fanfic – Page 4 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: A Hallway Happenstance

Corrian had been standing in the turn of the second floor hallway of the palace for almost half an hour. Her maid had questioned the servants, and they knew that every week on this day at about two hours past noon the king walked past this spot on his way out of his council meeting. Months she had been in the City of Elua, trying to catch his attention, and now she was taking matters into her own hands.

Corrian heard the footsteps before she saw him, but that was her cue to start walking down the hall. As the king came into view, she locked eyes on him, maneuvering herself into his path.

“Lady Corrian,” the king said politely.

“Your Majesty,” replied Corrian, sinking into a curtsy, “how nice to run into you here.”

It took all the will power Gustav had to keep the polite expression on his face. He was sick of this pretense but figured he might as well get this over with. “Would you like to walk with me, my lady? The gardens are lovely this time of year.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” she replied, joining him in step as they walked toward the staircase.

“How are you enjoying your time in the city?” he asked.

“Oh it is lovely, and I am so looking forward to Longest Night. Though I miss my father and our estate back home.”

“Is Borlean so intriguing?” he inquired as they walked through the doorway to the terrace overlooking the garden.

“Well, not the land, per say, though it is quite lovely, but the people. I grew up there, and my father is very much the life and spirit of the place. Also, many of the crofters there grew up in tandem with me and are like near cousins.”

“It is nice to see a noble lady think so highly of her home and her people.”

“Oh yes, though I have also had a great season here in the city. I have gotten to know so many lovely people and had quite simply the best visit to Dahlia House.”

The king stopped in his tracks, the sudden stillness of someone sensing a threat, and he turned very carefully to examine her face before saying quietly, “Dahlia House? What exactly are you trying to say, my lady?”

Corrian smiled, it had worked. She no longer needed to play coy or pretend, she could finally be frank. “I went to Dahlia House to have an assignation with Odilia, Your Majesty. I wanted to see what was so special about her, and I must say, you have impeccable taste.”

The other potential wives may have spent their time showing off their skills and trying to catch his eye, but Corrian knew that to get the king’s attention and to stand a chance in this race for the queen’s crown, she needed to find the king’s heart. And he kept it at Dahlia House.

“My lady, let’s drop pretense, it is clear we didn’t accidentally run into each other today, and I wish to tell you I am finding the entire exercise of finding a wife exhausting. So, what exactly do you propose?”

“Your Majesty, like you, I see marriage as an act of necessary convenience. I would never stop you from taking any lover you chose, let alone a consort. I have to say, your choice in consort is superb, and I can see her and me even becoming friends. I imagine it would do you many favors to have your queen be friends with your consort and prevent anyone from causing trouble or pitting them against each other.”

“And what is it that you want, a crown and power?” he asked, his frustration with the marriage mart apparent. He was surrounded with ambitious, power-hungry, flattering courtiers every day, he was tired of the game.

“Your Majesty, you wound me. No, I want precisely what I offer you, the freedom to take lovers.”

“While I cannot pretend that that is at all unreasonable, considering Blessed Elua’s precept and our traditions, I am a king. Any child my wife would bear must be mine. There can never be any doubt about its parentage or the stability of the realm could be at stake.”

“I fully acknowledge that. Once a candle to Eishieth is lit, I can promise to take only female lovers. Though, in return, I would ask that any children born to your mistress would be handled subtly. I would not wish to hear courtiers gossiping about my marriage bed in the hallways.”

“I did ask for frankness, my lady, and you have given it to me. Though I do not know if Odilia would even wish to light a candle, I could assure my wife that any child born through that union would be provided for, cared for, titled, but not brought into our household nor given a royal name.”

Bastards were treated more kindly in Terre D’Ange, but bastards were still bastards. And dangerous.

“It is a fair agreement, Your Majesty.”

He looked at her evenly with his Courcel blue eyes. “I would also wish that our first son would be named for my late brother, Daniel.”

Corrian gave King Gustav another curtsy. “It would be my honor to continue his legacy and memory.”

Gustav heaved a heavy sigh, “Shall we say we have an agreement then?”

“The start of one, Your Majesty.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Four

Part Four

She shook her head and went on, “But as you said before, it almost doesn’t matter to most people if the king loves his partner. Neither king nor queen, nor consort is an actual human, they’re toys to move around as we all see fit.”

She opened the cold box and pulled out the dessert and a chilled bottle of wine. “Please, try this shaved ice. It is a triumph shown to us by one of our new adepts. It’s got fruit and sweet things, it’s delicious.”

The wine uncorked easily, and she poured Niklos a healthy serving, then poured her own. “The idea that they’re toys is what makes this Corrian so potentially dangerous and yet so appealing to people. No one knows where she’s from or how she grew up, so there’s no guilt in her being the toy. I am personally uninterested in her past. I need to know her future, her plans, her dreams, her desires, so I can pick them apart and decide if I’ll become soft and give her what she wants or if I will have to stand strong before her and give her what she needs.” She chuckled. “But I’m Heliotope’s Dowayne, of course I use our canon and teachings as easily as I draw breath.”

He nodded as he took a bowl of the dessert. He had heard of such things but had never had the chance to try it, so he took a small bite, the chill running through him pleasantly. He smiled at the fruit flavors, and he eyed the wine. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—refuse it, but he rarely had wine with a sweet. He was curious as to how they would taste together. “I can only imagine how your interactions with the various Houses would be. And Dahlia’s canon seems so…opposite…your own. It feels to me a dichotomy on the level of Valerian and Mandrake? Without the pain, certainly. We all have our feelings about people, and I have no right asking your explanation, as your reasons are yours. As for Corrian, I believe her intent is to throw herself into Gustav’s path often enough that he will begin to look upon her and possibly court her. The concern in the back of my head is why? And for that answer, I need to know more about where she came from. Because if she is a toy, who is pulling the strings?” He frowned, taking a slow sip of wine. He paused, looking at the glass, a smile crossing his face at the interplay of flavors, before rubbing his forehead briefly. “There are too many variables right now. And I can only see a part of the board.” He sighed ruefully. “I’m sorry to have brought all this to your doorstep. Though I hazard to think that we both would have been more in the dark if we hadn’t spoken.”

Mena smiled at him, noticing his pleased expression when he had the wine. She had gone out of her way to find a wine that would surprise him with that choice, and it seems she was right. Getting her own bite, she savored it as she listened to him and thought about his words carefully. “You aren’t darkening my door with worries, Niklos, quite the contrary. I know you are trusted among the other Houses, so I trust that my faith in your discretion will not be misplaced.”

She got up and crossed to her desk and picked up a thick leather folio and set the folder on the table, leaning it on the wine bottle. “That file belongs to one of our patrons who passed away many years ago, so you are welcome to look through it. We use it as part of the education of all the children raised here. Lord Myiere was a patron of the late Dowayne for forty years, from his first visit here just after he reached majority to the day he died in a freak accident seven years past.”

She looked up at the ceiling, carefully considering how to proceed. After a long silence, she spoke. “Not all who are called to Heliotrope have a natural gift that allows them to read patrons correctly in the moment. Plus, patrons will often need to be seen by more than one adept. So, many, many years ago, a system was set up where we train all who are raised here in the art and skill of observing, predicting, and handling people. And we keep extensive records.” She gestured at the folio on the table. “Lord Myiere has four such collections, that one is the weightiest, as it was made in the first two years of his patronage of Ricard. Helping train the children in the nursery and the novices was added to my duties when I was nearing twenty. And as Second, keeping abreast of the comings, goings, and shiftings of the City, as well as helping predict a patron’s whims was one set of duties I was best at. Despite my terrible penmanship and hatred of paperwork. I feared this was a potential problem.”

She sat down in her chair as close to heavily as a lifelong adept could. “I told the Dowayne that a Dauphin with an adept as a public lover was the riskiest of situations. I don’t pretend to know everything or have my hand in political intrigue, but I know people, I know how to read people, and I know how to anticipate. This Court is supportive of His Majesty to the point of being indulgent. But there’s no way that they would allow him to choose an adept, let alone a Dahlia, as his bride, and the brides that would suffer a Night Court trained official mistress are as rare as snow in the heat of summer.” Laughing a little, she went on. “He told me that, even in the summer we can see the snow on distant mountains and that I was worried about something that would likely not come to pass, as men’s hearts are fickle. We had a bet on it, and the large red roan horse in the stables shows you who won. This is a time of potential upheaval for all of us, Night and Day Court alike. Perhaps we need to step in and quietly remove women from his path until we leave him with that snow-capped peak.”

After a pause for a sip of her wine and to collect her thoughts, she went on. “I mean that in our way, of course. A delayed carriage, a public mistress at a social gathering, an ill-mannered conversation, or food that doesn’t sit well with the lady’s disposition. You were right earlier, when you said that Heliotrope and Dahlia are opposite each other. They are upright and unbending in all things, something I do not understand, clearly.” She gestured down at her gown with a smile. “I might not know what she’s doing or why, but I feel that it is my duty to aid Odilia in finding her happiness. And, more importantly, helping to ensure that the Night Flowers can bloom without the influence a jealous queen would have.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Three

Part Three

He chuckled softly as he took the bread from her, her earlier words having cut rather closely. Time felt like it was hurtling forward, as opposed to the slow and steady march it had felt like in his youth.

He nodded. “The Dahlia, yes, I have heard about her. And I don’t think I’m as well-connected as I once thought I was. Too much turmoil in the typically placid waters.” He took a bite of the bread and jam, his eyes widening fractionally, surprised at the taste. He chewed slowly, interested in where Mena was leading.

Mena smiled and chewed her bite carefully. “You are right, there’s a lot of turmoil swirling around here. Between the poor bachelorettes, Odilia, and the nobles and guilds all on a knife’s edge, we’ve all been struggling. One of the things our patrons come to us for is to be soothed and made to feel as though their worries will fade away. It’s been hard to do that lately, particularly since my adepts are not feeling stable themselves.”

“And now there’s that new noblewoman…what’s her name…” He paused, waiting for a reaction from her. “Corrian. That’s her. I ran into her at the Hall of Games, and when she found out my family her reaction was…rather negative. I thought we’d gotten past all of that. And then I bumped into her at de Morbhan’s fête. She and I are supposed to visit Bryony, now that I think of it. The poor king. All these possibilities circling him. I can’t imagine what it’s doing for your business…or that of half the other Houses.” He reached out and took his tea cup, taking a sip and relishing the flavor.

Mena made a face. “Mmm, I have heard of her. One good thing about my adepts is that they often accompany their patrons not as adepts, but as partners.” She laughed again, brighter this time. “Which is why I can’t often keep them once they’ve made their marques. I digress, two of my adepts have had direct interactions with her, and most of them hear of her from their noble patrons. She is like a bite that has crunch in what’s meant to be a smooth dish.”

Picking up her own cup, she had a sip and closed her eyes momentarily. “This tea is worth the price I pay to have it brought to me. It never fails to clear my head and improve my mood.” She smiled at him as she had another sip. “I can only speak for us, but Heliotrope’s loyalty is to the king’s heart. We support and desire for him to take a partner who flows into the spaces in his heart like honey. Beyond that, we have no opinion. As for how business is going,” she shrugged. “I am not the accountant, that’s Matin, his office is on your way out, if you’d like to know specifics.”

He grinned. “It is good tea. If Jacob didn’t have his own blend that he insisted on, I might be asking you where I could obtain this one. And I don’t think I need to meet with Matin. Your House’s accounts are none of my business. I just find it odd that this Corrian of no real influence is suddenly a piece on the gameboard. And we both know marriages at some of the higher echelons of Terre d’Ange are purely political. Love doesn’t always enter into the equation. Marriages for the Crown are even more complex. I don’t believe His Majesty is in a situation like Ysandre once was. But I don’t move in his circles often enough. He’s a good man, and I’ve seen him on occasion, but I’m not one of his close acquaintances. That’s probably for the best, as I would probably cause more harm than good if I associated with him too often.” He chuckled then, a broad grin on his face. “We all know how well scions of Kushiel are perceived when they move too closely to the Courcels.” He picked up a little cake, having finished the bread and jam, and took a bite, a strange glint in his eyes.

Mena laughed quietly but with no real humor. “It seems we have adopted that from the Yeshuites: the sins of the father being passed to the children. The Court of all people should know that one’s family name means nothing about the individual. How many of them spend their nights in our Court, bemoaning the uselessness of their first born? Besides, that was a long while back, and just because a person’s tendencies aren’t yours, that doesn’t make them a traitor.”

She rolled her eyes. “That bothers me, my apologies for my outburst. We find that occasionally in our Court: a born in-house novice or adept lording it over a transfer or purchase. It’s despicable, we’re each a clean slate to Naamah and Elua, aren’t we?”

Giving her shoulders a shake, she inhaled deeply. “Never mind that. This Corrian problem is one that we’ll see a solution to in our lifetime, let’s apply our energies to that. I am incredibly confused as well by her appearance. My adepts are listening and asking of their patrons.” She smiled again, reaching for a plate of dates and offering them to Nikos as she spoke. “Not in any spying kind of manner, just gossip we haven’t heard. We’d hoped, myself and a few other Dowaynes, that Odilia would come and pass on what she knew, or at least let us know she remembered who raised her. She, of all people, should know who this woman is, wouldn’t you think?”

He gently motioned his dismissal of the dates as he considered her words. “We should all be clean slates, but there is always the possibility that family lines run stronger than we would hope. As for the Corrian question…Do we even know where the Borlean family comes from? She’s pretty, but she could be from half the provinces.”

He shrugged, then grinned. “I think Odilia has some of her own ambition. Dahlias have always gone hand in hand with pride. I get the feeling she saw an opportunity, and she made a play for it. She could love Gustav, but I’m not certain she does. But Gustav could love her. And if he does, is that more dangerous or less dangerous?” He leaned back, trying to put all the pieces together, knowing that his network was not as useful as it might have been. It bothered him.

“There is a concern that the contemptuous and dismissive ego that a lot of adepts have contended with in their dealings with Dahlia House have been distilled into Odilia. That she is playing some chess game and we, who will likely be impacted by her actions, are purposely kept in the dark. As for her loving the King…”

Mena trailed off, thinking deeply. “When I was still Second, I had a lot of dealings with other Seconds, but rarely her. She didn’t attend our meetings often and was rarely involved in what needed to be done. Even Orchis’ Second was committed to what needs to be done to keep our lives running, but rarely Dahlia. That shades my opinion no matter how I try to keep neutral. As for the king, I believe he loves her, even if it’s just in the same way you love the view from your balcony at midwinter.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Two

Part Two

The morning, three days hence, arrived. Niklos had been busy these past days, gathering whatever information he could on Mena. He had passing familiarity with her, having met her a few times at the Palace when she’d been Second of Heliotrope. He remembered her as being incredibly efficient, and rumors in the City did not disabuse him of that memory. Jacob had been terrifyingly useful in getting information on the now-Dowayne of Heliotrope, and it appeared that not all the houses on the Mont were fully behind the Dahlia’s power play. That made sense with the various canons of the Court, and Niklos found himself unsurprised that Heliotrope might be one of those houses on the fence, as it were. Niklos had a small smile on his face as he climbed into the coach for the ride up to the Mont, settling in comfortably for the ride.

The coach pulled up to the gates of Heliotrope in good time, and the driver announced Niklos’ presence for a meeting with the Dowayne, upon which the gates were opened, and the coach entered the confines of the house itself. As Niklos stepped down from the coach, his eyes took in some other coaches waiting in the yard. Minor houses all, but they would also be important moving forward. He made his way to the main door of the house and smiled at the initiate that opened the door. “Count Niklos Shahrizai here to see Dowayne Philomena no Heliotrope, at her invitation.” He waited patiently for the initiate’s direction.

Vouloir had been waiting for the Count’s coach to arrive, her fingertips tingling with anticipation. Or nerves, she wasn’t sure, but she was choosing to believe that it was the former. She pulled the door open and curtseyed, “My Lord, the Dowayne is expecting you. Please follow me to her office.”

Gesturing to the stairwell behind her, she turned and started up them, trusting that he would follow her. Elua knew she wanted to speak, to ask him questions about the day, the news, the crops, anything to fill the silent walk, but her Dowayne had expressly forbidden her from doing so, saying that she alone was to escort him and that after, when she was dismissed, she was to sit in the kitchen, eat her meal, and listen for any comments from adepts or staff on the topic of his visit or any gossip that sounded related.

After extending her invitation, Mena had asked her Day Errand Adept if there was anything she needed to know about her visitor and had been told nothing that she didn’t already know or hadn’t heard through Night Court gossip. Very well, a straightforward visit, likely both social and fact finding, which was exactly what she needed right now. A mentally stimulating visit from someone she knew well enough but not so well that she could predict their every move.

The decision to conduct the visit in her private office, not her official one, was a given. Her official office was for things that were, well, official. This was a mutual fact-finding mission wrapped in a social call, and these things were never official. So she’d had her office tidied some, the low table between two chairs cleaned off, and the room aired. Her clothing and hairstyle were also chosen to reflect that this was not official: a day dress in Helio’s colors and her hair braided and pinned up off her neck. While she waited, she read a book she’d been meaning to catch up on to keep her mood even. Paperwork would only put her in a mindset that would be useless for this visit.

She lifted her head from her book when she heard Vouloir’s knock on the door, watching the door push open to admit the girl and her guest.

“My Lady Dowayne, Count Shahrizai, as requested.” Vouloir’s voice was polite yet unyielding. Mena smiled and thought, ‘I was right about this one, so very right’

Standing, she nodded at the girl. “Thank you, Vouloir, please go enjoy your meal and have the kitchen send up the food I requested.”
Vouloir nodded, curtseyed again to Count Shahrizai, and before she’d left the doorway, Mena gestured to the comfortable chair in front of hers before sitting back down. “My lord, do come in and have a seat. Food and drink will be up soon. I know that the rest of the Court is on quite a different schedule from us, but I think everyone appreciates a light meal and good drink after midday?”

Niklos nodded politely to Mena as he entered her office. He was curious, as he didn’t think he’d been inside the Dowayne’s private office here at Heliotrope before. He’d certainly been to some others, Cereus being the first in his mind, but any time he had visited Heliotrope before he had been accommodated in the more public, “official” office.

His eyes followed the adept who’d led him through the House, a brief upturn on the corner of his lips. She had carried herself as if his presence was the most important thing she would undertake…and he supposed that was befitting of a Heliotrope. Wasn’t their canon devotion? His eyes turned to Mena, studying her as he moved towards the chair she’d gestured to. He caught the book that looked like it had just been set down, but there was no title on the coverm and he was curious as to what she might be indulging in. “Refreshments would be most welcome, my lady.”

He leaned back, relaxing in the chair, a languid smile crossing his face. “And how have you been, Dowayne Philomena? How has your adjustment to being head of Heliotrope House been? I must be honest, I was a little surprised to hear that your predecessor was retiring, but I am happy to know yet another old acquaintance in a position of leadership within the Night Court. How are you?”

Mena smiled at him. “Please, call me Mena. I only rarely stand on ceremony and never in my home.” At the mention of her predecessor, she felt a pang of grief. Few outside of the House knew the truth. “It was a shock to be sure. He hid an incurable illness behind his retirement and died a few weeks after his retirement was announced. We didn’t tell anyone at the time, as per his wishes. He didn’t want a fuss to be made over his passing.”

A quiet knock on her door came, a man came in carrying a large tray, followed by a girl no more than twelve who was carefully carrying a box. Mena looked up at them and smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Ah, Rich, Louise, thank you both so much.”

The man smiled back at her as he set the dishes out, “You are welcome, my lady. If you and His Lordship need anything else, Louise will be just outside.”

Mena turned her smile to the girl, “Make sure you have your schoolwork or something to read, child. We might be a while, it would be a shame to waste that time.”

Louise curtseyed before she left, “Yes, Lady Dowayne.”

Mena turned her attention back to Count Shahrizai. “I was unsure what you preferred, so I had a selection prepared. My cook is incredible. She makes this cold soup that you simply must try.” She gestured to the small bowls as she continued. “There’s also meat and cheese and our homemade bread, if that is more to your liking. Also just for you, because I know how you adore wine,” she patted the top of the box that Louise had brought in, “I have some of one of our chilled wines here, as well as a delightful mixture of cold fruit, sweet wine, and some shavings from our last ice block.” Cutting two slices of bread, she held one out to him. “This is a recipe as old as Heliotrope House. All of our novices learn it, and there is nothing like it in the world.”

He leaned forward and took one of the slices of bread, his eyes ranging across the variety of delicacies that Heliotrope had provided. He was impressed, their cellars might be as good as the ones at the Townhouse. He would have to speak to Jakob about that.

“You are too kind, Mena. Far too kind.” He took a bite of the bread, enjoying the taste. “This bread is quite good! A house secret, I’m guessing? Delicious.” He leaned back into the chair, relaxing as he processed the information she had provided. The old Dowayne had passed, and it seemed somewhat unexpectedly. He hadn’t heard the news, but he also didn’t move in circles with anyone who could provide him continuing information on the goings-on within Heliotrope. He was grateful to have some insight into the houses he did know about. “And I expect no formality from you as well. Not here in private, at least. This is nothing but a social call. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other…last year’s Masquerade, wasn’t it? I do apologize for my distraction. I should have come to visit sooner.” There had been so many things going on, including his visits to Kusheth. But things were falling into place. He leaned forward to take a wedge of cheese, taking another slow bite as his gaze rested on her.

She smiled a little sadly. “Time is a fickle thing, Niklos. When you’re juggling knives, they’re all you can think about. No matter how much you want or need more, the knives demand focus..” Laughing a little, she added, “at least I can’t. I am no Orchis, and I will never understand juggling. I saw a group of them out in the market a few nights ago, juggling and telling stories. Completely magical, if you ask me.”

A silence slipped over the two as they ate. It was comfortable, contemplative even. As she spread jam and butter on a slice of bread and held it out to Niklos, she smiled a slightly less serene smile. “I know you’re well connected within the Night Court, I assume you’ve heard about Odilia?”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part One

Part One

TIme is a slippery thing. One minute, Heliotrope was preparing for the Masque, and the next it was the beginning of winter, another Masque looming in the distance. Mena wondered where the time went and why it went so quickly. One look at the mountain of paperwork on her desk and she knew where. ‘I really need to finalize my Second,’ she thought as she dragged another pile of paperwork over. RIght now—much to the scandal of anyone who mentioned it to her—she had delegated the work of the Second (and a bit of the Dowayne’s, if she was honest) out to three different people: One handled incoming novices and fosterlings; one managed the household staff; the other did the Day Errands, as they were called, the things that the Dowayne couldn’t be seen to be handling in the decent hours after dark.

That left Mena handling everything else, and that was still a lot. Many of her duties from before she had yet to let go of, but as it was, she was drowning in work. She needed a break so she could get her own head right.

As if summoned, there was a knock on her open office door, and Mena looked up to see Vouloir, one of the older novices, standing in the doorway holding a tray. Mena smiled, pushing her paperwork aside. “Loir, come in, my sweet.”

Vouloir smiled like the sun itself, approaching the desk and setting down a tray laden with a pot of tea, a small stack of cups, a dish of shaved ice, fruit, and sweetened milk, and, most surprisingly, a crisp ivory envelope.

Her training kicked in, and Mena smiled in return, gesturing towards the empty chair, “Please, please, sit down, child. Have a cup of tea and a bite of this with me.”

“Lady Dowayne, I don’t want to intrude,” Vouloir replied, her hand lingering on the arm of the indicated chair.

“Mena. You may call me Mena in this part of the House. Especially since you’ll be making your offering to Namaah next week. As for interrupting me, I am in desperate need of a distraction.”

Vouloir nodded, a small smile on her face. “As you wish, Mena. It would be nice to sit for a moment.” She filled two cups with tea and handed one to Mena along with a spoon. As she pulled her chair closer to the desk, she asked, “Aren’t you curious about the envelope?”

Mena didn’t even spare it a glance, “Not at the moment. I am sure it just brings me more work. Indulge me, tell me about the preparations for your dedication.”

Vouloir beamed. “Well, Mother and Father are coming into town, her old House is putting them up for the week. And grandmother and two of my aunts are coming up from Jebe-Barkal to do our traditional ceremony of womanhood. We considered having them stay here, but I ended up trading favors with Jasmine so they’ll be well treated and can go home with something to brag about. They’ve never been to the Night Court before.”

Mena smiled. “I am glad to see you so happy to have your family witness your dedication and to honor your father’s homeland as well. I would, of course, love to host them any time they come, but I can see why you’d want some space between your House and them, particularly since it’s their first visit.”

Vouloir nodded, “Next time they can stay here and know that the sun warms as well in Terre D’Ange as it does in the deserts. Now, my Lady, the envelope. I feel as though I might perish with excitement! What if it’s a love letter?” She gestured with her spoon at the envelope.

Mena laughed. “Loir, my sweetest child, I doubt that. I have no regular patrons, so it could not be a love letter. It has been many summers since I received a love letter. Besides, this new tea and even newer dessert are so much more interesting than a letter that’s probably just some artisan or another wanting our aid to show their goods to the Mont.” She waved her own spoon. “I am not going to tell my own adepts how to dress, why would I agree to tell the whole Court? Besides, I am not Cereus.”

Vouloir picked up the envelope and studied it. “Yes, Mena, the roasted grain tea is so well matched with the dessert the cook just learned of. I think it suits better than most of the leaf teas we have in the House. Now this envelope.” She brought it near her face and inhaled, her eyes closed. “It smells like old books, wine, and candles. And the paper is too fine to be from an artisan, plus the ink is such a deep dark blue; it had to have cost a pretty penny. This has to be from someone important! You have to open it!”

Mena sighed and waved her hand. “Go ahead, Loir, open it for me.”

Vouloir froze. “Pardon? My Lady? You want me, not even an adept, to open mail addressed directly to the Dowayne by name?”

Mena considered the words and then nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Open it. I am sure it’s nothing. And if it’s something, you’ll be able to tell everyone you knew first because your Dowayne let you into her confidence.

Vouloir snorted. “I would never. What happens here, stays here, you taught me that.” The young woman carefully opened the envelope, setting aside the wax seal, and pulling out the heavy paper within. As she read, her eyes widened. “Mena, it is from a Lord of the Shahrizai, requesting a meeting!”

Mena made a face of confusion. “What on Earth is a Shahrizai doing asking to come to Heliotrope?” She took the letter from Vouloir’s shaking hands and read it through calmly. “Ah, Count Niklos. I have met him before at other events. This makes sense now. He wants to come to discuss the current state of affairs with me.”

Vouloir gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Will you do it? Will you meet with him?”

Mena nodded, setting the letter aside and returning her attention to the dessert. “Of course. Not only is he a Peer of the Realm, but he’s asking so politely. When we finish, have one of the runners head over to his estate, and indicate that he is welcome to come in three days’ time.”

Vouloir nodded but still asked, “Me? Me dispatch a runner?”

Mena nodded and smiled at the girl. “Yes, like I said, we’re in confidence now Vouloir, my sweet.”

***

Niklos was not surprised by Jacob informing him that a runner had stopped by, wearing the colors of Heliotrope. Nor was he surprised at the invitation provided. Jacob looked at him slightly askance, but he allowed it. The man had been instrumental in the situation with the Dahlia, and he was quickly affirming both Niklos’s personal trust and the trust of the family. Niklos was certain that the man had been placed as a spy for someone in the family, but nothing he had planned went against the family stipulations.

“Three days?” He asked, looking at Jacob, who nodded. “Very well then. make certain the family coach is prepared. Once I get to the Mont, it won’t particularly matter, but I want the statement of the coach moving through the City. I want the people to know that the Shahrizai haven’t wholly vacated the City.”

Storyline: Elissa’s Letter Home

A su Excelentísimo Señor Duque Gisgo Barca de Murcia,

Your daughter writes to you, safe and in comfort, once again from the warm hospitality of the D’Angelines. The apartments they have given to us remain comfortable and pleasant with a good view of the gardens. Winter is coming here, the winds are colder, and I can see the gardeners working hard to preserve the beauty of the land and protect it from the chill of the season.

Your honorable brother sends his duty and his respect, but I can see in him the thin lines of impatience. The great Hasdrubal Magon Barca de Cartagena is not a man of patience, preferring action and fire over the soothing winds of negotiation. He tells me often his favorite line from the poem as he paces before the fireplace: “It is not in the palace court,/Amid the throng of ladies bright,/That the good soldier, by his tongue,/Proves himself valorous in the fight.” But never in his impatience does he forget his obedience and honor to you, Don Gisgo. He defends my honor among these D’Angelines and speaks on my behalf with skill to the D’Angeline lords and courtiers here.

But no matter how he makes friends and suggests the benefit of a strong alliance with Aragonia, it seems there is no answer rising to the question of who the Courcel King will choose for his wife. These D’Angelines enjoy their gossip, and I have heard the whispers and the speculation that the King does not wish to wed any of us and is waiting until we tire of waiting for him and return home of our own will so he cannot be said to be an ungenerous host. He has been very generous, and in the moments that I have spoken with him, he has been kind. But it is clear to me that my sisters in this quest will only be offered his hand and not his heart. This is something that I think those of us who are not D’Angeline knew to expect. But it does not give peace to those that grew up with the teaching of their Angel Elua that they ought to love whoever and however they wish. As the poet says in the poem, “The Jealous King,” “But others spread the news, that flew like fire from tongue to tongue,/That the King was doting-mad with love, for then the King was young.”

Be eased, Father—in the moments that I have met with the Swan King, I have done nothing to compromise my honor or the modest defense of my virtue that you have done so well to teach me. The other ladies who have come to seek his hand and the crown it brings seem, in some ways, to embrace the D’Angeline ways in an attempt to prove themselves a good queen to these people, but I cannot embrace the customs that are so strange to me. For I have seen the famous prostitutes of this land, those that are called Servants of Naamah, and I hear the whispers that the king of these lands is in love with one of them. But I have seen them and the way they display so much of their skin. The marks of their position are inked into their skin, and they are fully displayed on their backs. In comparison, I am sure my fashions from Qart Hadast seem matronly. But I have to wonder that, Servants as they are, if it is their Lady’s demand that they show so much of themselves? If they were not bound to her service, how many of them would choose to reveal their skin and flaunt their hair as they do? Perhaps it is just their D’Angeline way instead of the styles of their profession. I cannot know, I am not of their people, so I ought not to speculate without kindness in my thoughts.

To quote Celin’s “Farewell,” “Ye balmy winds of heaven, whose sound is in the rippling trees,/Whose scented breath brings back to me a thousand memories.” It is often my comfort in the time I spend listening to the music the D’Angeline musicians play. I was reading it when the King came to sit with me. I had seen him when I was presented by my honorable uncle to the court. But now he approached me without the rest of the court and sat with me—under the supervision of your brother Hasdrubal—to speak one on one. He was courteous and kind, and it seemed he understood some of our customs, for though these D’Angelines greet all people with kisses, he made no move and seemed to have no intent to touch me. He was warm and welcoming, inquiring about the poems I was reading and whether I was happy with the time I was spending in Terre D’Ange. We made pleasant enough conversation, but Father, honesty is the greatest treasure of a virtuous woman—I do not think I can be happy here. To live in Terre D’Ange is to live in a place where the modesty and virtue I hold so dear and have been taught my entire life will not be understood. It is not just the skin of the courtesans and the kissing of nobles, it is woven into the fabric of life here, and I cannot believe that I would be a good queen for this country and the people when so much of their precious way of life is against what I believe.

I know what you will say, Father, I hear your voice in my mind clear as I heard it the day I departed home. You will quote to me “The Letter of the King,” since I am here to present myself to a king, and remind me to “Then dismiss thy anxious musings, let them with the wind away,/As the gloomy clouds are scattered at the rising of the day.” But allow your daughter the honesty of this letter as I write that I miss you. Your stern face is often in my thoughts, as is the countryside of home and the beautiful glory of your Murcia. I miss our city: the warm stone and the blue sea and the bright flowers. I understand my duty here and the benefit of an alliance with the Courcel King, but I am a daughter of Murcia not of the Angel-Land, and while they have a famous poet who mourned the loss of her homeland while in exile, our poems also extol the beauty of our lands, and it is those that I am turning to in the long days away from home.

Let me come home, Father. I have no chance to win his hand, nor do I want to spend the rest of my life here. It will be an uncomfortable and unhappy life, and I cannot believe you would choose that for me over the peace and joy of a marriage that will suit me. When I wake in the morning, my first thought is for home. When I sleep at night it is facing southwest so that I can imagine I can see Qart Hadast from here. I understand Celin all the more when he writes in his “Farewell” poem, “I see thee shining from afar,/As in heaven’s arch some radiant star./Amilcar, queen and crown of loveliness,/Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress.”

The comfort I have now are only the poems I read and the attendants I have brought. This place is not for me, and I would not make a kingdom suffer for a queen unsuited to their tradition. Send me where you wilt to find a husband, but let it be in Aragonia and not this Terre D’Ange. I pray that you will heed my plea and that your heart misses your daughter as mine misses her father and home. What I am is Aragonian, I cannot and will not become D’Angeline!

If my words will not move you, perhaps you will heed the words of the poets that you read to me when I sat upon your knee and taught me pride in name and country! “A hundred thousand favors she/In public or in private gives,/To show her lover that her life/Is Aragonia’s while she lives!”

I waste ink repeating the words and thoughts that make restless my mind. I pray that your next letter comes with it a request to return home. That is all that will give me joy now, the treasure of returning to beautiful Aragonia!

Let Adelifa’s “Farewell” be mine to you as I close this letter—”This to an end her farewell brought,/But not her dark and anxious thought.”

In love and obedience,
Su hija,
Elissa Ylenia Barca de Cartagena

Storyline: Odilia’s Memory

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

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

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

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

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

~
Several Years Ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jocaste smiled at her. “Will you play?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: Gustav’s Letter

Beloved Odilia,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gustav

Storyline: The Courtiers Games

Niklos supposed that it was time to begin the Game of Houses in earnest. He had given his word, and that meant finding allies…or at least finding those who would not oppose the current play for politics. And where better to start than the Hall of Games? People’s tongues were surprisingly loose when they sat around a card table or throwing dice. And if you added alcohol to the mix, well, more the better. So Niklos found himself in the Palace, and he wandered through the Hall, his eyes examining the tables. He nodded to those he recognized, sometimes stopping to exchange a word or two or a greeting with the few Shahrizai cousins he spotted. He was certain he would receive information from them at some point. This was a concerted effort, and the younger cousins had been on his side for some time. He spotted a table that appeared to be just settling down and made his way toward it, shooting glares at a couple of young nobles who looked to be angling towards one of the last empty chairs.

A noble lady gestured to him to sit in the empty chair next to her, a smile on her face.

“Good evening my lord,” she said politely then offered her hand and said, “Corrian de Borlean.”

Niklos smiled faintly. He had heard stories about Corrian de Borlean, a young woman of a relatively minor house who had come to The City to play the game of courting. He was surprised she had welcomed him so warmly, but then perhaps she either didn’t realize who she had welcomed and he smirked, taking her hand and kissing the back of it lightly. “A pleasure, my Lady de Borlean…Niklos Shahrizai. I am looking forward to an interesting game tonight, aren’t you?”

Correan coughed and pulled her hand back almost too quickly. Shahrizai! Oh no, she had heard rumors about them. Why, any child in the nation grew up hearing the tale of how Melisande Shahrizai had betrayed the nation to the Skaldi and started a war. And the rumor was that the whole family was quite clannish and would support each other no matter the crime.

Niklos barely reacted as Corrian jerked her hand away. She could have had a worse reaction, he supposed. She hadn’t fled in haste or slapped him. At least he had something there. He motioned to one of the servers wandering the hall and had the man bring a bottle of wine and two glasses, offering one to Corrian. He sipped at his glass as the game progressed, attempting to engage Corrian in conversation, but she was practically mute, and she hurried away from the table as soon as was prudent. Well, that would be an interesting game to play. He continued for a half hour or so, winning just enough to make it a worthwhile evening. He hadn’t heard much in the way of rumors, aside from some derisive comments about a Night Court adept on the throne, but those might soon change as well.

As he wandered away from the table, the wine having been left, he pondered. Corrian was attractive and might just be to the King’s preference. He would have to learn more about her. Perhaps there was potential there after all. And her reaction was nowhere near the worst he had received at points.

The invitation from the lord d’Essoms was surprising to say the least. He was a mid level lord whom she had been indirectly acquainted with for some years, but she still never expected to be invited to a private fete at his palace apartments. Nonetheless, Corrian chose to attend in style. If she hoped to someday be Queen, she would have to get used to politicking.

It was a warm fall evening, and the lord d’Essems apartments had a lovely veranda where he chose to entertain his guests. Corrian was beginning to regret the gown of bronze velvet she had chosen to wear.

The party was intimate, only a dozen or so people in attendance. The meal of roasted pheasant and autumn vegetables had been most delicious, and everyone was sitting about the veranda enjoying sherry.

Corrian had been taking pains to avoid a certain Lord Shahrizai all evening. For his part, he had been making his presence felt while not forcing himself into her path, quite the courtier’s skill.

Nik had been…amused…when he received the invitation for a dinner at d’Essoms’ palace quarters. It wasn’t that he was displeased with the request, but he thought d’Essoms was still a creature of the L’Envers, and there was enough there. He had accepted after a delay of a day, still well within a proper time, but sending a signal to d’Essoms as well. Upon his arrival, he was surprised that Lady de Borlean was also a guest of the event. He spent a good portion of the event eavesdropping on conversations and allowing himself to be drawn into certain ones where he could discuss the goings on in court and the current status of the King. He didn’t dance attendance on the man, a privilege of his family’s position, but he had met the King more than once and was quietly impressed by the fact that it appeared the King knew what he needed to look for in a partner.

As evening deepened into night the view from d’Essom’s balcony became less interesting, though the balcony remained well-lit and a number of courtiers remained out there. Niklos was passing some pleasant words with the d’Essom Lord when a gasp rose from the crowd on the balcony.

The servants were refilling half empty glasses when an owl hooted in the trees. The guests exclaimed in delight, but the newest servant who hailed from the provinces was startled. He jumped and spun, trying to make his way back inside. He never saw Corrian until the pitcher was on the floor and a stain of deep purple was spreading down the front of her gown.

Niklos moved toward Corrian with alacrity, having broken off mid-sentence with d’Essoms, pulling his cape from around his shoulders and offering it to the noblewoman with a smile. “You might avail yourself of this, my Lady, at least for the time being.” His eyes caught a surprised look on d’Essom’s face before it faded into patient curiosity.

“My gown!” Corrian said in a soft voice, both upset but trying to not make a scene.

“It does look like it might be ruined, and it’s a pity, as the color was so fetching on you. Still, perhaps, aside from my cape, I might be able to provide some assistance?” He smiled lightly, gesturing her away from the balcony door and the prying eyes of nobles who were all too interested in her reaction to such an error.

“How could you help?” She asked, more rudely than she intended.

He chuckled. “You apparently don’t know the Shahrizai too well, for all you’ve certainly heard of our exploits. First, we need to get you something to drink. Something that might relax you. Do you have a preference? I’m certain the Lord d’Essoms has an appropriate variety of beverages to be enjoyed. And then…well then we send for your maid and something you can change into. And if you don’t have something suitable, I’m certain there is something in the Shahrizai apartments that you could fit into. A number of my cousins leave all manner of effects here at the palace. If necessary, I’ll send you to the Shahrizai apartments with my valet for you to choose something.”

She looked at him with surprise, “Why would you do that for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He responded with mock shock. “You have a need, and I’m fairly certain the Lord d’Essoms doesn’t have the capability to replace your gown immediately. I don’t have that capability either, I don’t have an Eglantine adept on call. But at least I can manage to figure out a solution for the evening.”

While they awaited the arrival of a new gown and maid, the two of them began to talk. Corrian learned that the Lord Sharizai was a lover of literature, which surprised her for some reason. And she learned that he frequented the Night Court not only for its pleasures but because he was good friends with several Dowaynes and adepts. By the time the two returned to the party for the kottabos, they had planned a trip to Bryony House the next week.

Storyline: An Argument at Cereus House

Petrea stormed into Aliksandria’s private sitting room where the Dowayne was having tea with Aimee nó Cereus, the unofficial Third of the House.

“Well,” Petrea demanded angrily, “is it done? Have you done it yet?”

Aliks looked up from her cup and gave her Second a bland look. “What are you stamping in here, interrupting my tea with Aimee to yell at me about?”

Petrea huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath and turned to Aimee. “Aimee, I apologize for the interruption. Could you please excuse the Dowayne and me for a few moments? I have some business I must discuss with her in private.”

Aimee looked from one woman to the other, confusion coloring her gentle features. She rose gracefully. “I shall be in my office should anyone need me,” she said, shaking her head and retreating from the room, closing the door behind her.

Petrea gave Aliks a heavy glare and spoke through gritted teeth. “Have you lit the candle to Eisheth?”

Aliks calmly placed her teacup on its saucer and motioned for Petrea to sit. Petrea shook her head. Aliks rolled her eyes. “No. It is not done. I have yet to make a final decision about a babe.”

Petrea let out a small sigh of relief, a bit of tension leaving her shoulders. “Well, I suppose that’s a small comfort. At least I found out about it before you went ahead and began your conception.” Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Aliks, you are considering a child, and I find out about it from overhearing initiates gossiping in their beds! Why was I not one of the first to know? Why did you not speak to me before this monumental, life changing decision”—She threw her arms out to the sides— “reached the gossiping adepts?”

Aliks looked taken aback and pressed a hand to her breast. “The adepts know of this? But, how? I have only spoken to two…no, three people know. You were to be the next.” She frowned, her brows knitting. “Someone on Niklos’s staff must have overhead and opened their foolish mouths. No one in the Cassiline Brotherhood would tell tales, and certainly Waldemar and I have been discreet in our discussions…”

Petrea had begun pacing the room. “Really Aliks?! Your concern is who told whom? This is a serious consideration. Having a child? Are you mad? How could you even contemplate this? How could you do this? To the House? To me?”

“To you?” Aliks replied indignantly. “My having a child has nothing to do with you, Petrea.”

“Does it not? Would you not retire from the Night Court to raise the babe, leaving me as Dowayne?” Petrea arched an eyebrow.

Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Well, of course not. I have no intention of retiring as Dowayne, and I am shocked you would even consider such a silly notion.” She waved a hand dismissively. “We would raise the child in the Night Court. Just as I was. It’s a common enough practice. The child would live here at Cereus House until it was old enough to be adopted into the appropriate House, at which time, we would sell its marque to that House. Or, Waldemar could retire from the Night Court and raise the child in the City—again, if I choose to have said child. A choice, I will remind you, I have not yet made.”

“And you would, what, be a half-time Dowayne?” Petrea’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Don’t you dare take the tone with me,” Aliks snapped. “You know very well that I would never neglect my duties here, and besides, is it not your responsibility as Second to step in where I cannot? And did I not allow you an entire year to go gallivanting around with your Marco? So, do not speak to me of being a half anything, Petrea.”

Petrea looked at her feet, chastened by her Dowayne’s words. But there was more to her concerns than just fears of where the child would be raised. “What of the risks of carrying and birthing a child?”

Aliks blinked at her. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out.

Petrea’s words were barely a whisper. “I cannot lose you, Aliks. I simply could not bear it.”

Their eyes met, and some understanding passed between them. “You are not going to lose me, Petrea. I have every intention of being here for quite a long time.”

“But you cannot know that!” Petrea’s voice rose again. “You cannot know what the fates hold for you! And now is not the time to be toying with this, Aliks. There is too much at stake! And I say this not as your friend but as your Second. You are a leader—no, the leader—of the Night Court, and we have just begun to garner respect from the Judiciary again. We cannot afford to look weak or fractured. Our leadership must remain strong and firm. Now is simply not the time to take any risks—any risks at all.” Petrea’s agitation was clear; she had begun pacing the room and her voice grew louder as she spoke.

Aliks sighed. “Petrea. Even if I were—and Blessed Elua, it will not happen—to pass, you would simply step up as Dowayne. You are the Second, and we have been training and preparing for my retirement since we were but children.” She shrugged. “It would merely mean that you would take over sooner than we planned.”

“But Aliks, I don’t think you understand: I do not want to be Dowayne!”

The words hung in the air.

Aliks gaped at her friend.

The two women looked at each other—one shocked, one desperate.

It was Aliks who finally broke the silence, her voice full of confusion. “What do you mean you do not want to be Dowayne? It has always been our plan for you to be Dowayne when I step down. If you do not wish to be Dowayne, what do you plan to do when my tenure is finished, Petrea?”

“I will step down as well.” Petrea’s voice was soft, her eyes on the floor.

“But…I do not understand. We have been working towards this for practically our entire lives. It has always been our dream for you to follow me as Dowayne of Cereus House—”

“No!” Petrea’s eyes blazed as her eyes met Aliks’s. “It has been your dream. Your plan. And I have but followed along. I have followed you all these years.”

“But…why?”

“The first night I was here. Do you not remember? I was crying and you approached me. You told me that you were going to be Dowayne. You informed me that I was going to be your Second. And ever since that night, I have been by your side, following you.”

Aliks gritted her teeth. “Drying your tears for one night does not indenture you to me for your entire life. You make your own choices, Petrea. Do not put this on me.”

Petrea sank into one of the soft chairs across from Aliks. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost pleading. “I know. I know. I do not mean to say that I blame you. And I would not change our lives for anything, Elua knows.” She looked around the room as if something would give her the answers she sought. “It’s just…how could I follow you as Dowayne? Even as a child, I knew that I did not have your leadership abilities, your charisma, your ability to think on your feet. I am not you. I cannot be Dowayne, Aliks.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from spilling.

“Oh Petrea. You can absolutely be Dowayne. And regardless of what choice I make, one day you will.” She gave her friend a small smile. “But that day will not come any time soon.”