Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: A Stunning Proposal

“How is my little Dahlia?”

Odilia glanced up as Roland de Chalasse came striding into the private parlor of his ducal townhouse. He didn’t bother removing his leather gloves before taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Missing the anxiety of your Mont Nuit and the preparations for the Longest Night?”

“No,” she said, a tiny smile on her face at the thought. “I am not missing that at all. These days spent here have been a balm for my mind.”

“I may not be an adept, but I can manage the basics of resting and soothing.”

She scoffed a little laugh, and he settled beside her on the couch with a theatrical groan. She smiled at him, asking archly, “Shall I have the servants stoke up the fires and prepare a hot bath to soothe your ancient bones?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “I am hardly in need of coddling. Not even by you, courtesan.”

She feigned a blush, ducking her head in a show of false modesty that he didn’t believe and made it clear with another little snort under his breath. But her fingers absently toyed with the tooled leather of the book she had been reading during her morning of leisure, and she asked it quietly, “What news from court?”

There was a long breath of silence, and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t look up, just traced the gilded designs stamped into the leather binding of the book on her lap.

“The vultures continue circling,” he said at last, answering her quietly. “The Caerdicci are particularly intent. They bring their breeding stock out every chance they get to try to catch the king’s eye. Certainly they are lovely, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of them. People are beginning to whisper.”

She continued stroking the leather, determined not to react. “What else?”

“They are insisting he make a decision soon. They say it has been long enough. He must choose a bride and a queen by the Longest Night. They have given him enough time to get to know them. A decision must be made.”

“I know,” she whispered. It would break her heart, but she knew it would happen soon, she couldn’t deny that the day was coming. “I won’t stand in the way.”

“I know you won’t,” Roland said, taking her foot and drawing it into his lap so he could rub her feet slowly. “But you have plenty of courtiers afraid that you will.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” she said. “No matter what happens. I wouldn’t. I love him too much.”

It felt strange to admit it to the Duc de Chalasse. How far had they come? She had thought he was her enemy, and she still wondered at times what his angle was, what he was getting out of their arrangement, but he had acted with honor, and she couldn’t ask for anything more than that. And strong and fit as he was, he was still past the prime of his life, a man with grown grandchildren. It was strange to find in him a compassionate soul after everything. Jocaste had warned her not to let him into her head, but there were times that she thought he was letting her into his first. And this assignation now, three days as his guest and courtesan in his home…

A year ago, in her rage and fury, she had asked him to help her show the court that she did not have a soft heart, that she was a threat to the court, and he had delivered. Patron gifts, nights on the town, assignations. He favored her for all the City to see. But now with Gustav’s letter, with the very real possibility that she would lose him, her fire had dulled slightly. She had allowed a certain intimate honesty to rise between her and Roland.

And there was warmth in his voice when he said, “I know you do, little Dahlia. That’s why you’re still such a threat.”

“Because I love him?”

“Because he loves you.”

She finally looked up at him as he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of her knuckles. His eyes were filled with sympathy. Not pity, he knew better than to hurt her pride like that. But he had seen how the court was pressing in on the young king, had known that if the king had his way, there wouldn’t be any question whom he would choose. And he knew she had been hurting, keeping it to herself, trying to prove herself strong and capable. There was so much in her that he recognised from his younger self. There was so much he could do to help her, if she would let him be so sentimental.

“He does,” Roland continued. “He loves you. This choice is tearing him apart because he knows no matter what he chooses, he will lose. Follow his heart, and he loses power. Follow his head, and he loses you.”

“I never wanted this for him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “None of us want such hardship for the ones we love.”

He reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing her chin to lift her face again, meeting her eyes. “I have grown very fond of you, Odilia. Far more fond than I had ever thought I would. I would help you, if you let me.”

“How?”

Elua, she looked young. Sadness and trust and hope all glittered in her eyes, and he knew she was a balm for his lonely soul.

“We both know he must choose a wife, the kingdom needs a queen. We also both know he will struggle with this duty so long as you are available to him.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“As a courtesan of the Night Court, you have made your marque and all of the country knows what that marque indicates. That you are accepting of contracts. Even if he were to marry, he could still contract you through your House and continue to play at having you for his, even for a night.”

He watched her brows pinch, seeing the way her dark eyes flicked between his, watching the thoughts race through her mind as she followed his logic.

“As a married woman,” he said quietly, “He would not be able to cling to the hope of keeping you. It would break his heart, but he would move on stronger than before and determined to do his duty without…distraction.”

“Married?” The word was almost silent as it passed her lips. He had stunned her, he knew, so he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

“I do not love you,” he said gently, “nor am I asking you to love me. Upon my death, the ducal title will pass to my son, I am not giving you a title of that magnitude. There are some traditions I still uphold, and my son has the right of the ducal lands upon my death. But…as my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind. And he couldn’t keep you as his mistress without unbalancing the tenuous peace of the duchies.”

He opened the ring box to show her the ring he had had made. A gold band with a topaz in the center, like the necklace he had given her, but tucked to the side of the topaz, was a small diamond.

“I know he is the one in your heart,” Roland said, looking down at the design. “The diamond is for him. I acknowledge his place in your love. But the topaz is for me, for the opportunity and protections I can offer you.”

“Roland, I…”

“I don’t want an answer now,” he said. “There’s too much already weighing you down. But I ask that you think about it. Consider it in your grand game. Regardless of what you choose, the ring is yours. Wear it as my wife or as my courtesan, it’s a gift.”

Storyline: Odilia’s Memory

Odilia slowly set Gustav’s letter down on her desk. Her fingers trembled. Her heart was beating a hummingbird’s wing rhythm in her chest. Her fingertip slowly traced the ink of his name, feeling the faint scratch of the quill nib against the parchment, where his hand had shaped his name after he had poured his heart onto the page, pouring it out for her. All of this for her.

It was a thought that plagued her often since the sangoire cloak had been stolen years ago. All of this—the theft, the unrest, the embargo, maybe even the push for him to choose a queen—all because of her. And because she had thought she could have a prince as hers.

Because he had only been a prince when he had come to Dahlia House the first time. Young and fresh-faced like the dawn, the next generation of hope for the kingdom now reached manhood. Responsibility on his shoulders, and still he glowed with Elua’s Grace.

Something was blurring her vision. Something hot welling in her eyes. She tried to cling to her pride, tried to keep the granite walls around her heart from cracking.

She missed him, too. That night, the night that he called the start of his joy, she hadn’t known how deeply she would be changed by it. By him.

~
Several Years Ago

“The young Duc L’Envers is handling the arrangements,” Adept Clarine said. The adepts lounged about the salon of Dahlia House. The morning meal finished, they had some time to themselves before the salon opened for the evening, and all any of the adepts could discuss was the legendary celebration that the Duc L’Envers was putting together for the young Prince Gustav de la Courcel.

“All of the arrangements?” Helyan lounged across his chaise, blond hair strewn in a silken curtain across the cushion, “He’s planning all fourteen nights? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The prince was celebrating his coming of age. Starting with the night of his natality, he was spending one night at every House on Mont Nuit to sample all the pleasures of the Night-Blooming Flowers, before the last night where he chose for himself where he would go to spend his final night. Of course, they had begun with Cereus House, but the Dahlia adepts couldn’t fault them for that, since it just gave them the chance to shine, despite what the delicate Cereus adepts would have presented to the young prince.

“Fourteen nights is rather spectacular,” Eliane said as she fussed with the candelabras, making sure they were at just the perfect angle to have the candlelight gleam on the marble and gild of the salon. “Traditionally it’s only one night.”

“The boy’s only the second son and will likely never inherit the throne,” Clarine said, her pure white fur wrapped around her shoulders contrasting with the inky black of her hair. “I’d say he deserves every one of these nights and more.”

“Make a good impression,” Helyan teased, “and he might keep coming back to Dahlia for all of those future nights.”

And wasn’t that, at its core, what all the adepts on the Mont were hoping for? That they could catch the eye of the prince and enjoy him as a patron? A long-standing patron was the goal of all the courtesans of the Night Court. A royal patron was even better.

“What do you think, Odilia?” Helyan craned his neck to look at where the young brunette sat on the window bench. “Do you think Dahlia has a chance of dazzling this debutant?”

Her head turned from where she was looking out at the gardens and she smiled. “I think there’s always a chance.”

The carriage pulled up right as the sun kissed the horizon, and the guards in Dahlia livery stepped forward to help the guests down. The two young men looked up at the Dahlia mansion, taking in the lanterns glimmering gold, the windows thrown open to let the night breeze stir the curtains like slashes of jewels against the pale stone. The taller young man clapped his companion on the shoulder, a sparkle in his eye as he led the way up the steps to the entry where the doors, each bearing a stained glass window in the shape of a perfect dahlia, opened for the two of them.

Cloaks were taken by fresh-faced youths, and they were shown to the entrance of the salon.

A tall, elegant blonde greeted them at the doors, “My lords, welcome to Dahlia House. You are welcome here at our salon for the evening.”

“Yes, we are quite looking forward to the famous pride of your House,” the taller gentleman said, his eyes scanning the salon where the adepts were positioned quite casually, seemingly in no rush to greet them.

“We have been anticipating your visit, Your Grace,” the blonde said, having easily identified him as the Duc Sebastien L’Envers. “I have every confidence that Dahlia will make a lasting impression upon you. And upon you.” She turned her attention to the second young man in the Duc’s shadow. “We welcome you here tonight and any future night you wish to return, Your Highness.”

As one, the adepts rose and turned towards the gentlemen, bowing or curtsying together to greet Prince Gustav de la Courcel. He tried not to blush. The new levels of attention people gave him now that he had reached majority were still slightly uncomfortable, but he managed it well with a return of the courtesy. “Thank you for your welcome. I am sure this evening will be very enjoyable.”

“Certainly,” the blonde said with a smile before clapping her hands. “Music! Let us do our part to celebrate our prince’s natality!”

The musicians struck up a tune from their place at the side of the salon, and a servant offered the gentlemen glasses of Serenissiman sparkling wine.

Sebastien took his glass with a warm smile for the servant, taking a sip and murmuring to his friend, “at least they’re not swarming.”

“No,” Gustav agreed under his breath. “They’re just waiting, and watching.”

That was worse. But they were welcomed warmly enough with conversation and music, and Jocaste watched from her place before gauging the temperature of the room. A few of the adepts danced together, nothing to rival the tumbling and skill of Eglantine, but they certainly would have shone among the royal court for their skill at the court dances.

There was roast peacock and slices of exotic fruits, sallets of edible flowers along with slivers of raw meats marinated in spices and drizzled with sauces. Nothing too heavy, no grand banquet with twenty courses, but light and expensive foods that were brought around on trays, easily portioned to eat with one’s fingers. Something the Dahlia adepts did flawlessly, while Gustav was terrified to dripping something on his clothing.

Jocaste approached the gentlemen again, taking a seat with them on their couch with a smile. “Perhaps not the level of spectacle you have seen thus far on your birthday tour, but nevertheless I hope you are enjoying your time here at Dahlia. My philosophy is that Dahlia is the House of the most independence. Our words are Upright and Unbending, that is the core of who we are, but that also allows us our own agency and our own voices. No one will fawn over you or press themselves upon you, Your Highness. You are free to choose how to spend your time here, in any and all things.”

“Thank you,” he said, holding his wine glass in both hands so he didn’t tremble too badly. “It is a beautiful salon and your adepts are very skilled at conversation. Among plenty of other things, I am sure!”

“Thank you for saying so.” She accepted what he felt was a horribly awkward compliment with effortless grace. And she continued, “truly, the gem of our salon isn’t in conversation or music, though they are important. No, our greatest entertainment is in our chessboard.”

Sebastien let out a little gasp, grinning. “Yes! The legendary chessboard!”

Gustav glanced between them. “Is it…made of gold?”

“No, Prince Gustav,” Jocaste said, rising to her feet with a smile. “Let us show you.”

She signaled for silence, and the salon quieted in an expectant hush. She smiled and said, “the time draws nigh. The Game is afoot.”

A ripple of laughter among the adepts. Jocaste’s eyes scanned the salon, searching for the adept she knew would do this best. “Odilia.”

The prince followed the turning of heads to where a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes had looked up from where she had been adjusting one of the flower arrangements on the low tables.

Jocaste smiled at her. “Will you play?”

A dark brow rose. “Who is my opponent?”

The blonde returned her attention to the two guests with her, and Gustav immediately said, “oh, no, I’m not very good. Um, Sebastien?”

The young Duc L’Envers let out a laugh. “Very well! I will oppose the lady.”

The Adept Odilia stood, a rustle of emerald green silk. “Then I accept.”

Jocaste clapped her hands. “Pieces! To your places!”

She reached down to wind her arm with the prince’s, drawing him up to his feet as she said, “this, Your Highness…This is where Dahlia shines.”

He watched as the adepts and novices moved to prearranged places, and he only just now processed that the grand dance floor in the center of the salon was black and white squares, a chessboard built into the very floor. And clearly this had all been arranged, the living pieces had been assigned and wore the chemises appropriate for their side, white versus black.

Sebastien let one of the novices show him to his place behind the white side lines, and Odilia took her place behind the black side. Together, the pieces bowed or curtsied to each other, Sebastien following a moment later once he relapsed.

“The guest has the first move,” Odilia said. Gustav stared at her. She was so composed, so confident and sure in herself as she stood there, patient and poised.

Sebastien finished his glass of wine and said lazily, “E2 to E4.”

The novice playing the corresponding white pawn moved, and the game began.

Jocaste led the prince slowly around the chessboard, letting him see all angles of the game in play. She saw how bright his eyes were, how focused he was on the game, and she asked him quietly, “a thrilling game, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said truthfully. “The board and pieces we have in the royal palace seem to pale in comparison to a living game.”

“Chess is the King’s Game,” Jocaste said as they strolled, “Many forget that it is also a strategy game, designed to help leaders train their minds for war. It can be played for leisure, as His Grace seems to favor. But his opponent is very much a strategist.”

Gustav watched the brunette pace back and forth behind her side of the board, her dark eyes intent on the white pieces moving. “She seems more a general than anything.”

“At Dahlia House, we say Naamah bestowed herself like a queen to the King of Persis,” Jocaste said, bringing them to a stop at the corner of the black side, her head tilting as she also observed Odilia’s focus. “What is a queen but a general for her people in their time of need?”

The game did not last very long. Sebastien was distracted by the male adept flirting with him and had no interest in taking this seriously. This was merely another celebration for his friend’s majority! He was determined to have a wonderful time tonight for both of them. So when Odilia flashed her smile of triumph and called, “checkmate!” Sebastien accepted his loss with a rakish smile and a wave of his hand, saying, “so it is. Well played, Lady Dahlia! Here, a victor’s token!”

He pulled an emerald and gold ring from his finger and handed it to his defeated king, “There, offer that to the victor as her prize.”

The adept crossed the board and knelt before Odilia, offering the ring to her. She glanced down at it and held it up to examine before sliding it onto her thumb, “I accept your suit for peace, Your Grace, and will withdraw my armies from your lands.”

Another ripple of laughter around the salon, and servants offered both players fresh wine so that they might toast to each other without fear of hard feelings. Sebastien let himself be pulled away to the window alcove by Helyan, and Odilia knew he would be crowing about the Duc’s attention for a week at least. She took a sip of her sparkling wine and turned to return to her chaise only to find her way blocked.

“Your Highness,” she said softly, looking him in the eye. She did not curtsy. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“I thought it a fascinating exploration of your House canon,” he said, the trace of a flush on his cheeks as he stood before her. “I wonder if I might…that is, may I walk with you, Odilia?”

“You may,” she said, glancing down only once to where he offered his hand. “Shall we to the balcony? The evening air is clear, and it will be quieter there.”

He smiled at her, feeling something flutter in his chest. “I would like that.”

Odilia sighed, leaning back in her chair and pressing his letter to her chest. They had spoken that night about everything and nothing. About their childhoods, how similar and how different, about their ambitions and anxieties. He had chosen her for the night, but all they had done was talk, him asking her counsel and confiding in her his worries now that he was a man of the royal family. The demands of court were not the same as the responsibility of running a House, but they both faced choices in their paths. A crown would likely never come to him but that did not change the pressures even on a second son, and Jocaste had already told Odilia of her intention to lift her up as Second when Jocaste rose to Dowayne.

And on the fourteenth night of his celebrations, when he could choose for himself where he wanted to go, what House he wanted to return to, he came right back to Dahlia and to her arms.

She remembered the young man he had been, her heart quickening at the memory of the long nights they had spent talking, entwined in each other’s arms. He had been fresh and honest, so eager to learn, so humble as he asked her for advice. He had been filled with ideas, she had helped him shape them into plans, ways that he could use his position as the second son to better Terre D’Ange. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the Dauphin, everyone had the power to change the country if they were driven enough. And he had promised her so many wonderful things, showering her in gifts as he let himself fall in love with her. Something she hadn’t stopped.

She had loved him then, with the heart of a younger woman, before she had known how things could change, and how dangerous love was.

“Oh, my Coeur Courcel,” she whispered to no one, “what has happened to us?”

Storyline: Gustav’s Letter

Beloved Odilia,

There is so much I wish I could say to you. This distance between us is like a wound in my heart, the worst and cruelest of Kushiel’s punishments. My heart weeps its lifeblood, my eyes weep neverending tears hidden in the night for the loss of your comfort in my arms. My eyes miss the sight of your beauty, my ears miss the music of your laughter, my hands miss the soft touch of your skin. So much of the King that I am was shaped by your hands, by the counsel you gave to me those years ago when I was a boy just becoming a man, and you showed me the light of the night that you are in your Dahlia House.

You are still the light of my nights, even with the nights I have spent alone separated from you. I look out the windows of my palace to the glow of Mont Nuit and am ever more resolute that you are the star Azza himself hung in the sky by which I set my course. The first night I saw you, I never wanted that night to end, I never wanted to return to a life without you with me, without you near.

But here we are now, more apart than we were even before we met, for now I have known what it is to have your beauty in my eyes, your warmth in my arms, your comfort and counsel at my side. To be without you, my beloved, my everything, is to be empty and hollow. A hollow man wearing a hollow crown, gilded only on the outside so the world can see what they expect to see. A king. But you know the truth of my soul, the truth of my self that was shown to you on the day that I thought was the start of my joy.

I am sorry for what these months have done to you, what this quest of the court to find me a queen has done to us. You know what my desire is, if I were free to do as I wish, but a King is not free. I must follow Elua’s Precepts, but Elua’s Precept only governs how we love, not how we rule. A King needs a Queen, and there is nothing that I wish more than to craft a crown of dahlias to put on your head. But I know you, my heart and my everything, and I know you would refuse. Please do not hate me for seeking to appease the nobles and choosing another for the place at my side that should be yours.

Please, Odilia, do not let this wound become a distance insurmountable between us. I will break this mountain apart with my bare hands if I must to return to your arms again. Since the night that you looked at me and saw my self and not my title, I have known I was yours. I am meant to be in your arms, in this Terre D’Ange and in the True Terre D’Ange Beyond. Please, Odilia, I beg you, not as your king, but as your Gustav, please find a place for me in your heart again. I fear I may die without your love sustaining me, for my heart is in your care and gone from my chest since the time I placed it in your hands those years ago.

Forever yours, my delight. Forever yours, my everything. Forever yours, my love.

Gustav

The Count and the Dahlia

It always seemed like there was more need for him to be in Kusheth immediately following Midwinter. Or perhaps that was just how he viewed it. The City felt terribly close as the days slowly started to grow longer, and Kusheth had a wildness that somehow made it easier to breathe. So as usual, he’d retreated from The City and made his way to his lands. It was calmer there, and there was little to worry about in the depths of winter. But as autumn waned, he had found his way back to The City. The first merchant trains would be arriving at some point with the turn of autumn, goods from Caerdicca Unitas and Aragonia once again becoming available. He had purchased a number of cases of a good Aragonian red for the cellar at the townhouse. There was even some Chalasse brandy tucked away in the back of one of the cupboards…He made a mental note to have the Steward acquire more of it. Far superior to the Somerville product, and the old Duke was a canny political man. Brilliant, if he was being honest with himself. That thought brought him around to what had really been on his mind off and on since the Masquerade at Cereus House: the necklace.

He had no problem with the Dahlia’s sudden rise to power, though of course it wasn’t that sudden, and of all the Houses on the Mont, he was unsurprised it was that one making a political play. At least, he thought he had no problems with it. He’d even argued in some of the family councils that Blessed Elua’s precept suggested support of the Dahlia, if in fact, her feelings were true. And they certainly appeared to be. The King’s feelings were well known, adding to his arguments. But for her to arrive at the ball, wearing that necklace—that put an entirely new angle to things. The gossip had been deafening for weeks after the ball, and that was in Kusheth. Everyone knew that there was now a much deeper game occurring, and he had to be on top of it.

Pulling out a sheet of parchment, he sat at his desk, frowning as he hesitated putting pen to paper. How should he approach this situation? With a sharp bark of laughter, he shook his head. He wasn’t planning on courting her…She obviously had most of the attention she needed. Two of the most powerful men in the Realm? A minor Shahrizai count couldn’t even compete.

My Lady Odilia nó Dahlia,
I regret that it has taken so long for me to pen this letter to you, but I was inexcusably called away to my estates soon after the Midwinter Masque, and I have just recently returned to The City. I was wondering if I might entice you to come for a visit at the Shahrizai Townhouse for a quiet dinner? The chef we retain here is…quite good… which you may have heard from various people on the Mont. I look forward to your response, and I remain,
Most Respectfully,
Niklos Shahrizai, Count of Angers

He waited for the ink to dry, then sealed the note. Stepping out of his chambers, he caught one of the maids and pressed the note into her hand, indicating where it was to be delivered. The maid curtsied and headed to one of the servant’s passages, assuring him before she left him that the Steward would have it delivered promptly. He grinned, moving towards the library. There might not be a response today, but the wheels were in motion once again.

A tiny smirk played about the lips of the Dahlia Second as she read the note from the Shahrizai Count. She glanced to her jewelry box where the damning necklace lay, quite innocently, on a bed of velvet. She knew why Count Shahrizai was sending her a letter. Her patron had warned her about the attention that this move would bring. And here it came.

She would not back down from it now.

She set pen to paper.

My lord of Angers,
It is my honor to receive your invitation. I am sure that your chef will delight my tongue the same way that your stories of your travels will delight my ears. I cannot say that I have traveled far from the City of Elua, so I am sure you will fascinate me with the tales of your exploits and exports.
I accept your invitation. And I will look for your carriage. I am sure every political player in the City knows to watch for the Three Keys. We know your family’s ambition. It is something I admire in your line.
Sincerely,
Odilia nó Dahlia
Second of Dahlia House

Now all there was to do was wait.

Storyline: A King Distressed

Really, of all the times for her family to send her a note asking for a visit, it had to be in the days leading up to the Longest Night when she was up to her eyes in final preparations for Valerian House. There were costumes that still needed to be fitted and finished, face paints to be purchased, ribbons replaced on masks, this was entirely too inconvenient.

But they were her family and she loved them dearly so she had the carriage summoned, her cloak brought, and she was on her way across the city to the Noble District within the hour.

The Baphinol footman opened the carriage door and helped her step down onto the street outside the Baphinol family townhouse, greeting her courteously, “Lady Rosanna, welcome. You are expected.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her to guard against the winter chill in the air.

The steward was ready at the door to take her cloak and usher her inside to the warmth. The floors and ceiling were done in the same rich, warm wood and the walls were artfully decorated with tapestries for the winter. In the warmer months, the tapestries were put away to reveal the beautiful frescoes that decorated the walls. Maybe she should make use of the house to host a private summer salon. She could consider that later.

Now, there was the beaming smile of her mother to contend with as Comtesse Marie-Celeste Baphinol swept down the hall toward her youngest daughter, enveloping her in a hug, “Rosanna, my darling! Thank you for coming to visit.”

“Of course, Mother,” Rosanna said, returning her mother’s embrace, “I needed the break from the Longest Night preparations.”

“Yes, you must tell us how that is going,” her mother said, steering her up the stairs, “Your father is in the library, he wanted a chat first before we have some time together as a family.”

The Comte’s library was on the first story, the doors were of dark wood carved with trees and flowers to remind the family of the country estates while they stayed in the city. The Comtesse gestured to the servants to open the doors and ushered her daughter inside where the Comte Gilles Baphinol was waiting, standing behind his desk.

He looked up when the doors opened and smiled at his youngest daughter, “Rosanna. Thank you for coming.”

The man seated at the chair by the pink marble fireplace turned, the sunlight from the window glinting on his light hair and his Courcel blue eyes.

“Your Majesty!” She dropped into a deep curtsy as gracefully as she could.

“Please rise, Lady Baphinol,” King Gustav de la Courcel said, rising from his seat, “and accept my apology.”

What was happening? The King was here? She hadn’t seen his carriage or any royal guards. Why was he here?

She rose from her curtsy and clasped her hands before her to stop herself from twisting her fingers in her nerves at suddenly being confronted with the King of Terre D’Ange.

“Your Majesty,” Gilles bowed to him, “please feel free to use the library for as long as you need. My lady wife and I will be in the family salon down the hall.”

“Thank you again for your generosity, Comte Baphinol,” Gustav said, inclining his bare head to the older man. Gilles took his wife’s hand and paused only to give his daughter a comforting squeeze of her shoulder and kiss on her cheek before he and Marie-Celeste withdrew, closing the doors behind them.

Alone with the King, Rosanna pulled on all of her training in the Night Court to keep her composure, waiting quietly to follow his lead in whatever this was.

“Please,” Gustav gestured to the seat across from him, “Relax and be comfortable. I am not here as the King but as simply Gustav. And I wanted to speak to you, Rosanna.”

Just Rosanna, not her title or her honorific as Dowayne, just her given name. She was more confused than ever as she crossed the space between them to lower herself onto the seat with a graceful swish of her skirts. “How can I assist Your Majesty?”

The King resumed his seat as well once she was comfortable, looking at her with those steady blue eyes. He smoothed his hands along the arms of the chair before he said, “Odilia told me once that you were friends.”

“I would like to think that hasn’t changed, my King.”

“I’m…concerned. For her. I had hoped to get your insight as her friend and perhaps request your help.”

“What troubles you, Your Majesty?”

His gaze slid to the fire in the grate, the metal screen set before it to catch the cinders wrought with twisting flowers to create the protective netting. His fingers toyed with the edge of the upholstery on his chair as he considered how he wanted to say this, “She is….a strong woman. I admire her fortitude greatly and I have never known her to have a temper.”

Rosanna could agree with that, Odilia was not a woman prone to outbursts of passion. That was more the Valerian’s type of expression. But there was a hesitancy in how he said it that caught her attention.

“Has something happened that would call that into question, Your Majesty?”

“No,” he said softly, “But I cannot deny that something has changed between us. We always knew that my coronation would change things, would mean that the responsibilities of the throne would take me away from her, more than either of us wanted. But she was always ready when I found time, she never refused me…”

“She’s refused you?” Rosanna was shocked at the thought. Not just because he was the King and to refuse the King was a dangerous game, but because she had thought there was something real blossoming between her friend and this man. Odilia had seemed much happier once he came into her life, there were more smiles and there was more light around her. What could have happened to so change her friend’s demeanor?

“I do not know if she has refused me,” Gustav said sadly. “I have sent her gifts and letters and she hasn’t sent them back, but she also hasn’t replied to them. I understand that the Court of Night Blooming Flowers is making preparations for the Longest Night Masque, I appreciate that this is a busy time for all of the Servants of Naamah. But…something does not feel right. I may still be young but I have worn my crown long enough to have learned to trust my instincts. And they are telling me that something is wrong.”

She hesitated before venturing, “Your Majesty….these women that have come to the palace…”

He groaned, “I know. It’s a nightmare.”

“Were you the one to tell her what was happening?”

His eyes dropped to his lap, “No. I did not want to make it seem that I was informing her to set her aside. I asked a close, mutual friend of ours to send her word and make it clear to her that my feelings have not changed.”

Rosanna was desperately curious to know what those feelings were, exactly, but she wouldn’t press. That sort of thing was private and she had a guess about what they could be based on the way the King spoke, the angle of his eyes, and the softness in his voice.

“The arrival of the ladies has been a source of gossip across the city for weeks and weeks,” Rosanna said carefully, trying to be gentle in what she was trying to say, “It could be that the news reached her before the message did. Regardless of how the message was worded, if she heard the whispers first and if the whispers were unkind…she might have gotten another impression.”

He nodded, “That is what I am guessing has happened. For her to so suddenly cut contact without an explanation? Something has gone wrong and I…I would ask you, as her friend, to see what she needs? I’m not asking you to spy on her, but she’s your friend and I want to make this right. I just….I don’t know how. And I’m worried that if she is hurt by what she heard…”

He shifted in his seat slightly, “She is clever. And she is very dangerous in many ways. If she chose to make a bold move…I am all too aware of the kind of damage she could do if she decided to listen to her heart instead of her head.”

How well he knew Odilia, Rosanna thought. And he was right. With that chessboard of hers, she was very dangerous. Surely the other nobles saw it too, and surely it was one of the reasons they were throwing women at the King to try to lessen Odilia’s influence over him and lessen some of her power. Perhaps they were right to be wary, she couldn’t deny that there had been something different about Odilia the few times they had crossed each other. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, all of Mont Nuit was stressed over the Longest Night, she had thought that Odilia had just been as overwhelmed and overworked as she was and had put it out of her mind. But now…now she wondered.

“I will see what I can do, Your Majesty,” she promised him, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that, hopefully it’s just a misunderstanding that we can clear up.”

But she knew there was the potential for so much worse. If Odilia really was hurt by what had happened, by whatever she had heard and however she viewed his efforts to reach out…Rosanna knew well that hurt people had the potential to cause the most hurt in return.

Please, she prayed silently as the King kissed her hand, Please, Naamah and Eisheth. Please let her make the smart, compassionate choice.

The page in the Dahlia livery made his way swiftly between the seats and sections of the Dahlia Salon, coming to the high-backed chair where the Second was currently entertaining Lady Corrian de Borlean again. He gave a crisp bow to the ladies before bending down to whisper in Odilia’s ear.

She listened, her brow lifting slightly before holding out her hand. The page slipped a tiny scroll into her palm and she unrolled it to read the words scrawled there.

Let them see.

The tiniest smile played about her lips and she nodded, more to herself than anything, slipping the scroll into her sleeve before returning her attention to the page, “Show him in.”

“Here, my lady?”

“Here.”

He bowed and withdrew. Moments later, he returned, accompanied by a servant in the Ducal Chalasse livery bearing an exquisitely carved wooden box. Whispers followed him as adepts and guests alike turned their heads to watch his path through the salon, eyes on him and on the Second that he stopped before.

He dropped to one knee beside her and said to her, “My lady Second, His Grace the Duc of L’Agnace presents you with this gift as a token from him to you.”

A token, yes, Odilia mused as she ran her fingers over the lid of the polished wooden box. A token of what, well that was anyone’s guess. By the evening meal tonight, there would be any number of rumors flying around about what happened right here and right now. She would not disappoint.

She lifted the lid of the box and it seemed half the salon was craning to see what was inside. Even Corrian leaned forward, seeing the rich brown velvet and wanting to know what it was hiding.

Odilia reached inside the box, her fingers delicately lifting the necklace from where it lay. It had been many years since she had been a jeweller’s daughter, but she could still see how exquisite a piece this was. White pearls in a gold setting, and a bold, gleaming, golden topaz right at the center. She held it up to examine the setting and the jewels and she saw more than heard the whispers, watching out of her periphery as heads turned to companions, as lips moved, as hands and fans lifted to try to disguise the gossiping.

And she smiled, “Inform His Grace that he honors me with this gift. I am delighted to accept it.”

Jocaste watched her Second from across the salon. Odilia, what are you doing?

Storyline: A Dangerous Assignment

“I would have thought that you would be deep in preparations for the Longest Night. Is Dahlia House not missing their Second and her critical eye? Who else will ensure Dahlia triumphs at the Cereus Masque?”

“You are in a jesting mood, Your Grace,” Odilia said, her head high as her horse pranced under her. “And I am a talented woman. I can do many things at once.”

“I would expect no less.”

“I would hate to disappoint.”

Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace, smiled at her, his seat sure in his saddle as his stallion tossed his great head. The horse was impatient to be out of the city streets and in the freedom of the countryside to run how he pleased. The Duc’s gloved hands held the reins firmly, allowing the stallion the freedom to make his opinions known without ever sacrificing his control over the animal.

Odilia nó Dahlia shot him a sly smile, her brown eyes glancing at him from under her lashes as her gelding followed the stallion’s lead down the Rue Courcel and out the western gate of the City of Elua.

He had been almost surprised to receive her card asking if she could call on him. It wasn’t an assignation, he hadn’t sought her out purposefully after she had so neatly manipulated and manoeuvred him into lifting the silver embargo those months ago. He had been quite impressed with her, actually, but it wouldn’t do for the Duc de Chalasse to be seen to be captivated by her, the King’s Courtesan.

The Dahlia Queen, some of the more daring gossips were starting to whisper. With all the business of the King finding a wife, no few of the courtiers had whispered about his mistress and what could become of her. What few options there were available for her.

And here she was, walking his borrowed horse beside him, her dark eyes trained on the gates and the rolling countryside beyond.

Just what did she want from him?

He kept his peace as they enjoyed their ride, giving the horses their heads and letting them run as they pleased through the meadows and grasses of the countryside beyond the City of Elua. The air was brisk, winter threatening to come in earnest, the nights were getting colder and the sunlight during the day was a crisp, cold kind of light. Merciless. It was one of his favorite times of year.

The horses slowed, cantering along a rocky stream. His ducal guards fell back, giving the couple some space as they rode on. At some point, the contained wildness of the forest and stream would give way to organised gardens and manicured meadows, but for now it was pleasant to canter upstream towards the copse of young birch trees.

Safely away from the tall, white walls of the city, Roland turned his horse to cut her off. Her horse danced back, her hands sure on the reins as she kept her seat. He was pleased to see her eyes betrayed nothing when she looked at him, no anger or frustration, just expectant politeness. He let his horse prance a circle around hers, saying, “I am no fool, Dahlia. You want something from me. Come now, what paltry favor would you ask?”

“Paltry?” Her brows lifted, “The last two favors I have extracted from you have hardly been paltry.”

“No,” he agreed, smoothing his gloved hand down the proud neck of his stallion. “They have been earth-shattering in their intensity.”

She watched him, the tiniest flicker of a smile toying at the corner of her mouth. “Precisely.”

“You would ask another grand gift? Careful, Dahlia, you may soon seem ungrateful.”

“Hardly,” she said. A lock of her dark hair had fallen from her golden hairnet, the curl framing her face prettily as she looked at him. And he watched, more interested than he should be, when she chose to set her haughty mask aside and speak freely and openly with him. She shifted slightly in her saddle, “You know what is happening in the palace. The latest excitement of the court.”

“The women presenting themselves to your royal lover to win his hand?” He took pleasure in the soft viciousness of the words, “Yes. I have several bets going. Do you want me to deal you in?”

His eyes glittered, “Or will you ask me to interfere?”

“I don’t give a damn about those women,” Odilia said coldly, and it was her turn to urge her horse around his, the pretty features of her face at odds with the cutting, simmering anger in her eyes. “What I care about is the gossip of the court and that they will think me replaced. Or weak. They want to see me frightened and threatened.”

“You don’t seem to scare easily.”

“I don’t,” she said, drawing her horse up beside his again so she faced him, meeting his gaze squarely. “And I want to make that unquestionably clear.”

He surveyed her, considering this new opportunity. Just what was this move on that famous chessboard of hers? It was certainly a bold one, he did like it. But he wondered what had prompted it. Was she lashing out in defense or taking an aggressive offense now? Was she truly feeling threatened and trying to mask it? How fascinating that he could not tell.

His head tilted back, regarding her contemplatively before he said, “Do you remember once, I told you that you had a soft heart.”

“I remember.”

“It does not seem so soft now.”

“It is not.” The winter sun flashed in her dark eyes, her brows lifting as she continued, “And do you remember, Your Grace, when you said I was not the threat the rest of the court and country thought I was?”

Oh, yes, he remembered. She had been seated across from him in his carriage and they had been speaking so daringly about what they could offer each other. And he remembered well what he had said then, echoing it now, “But you could be.”

She leaned toward him in her saddle, the leather creaking, her face fierce and eyes unblinking as she hissed, “That is what I want from you. And in return, I will give you what you want.”

“And what did I say I wanted?”

The smile on her lips did not thaw her eyes, “Influence. Over the King. Over the country.”

His gloved hand reached out, fingers toying with the lock of her hair. Green eyes roved over her, measuring this girl from the streets against her ambition and what she could give him in return.

Finally, he spoke, his voice little more than a whisper as he breathed to her, “Do you understand what you are asking of me? Do you understand what an arrangement like this will mean, little Dahlia?”

“I do.”

His gloved fingers ghosted across her cheek, brushing the curve of her bottom lip, “Very well.”

Storyline: A D’Angeline Desire

Corrian de Borlean knew she had a reputation. To be perfectly frank, she kind of enjoyed it. When she was younger and of age to play the courtship game, she had shied away from it and spent as much time at her father’s country estate as possible, only going to Court when required to by her mother. After her mother’s passing, her father had stopped pushing the issue all together, which gave Corrian plenty of time and space to bed every eligible maid and lad in the county village, plus several ineligible ones to boot.

Time, however, had continued to pass, and what was amusing for an 18-year-old lady, her father found annoying in his 27-year-old unmarried daughter. If she had her own way, she would never have married, and would have continued to find her pleasures in any bed she chose. But her father was all she had left and she would do anything for him, which is how she found herself in the Hall of Games at the palace trying to flirt and compete with girls a decade her junior. She needed a husband, her father had said, but she would not play devoted wife to just anyone.

The gossip in the Hall of Games was her favorite part. This courtier talked of that courtier’s dalliance, all while the first was eyeing a married lady across the room. It nearly shocked her when the topic turned to the King. “His Majesty needs a wife. It is said that his personal assistant is assessing possible candidates as we speak.”

“Oh? Why is it that there is a rush to wed the King?” she asked, trying to play coy, but genuinely interested.

“Wy, the business of Odilia, of course. If the King weds a noble lady, then it will put to bed the rumors he intends to wed his mistress,” said the plump lord next to her, a Monsire Valles.

“I wouldn’t wish to marry him,” said the lady next to him. “To go into a marriage knowing one’s husband has a mistress already? No it’s too much.”

Corrian laughed to herself. A husband with a mistress would be a fine thing. He would be less likely to scoff at his wife’s own dalliances. It had just been a passing thought, truly, but as the night wore on she kept circling back to it. The King was not so much younger than her, so her age would likely be less of an issue. Oh, the idea sat well with her, and by the time she retired to her quarters in the palace she had decided, she would pursue the King.

The ladies who were openly vying for the King’s affections were obvious and dull. If she tried to get his attention that way she would be lost in the crowd. No, she needed to find a different strategy, and what better way to learn what the king likes then to go the her in the first place. So Corrian made an appointment at Dahlia House with Odilia, herself.

Jocaste encouraged Odilia to take the appointment. Lady Corrian de Borlean was not a woman known to be a vicious gossip or noble keen on advancing at any cost. The rumors of Lady de Borlean was that she was a true connoisseur of Naamah’s delights and, so, an assignation with her could be just what Odilia needed to return to herself again.

Odilia sent her acceptance, as well as a date and time, and prepared herself for that duty to which she had devoted her life – Naamah’s Service.

When she arrived, Lady de Borlean would be presented to the salon for rest and refreshment among the younger adepts and other guests of the House. Only once she was relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the music and atmosphere of the elegant Dahlia salon, would Odilia approach her personally.

And when she did make her move, it was with her head held high – upright and unbending – as she greeted her guest.

“Lady Corrian de Borlean. Welcome to Dahlia House.”

Storyline: A Ruined Chessboard

Unfortunately, it was not the Duc L’Envers’ letter that brought the news to Odilia first.

Jocaste was concerned, to put it lightly. She had heard from the novice, Silvere, that a letter had arrived for the Second bearing the seal of the Duc L’Envers. The Duc of Namarre had ever been a constant friend to King Gustav and a warm, welcoming presence for Odilia after the monarch and the Dahlia had begun their affair. Sebastien L’Envers had supported them and helped them as he could. Why should a letter from him cause such a change in her Second?

She scolded herself for not paying more attention to Odilia. The business of the House and the managing of the assignation contracts and the preparations for the Longest Night Masque had taken up enough of her time that she had trusted Odilia to do her job as Second and handle everything else.

“The Second has claimed she was too sick to appear in the salon since before the letter arrived,” the novice said as he set down the afternoon tray. It bore the herbed boar sausage that the Dowayne’s Alban lover had sent to her as a gift and token of his continued affection, paired with a sharp cheese and some fresh late summer berries for her afternoon cravings.

Jocaste frowned. That wasn’t like Odilia. Something was wrong.

“What happened before she fell sick? Did she have an assignation?”

“No,” Silvere said, standing tall with his hands clasped behind him in an easy courtier’s rest, “but she had spent a few evenings in the salon with the prospective guests.”

“Who?”

“I wasn’t in the salon those nights, my lady. I do not know.”

Jocaste needed to find out whom Odilia had been speaking with and what they had said to so upset her. Jocaste had her own friends spread throughout the city and the country. She knew what the gossip was; she knew what was happening and what the palace was preparing for; she knew what pressure the world was putting on Gustav’s shoulders. It was too much for one so young, but she had taken heart knowing Odilia was helping him. But there were too many ways for this to go wrong, depending on how her Second had found out that the King would be taking a bride.

No wonder Sebastien L’Envers had written to her.

“Has she been eating?”

“Not the full meals but she hasn’t been starving herself. She’s upset but not self-destructive.”

No, Odilia was many things but self-destructive was not one of them. Jocaste was more concerned that her hurt would result in a bold, dangerous move on that famous chessboard of hers that would destroy what she had worked so hard to build. People were dangerous and unpredictable when they were hurting.

Jocaste rose and said, “I will visit her and see how I can help her.”

Her Second’s behavior was clearly a cry for help, perhaps not how Odilia thought about it, but that was how Jocaste saw it. Odilia was hurting and Jocaste needed to support her, for the good of the House and for the care of her friend.

And it was clear, upon entering the Second’s private chambers, that Odilia needed care. Her bed was unmade, she was but barely dressed in a shift and a robe, her hair unbound. A bottle of wine, mostly empty, dangled from her hand and her slightly puffy eyes were fixed on her chessboard, as though it would have all the answers. She didn’t move when Jocaste entered, the only movement in her was the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed.

Jocaste knew her friend. She knew Odilia was not a woman possessed of a great temper, but judging by the disarray of the decorative cushions strewn about the room, there was evidence that Odilia had certainly felt something very strongly.

“Odilia,” she said, trying to be both firm to get through to her and also gentle so as not to worsen the situation, “this does not become you.”

Odilia barely blinked, taking another swig from the wine bottle.

Jocaste closed the door quietly behind her, watching her Second and considering how she wanted to handle this. This wasn’t a willful novice that needed a talking to. This wasn’t an adept overwhelmed by a patron and needing grounding. This was her friend and Second, the woman closest to Jocaste and the nearest thing she had to a true equal in Dahlia House. And clearly she was hurting.

She crossed the room slowly, giving Odilia plenty of time to see her and prepare for her presence as Jocaste took the seat on the other side of the chessboard, glancing across the pieces.

“You and I have never sat down to play,” she said lightly. “I genuinely don’t know who would win.”

Odilia’s eyes flicked up to look at her.

“Tell me about this game,” Jocaste murmured, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back, quite comfortable. “Who are your pieces here?”

It took a moment for Odilia to swallow and wet her lips, but finally she spoke, “The King is the King.”

“Of course.”

“The Duc de Chalasse is the queen-side bishop. The queen-side knight is Lancelin de Perigeux. King-side rook is Petrea. One of the pawns is Rosanna.”

Jocaste nodded and asked, “And where are you?”

Odilia’s eyes cut to the side and Jocaste followed them to see the King-side bishop tossed to the floor, discarded and unneeded.

Jocaste sighed, “Oh, Odilia, you know that’s not true.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t fool me, Jocaste. You know as well as I what the city is saying. You know as well as I who is coming to the palace.”

“Yes,” Jocaste nodded, “But none of that means that his heart has changed towards you. None of this means you are cast aside.”

“And why not? Isn’t it clear that I serve at His Majesty’s pleasure? Why should I have expected any better?”

“Why shouldn’t you have?” Jocaste fired back, “Why wouldn’t you have the chance for something more?”

Odilia scoffed.

“Who said these things to you?” Jocaste’s brows pinched in. “This isn’t like you; that doesn’t sound like you. Who has fed these doubts?”

“What does it matter?” Odilia returned her attention to her chessboard, focusing on the exquisitely carved queen piece sitting so placidly next to the king.

“I want to know who has lied to you.”

“Besides the King?”

Jocaste’s head tilted, “Did you see the letter Sebastien L’Envers sent you?”

Odilia shook her head silently.

“Perhaps read that before you think that His Majesty has abandoned you.”

Jocaste handed it to her and sat back, watching, as Odilia broke the seal open and unfolded the parchment to read it. Her dark eyes scanned the lines on the parchment, reading it twice, before she refolded it.

Jocaste’s brows raised. “Well?”

“He asks me not to interfere.” Odilia’s voice was still dull and flat.

“Anything else?”

“And to trust Gustav,” her lip curled slightly, “and the love he has for me.”

Ah. Jocaste had suspected as much. She regarded Odilia carefully before venturing, “Is that the word he used? Love?”

Something flickered behind Odilia’s eyes and she avoided Jocaste’s gaze as she answered, “Yes.”

“Is that the first time that word has been used?”

Odilia hesitated. “No.”

“Have you used it?”

Odilia pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Have you thought it?”

Odilia didn’t answer.

“Oh, Odilia,” Jocaste sighed. “That makes everything so much more complicated.”

“I know.”

Jocaste sat for some time with Odilia, a silent comfort and presence. She would not advise the other woman unless she was asked to but she could be a friend. Friends were all the more valuable for people like them.

When she did rise to leave, she paused before she went too far, taking up one of the soft blankets on Odilia’s bed and coming back to her Second to wrap her in the warmth. Comfort without touch, support without presumption. It was what she would offer without being specifically asked for help. Draping the blanket across her back, Jocaste smoothed her hands down Odilia’s shoulders, imagining that strength and calm was flowing from her and into her friend. And only then did Jocaste lean down to pick up the discarded bishop piece, pressing it into Odilia’s hand.

“Where you place it and what you do with it is up to you,” she said softly, “but do not do yourself the disservice and the discredit to think you are out of this game. It has changed, but I have never known you to give up. Or to lose. Perhaps all you need to do is change your strategy.”

She leaned down to brush a feather-light kiss to Odilia’s cheek, “Think about it.”

And when the door closed behind her, Odilia was alone again, looking down at the piece in her hand. Weighing her options.

Storyline: The L’Envers Letter to the Dahlia

From the desk of His Grace Sebastien L’Envers, Duc of Namarre

Odilia,

I write this letter to you in fear that perhaps the news has reached you through other channels. But I pray to Elua you read this letter with an open heart. You know that I am your friend and I have been a companion of Gustav’s since we were children. I was the one that brought you together and I hope that you will trust me when I say all is not lost for you.

Many of the courtiers, powerful scions of impressive Houses, have been pressuring Gustav to take a wife, to solidify his rule with a queen that will give him an heir. Things moved too quickly for me to delay and they are coming here, to the City of Elua, women from across our country and beyond, all coming to try to catch his eye.

Odilia, I’m sorry. I know that this will hurt you to see him courted by these daughters of great and powerful kingdoms. But please, please don’t interfere. We must not give the traditionalists like the Duc de Chalasse reason to move against us. You must trust that I will do what I can for you and Gustav, but you mustn’t be here in the palace. International politics are delicate matters and I can only do what I can when I know that you aren’t working against me. I remember that night in the Dahlia Salon when I faced you on your grand chessboard, I remember how formidable you were.

Odilia, please. Please don’t do anything rash. I know you have a heart and I know it might be hurting, but you must trust me.

Or if you don’t trust me, trust him. Trust him and the love he has for you.

Signed,
S

Storyline: Influencing the Duc

“This is perfectly quaint, Odilia. I hardly expected it of you.”

“Unlike some, Your Grace, I do not need to make grand entrances at the theatre to enjoy time with a patron.”

He inclined his silver head to accept her point, even as she offered a wry smile. They sat in her private salon, so different from the Grand Salon downstairs and so different from the Dowayne’s Salon at the other end of the wing. This was as simple a room as could be managed in the Night Court. The drapes were of fine quality, but of a single color, no grand damask or patterned velvet; the furniture was sturdy, heavy dark wood with simple designs carved into the legs and arms. The only touches of real finery were embroidered cushions and baubles he suspected were patron gifts, not her choice at all. But she displayed them tastefully about the chamber.

“Besides,” she said, pouring the steaming herbal infusion from the simple ceramic jug; it smelled of strawberries and roses and orange blossoms, “I wished to speak with you.”

“In regards to?”

“The embargo you placed on the silver trade,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely as she handed him the painted glass cup that held the steaming drink.

“The Duchesse de Perigeux is the one who closed her borders to the silver trade,” Roland said, not even blinking. “Siovale is the one stopping trade, not I.”

“But who gave her the idea?” Odilia stirred a bare spoonful of honey into her steaming cup, “Who could have written a letter to an old friend catching her up on the events of the city and perhaps suggesting that the arrogant peasant be put in his place? Who was ever so conveniently right here when the drama began to unfold and who has enough political power to arrange something like an embargo at a moment’s notice?”

Her head tilted slightly, “Please do give me some credit.”

“What purpose would I have to do this,” he asked lightly, “if it were true?”

“I’m sure you had several reasons of your own,” she replied just as lightly, “and I am not so self-centered as to think you did any of it for me. Perhaps it benefits you to make it seem so to those who are watching these events unfold, but I do not flatter myself to think that I would have so much sway over you. But you have your reasons I am sure. Just as I have my reasons for asking you to lift it.”

“Is that so?” He took a sip from his cup and set it down on her round table. “Well, you are quite right there, little Dahlia, that I have no reason to do anything you ask of me.”

“Oh I know,” she had the audacity to smile at him. “I know that I have no such influence over you.”

The door to her solar opened and Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian entered in a swirl of pink skirts saying, “Oh, Odilia, I was so glad to get your invitation for this afternoon and-”

Her eyes widened at the sight of the man seated at the table and she let out a delighted little squeal. “Grand-père!”

He rose, “Rosanna, darling.”

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him kiss her hair before she untangled herself and reached for her friend’s hand. “Oh, Odilia, what a lovely surprise! How sweet of you!”

Odilia smiled and accepted Rosanna’s kiss on her cheek. “I know how fond he is of you, Rosanna. I thought the least we could do was share an afternoon together.”

She gestured to the extra seat. “Please, sit. We were just chatting before you arrived.”

“Oh?” Rosanna flounced herself down into her seat. “Chatting about what?”

“The silver embargo,” Odilia said lightly, pouring Rosanna some of the steeped infusion.

“Oh, yes,” the petite redhead said vehemently. “It’s the least the Halceaux man deserves, questioning us the way he did. I hope he’s suffering.”

“The luncheon table is hardly the most appropriate place for your claws, little cat,” Roland said to his granddaughter and she huffed.

“Regardless,” Odilia said absently, “I did hear some gossip from Cereus the other day.”

“Did you?” There were few things Rosanna loved more than some good gossip. “Well, I’m listening!”

Odilia smiled, “Petrea has been hosting a new patron herself recently. An Aragonian nobleman come all the way to the City of Elua on business.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja,” Odilia recited, enjoying the beautiful liquid sounds of his name rolling off her tongue.

Rosanna shivered in spite of herself, “Well, does the face match the name?”

“I don’t know,” Odilia said airily. “He hasn’t visited me personally, but I would imagine so if he could so captivate Petrea and claim so much of her time.”

“Or he has very deep pockets,” Rosanna laughed.

“Ah, well, I’m not so sure his pockets are as deep as they used to be,” Odilia said archly, her brows lifting. “After all, his family owns quite a few of the Aragonian silver mines.”

“Ahhhhh,” Rosanna put the pieces together, “so he’s come to see what’s going on. And then, when he heard, he went to Cereus House, to the contact he already has, to see what can be done.”

“He might have saved himself half the trip if he had only crossed the mountains and remained in Siovale to petition the Duchesse de Perigeux,” Odilia said, “since it was her borders that were closed to the silver trade.”

“No, it made sense for him to come here,” Rosanna disagreed. “Since the Judiciary mess was so important to the embargo, he needed to come here to get a lay of the land and see where things stood within the city so he could plan the best way to approach Her Grace.”

“Don Ramiro is also a shameless flirt,” Roland said easily. “I’m sure he relished the chance to enjoy both business and pleasure while he was here.”

“As though you have ever denied yourself the same chance,” Rosanna teased her grandfather.

“Did I say it was a failing of his?” Roland smiled at her. “Not at all. I quite respect it.”

“We shall have to wait and see how persuasive he will be,” Odilia said, choosing a ripe strawberry from the crystal fruit dish, feeling the Duc de Chalasse’s eyes on her as she took a bite of the fruit, relishing the tart sweetness of the berry on her tongue and on her lips. “I don’t know how much longer the Silversmith Guild will be able to survive an embargo.”

“Well, the bastard shouldn’t have let his personal grudge get out of control,” Rosanna said vehemently. “He deserves what he got.”

“Perhaps,” Odilia allowed, “but he is not the only one who is affected by the embargo. The other members of his Guild also have families they need to provide for. Are they to be punished as well for the actions of their Guild leader? What about their children that need food and clothing?”

“How sentimental of you, little Dahlia,” Roland said idly.

Rosanna frowned. “No, no, she has a point, Grand-père. As much as I want that pompous, arrogant ba-” she paused, as not to use foul language a second time. “Arrogant man to suffer forever for what he put Odilia and the rest of us through. It was just his grudge. Even if the embargo humbles him, what will the cost be for the rest of the silversmiths that had nothing to do with his motion?”

Her face screwed up, “But he can’t get away with it either!”

“The embargo has been going on for months,” Roland pointed out. “I highly doubt he will consider months of no silver and no work as ‘getting away with it’, my dear.”

“An embargo is such a big, public gesture,” Odilia said with the tiniest wrinkle of her nose, “surely, there are more subtle and elegant ways to make it clear our displeasure with him without resorting to something so large.”

“I have heard that Cereus House has banished the silver from their table,” Rosanna said, “They’ve replaced it with gold and I’ve heard that Aliksandria has put in a grand order for aluminum with the Dyers Guild.”

“I have also noticed fewer silver jewelry pieces in the Dahlia salon,” Odilia mused. “Everyone has been wearing much more gold or bronze. It seems that silver has fallen out of fashion.”

“Well, that’s all we need,” Rosanna said, perking up. “If it’s out of fashion, then let the embargo end and let them get their ore again. No one who is on our side will be caught in silver! What a way for us to know who is on our side or not!”

“Now, that’s an idea,” Odilia said, swirling the dregs in her cup. “What do you think, Your Grace? What would be the opinion of the other nobles about such an action?”

Roland looked at her, into her clever eyes, and had to suppress a small smile, “I think that the nobles are ever looking for their next amusement, little Dahlia. And I am sure this will entertain plenty of them.”

“We’ll have to tell Aliksandria, of course,” Rosanna said. “Since we got the idea from her. I’m sure I can convince the other Dowaynes, if they need much convincing at all. Who would have thought that one little metal could become such a political statement!”

“The embargo hasn’t been ended yet,” Odilia reminded her friend. “We can’t do anything with the guild in a stranglehold as it is now.”

“That’s easily fixed,” Rosanna waved the concern away. “Grand-père, you are friends with Duchesse Niniane, aren’t you? You could easily write her a letter to convince her to listen to Don Ramiro’s request to end the embargo and open the silver trade again. Then once she does, because of course she will, no one can refuse you, then we can set about making it clear that just because he has his silver trade back doesn’t mean Halceaux is in any way forgiven for what he has done.”

“I could easily do that,” Roland said slowly. “Are you asking me to, Rosanna?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Now that we have a plan, I think it can be ended.”

“Very well,” Roland said, pushing himself slowly to his feet and looking down, not at his granddaughter, but at the Dahlia that had arranged this so neatly. “Excuse me, then, ladies. I have a letter to write.”

She let him see it for just a moment. No more than a flash, but it was there in her eyes all the same. Triumph. She had won this round and they both knew it. He bowed to them both and showed himself out of her salon. And Odilia hid her smile behind her cup as she finished her drink and set the painted glass down on the table.

“You didn’t have to do it like this,” Rosanna said after a long moment.

“Do what?” Odilia asked it absently as she rose to cross to the sideboard with the decanter of apple brandy.

“You didn’t just invite me here to have a conversation with my grandfather.”

“That’s exactly what I did.”

“Odilia, please.”

The Dahlia turned to look down at the seated Valerian, who continued quietly, “You could have just asked.”

“Really?” Odilia poured two glasses of the brandy and returned to the table to set one down in front of Rosanna, “And if I had – if I had asked you to use your influence over your grandfather to have him remove the embargo on silver that he put into place to punish an upstart peasant that challenged both the Night Court’s power and your friend’s position – would you have agreed?”

Rosanna pressed her lips together before admitting, “No.”

“Mmm,” Odilia hummed, nodding. “So I had to convince you, convince you both, that the embargo was not the way to punish him, that there were other options once it is lifted to satisfy both your revenge and his old-fashioned classicism.”

“And you couldn’t persuade him to do it yourself,” Rosanna said, “Because you knew you didn’t have the same influence over him as I did.”

“You’re his favorite granddaughter, Rose,” Odilia said, crossing to her personal chessboard. “He’d do almost anything you asked him to do.”

She picked up the queen-side bishop and set it down next to a pawn, “And so the pawn dictates the bishop’s next move.”

“You used me.”

“I use everyone.”

“Yes,” Rosanna said, “and that’s why I’m your only real friend.”

Odilia turned to look at her, dark eyes meeting hazel, acknowledging the truth of that for a moment. It wasn’t wrong, but it was unusually cold of Rosanna to say it so blankly. Perhaps she was genuinely hurt by Odilia’s maneuvering this time.

“And,” Rosanna continued, getting to her feet, “It’s one of the reasons he likes you.”

Odilia’s brow lifted as she smiled, “Oh?”

Rosanna nodded. “Mmhmm, I can tell.”

She came to join Odilia at the board, looking down at the setup. “Which piece are you?”

Odilia tapped it. “The king-side bishop. Close enough to advise, powerful, but still limited in how I can move.”

“Grand-père?”

“Queen-side bishop. Not as close to the throne, a powerful player of his own with less clear ties to the crown, but still very much on our side.”

“And me?”

“Queen-side pawn,” Odilia said, picking it up. “Able to direct the other, more powerful pieces with your position, and easily overlooked and underestimated when the enemy focuses on the bigger pieces behind you.”

“And who is the enemy of this game?”

“I don’t know yet.” She set the pawn down. “Perhaps its no one. Perhaps I’m just playing against Fate. Perhaps its just the game of Life.”

“We’ve done well thus far,” Rosanna said, clinking her glass against Odilia’s. “Let’s keep playing and see what happens.”