly enjoying the spectacle. In spite of the embarrassment she felt, something deep inside Petrea unwound. Unloosened.

Tomas raced back into the room, carrying a huge cooking pot full of long noodles. As he approached the two women, he tripped. He went sprawling to the floor, the pot flying through the air, the pasta spilling everywhere. Instead of the gasps Petrea expected, the partygoers laughed and clapped as though the young adept had put on some brilliant show.

“Everyone grab a noodle!” Yelled Xixiliya, throwing her arms in the arm. The revelers raced forward, eager to pick up the spilled food. 

Petrea’s heart raced, something between terror and excitement at the notion of an entire room of people slapping her with pasta. 

Someone put a strong arm around her waist, and shoved a goblet in her hand. “Drink this, love,” he whispered in her ear. “It will make your evening far more enjoyable.”

She downed it quickly—not thinking twice—and the liquid burned going down. She shivered at the strength of the drink and turned to question the man. It was Santiago, the Orchis Second. His eyes twinkled with mirth, his brown hair pasted to his forehead, his chest bare. Her surprise must have been evident because he chuckled at her. “If you think I didn’t notice you, standing here all alone in this dark corner all evening, then you’re quite the fool. Now be a good girl and take your ‘punishment.’ But don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better later.” He gave her a mockingly sympathetic look and spun her around to face the crowd.

Petrea threw her hands over her face as everyone began slapping and pelting her with the noodles, just as Xixiliya had instructed. She found herself giggling as the spaghetti hit her. It stuck to her hands, arms, and dress, and she laughed harder, feeling lighter than she had in…well, she couldn’t remember.

It went on for minutes, and Petrea began to grow warm from the pressing crowd. She had dropped her arms, and she knew she was a mess but couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was having too much fun.

She looked down at her clothing. She had worn what had felt, at the time, like a simple dress. But looking around the room, she felt fussy and overly formal. Overly dressed, if she was being truthful. She suddenly longed to be less clothed, like everyone else at the party. “I don’t like my dress,” she declared, turning to face Santiago.

He met her gaze and gave her a sly grin. “There is nothing wrong with your dress except for the fact that you are still wearing it, my dear.”

She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps you are right. But it took three of my friends to help me put it on,” she replied, batting her eyelashes at him. “I can’t just take it off myself.”

He laughed heartily. “Oh don’t worry about that. I happen to be an expert at removing dresses. And as your new friend, it would be my utmost pleasure to help you remove it.”

Petrea draped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. “An expert you say? Why that’s simply splendid. And what a kind offer of you, my new friend.” 

He grabbed her hand, and led her away from the party. “Oh, Petrea,” he said, in a low voice, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

~

Picking up her quill and ink, she began to pen her two letters but struggled. How to address them? What tone to take? Was she to mention Santiago’s name? His title? Any reference to a mutual friend? Were these ladies even friends or acquaintances of Santiago’s? 

Knowing she could not navel gaze forever, she wrote out her missives and entrusted them to the care of the most senior messenger in Cereus House to be delivered posthaste. She sent up a prayer to Blessed Elua and Naamah both that her words would be taken as extending a hand in friendship and not a search for political gain.

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

To Philomena nó Heliotrope, Second of Heliotrope House

Dearest Philomena,

It would be my great pleasure if you would join me at Cereus House for an afternoon tea. As the newly appointed Second of Cereus House, it is my hope to make the acquaintance of my fellow Seconds. I would be much honored by an afternoon of your company.

In blessed Naamah’s name,

Petrea

~

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

Dearest Odilia,

I thank you for your kind invitation to your Grand Revels. I apologize that I was not able to do more than simply greet you and your Dowayne both. As a hostess myself, however, I do understand the duties of such an evening.

I would like to extend to you an invitation of my own in gratitude for your hospitality. It would be my pleasure if you would join me for high tea at Cereus House. I am looking forward to making the acquaintance of you and the other Seconds, and I do hope you would honor me with an afternoon of your presence. 

In blessed Naamah’s name,

Petrea

A Matter of Trust

Santiago nó Orchis and Petrea nó Cereus, Seconds of their respective Houses, lay on a blanket in the lush gardens behind Orchis House under a vast, dark sky. A raucous party carried on inside the house, but the noise and light barely reached them. Stretched on their backs next to each other, they engaged in quiet conversation. It was a far different atmosphere than that they had shared months ago. Before.

Santiago rolled to his side and propped up his elbow, looking at Petrea. “I’ve missed seeing you. You don’t visit nearly as often.” He poked her cheek and grinned at her. “Don’t try to tell me you’re too busy for your friends.”

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t understand the responsibilities of being a Second,” she parroted back to him, irritated.

He threw his head back and laughed. “Of course I do. But you’re taking yourself far too seriously.”

She flipped towards him, mirroring his pose, a slight scowl on her face. “Too seriously!” She poked him hard in the chest. “You were trained for this. You, of all people, know that I have been tossed into the sea not knowing how to swim! And at Cereus House, no less! And with everything that is beginning to develop! Everything that I am now somehow embroiled in. Don’t you tell me how seriously I need take this, Santiago nó Orchis.”

His expression gentled. He laid a soothing hand on her hip. “You’re right. You used to spend so much time here, I often forget that you’re not one of us. Forgive me, dearest?” He looked at her imploringly.

Petrea sighed and flopped to her back. “Don’t be daft, I’m not angry with you. And truthfully, I miss my time here. And I miss you. It’s just that…well, my absences at Cereus were becoming…noted. Particularly given my destination.” She rolled her eyes. “It is, apparently, unseemly for the Second of Cereus House to spend nights cavorting at Orchis. As you know, I must play at diplomat now.”

Santiago snorted. “Of course. We are true degenerates here, all of us.”

She turned and grinned at him. “Being a degenerate is enjoyable, one must admit.” Her face fell. “But…”

He laughed and rolled atop her. “But…”

She sighed. She ran her fingers through his hair to give herself a moment. “How do you do it, Santi?”

“Do what?” He asked, frowning at her. Her mood was off tonight.

“Be a Second.”

“I don’t understand the question. What do you mean, ‘Be a Second?’ You just are.” He shrugged.

“No, you aren’t. There is so much to do!” Petrea looked at her friend, her eyes searching for something. “There are so many things to think about! How do you know what is imperative at this moment and what can be put off until tomorrow? How do you know who you must speak to and who you can ignore? Who do you know who you can trust and who will betray you? Who will keep quiet and who will turn around a whisper in any ear they can find? How do you do it, Santi?”

He thought for a moment. “Orchis and Cereus are very different. We are not under the watchful eye of the City. If we do something deemed ‘wrong’ or ‘inappropriate,’ or we give offense, it is laughed off by everyone, including us.” He shrugged. “Patrons come to us for entertainment and merriment. We can put off anything and anyone we wish. There is nothing truly immediate here. Your House, on the other hand, always has eyes on it. Nothing must be perfect here. But everything must be in order for you.”

Petrea thumped her head against the ground and groaned. “You are not telling me anything I do not know.”

He shushed her and brushed a hand down her cheek. “And your Dowayne is still—all these months later—picking up pieces left behind, leaving you to play both her role and yours. And that has not gone unnoticed…anywhere. And, we all know—and yes, I would know even without you telling me—that there has been strife within your House. No one knew exactly what or with whom, but it was whispered that something was unsettled.” He shrugged again. “But now those whispers have stopped. Now word is that the workings of your House go smoothly. Which bodes well for all of us. The Night Court needs Cereus House to be stable, as—” He paused as he considered his next words. “—there is change in the air, and you, my dear,  have certainly found yourself smack in the middle of everything.”

“Again, you are not telling me anything I do not already know.” Petrea grumbled.  “I have tried to speak with Aliks, tried to get her advice on ways to handle this new situation at Dahlia House. About ways to be diplomatic. But she is overworked, overtired, and overwhelmed. The old Dowayne died so suddenly; none of us were truly prepared. And he left such a mess in his wake!” She blew out a breath. “Aliks was trained to be Dowayne, for certain, but she was not ready for this. And I, for certain, was not. Aimee and I have been so overwhelmed, even the two of us working together, just to get the House in order! I need your help, Santi.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I am not the person to ask for this advice. As I said, we operate differently at Orchis than you do at Cereus. We operate differently than most other Houses. I can be your comfort, your friend, and your lover. And you know I will always share any information I can. But I do not think I can be your advisor.”

“Then what do I do?” Petrea groaned.

“You need to go to other Houses. Other Seconds. There are others I know you can trust.”

“Who? And how do you know I can trust them?”

Santiago grinned. “Patrons believe that we are not listening while we have our fun and games. But our adepts are not simply giggling as they ply their patrons with rich food and strong wine. They just talk less and smile more.” He tapped her nose, as though to make his point.

“There is more than meets the eyes here, isn’t there?” She gave a small smile.

“Xixiliya and I are not fools, Petrea, no matter what we may play at.”

“So who do I speak with?” She asked imploringly.

He thought for a moment. “Philomena and Odilia. Heliotrope and Dahlia. They can be trusted. Things are about to change at Heliotrope and Mena may need you as much as you need her.” Santiago gave a wide smile. “And, besides, who better to speak to about Odilia’s situation than Odilia herself?”

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.”