Tag: Dahlia

A Respite in the Shade

Leaving the walls of the city immediately eased the summer heat. Out beyond the walls, the winds could more freely blow and cool the riders as they cantered easily away from the city and along the verdant valley, following the winding shores of the Aviline River. 

The Duc de Chalasse had greeted Odilia with a swift kiss and showed her the horse she would be riding for the day, even assisting her up into the saddle himself. She rode at his side, her riding clothes a soft cream to ease the heat of the sun and contrasting with the sable of her hair, kept contained by a pearl netting. The hunting dogs trotted ahead, heads down as they tracked the scents of the various prey, but there was no rush. This was a hunt, certainly there would be some prey taken, but they had all day. 

Fording the river towards the northwest, they took some ducks startled by the horses, crossbows singing among the cries of the birds, and the attendants raced to claim the prey. There was light conversation among the other nobles that were in attendance, compliments to the other’s horse or bow or bird, but Roland kept himself apart from the others, his attention on the horizon and then, every now and again, the brunette riding at his side. She had spoken truly, she rode well enough to not embarrass him, and while she did not participate in the hunting activities herself, she nevertheless cheered appropriately when a good kill was made, clapping her gloved hands with a bright smile. The Night Court did always raise exceptional companions.

Avoiding the heat of the day and having well worked up an appetite, the attendants spread out a picnic in the shade of a copse of trees, unpacking the cold luncheon they had prepared for the nobles. They scattered themselves across the shaded ground and lounged on the grass, the picture of wealthy ease. 

And Roland took Odilia by the arm to stroll among the trees, stretching his muscles after a morning in the saddle. They walked together, she in her cream and he in his soft summer gold. 

“What did Jocaste tell you of me, Odilia?”

“She said you were a generous patron, Your Grace,” she answered lightly, considering the way the midday sun filtered down through the green leaves. “That you were a powerful friend to have, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, green eyes glancing down at her. “I’m sure she also warned you I would be a powerful enemy, too.”

“Do you hope I will attempt to persuade you to be one or the other?” She continued walking casually, her grip light still on his arm. “I know better. I would not presume to think I would have any kind of influence over you.”

“Not like you do the King-to-be?”

He was rewarded with the tiniest twitch of her fingers on his arm, no more than the tiniest hitch of her step before she continued walking. 

“I did not realise you listened to the idle gossips, Your Grace.”

“I can hardly get away from it,” he said, enjoying the tightness at the corners of her mouth. “If the nobles aren’t whispering about a commoner in the future king’s bed, it’s the merchants and shopkeepers of the City discussing the tensions among them as a Guild Master seems to be stirring up dissent.” He saw the tiniest flex in her jaw and smiled. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I have not encouraged it, before you try to insinuate that,” she said quietly. “I have even attempted to placate the disgruntled voices how I can, but there is little I can do when those conversations continue to happen behind my back.”

He steered her slowly away from the others spread out on the grass, sipping their lemonade and wine and lazily eating cheeses and fruit, seeming to show her a particularly picturesque bark pattern as they stood together framed in the trees, seen but far enough away to be private as he said, “So it would seem to me that you are in need of a powerful friend, little Dahlia.”

“Like you?” She finally looked at him, something derisive in her dark eyes as she said, “I know well I cannot afford a friend of your caliber, Your Grace.”

“An exchange, then,” he said lightly, granting her a genteel smile. “A quid-pro-quo. Favors for favors, hm?”

“I hardly think I have anything you could want,” she said carefully.

“Of course you do,” he said. “You have what everyone in the city wants, my dear. You have the ear of the future King. People of my rank have killed for less.” Her face smoothed into stone and he reached his gloved hand to lift her chin, assuring her, “Oh, do not fear. I will ask nothing of you that would put him into danger. Set your gentle heart at rest.”

Her eyes flashed with lightning, a flare of Azza’s bronzed pride, and her hand struck his away from her chin, her lip curling as she snarled, “I do not have a gentle heart.”

His head tilted slightly as he rocked back onto his heels, studying the sharpened features of her face. “No,” he agreed finally, “perhaps you do not.”

Honey-sweet Courtesy

Jocaste nó Dahlia rose with a gracious smile as Silvere showed her guest into her office. She tilted her head to accept his kiss of greeting, smiling slightly as she welcomed him. “Your Grace.”

She showed him to a seat at her lounge. “It is a delight to see you again. Your letter was quite the pleasant surprise.”

“A gentleman always maintains his correspondence when in residence,” Roland de Chalasse said smoothly, his doublet pristine as he reclined easily on the chaise, “and I know well the importance of courting the Queen of the Night Court.”

Jocaste’s mouth twisted wryly. “Your silver tongue has not changed, but I am not so easily distracted by flattery as I was as a younger woman. I simply know you too well.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Just like that?”

“Do not tell me you have become a man of idle chatter with the time you have spent with the other nobles in the court?”

The hint of a smile. “Never.”

No, she knew him too well.  There was something else he wanted.  Something he had hinted at in the words of his letter.  

His head tilted slightly as he considered her. He could draw it out but he had always been fond of Jocaste. As a younger man, he had given her very generous patron gifts and enjoyed the time he spent with her. And he knew well how sharp her mind was, so he decided against toying with what he wanted. 

“I’ve come to arrange an assignation with one of your adepts,” he said evenly. “I am holding a hunt next week, a respite from the heat of the city, and I am looking to contract a companion for the day.”

Her lips pressed together ever so slightly. “I assume you have a particular name in mind.”

This time, his smile had teeth, a hint of the danger in him that had made him so interesting a lover and so valuable a patron, and he said, “I do.”

She knew well who he wanted. Who else would have caught the Duc de Chalasse’s attention? What name would have come to his ears that would have brought him all the way across the city to Mont Nuit and to her House and to her door?

Her face cooled slightly, her eyes no longer as clearly expressive as she said, “You know well my policy when it comes to my adepts. They have the right of refusal and it is their choice to accept a patron’s contract as well. We are monarchs here, I do not command them, only offer guidance.”

“Now, Jocaste,” he said silkily, “you know well the benefit of my patronage. I am in good standing, my gifts are generous, and my influence undeniable. I am a powerful friend to have and you know it.”

Yes, she did. Nevertheless. “I will not take her choice from her. If your contract is accepted, then it will be because she accepts it. Shall I have you meet with her?”

“Please.” When Jocaste moved to rise, however, Roland said, “I am too old for the excitement of the salon, Jocaste.  I would prefer to have her join us here.”

“Ah, a shame,” Jocaste said, settling herself again and ringing a bell to summon one of the young novices, “She really does shine in the salon.”

“Rosanna has told me in her letters about the rumors of her skill with the chess board,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “Perhaps another time I will challenge her to a game.”

Yes, Jocaste thought, and she would certainly be a challenge even for you. However, out loud she only asked for the novice to find Odilia and arrange some light fare for the three of them.

When the time came, Odilia bore the tray herself, bringing it to the table and setting it down with a sweep of her skirts. Jocaste smiled. “Thank you, Odilia, you did not have to bring it yourself.”

“Even the Second carries trays for the Dowayne,” Odilia said with her quiet smile.  

“Odilia,” Jocaste said, gesturing, “I would like you to meet Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace.”

Odilia swept him a curtsy with a polite, “Your Grace.”

He noticed she did not wait for his leave to rise, straightening from her almost too shallow curtsy herself and of course, wasn’t that her right as a Dahlia? He had come to their kingdom for this meeting and she would remind him of her own sovereignty within her own walls. Had she met him in his own estate, perhaps she would have shown him a deeper courtesy. Then again, perhaps not. She seemed a bold thing. Very bold as her dark eyes met his without flinching.  

“A pleasure,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles. “Please, sit.”

A twist of one dark brow at his ease in offering her a seat that was not his, but she settled herself beside her Dowayne, both Dahlias watching the Duc as he, too, watched them. They made a good pair, he noted idly, clearly used to working together as a team as they sat easily next to each other. Different features, different faces, different bodies, but both clearly Dahlias. It was in every line of their limbs, every breath they breathed, every angle of their posture. He had been too long from Mont Nuit.

“I have heard much about you, Odilia,” he said lightly. “I thought it time we met.”

“You honor me, Your Grace,” she said, perfect courtesies, perfect etiquette. He expected that. He had also expected the coquettery that indicated interest in the feminine body language. Perhaps a smile, perhaps a modest turn of her head, perhaps a ducking of her eyes. But she met his gaze firmly, no false modesty. She was a brave thing. Perhaps the other nobles were right to be wary of her.  

“I am hosting a hunt next week,” he said to her lightly. “I am not a man made to sit idle in the heat of summer, I prefer the saddle and the open countryside. It is my expectation to spend the day at a noble’s leisure and so I am looking to contract an adept to accompany me for the day. Do you ride?”

“Well enough that I will not embarrass you,” she said, her hands folded in her lap as she watched him. 

“Do you have the stomach for a hunt? Some city-born folk do not.”

He saw it; if he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the tiny flicker of smoldering anger and pride in her eyes. But, oh, he saw it. Yes, he had looked into her, he knew the circumstances of her birth. He watched the way her chin lifted minutely, the corners of her mouth tightening in careful composure before she answered his challenge. “My stomach is not so easily turned, Your Grace.”

Nor would she easily back down now that he challenged her, he could see that well. He had come to get the first measure of her at first glance and what he was seeing was only keeping his interest captured. Perhaps he had been expecting a vapid and spoiled courtesan, coddled and empty-headed save her the pleasure-games of bedplay. Clearly those who hoped to find Odilia to be so shallow would be disappointed. No, there was something else sharpening in his chest like the talons of a bird-of-prey waiting to be released. 

“I am glad to hear it,” he said quietly. “I hoped I would not be disappointed.”

“Perish the thought.”

Jocaste watched the twitch of genuine surprised amusement at the corner of his mouth, and she knew that a patron like Roland would be captured by an adept like Odilia. This could be an excellent connection for her to make. Her other reservations were for later, just between the two courtesans. For now, she only said, “Odilia, do you accept the Duc’s request?”

“I will.”

“Excellent,” Roland said brusquely, “I will return tomorrow to sign the contract.”

Odilia almost asked him if he did not want to discuss the price for the evening, but thought better of it.  Old money nobility like him could afford nigh anything.

He rose to his feet, a leonine movement of a body still limber and muscled in his age, and he swept his hand over his silver-gold hair to soothe it back into place before his eyes flicked to the quiet brunette by the Dowayne’s side, green meeting dark brown as he said, “Odilia. I will see you soon.”

“I look forward to it, Your Grace.” A challenge of her own.  

It wasn’t until the door of the study had closed behind him, Silvere ready to escort the Duc back to his horse, that Jocaste spoke again. She studied her Second, who studied the closed door and said softly, “Be careful with him, Odilia. He is a dangerous man. A powerful friend to have and a deadly enemy.”

Odilia turned her dark eyes to her Dowayne, only waiting silently until Jocaste continued, “To be seen with a man like him will certainly help you. As it will help the reputation of the House. But you must play this chess game very carefully. Someone has dangled you before him as a challenge to catch his interest, but now that you have it, beware. Being seen with him will make a statement, but he will also be making his own statement by being seen with you.” 

Jocaste leaned forward to grasp Odilia’s hand. “Do not let him get inside your head. He is a generous patron and he will ensure your day is enjoyable. Do not let your guard down with him, ever.”

Odilia nodded. “I understand.”

The Warmth of the Sun

When Namaah laid with the King of Persis, she basked in love like it was the sun. That was what Heliotrope believed, it was what they brought to their Patrons, and it was what they offered to all when they held the Festival of the Sun. On the day when the sun shone for the longest on the Temple of Namaah, Heliotrope had a party that lasted from the moment the sun crossed the horizon until it sank, sated from the day, below the horizon.

The House worked outside for months, tending gardens, clearing paths, repairing gazebos and arches, all while the children played around them. They planted flowers and made sure vegetables and fruit had the largest yields. The adepts, novices, and staff worked tirelessly, taking the tanning of their skin as a sign of their work for Namaah. Inside, people cleaned, dusted, placed cut flowers and living plants. They washed and aired out all the bedding, throwing open the windows, and letting in the freshness of early summer. 

Mena oversaw it all and helped with almost every task. In Heliotrope, the Dowayne was the head of their family, not apart from it. She scrubbed floors, carried wet laundry, and played with the children. There was a large berry bush that needed to be moved to the rear garden and replanted, she helped, standing calf deep in the hole that was dug for it, guiding it to its new home. The work was soothing to her, helped her connect with all the people who lived and worked under her roof. It smoothed over the last of her grief and helped her see not only the future of the House, but also her own path.

~

The House was closed to visitors the week leading up the party, so when midnight struck the night before, every adept jumped out of bed to prepare for their long awaited guests. Mena was no different. She got out of bed and dressed herself in a sleeveless gown the color of cornflower. The lightweight fabric fluttered as she walked, winding around her legs and showing a flash of skin high up her leg. It was the first time in a year that she felt light, unburdened, and excited to move forward.

She did a last check through the House, making sure that the food was out, the tents raised, the games set up, and the wine and juice chilling. Loir came out into the garden where Mena was looking around with pride at what they’d set up. Her dress was the same style as Mena’s only in a yellow that called to mind the golden hour. Every adept had an outfit of similar style; light, translucent, and loose, in a color of their choosing. The result was like a bunch of faeries fluttering around the garden, slipping down hallways, and laughing near the windows.

Mena looked at the horizon and saw the tell-tale signs of dawn. She made her way to the locked front gate. As she pulled the large iron gate key out of her pocket, she greeted the guests.

”Welcome to our celebration of Namaah and the sun. Come, be a Heliotrope for a day. Bask in our love, our hospitality, and the sun. Our doors are open to you, and everything we have we freely offer in Namaah’s name.”  

~

A young nobleman who had never visited the House before paced outside the gate. He was anxious, just like a lot of young nobles are when they first visit the Night Court. This young man, however, was different. This young man was Leandrè Michel Tobronne, youngest son of the Marquis de Tobronne of L’Agnace. The Tobronne estate was a vast swathe of land that grew wheat and grapes, making the Marquis a very powerful figure in Court. Though his status wasn’t what made him special either.

It was why he was there that set him apart.

A week prior, Lesandrè had been happily shopping with his mother and sisters, helping them select fabric for their winter season dresses, when the bell over the door chimed to announce a new arrival. He had glanced up in time to see the most beautiful woman he had ever seen glide by him like even the floor recognized her beauty and moved to aid her existence. If his mother was speaking to him, he could no longer hear her, all he could hear was the woman’s voice carrying through the bolts of cloth.

“Lana, are the dresses finished? The party is next week!”

Lana, the proprietor, had laughed and turned to gather up what looked like nothing more than a pile of fabric. “I know, I know. They’re all here, tell Mistress Mena that we’re glad of your House’s business.”

The woman had laughed and Lesandrè swore he felt the sound wash over him like a palpable thing. Her response was lost to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, and she floated past him with her arms full of filmy fabric.

“LEANDRÈ!” The loud voice of his mother had brought him back to himself.

He turned towards her, his brain still sluggish from her presence. His mother took his face in her hands and searched his eyes for a minute. She then smiled and turned him towards the counter. 

“Well, go find out how to find her.”

What he had found led him to pace outside Heliotrope House on the one day a year he would be allowed entry with no question. He had never visited the Night Court, so he was nervous. A man just inside the gate noticed him and smiled charmingly, “You look like you might need this.” 

The man handed him a bottle of wine, a sweet red judging by the label, and disappeared before Leandrè could thank him. Always one to believe in fortune and fate, Leandrè took a long swig of the bottle. Maybe Namaah would yet see him through the gate to meet one of her servants.

~

Nik had received an invitation for the Heliotrope party, but he didn’t feel any desire to greet the sun from Mont Nuit and had asked Jacob to prepare the coach for midmorning. That would give him time to get some business taken care of before he left for Heliotrope, though there wasn’t much he needed to do this morning. 

Upon his arrival to Heliotrope, he instructed the coachman to return for him about two hours before sunset, acknowledging that the party would continue for longer, but not wanting to get wrapped up in all the traffic that he expected would be leaving the house as the event wound down. Stepping towards the house, he smiled as he saw the doors thrown open, two of the older novices greeting the arriving guests. 

He grinned as he stepped up to them. “I do hope that there’s still a little wine left?” He teased as he slipped into the building. His eyes swept the room quickly, recognizing adepts he knew in passing, but not seeing Mena or Vouloir anywhere. The party was well-attended, and he nodded to a number of nobles he knew, some of them making an obvious effort to ignore him and others responding politely but not eagerly. Well, that was something. He began to wander through the house, waiting to see who would turn up.

Mena saw Nik enter, but she was busy greeting a newcomer. Once she had passed them off to an adept, she wove through the crowd until she was right next to him. She slipped her arm through his and said, “It’s good to see you again, Lord Shahrizai. I know the sun isn’t always en vogue, but it does see all.”

~

Loir strolled happily through the House, talking to people, sharing a drink or a laugh as she went. This party was one of her favorite times of year. As an Adept, there was a lot of reverence for the Moon’s watchful eye. But to Loir, the Sun was what really mattered to Namaah. Loir understood, the warm rays felt like the hand of a reverent lover to her for a decade or more. The Longest Night was longing, the Longest Day was fulfillment.

“Second Valoir, well met.” A stately blonde with a regal bearing and kind eyes stopped her with a gentle touch. Jocaste nó Dahlia, Dowayne of that House, smiled warmly at her, saying, “I wanted to offer my congratulations for a fine fête. I know well the headache that comes with planning House events, but the warmth of the sun has suffused you all. I am glad to see Heliotrope House rising from your shared grief to open your doors again. I hope this Longest Day is a true blessing, for you and Dowayne Philomena, and for all who are here.”

Loir smiled broadly and said, “Well met indeed, Jocaste! Thank you for your kind words. I hope that you sample our hospitality today, we did indeed put our love into this event. There is food in the dining room.” She gestured down the hall with her hand. “It seems that our chef kindly baked enough of her famous bread to feed the entire Night Court. Please sample some and feel free to take a loaf back to your Second, it is a shame she was unable to attend.”

She turned to a young novice who was carrying a tray of glasses and took two. With an encouraging smile, she held one out to Jocaste. “You should try this, it is a wildflower honey wine we make just for The Longest Day. One of our adepts, Charles, keeps our bees and tends their beds of flowers. Several of our other adepts spent months in service at a winery outside of the City. Their hosts generously taught them to make wine.”

Loir took a sip and smiled as the lightly sweet floral flavor intertwined with the taste of the grapes also used to make the wine. With a smile, she asked, “Have you been to Heliotrope before?”

“I have not,” Jocaste said, accepting the mead. “No, when the duties of my House permit me time to myself, I prefer to relax under the ministrations of Balm House. Though,” she glanced across the bright and warm decor of the House with an almost wistful smile, “there was a time that I was considered for Heliotrope House. It is lovely to see even a hint of what it could have been.”

Loir smiled gently, “Our doors will always be open to you should you wish to see what kind of relaxation the warmth of the sun can offer.”

~

Leandrè sat on the wall of a fountain, a half empty wine bottle in hand, still staring at the entrance to Heliotrope House. He’d long since unbuttoned most of the buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves to expose the tan skin of a man who was intimately familiar with love of the sun. He sighed deeply, this inability to move was foreign to him. He was a man who went after what he wanted when he realized he wanted it. When his older siblings had their society debuts, he learned all the fashionable dances with them, he learned about fashionable dress, he listened avidly to their gossip and stories. He had been interested in philosophy and had read every book his father kept in the library from his university days. But above all else, he loved the sun. He had spent almost every day outside since he learned to walk, and he’d learned everything he could from the people who worked under the rays of the sun. He had always been confident, energetic, almost impulsive in his action, and yet here he sat, frozen by the thought of the woman he’d seen.

He sighed again and sat up, straightening his vest. ‘Leandrè Tobronne! You are the son of a Marquise!’ He told himself, trying to replicate the talk his older brother would give him. ‘You climbed to the top of the house when you were five, you can go inside a House. Go before I tell Mother you’re paralysed by a woman!’

Leandrè shook his head, that was a good point, Mother would be disappointed in him if he didn’t go in. She had always taught them that the people they were interested in were special, and that things that are special deserve not only our devoted attention, but also to know that we thought they were special. He couldn’t let her down.

He crossed the pavers to the gate, straightened his shoulders and walked through the gate.

~

The golden hour was upon the House before they realized. Mena smiled to herself as she laid on a bench in the back garden feeling the gentle touch of the sun’s rays on her skin. ‘Perhaps I should look into a Patron’, she thought lazily before shaking her head. That would have to wait, Kyrie was clearly emboldened and she wouldn’t risk someone she cared about.

As she watched, most people started to leave, laughing happily, and promising to return. Others slipped upstairs with Adepts, curled into each other on benches, and sat at tables eating and talking quietly. She smiled again, it made her heart happy to see the happiness and love that was blooming in her House. 

She heard someone clear their throat over her, making her turn her head towards the noise. It was one of the young novices who had been tasked with sitting by the door and helping people. The girl looked nervous, which made Mena smile gently at her and sit up. “Yes, Bee, what can I help you with?”

The girl relaxed a little and she said, “There is someone here for you and they refuse to come in.”

Mena felt her stomach drop to the floor, but she kept her face pleasant for Bee’s sake. “Thank you, darling,” she said, reaching out and petting the girl’s head. “I know the way, go get yourself some food, the night is upon us now. You did well today.”

She moved quietly and quickly through the House to the door. It stood open still and she caught sight of someone on the porch. It wasn’t Kyrie, the person was too tall. She straightened her posture, put on her Dowayne demeanor like armor, and said, “May I help you?”

The voice that responded was clipped and cold, “When you come out of there, yes, you can.”

Her guard went up instantly and she stopped in the doorway. “I will stop here.”

The man was wearing non-descript clothing, his face was normal, his brown eyes swept over her, weighing her. “You will step on the porch—“

“You forget who are talking to, I am the Dowayne of this House. Speak your business immediately or be escorted off the property.”

He had the manners to look startled. “I am sorry, Dowayne. I was not informed of your status.” He held out a leather folder, “You are to come to Court in five days. The legitimacy of the late Dowayne’s will is being called into question.”

As soon as her fingers closed over the folder, he turned and strode away. Mena felt like her heart was a bird desperate to escape her chest. She flipped open the folder and scanned the paper within. The names at the bottom filled her with rage at the same time that they made her knees weak.

”Davide, get someone to run this to Duke Bonheur immediately. He and my mother should be in town for the Court season, at the townhouse most likely.”

Davide nodded. “Yes, Philomena. Is there anything else I can do?”

She leaned heavily on the door. “Yes actually. The Duke will need all the information in the Books that we have on Belisario and Kyrian’s family. It seems they’ve found a common cause for their scheming.”

Davide nodded and disappeared back into the House carrying the folder like it smelled. Mena sighed and pushed off from the doorframe. Quietly, she made her way back down the hallway and back to her bench. She had barely sat when someone appeared with food and wine for her. Nodding her thanks, she laid back down, closed her eyes and tried to let the fading sun soothe her.

~

Petrea rushed into Heliotrope House, terribly embarrassed at the late hour. The sun had long since set, the moon long since risen, the stars bright in the sky. This was a party celebrating the longest day! And here she was, arriving late into the night, for Blessed Elua’s sake! Mena would think that she had forgotten. But that was far from the truth.

Petrea, mere months into her position as Second of Cereus House, had spent the day—and the evening!—trying desperately to finish her work so that she could be on time for her friend’s fête. But every time she thought she was done, she was waylaid by some other task. She had searched high and low for Aimée, needing her friend and Shadow Second, to help. But the woman was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was justice. After all, hadn’t Petrea abandoned Aimée to an engagement only days ago? Or was it weeks? Petrea could not keep track of time anymore.

So it was that Petrea found herself in the entrance hall to Heliotrope, practically gasping for breath. She had jumped out of the carriage as soon as the horses had stopped, terrifying the footman and driver, who had not a moment to open the door or help her down. She had picked up her skirts and run to the door, barging in without knocking. 

A servant gave her a shocked look when their eyes met. It must have been quite the surprise to see the Second of Cereus House, gasping for air against the door of the House, looking somewhat disheveled. Petrea smiled wanly at the girl and waved her off. The servant nodded, her eyes still as large as saucers, and scurried away. ‘Well,’ Petrea thought, annoyed at herself. ‘this is sure to be wonderful gossip fodder for the next week.’ She took a deep breath and composed herself. She straightened her shoulders and brushed her hair back, thankful that she had worn it long and unstyled. She adjusted her dress. She hoped that Mena would like it. She had tried so hard to find something to fit the occasion and had eventually settled on a gauzy material the color of grass. Even if she hated the dress, though, Petrea hoped that Mena would not hate her for her rudeness.

Petrea walked slowly through the House, greeting adepts with whom she had become acquainted over the last months. She had spent many hours at Heliotrope since becoming friends with Mena, and the adepts here were warm and welcoming. She glanced into various rooms and salons, growing more nervous the farther into the house she went. Mena was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Mena had gone to bed? Ensconced herself with a patron or a friend? Closed herself in a private room with some of the guests? Now Petrea worried she would not have a chance to even apologize!

Her eyes lit on a young, towheaded adept, deep in conversation with another youth of darker bearing. She recognized both of them. “Adam, Alain,” she said gently as she approached, “have either of you boys seen your Dowayne recently?”

The look they shared carried an entire conversation. If Petrea had not known better, she would have thought them twins, the way that they conversed so silently. 

Finally, Adam responded. “You’ll find her in the back garden. She’ll be glad to see you. I know she was hoping that you would come.”

Petrea gave Adam’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you, Adam. I would not have missed this for all of the jewels in the King’s crown. I know how special this is to Mena and to all of you.” They nodded at her, smiling, as they bid her a good evening.

She walked as quickly as she could without seeming undignified until she came to the doors to the back garden. She scanned the beautifully decorated tents and lush plants until her eyes lit on her friend, sitting on a bench, a wineglass in her hand. She was alone, reclining and looking up at the moonlit sky.

Petrea approached quietly and sat down next to Mena. She leaned back and looked up at the stars. “I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said. “I have many reasons, but I’ll make no excuses to you.”

Mena turned her head and smiled. “Petrea, I am so glad you made it. Let me get you some food and a glass of this summer wine.”

She made eye contact with an adept and after they shared a silent conversation, the adept nodded and headed into the House. Mena turned her attention back to Petrea. “Why on earth are you sweaty?” Gasping, she sat up and turned to fully face the other woman. “Did you leave a patron to come here?”

Petrea threw an arm over her face and gave an inelegant snort. “If only! My only ‘patron’ of late has been Santiago, and he is not exactly filling the House coffers. No, no, I did not leave a patron. I was caught up in—” She gestured vaguely. “—things. Every time I tried to start bathing, something else required my attention. Each time I thought I could begin dressing, another adept had a question that needed an immediate answer.” She dropped her arm and looked at Mena. “I’m still getting used to this whole ‘leadership’ business. And Aimée disappeared into thin air today. Aliks and I dropped her in Nik’s lap without explanation or prior notice, so I think this was her revenge on me.” 

Mena laughed. “It is overwhelming even when you’ve been doing it most of your life, my friend. I am sorry that people chose today to make more work for you.” She wrapped an arm around her friend and hugged her. “Now this dropping of anyone in Nik’s lap sounds more intriguing than paperwork. Tell me, how did that go?”

Petrea smiled wryly. “It went fine. Aimée is the paragon of a Cereus adept. But Aliks and I thought we had advised her who Nik is to us and that he was coming simply for dinner. Apparently not! If I’m honest, I’m a bit impressed with her. She left me on my own on an important day, yet she picked one that she knew wouldn’t truly ‘ruin’ anything. She’s quite clever.” Petrea smiled and looked around. “But. I’m here now, and I must say I’m impressed. Everything looks so lovely. I shall be stealing many ideas for our exclusive Cereus fête. Incidentally, I passed by your Adam in the hallway. You had mentioned that you wanted to bring him along. I also added that Lord d’Albon to the guest list. What’s the story there?” 

Mena grinned. “Do you do a lot of matchmaking in Cereus?” Petrea shook her head. “It is sort of our bread and butter here, setting people into love matches. The young Lord d’Albon has fallen dramatically and irrevocably for my sweet Adam, yet neither of them has made the right move yet.” She shrugged and had a swallow of wine to hide her mischievous grin. “It is one of my joys as Dowayne to meddle.”

Petrea took the wineglass from Mena and stole a sip. She sighed. “Oh that is delicious. Could I impose on you to provide it for our fête? I think the guests would love to sample it.” She handed the glass back to Mena. She sat up and cast a shrewd eye around the garden and back toward the House. “Speaking of Nik, he was on your guestlist? Is he here? I think I owe him an apology for Aliks’s and my absence the other night.”

Mena shook her head. “No, he left hours ago. You know he doesn’t keep owl’s hours as many of us do. I suspect he’s back at his townhouse, scribbling gossipy notes and conferring with that butler of his. You’ll run into him, I’m sure. And you know, Nik. There won’t be any hard feelings.”

“True. He’s a good one. So, Adam and Lord d’Albon. Tell me more. Does Adam return his affections? Do you think it is truly a love match? I am happy to join you in your schemes, but I would hate for this young lord to get hurt. He’s new to the City—I believe he recently inherited his title and estate—and I wouldn’t want him to be forced to leave or have his reputation ruined.”

Mena waved her off. “Adam absolutely returns his feelings. It’s just a matter of giving them a little push. Let me tell you all about it.”

La Gemme Charmant

Dotted sporadically along the great Rue Courcel were squares where the tree-lined boulevard opened into wider, pedestrian areas. Carriages and horses could still pass through, but there were areas paved with flat stones and cafés with tables and chairs where people could gather. To maintain a storefront in one of these squares was the dream of any shopkeeper in the City of Elua, and La Gemme Charmant was well-established. They were in no danger of losing business. The storefront was painted a deep, tasteful green to compliment the grey stone of the rest of the building, and the tall windows had clearly been recently cleaned. The lettering in the banner running above the door and windows was carefully done with a precise hand, the calligraphy a little old-fashioned but nonetheless tasteful. 

It was the pride of the square. Perhaps they were not so neatly positioned or well-connected that they could boast patronage by the royal house itself, but most of the nobles that kept their townhouses on Rue Courcel came to La Gemme Charmant for quality and design. They had a legacy of excellence and both of the Master Jeweller’s children exemplified it—albeit in different ways. 

The young man stood patiently at the door, his dark eyes watching as the carriage marked with the livery of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers came rolling to a stop in the square outside. His arms folded over his chest, he watched the footman offer a hand to help the passenger down as she disembarked with Night Court grace. The appearance of a Servant of Naamah was always of note to the citizens of the City of Elua, so the jeweller watched as heads turned and steps slowed to see the courtesan. She handled it with the casual acceptance and poise of all the Night Court trained, keeping her head high and her steps even as she crossed the square towards the jeweller’s shop, but the whispers that followed her would be impossible to miss. 

The gentleman at the door gave her a small bow. “Welcome. Please step inside.”

The footman waited outside as the adept vanished with a swish into La Gemme Charmant, and it was only once the door had closed and the jeweller had brought the woman into the rooms further back from the windows that both of them let their masks crack. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he drew her close in a tight embrace as they held each other briefly, relaxing into the comfort and familiarity of each other. No matter what the Night Court had done for her when it took her, it hadn’t separated her heart completely from her family, and she held her brother tightly for a long moment. 

“Alesander,” she exhaled into his shoulder, letting some of her tension go as she tightened her embrace before pulling back. Her dark eyes looked up into her brother’s dark eyes, and she asked, “How is Father?”

Alesander squeezed her hand before releasing it and saying, “His hands shake more and more every passing week. I am all but running the store myself.”

“The reputation of the work is still well-regarded,” she said, accompanying him to the back rooms of the store where the clients were served infused waters and fruits while they discussed design details. “I hear it. The adepts speak highly of the patron gifts they are given that come from here, and I see the patrons themselves wearing your designs. Even without Father’s hands, the reputation is secure.”

“I hear things, too, Odilia,” her brother said, sitting down with her. “Things I should have heard from your lips, not the gossips that think I cannot hear them while they peruse the jewels.”

To her credit, she did not deny it. She merely looked at him, accepting his words with the strength that Dahlia House had given her before she nodded slowly. “Yes, I should have told you.”

“The Dauphin, Odilia?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“We met during his Grand Tour at his majority.”

“Years, Odilia? Years, and you said nothing?”

“I did not think it would become anything. He was a patron for a night, like all the others. Then he sent me letters while he was at university.”

“Letters?”

“At first just simple correspondence about his classes, about how he was doing, how he missed the city but was coming to love the Siovale mountains. Then he wrote me poems and asked for my advice.”

“What replies were you sending that encouraged this?”

“He was a patron, Ales! I was maintaining the connection as all adepts are taught to do so that a patron may return!”

“And when he did, he kissed you at the Revelry for all to see! See and then gossip! Odilia, people are wondering.”

“People always wonder, certainly about royalty and certainly about Servants of Naamah.”

“But not so often the two together. You understand the implications this may have? What some people will use this to say?”

Her gaze sharpened on him. “What people?”

Alesander sighed heavily, rubbing his hand down his face. She turned toward him. “Ales, what have you heard?”

“Nothing,” he said wearily. “At least, not enough to know for sure. Yet…there are whispers. Some are…discontent with the influence someone like you may exert over the future King.”

“Someone like me?” She couldn’t quite keep the sting from her voice. “A Night Court adept? Or a commoner?”

“Either?” He shrugged helplessly. “Both? For all the great history the Night Court has, the power and beauty and glamor of it can cause as much resentment as admiration. And you, a common-born girl, rising so far as to have the Dauphin in your bed? It’s too much for some to take.”

“Who, Ales? Who is saying these things?”

A muscle worked in Alesander’s cheek before he admitted, “Jacques.”

“Uncle Jacques?” She clenched her hands in the fabric of her skirts. “How…? Why?”

“I don’t know, O. He’s soured, something has made him angry. He’s blaming you for it, for it all.”

“You have to stop him,” she said urgently. “Please, Ales, you have to talk to him. These kinds of whispers won’t be tolerated, not with Gustav poised to be crowned next year. He can’t risk the slander of it, his powerful friends won’t allow it. If Uncle Jacques stirs up too much trouble, then—”

“Does he love you, Odilia?”

She sat back slightly. “What?”

“Gustav de la Courcel, does he love you? Truly?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

“Love as thou wilt, Blessed Elua said.” Alesander stared hard into her eyes. “Is it love?”

“I’m not…sure.”

“If there’s one thing you always are, it’s sure. It’s why Dahlia took you. You were always confident and sure.”

She clenched her teeth so tightly they began to ache before she finally allowed herself to admit it quietly, “I think he does.”

Alesander nodded. It was no less than he expected. “You understand how that will change things, of course you do. You know better than him, I expect.”

“Which is why I know how badly this could go if Jacques isn’t handled delicately,” she said urgently. “Please, Ales, the last thing we need is for him to get too much attention or, Elua forbid, get the Judiciary involved. This cannot escalate. Please, help me.”

“He barely speaks to me anymore,” Alesander said bluntly. “Whatever grievance he has against you, he’s taking it out on me, too.” He rose to his feet, pulling back away from where she tried to grasp his hand, brushing out his trousers as he said quietly, “I’ll fetch your order for you. You’ll look beautiful in them.”

He withdrew into the back room where the finished orders were kept, and she closed her eyes against the sting of his words, sitting alone in the place that had once been her childhood home before everything had changed. 

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Cereus House was abuzz with activity as servants and adepts alike prepared for the upcoming Midwinter Masque. It was the highlight of the year for the House, and this year had been one of changes, to put it mildly.

Petrea nó Cereus sat in the Second’s bedchamber, waiting for her friend Aimée nó Cereus to arrive so that they could dress together. Petrea marvelled at how different this was from a year ago. This time last year, Aimée had been ensconced with Aliksandria—then Second herself—drinking wine, giggling, and likely just getting out of bed from an afternoon romp, to begin dressing in finery for the masque. Petrea had been alone in her own room, her plain costume laid out on her bed. Marielle had poked her head in and asked about borrowing thread to fix up some mishap with a mask or dress or trousers. 

But this year, Petrea was the Second. And Aimée was not in bed with Aliks. She was on her way to Petrea’s room. Their friendship had blossomed over the year, and with Aimée’s assistance—and the invaluable advice of the Seconds from Dahlia and Heliotrope Houses—she was beginning to feel less like she was fighting stormy seas in a rowboat. 

Aliks was now the Dowayne. An overburdened, burnt out Dowayne, thanks to the untimely death of her predecessor, Gerault, who had kept so many secrets from her, they might never truly discover them all. Petrea’s heart went out to her best friend, who spent her days locked in the Dowayne’s office, seemingly only emerging in the wee hours of the morning to take in a few hours of sleep. At the same time, Petrea wished that Aliks had taken more time to help train her, so that she need not turn to others for help. But almost more than that, Petrea wished that Aliks’s and Aimée’s relationship had not become so deeply damaged and strained. She knew that Aimée was hurt and angry. Aimée did not want to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, so Petrea did not pry. 

Petrea knew that Aliks could not push the two of them away forever. She knew that Aliks needed both of them. And Aimée and Petrea both needed Aliks. But greater than their personal feelings, Cereus House needed the three of them to come together to bring it back to its glory.

~

The Shahrizai townhouse was quietly gearing up for the Longest Night. Numerous cousins had flooded into the City as the days got shorter, and there was a constant flow of invitations to various fêtes on the actual night. A number of the older members of the family were invited to the event at the Palace, and the younger members had invitations to the houses of their friends in the City. All save Niklos, whose invite lingered on his desk. Not just an invitation, but an invitation with a token. His invitation was signed by Petrea nó Cereus and was for the Masquerade on Mont Nuit itself. That news had been a wildfire amongst House Shahrizai when it arrived. Older family members commented that they couldn’t recall the last time a Shahrizai had been invited to spend the Longest Night on Mont Nuit, and the younger cousins pestered Niklos about how he had received the token and why he had been singled out. All he could tell them was that he had spent a significant amount of time in the City since he had arrived this year, and apparently his attempts to make connections with people were paying off. There were numerous late night conversations in the library, and Niklos had explained his plans to the family. The Longest Night would be a time for them all to enjoy themselves…and to gather what information they could; there was already a strategy going into the new year.

~

The Heliotrope carriage ride to Cereus House was uncharacteristically silent. News of Dowayne Olivier’s death hit the House hard, he was deeply beloved and had been their Dowayne for decades. Even though they had all been preparing for months, it still hit them like a kick to the chest. 

None were hit as hard as Mena, the new Dowayne. Olivier was her grandfather, the man who raised her, taught her about Elua and Namaah, who’d shown her love that truly felt like the gentle, constant rays of the sun. The death of his wife, her grandmother, a decade prior was hard, but this was crushing. She knew that his presence, his reputation, had kept her shielded from a lot of things that could come crashing down on her. In the back of her mind, she hoped that the affection people had for him could be transferred in some way to her. The coming months would likely be hard ones; his funeral would have to be held right at the start of the new year, his estate would need to be handled, the House still needed to be kept together, and she had an uneasy feeling about Kyrie. Someone as full of hatred, entitlement, and heresy was not going to go away as quietly as it seemed he had. Without Olivier, she felt adrift, like she had no idea where to begin. Tonight was easy, the House would attend the Midwinter Masque, they would throw themselves into the revelry in Olivier’s honor. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was for Olivier.

~

As she did every night before laying down her head for sleep, Rosanna prayed. At the niche in her bedchamber, where incense burned and offerings were made, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

In turn, she repeated the prayers taught to her in childhood, turning to the comfort she always found in the presence of the divine. One by one, she spoke the names of the angels from whom her people descended, who to this day watched over them all in times of peace and turmoil. 

Azza the Navigator, Anael the Good Steward, Camael the Flaming Sword, Cassiel the Perfect Companion, Eisheth Lady of Healing and Music, Kushiel the Punisher, Naamah the Bright Lady, and Shemhazai of Keen Mind

A little rhyme was gifted to each Companion, and from them she named a facet of her life where their guidance would be appreciated.Only in the most dire of times did she outright ask for anything from the angels. 

Now was not such a time…yet she still felt very much in need of some divine intervention, even just a little. 

This year had begun with the change in her path as a servant of Naamah, progressing forward toward that aspiration she had so longed for. Yet, for her to ascend from the office of Second to Dowyane, she lost the mentor who named her to that position to begin with. Eitene was surely a character and for some an acquired taste, but he was her dear friend, someone who believed in her even when the Dowayne before him expressed doubts. 

And now he was off to live his happily ever after with the Lord he adored, out in the idyllic countryside. Truly she was glad for him. It was a fairytale, and he deserved his happiness. 

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

Which was more intimidating than she had allowed herself to understand. Even with her own Second, Tryphosa, to help with the many responsibilities, the sheer volume of planning, especially for the Longest Night, was nigh overwhelming. Seeking solace, she had gone to the temple district on her usual weekly schedule, and where now she became acquainted with a fellow leader of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. Together they began attending services, discussing faith and duty. Slowly but surely, the worry subsided.

Now the Prince was set to ascend, too. They would have a new King. On her very first Longest Night as Dowayne. It felt as though the stars were aligning.

Snuffing the candles, she left an offering of wine and sweets then pulled herself to bed. Everything was falling into place, no matter if she was prepared or not. Best she face the dawn with a good night’s sleep and faith in the powers that be that all would be well.

~

At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.

Odilia had barely slept since Lord Maël had come to bring the news. Too many thoughts roiled through her head. Was he ready? What help did he need? What could she do? What was her place and responsibility to do? His letters, sent regularly over the years he had been gone from the city at his studies in the Rocaille University, had a special place in her private desk, kept under lock in their own drawer, but she had read them enough that she hardly needed to look at them to remember his words. 

Ah, his words! Young and impassioned, excited to share with her all of his triumphs and asking her advice on his challenges. Some of them had been sent with small gifts, books and bookmarks, or a fine new pen with an inlaid handle, some were only his words and his honest voice. It was strange, she thought abstractly, to feel such a rush of true and dear affection in her chest for the young man in her letters. He hadn’t signed them with his title, only his name, which had made it easier to let herself forget who he was. Then the plague changed it all. He was poised to rise like a brilliant star, shining in glory for the entire country. She was a loyal subject, surely that was the only reason why she worried for how to help him. He was to be her king, it was her duty to serve the crown in whatever it needed. It couldn’t be anything more than that. 

“Odilia?”

She came back to herself with a sharp blink, refocusing on the details of her personal dressing room and tearing her eyes away from the chessboard before her. 

Silvére hovered in the door. “Are you ready? We’re gathering for the procession over to Cereus.”

“Yes,” she said, rising. “Yes, I am ready.”

She was an adept of Dahlia House, she had to be ready for whatever would come next. Upright and Unbending. 

~

Manuel Cassid sank to his knees, preparing—as he had every year since the age of ten—to offer prayers to the Perfect Companion on the Longest Night. This night, however, he was praying not just for himself, but perhaps for his entire country. And unlike every other Vigil, he was not alone.

Kneeling beside the Cassiline brother, Gustav closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to quiet, sinking into a meditative calm as he began the Vigil. While the rest of the city danced and drank and feted the night away, waiting for the midnight hour when the Sun Prince would return to rejuvenate his Winter Queen and begin the cycle of the year again, he would kneel in Cassiel’s Vigil. 

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before. 

Cassiel, he whispered silently in his heart, Guide me in this year to come, that I may be the Perfect Companion to my country. As Cassiel was the Perfect Companion to Elua, what was a king but a perfect companion to his people? 

He still had so far to go.

The sun slowly set over the City, and the Longest Night began. 

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

J’adoube, Count Shahrizai

Niklos walked into the receiving chamber at Dahlia, uncertain as to how today would play out. He thought he’d faced most every adept in Dahlia who played chess. And some of them had been challenges. His father was good, but there were some adepts who used strategies that Niklos had never seen before, and his father had been good at making certain that Niklos’s playing stayed nimble. He settled into a chair to wait, smiling at the young novice who brought him a small tray of snacks and a cup of tea. He had learned early on not to ask who his next tutor would be—often the novice either didn’t know or had been instructed not to say. The one time he had pressed the issue he found himself without an opponent for a fortnight and was only welcomed back when the Dowayne herself had written and instructed that he could return. He would not seek to press that specific issue with Dahlia House ever again.

Finally, an adept entered the waiting hall. Lithe and sleek, with silver-blond hair that might have been a better fit for the canon of Cereus House had it not been for the haughty cast of his face, the adept glanced across the small salon before settling on the Shahrizai Count. 

“Lord Niklos?” That was all the respect to his title Silvère would give. Oh, he knew the status of the Count of Angers, that was quite certainly the business of Dahlia House, but it was also quite certainly theirs to enjoy a challenge. “She is ready for you.”

Niklos set his teacup down on one of the small tables. He’d visited often enough to know that it would be taken care of without his attention. He languidly rose to his feet, his eyes quickly examining and dismissing the adept who had been sent to direct him. He nodded and gestured. “Please, lead on. I’m looking forward to meeting the next person I get to square off against.”

Silvère guided him up a flight of grand stairs, away from the public eye of the grand Dahlia salon with its famed life-sized chess board—Niklos was a little disappointed, game after game he had played here against the adepts and still he had yet to see the grand board in action or play on it himself—and up to the back of the mansion, stepping out onto the second-floor terrace that overlooked the gardens. Silvère paused there and gestured the Count forward. “Onward. She waits at the north corner.”

The gallery spanned the back of the mansion, tracing the silhouette of the grand house and curling around to the corner before it stopped at the corner turret. There, tucked into the privacy of the semi-hidden corner, was a table set with a chessboard with pieces of green marble and carved ivory. A decanter of wine sat breathing between two Serenissiman blown-glass goblets and a small dish of ripe blackberries. 

He was surprised when the adept stopped at the top of the stairs, gesturing him along the gallery. Previously, he had been escorted all the way to whomever was waiting for him. Either he had regained the trust of the house, his opponent wished for their interaction to remain unobserved, or he was going to be unceremoniously escorted from the House. Whatever the reasoning, he quirked a small smile and continued down the gallery, noticing the adept waiting for him by one of the corners. As he got closer, he realized he wasn’t certain who was waiting for him. He squared his shoulders, glancing around to see that they would, in fact, be alone.

The figure at the railing turned, her dark eyes studying his face for a moment before she spoke. “Good evening, Lord Niklos.”

She stepped into the light cast by the lantern, dark hair caught up in a jewelled net away from the completed marque that graced her back. Her hand gestured to the chair set at his side of the table. “Please, sit. Be comfortable.”

She poured the wine with her own hands. “I have heard the gossip among the adepts about your chess games. They really have enjoyed the challenge, though we are running out of adepts to present you with a new face with each of your visits.”

He nodded as he neared her, not surprised that he would have reached the Second eventually. “Well met, Second Odilia. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you. It warms my heart to hear that your adepts are gossiping about me as well.” He took one of the seats, relaxing into it as he observed the board. “This is quite a lovely set, is it a treasure of the house?” His eyes flickered to the decanter of wine as she poured. “It has been quite a challenge, playing through your adepts. You have some very skilled members of your House. It has been quite enjoyable. Though I could always play some of your adepts again, if their pride wasn’t too bruised from losing to a simple Count.”

Her smile flickered across her face as quick as a lightning flash, there and gone in a breath as she settled herself into her own seat. “Ah, perhaps. Dahlia does not wager on games the way Bryony does but we have our own strategies. Perhaps one or two of them did not play as hard as they could have? A hard-won win might be enough to whet the appetite to have a patron return again.”

Her fingers gently caressed the edge of the chess board. “As for the set, it is mine. A gift from the Dowayne when she named me her Second. It is quite a treasure, isn’t it? You named it rightly when you called it so.”

“Well, I would hope that none of your adepts would take it easy on me for any reason, so hopefully, they will still be interested if I were to offer them a challenge again. And it is a lovely set, certainly a treasure.” He reached out for one of the glasses of wine, taking it and smelling it, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “This smells Aragonian. Is it?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in her seat, comfortable in her power here in her own House. “I keep a small selection for myself from the House collection, and I have always favored the Aragonian spices. Does it meet your standards?”

“I am certain it is fantastic. I have faith that your House has impeccable cellars, and that your tastes will align well with my own.” He took a small sip, tasting the wine as he looked over the board, and then examined her as he swallowed. “It is exquisite, as I am certain you knew. I have a feeling that our interactions here will prove most enlightening for both of us.” He leaned back into the chair, comfortable. He did so enjoy sitting across the table from a Dahlia. They had some of the same instincts that his cousins did, and it kept him on his toes.

“Then shall we begin?” She gestured to the board between them. “The guest has the first move.”

He smiled and nodded, focusing his attention on the board and briefly considering before opening the game by moving one of his knights. If the Second had been briefed on his play style from any of the adepts he had faced off against, he wanted to throw something new at her. His father had always warned him about a knight opening, saying it was an aggressive move, and it was a gamble if you didn’t know your opponent; but Niklos felt in a gambling mood this evening, and there was a need for a certain amount of aggression as well. It felt like the calendar was speeding up, and things were moving quickly enough that he was barely keeping ahead of it all. He took a slow sip of wine and waited patiently for Odilia’s move. The dance had begun.

They played in comfortable silence for the first set of moves. His aggressive opening was countered by her patient, almost teasing strategy as she left pieces undefended, baiting him to chase them across the board. 

“What brought you to Dahlia for this series of games, Lord Shahrizai?” She asked it after he had captured one of her pawns, showing absolutely nothing on her face about the loss of the piece. “Many patrons who enjoy gaming go to Bryony or Orchis for their amusements. How did Dahlia catch your interest?” Well did she know that after the events of the Autumn Revelry, more and more eyes were turning to her House and to her in particular. Was he one of them that looked to influence the Dauphin by courting her attentions?

He leaned back in his chair, assessing the board as pieces were picked off. He’d spread his troops out. Perhaps too much. He could recover, but it would take adjusting his strategy. And then there was her queen. Almost overprotected in its position. His father had played like this for a time, it was usually a trap, and he couldn’t fall for it. “What brought me to Dahlia? The rumors in the city are that Dahlia raises the best chess players to be found. Sure, I could have gone to Bryony and frittered away my inheritance. I’ve joined Orchis for one of their open showings, and they were quite amusing. But, if I wanted a challenge, I needed to come to Dahlia. And, thank Elua, the rumors have proved true. Dahlia… Dahlia is a House I can learn things in. And I do so enjoy learning many things.” He grinned, almost irreverently, and took another sip of his wine, wincing as she captured another pawn. Well, that one was going to be a sacrifice anyway, he’d just hoped to get a few more turns with it on the board. He was developing his own approach.

“I do regret,” he continued conversationally, “that I was not well enough known to your House to have been invited to the Autumn festivities you held. Rumor has that it was quite the spectacle. But I can’t seem to get a straight story from anyone. You must know how rumors are. Would you be willing to share with me some of the highlights that you remember of the evening? I am curious what has the city all aflutter with gossip.”

She smiled and there was something flinty underneath the smooth satin of her face. She threatened his rook with one of her knights and said, “I am sure there are plenty of whispers. What I remember most about the evening was the delicious tartness of the pomegranate I ate. They are my favorite fruits. I quite enjoy the challenge of them that makes the taste all the sweeter.”

Odilia sat forward slightly, choosing a blackberry from the dish and asking courteously, “How did you welcome the start of the season, my lord? Here in the city or at your new estate?”

He smiled, catching the faint hardening of her face as she made her next move. Something he’d said had hit the mark. Or hit a mark at least. Perhaps it was the question about the festivities…or the comment about gossip. Nothing to press on, but definitely something to keep tucked in the back of his mind. He reached for the bowl of nuts and plucked some shelled walnuts, popping them in his mouth slowly, one at a time. He saw the threat to his rook and shifted one of his own knights for defense, backing off from the aggressive opening he had presented. 

“I’ve been in the city since before news of my inheritance came. Before everything happened, the elder members of the family had decided I needed to spend some time here once again, and since I had been shut up on my parents’ lands since the first whisper of the plague, I did not debate any of the ideas. When the inheritance was announced, it was decided I would be the ranking member of the family in The City…at least until the season turned. So now I am awaiting the arrival of other family members, when I will be relegated to the second rank for now.” He relaxed, surprised at how little that disturbed him. Still, if he was to be of any use to the Palace, he would have to be present but unobtrusive enough to hear things without people truly paying attention to him. “At least it was a pleasant summer. When I was here some years ago it was truly unbearable. But then, my parents’ estate is near to Morhban lands, and so near to the ocean, and it always seems cooler there. How did you find the summer?” He blithely looked at the board, seeing at least three traps waiting, and finished the last walnut of the handful he had taken.

She danced one of her remaining pawns closer to his knight, saying, “Summer has never been my favored season. I much prefer the cooling mists of autumn. But for everything there is a time, and this summer, being the first since the plague struck, carried with it its own celebrations of survival. Not everyone survived, of course, and I hope that they find their peace in the True Terre d’Ange that Lies Beyond, but for those of us who have survived, summer was a time to celebrate what we have.”

Her brows lifted ever so slightly as she said, “Which means congratulations are in order. I have heard of your new title, Count of Angers. I never met your predecessor, but I understand that you have large shoes to fill. Of course, any member of your family is almost expected to do great things, I would assume, considering the history of your House. I do wish you luck.”

She advanced one of her own bishops, directly threatening his king.

He nodded slowly, considering the bishop as she spoke. He would have to deal with that first. It seemed a hasty move on her part, but perhaps they were trading playing styles now with her being more aggressive and him playing the more reserved style. Still, he had hoped that she would have shown more promise, considering that she was considered one of the better players in the House. He shrugged, almost to himself, and captured the bishop with his queen, smiling at her in response and saying, “Dimitrios was a gentle hand on his lands and was one of the most respected members of the family. If I can be half the Count he was, I will consider it an accomplishment. He grew up almost directly in the shadow of Melisande’s treason, and he knew how important it was and would be for connections to be created and maintained…” 

He trailed off as he poured himself some more wine and took a slow sip. “I think we’re alike in that way. Friendships are valuable, and if they support what one desires, then so much the better.” He rested his fingers idly on the stem of the wine glass, waiting for her response. “What are your thoughts on patrons, especially reliable ones?”

“My Dowayne made waves when she rose to her place,” she said lightly. “She established a new rule within the House that assignations are not chosen at her desk but by the adepts themselves. No courtesan of the Night Court goes to a bedchamber against their will, but especially in Dahlia do we enjoy our own choice in who we take to bed. Patrons come to the salon here as though offering tribute to a throne and hoping to be selected for a night. Some of my fellow adepts revel in that power and chose as many as amuses. Some of us are more reserved and meticulous in who we select of those that catch our eyes. It is a unique freedom, one that we quite enjoy, each of us on our own terms.”

She retreated one of her knights to make a deliberate trap, testing to see if he would press a perceived advantage. A lock of her dark hair fell from her pins to brush the curve of her cheek and she said, “If, Lord Shahrizai, you are asking if you could become one of my reliable patrons, then I must disappoint you. At the moment, my desk is full of papers and plans for the Longest Night that is coming. I have little time to myself to consider new patrons in my bed.”

She did not necessarily think that was what he was asking, but she was ever cautious as she had seen more and more hungry nobles coming to Dahlia once the word had spread about the autumn party. The eyes watched her; jealous, scornful, hungry, ambitious, lustful, she could feel them all looking at her and looking to pass judgement against her. The nobility circled, looking for weakness, looking for advantages to take, looking for openings to test. She had to keep to her composure, remain reserved and armoured so that they would not find her wanting. Nor use her against the Dauphin.

He raised an eyebrow as she explained how patrons were currently chosen in Dahlia House. He was familiar with Jocaste nò Dahlia, but he had not been aware of how she had changed patronage in Dahlia. Still, he supposed it was similar in other Houses. Bryony adepts, he had been told, often would lay wagers with patrons in their salon. In that light, he supposed he was already a regular patron of Dahlia, as he had spent some time in private with multiple adepts. So his credit, as it were, was good. 

His eyes widened slightly as he watched her withdraw her knight. As his eyes flickered across the board, he saw multiple possible sequences and decided not to pursue the piece. He had already captured one of her knights, and he could afford to allow her to keep the other. Instead, he shifted his queen, capturing another of her pawns. She was down to three, and none of them currently threatened promotion. He grinned at her polite denial, though he was intrigued as the lock of hair slipped from its pins. The look softened her slightly, the unintentional shift at odds with her words. “Sadly, no, Lady Odilia. That was not my query at all, though I do hope we will be able to continue meeting across this field of battle. You are offering quite the challenge, and I am very much enjoying myself. I am very certain an adept of your grace and knowledge has far more demands on her time than a lowly Count of the realm.” He grinned, hoping to show it for the self-deprecating joke he meant it to be. “Should I consider visiting the House in the evening, to see how my peers grovel at the dais of Dahlia?” He chuckled, taking another sip of the wine.

“No one is turned away from the salon who has not proved themselves unwelcome and unworthy of a place here vying for our attentions,” she said, taking a small sip of her wine as she studied the board and considered her options. “You have certainly proved yourself nothing of the sort, so you will be welcomed if you choose to attend. Though discretion is the paramount rule of the salon. Whatever you see, whomever you see, belongs to Dahlia and Dahlia alone. We will be quite displeased if any malicious gossip were to discredit any of our patrons or our House.”

Her brown eyes lifted to his face, something more steely under the tone as she said quietly, “And there is no need to stand on jesting ceremony, Lord Shahrizai. I am no lady. The circumstances of my birth were far more humble, which is well known. I do not need an empty, unearned courtesy.”

She knew she was common-born. Even a place like the Court of Night Blooming Flowers did not let her forget that. So, knowing well that it was a trap, she advanced her bishop to capture his queen. She knew well that it would open her to losing the match, but the night air was continuing to drop in temperature, a long game would not be pleasant for either of them if they froze. 

He sighed, he was always putting his foot wrong when he spoke with people. His mother had always encouraged him to think more before he spoke, but sometimes his impulsivity got the best of him. “I would never consider spreading malicious gossip about anyone I saw in the Night Court, no matter where they were. You have my word on that fact. As for my naming you Lady, you are the Second of a House in the Night Court, which means you have far more knowledge and ability than many who claim the title by birth. So if you think you have not earned the respect of the title, I do apologize, but you are wrong…” he frowned as she captured his queen with her bishop. He had been playing recklessly with the queen but he hadn’t realized he’d left her that undefended…until he took a better look at the board. With a faint smile, he advanced his rook one rank. “I believe that is both check and mate, Odilia…” 

To his surprise and confusion, she smiled, something glittering in her eyes as she said, “Then, by all means, take my king.”

He reached to take the piece, lifting it to consider the craftsmanship of the piece. It really was well made. 

“You are fortunate the game ends so quickly,” she said, sitting back in her chair and taking up her goblet in one hand. “If this was a true battlefield, as this game was once played to emulate, I would have taken you with me.”

He frowned, looking at her. He had heard that she was the best player in the House, for her to seem so relaxed and cavalier was not what he had expected, until he looked down at the board again. His frown deepened, realizing his own king was in check. When he advanced his rook to check her king, he had given her the opening to lay the blade at his own king. “Well… that is an interesting result…”

Perhaps the stories of her strategic mind weren’t so embellished. However, had she learned to play so? Surely her father hadn’t taught her the way his had taught him. 

He looked up at her again and she smiled, “I believe that is our time, Lord Shahrizai. Do you know your way out? Or shall I call a novice to guide you?”

He shook his head minutely, bemused at the result of the contest. “I believe, Lady Odilia,”—and he would continue addressing her as such, she had earned all of his respect—“that I can find my way at least as far as the reception chambers from here. From there, I suspect a servant will suffice to direct me to the doors.” He smiled as he rose, bowing to her. “A most skillful battle. I hope we can meet over the field again in the future.” 

As he stepped out of the nook they were in and towards the stairs, he looked back at the board again. Odilia was definitely someone he should play against more frequently. He had a feeling she would give his father a solid game as well. He hoped that her ability in the game would translate and make her a fantastic ally in his own ambitions going forward. 

He nodded politely to adepts and novices as he passed on the way through the house, not completely lost in the possibilities in his own mind. He reviewed their conversation and the game, and he was distracted enough that he brushed into another guest on his way to the door. The man turned to comment, his face angry, but he blanched when he saw Niklos’s black and gold clothes and thought better of it, murmuring to his friends as he watched Niklos walk through the door.

There was so much still left to do before the Longest Night. Niklos would need to consider his strategy well as he prepared to prove himself to the Queen. 

A Visit to Dahlia

He’d not been wrong. It had taken less than a week for news of his elevation to become the talk of the Palace, if not the entire City. He couldn’t enter the gaming salon at the Palace without all eyes seeking him out. Any table he sat down at was quickly filled and slowly surrounded by an audience. It was all rather… smothering… if he was honest. Not that anyone cared, they just expected the newest Shahrizai Count to have deep pockets and a penchant for losing some of his newly gained inheritance. Nik wasn’t that bad of a gambler, and most nights he left after making sure he at least was not losing on the night. But he didn’t enjoy the attention. Courtiers flinging themselves at him, or more likely at his wallet, and barely any acceptable conversation. Oh, he learned some things, like the fact that it seemed that half of the newer Azzalese lords had married politically, and both husbands and wives were taking lovers. Curiously, a number of the Namarrese holdings were held by quite happy couples. 

One night, returning from yet another night of lackluster gaming and gossip at the Palace for Niklos, Jacob spoke up as Niklos reentered the townhouse. “My Lord, it may not be my place, but perhaps the Hall of Games is not the best place for you to visit.” 

Niklos raised his eyebrows, Jacob certainly had the tenure to speak his mind freely, but he rarely exercised it. 

“I know you and your father are both chess players, and the rumor is you are quite good at the game. Perhaps, and this is merely a suggestion, you might reach out to Jocaste nò Dahlia and see if one of her adepts might be willing to entertain you? Dahlias are known to be quite sharp, and there is rumor that there is a life-sized chessboard in their salon. Perhaps you might find a worthy opponent there? And a contract certainly would be less stressful than making certain you don’t fritter away your inheritance at the Palace.”

Niklos laughed. He hadn’t considered that Houses other than Bryony might indulge in gaming, and Dahlia certainly seemed like the right House for a game like chess. Nodding to Jacob, he grinned. “Once again, I find your knowledge of the City and your thoughts most valuable to me. Thank you, I will have a note for you to send over to Dahlia House shortly. If you could…” 

He trailed off as Jacob cut in, “I’ve already made certain to have some cider brought up to your desk along with some food. Come now, my lord, if I didn’t know your mannerisms and expectations by now, you would have every right to dismiss me from service.” 

Niklos grinned again in silent thanks and made his way up the stairs.

Dowayne Jocaste nò Dahlia,

I am aware that contracts for members of a House of the Night Court are often commenced in person, but I am hoping that by writing, I might be able to have things sorted before I come to visit your House. I find myself searching for someone with whom I can play chess. It is a favorite pastime of mine, and my father, who is my usual opponent, remains in Kusheth. He has little desire for the City. I was hoping to set up a regular schedule to visit with and play chess with one of your adepts. As I hear rumor that there is a living chessboard within your House, it seems apropos to seek out the keen minds of Dahlia, as I have no desire to wager on every single move or which piece might leave the board first. Please let me know if you have an adept who is interested in this contract and when I might be able to meet with you to sign the agreement.

Most respectfully,

Niklos Shahrizai, Count of Angers

He sealed the note with his personal sigil and closed the envelope, sealing it with the three keys of House Shahrizai. After addressing the front, he took a long swallow of the cider and stood, making his way out into the hall, where one of the young hall boys looked up at him. “Is that the letter Master Jacob is to be sending, my Lord? I can take it for you!” 

Niklos smiled and handed the letter to the boy, nodding. “Thank you. Please let Jacob know that I am planning on retiring for the evening as well.” 

The boy grinned and dashed off, and Niklos returned to his chambers.

When the note arrived at Dahlia House, Jocaste considered it curiously. The rumors had certainly spread by now of what had happened at the Autumn Revelry, and there was little doubt that their House would soon see a great deal more interest from the nobles and courtiers of the palace as they came to investigate the House that had turned the Dauphin’s head. And she herself had heard the whispers of the new Shahrizai Count who had been recently elevated. Not one who frequented Valerian House, the word was, but one who seemed to enjoy the Hall of Games. Curious that he would not then choose Bryony. But this was court strategy and she saw it well. 

And there was an adept who had skill at chess, as it so happened. But Jocaste, Dowayne as she was, was still protective somewhat over her Second, who was also her dear friend. The more that Jocaste could shield Odilia from the public attentions of those who would come to gawk at her, the better would the peace of the House be preserved. 

Lord Shahrizai,

Our human chessboard has earned its reputation well as a grand entertainment in our House salon. It is, however, saved for some of our grander events, such as our recent Revelry. While I cannot offer a match in our grand salon, Dahlia House does still have a collection of the boards at the usual size that could entertain your game, should that be enough to entice your visit. Any number of our adepts have trained at the game of kings and will prove themselves to be suitable opponents for your lordship in the absence of your lord father. As such, you will have your choice of them. 

Rather than choose one myself, I will arrange for you to meet with several and play against each of them at your leisure. Dahlia House does things somewhat differently than many of our sister houses on Mont Nuit; the Dowayne does not choose the patrons for the assignation. Rather, as Naamah bestowed herself like a Queen, so do the Dahlia adepts. If you prove yourself well, one of the adepts will choose to accept your contract. 

Upright and Unbending,

Jocaste nó Dahlia, Dowayne

Sealed with the dahlia flower stamped into the golden wax, it was sent across the city to be given to the Shahrizai Count. 

Niklos was deep in the business of examining the ledgers of the townhouse when the note arrived the next day, and so it was put to the side for more pressing matters. When he finally did take the time to read the response, well after dinner, he smiled to himself. The Dahlia Dowayne had made an interesting proposal, suggesting that Niklos play for the honor of setting a regular game at Dahlia House instead of just informing him the price of such an assignation. He was curious, as well, about the mention of the Revelry. He had heard rumor but, having not received an invitation, had been unable to attend. Apparently, there had been some rather large to do regarding the Dauphin and one of the Dahlia adepts. These were precisely the things that he intended on having an ear on, and he was disappointed that he had not been included. 

Jacob already knew he wanted whatever news the man could procure, so Dahlia had kept everything tightly under wraps. He resolved that he would visit the Mont the following night. He had to begin planning to make other visits as well; it just wouldn’t be right for him to reserve his patronage to only one or two of the Houses. Plus, adepts heard many things, and a reliable patron might be able to convince them to share some of the secrets they were privy to.

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. 

Crowning Joy – Part 2

Standing on the balcony of Dahlia House, Gustav finally felt at ease. He crossed to her, his heart leaping at the sight of her face again, his breathing evening out in comfort as he came to stand with her. She did not curtsy to him. Of course she would not, she was a Dahlia. 

“You are just as beautiful as I remember you in my dreams,” he said. 

She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling at him, saying, “You seem taller. Is this what happens when you go to university? You grow in intelligence and body, too?”

He blushed. “You are teasing me.”

“You do not seem to mind,” she said, resting her hands on the railing as she looked out across the view of the gardens. “After all, you sent me so many poems, I must catch up to your compliments.”

He glanced away, joining her at the railing. 

“It is good to see you,” she said quietly. She did not look at him, however, giving him the safety of semi-solitude as she asked, “How are you?”

He was sure his friends had asked him the same question, surely many people had, but it was different when it came from her. She did not expect anything of him, just himself, whoever he was. She had made it clear the first night, for his majority, that he—just as he was—was enough. She had chosen him that night; he had never forgotten how special it made him feel. 

“I breathe,” he said just as quietly. “I open my eyes in the morning and close them at night. I sit on a horse, I walk on my feet, I dress myself and eat and drink. But I am not living.”

Her hand touched his, and he clasped it at once. 

“Your poems were beautiful,” she said softly. “I enjoyed every one of them. But I liked your letters better. I could hear the honesty of your heart in them as you told me of your day, your classes, your professors, your friends. You can be honest with me, Gustav.”

“I know,” he whispered, twisting his fingers with hers. “I just….Odilia, I do not know where to begin.”

“Come,” she said, stepping back from the railing and pulling him with her. “I will call for wine, we will return to my rooms, and you can tell me.”

“I did not bring my purse.”

“It is a gift,” she said with a smile. “I have made my marque, my Dowayne permits me to choose my patrons as I see fit. And I choose you tonight, Gustav. Come.”

He followed her through the halls, glancing only briefly at the frescoes of Naamah and her lovers on the walls. Far more mesmerising was the play of the lantern light on her dark hair. Her rooms were as he remembered them—though he had not paid much attention the first time he had come here—with tall windows and heavy woods, jewel tone upholstery and plush pillows. Truly an apartment of luxury, tastefully decorated to be subtly elegant. 

The wine already sat waiting for them by her chaise, a clear, bubbly prosecco in the crystal decanter to help soothe the early summer heat. She poured two crystal goblets for them and lowered herself onto the chaise, holding out her hand to him. Sitting next to her, he took a deep breath and found the words, knowing she would listen. 

He unburdened his soul to her, pouring all of himself into her dark eyes, offering the troubles of his heart into her hands. And she did not stop him, did not interrupt him, just let him speak. She refilled his wine and held his hand and, when he wept for his brother that he had lost, she stroked his hair as he cried against her shoulder. This could not have been the grand romantic reunion he had wanted or she expected, but it was what he needed. When she wound him in her arms and pressed her lips to his forehead, the weight and stress of the last month was lessened. 

She leaned back, letting him lounge against her, and her fingers combed through his hair and he nestled into the scent of her skin and the perfume of her gown. 

“Odilia?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He heard the smile in her voice as she said, “Of course.”

“I would like to see you more often, now that I am returned to the city.”

“I would like that.”

His head turned slightly, his lips brushing against the fabric that covered her heart, and she paused for just a moment before resuming stroking his hair. This couldn’t be anything more. It just wasn’t smart. 

He would be the king one day. He could not lift a courtesan up with him. This was only a dream, a naive hope for a romance written in the stars. She was too practical to allow this. 

But perhaps for the moment, she could indulge his fantasy. After all, that was what the Night Court did best.