fanfic – Page 8 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: The Meeting of the Judiciary, Part 2

“You’ve made your point!”

Jacques Halceaux was on his feet, cold eyes fixed on the standing Cereus Dowayne and the seated Dahlia Second beside her. His lip curled ever so slightly, “Though we might have done without the theatrics.”

“How else was I to know that you would take this seriously, sir?” Aliksandria did not back down, standing her ground firmly. She had her siblings in Naamah with her, they all stood with her, and she took strength from them.

“If I may?”

The attention of the room shifted to the dark haired, dark-eyed Odilia, seated still, who had spoken so softly.

The Magistrate smoothed the hem of his tunic, “The Judiciary recognizes Odilia nó Dahlia from the Guild of the Servants of Naamah.”

“Thank you, Magistrate,” she said quietly. Her hands were folded in her lap, still, not a hint of nerves in her posture or expression as she said, “I was not present when the initial proposal was made to remove the Guild seat from this Judiciary. I apologize if what I ask exasperates the members of this august body, but as it has been so long since the issue was raised and these many months seem to have blown this whole affair quite out of proportion, I wonder if I might be reminded what the exact proposal was, please?”

“Monsieur Jacques Halceaux, head of the Silversmith Guild, has made a motion to remove the Guild of the Servants of Naamah from this Judiciary,” the Magistrate said, “On the grounds that with your continued patronage by His Majesty the King Gustav de la Courcel, the influence of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers has grown so that the seat held here by the Dowayne of Cereus House is no longer necessary.”

“The Night Court is represented in the palace itself,” Halceaux said, barely managing to suppress his rage. “We don’t need you here.”

“We?” Aliksandria fired it at him, “Do not hide behind the faces of your colleagues, this is your grudge and yours alone, Halceaux!”

“Just so I understand,” Odilia said before a full argument could erupt, her face almost embarrassed as she held up an inquisitive hand, “Since my mind is not so attuned to the governances and the kind of thinking so important to you respected Guild leaders in your administrative and representative positions, I just want to make sure I understand clearly that the Night Court’s seat is called into question because I have taken assignations with a particular patron?”

Aliksandria caught the twitch in Jocaste nó Dahlia’s lips that meant she was suppressing a smile of amusement.

“If it is the wish of this Judiciary that I no longer accept the King of Terre D’Ange’s patron gifts and deny him access to my bed and spurn his proposed assignations, then I shall comply,” Odilia said with an arch of her dark brows. “And when he asks me why I have done these things, which of your names shall I give him?”

The Guild leaders shifted uncomfortably.

But fury burned in Halceaux’s eyes as he glared at her. “I call your bluff, Odilia. You would deny the chaos of this city with your choice to bed him? Your actions led to chaos and crime after the previous Longest Night; you engage your powerful noble friends to cripple those of us who would stand against you with an embargo that is on the brink of ruining my trade; and now you threaten us with the King’s wrath? How much farther will you climb with your vaulting ambition, girl from the streets?”

If Aliks had blinked, she would have missed it, but for a moment there was a flash of real emotion on Odilia’s face, a flicker of genuine pain at Halceaux’s words.

“But how dare you call into question the importance of our work,” Rosanna Baphinol, Dowayne of Valerian House, cried. “What we do is holy! It is Naamah’s work herself that we do!”

“Then maintain your seat on the Council of Religious Orders,” Halceaux snapped back, “If it is holy, then let it be represented in the Temple District.”

“But it is a business as well,” the Dowayne of Bryony replied dryly, with a raised eyebrow, “That cannot be denied. It is a trade, therefore we are a trade guild and thus deserve a seat on the Judiciary.”

“A voice with the Temples,” Halceaux sneered, “A voice on the Judiciary. What is next? A noble title for each of you? A silver chair in the throne room itself? Where will it end? Where can your power be checked if not here?”

“You have called Odilia’s bluff, if bluff it is,” Aliksandria pressed, “but my threat is real. This is a personal grudge that has been given far too much attention.” She turned to the Magistrate. “Either call a vote, or dismiss this motion entirely. It is time for this to be put to rest for good.”

A man of late years pushed himself up with the assistance of a black wood cane and spoke, “My lord Magistrate, members of the judiciary, the Marquist Guild finds that our business is irrevocably enmeshed with the continued function of the Servants of Naamah, and we cannot allow the Night Court to lose its seat on this body or worse, cease trade entirely; we stand with Naamah’s Servants.”

A blonde man stood in the second row and spoke clearly over the murmuring of the crowd. “My lord Magistrate and gathered guests, Cress Brion, Vintners Guild representative. The vintners met last week to solidify our position and we’ve prepared our response.”

He cleared his throat and waited for the chatter to die down. “If the Night Court, an institution at the heart of d’Angeline culture, is not above this sort of assault, who will be next? Clearly Master Halceaux has a vendetta, but where does it stop? What is to keep him, or anyone, from deciding that the wine produced by, say, my colleague Afrodile d’Nais, which is rising in favor in Court, is somehow unduly influencing the nation? What would stop us from ending up here every time the esteemed head of the Silversmiths or any other Guild leader has a bruised ego or lost a few coins to a competitor? The Vintners stand with the Night Court on this issue and, should they need to shutter their doors, we will hold our product back as well until the issue is resolved.”

There was a gasp among the crowd. No wine! A crisis! Halceaux could be seen almost vibrating with rage at the winemaker’s words. A short woman stood in the first row, “Master Brion, you’ve missed the point.”

Her voice boomed through the room, instantly getting people’s attention. She nodded her head at the Magistrate, “My lord Magistrate, assembled guests, Lina Leveaux, wife of Mason Gustav Leveaux and selected representative of the Masons Guild. Master Halceaux raises a good point, though his solution lacks the precision expected of someone in his line of work. Maybe it’s been too long since his hands touched the tools of his trade and that’s why he’s suggesting tearing something down to the foundation instead of just repairing the crack.”

She tucked her hands in the pockets of her dress and looked over at Odilia. “We can see how this could be a place of potential rot if left unchecked, but there’s no need to go to the lengths proposed. Why not ask Odilia to remove herself from all decision-making bodies until such time as the King’s attention moves on to another? Wouldn’t that be the proper solution to the issue as Master Halceaux has presented it?”

“And what decision-making bodies does she currently sit on, Madame Leveaux?” Aliksandria gestured to the woman next to her. “She is only here today at my invitation only because the issue is so focused around her.”

“Unless Madame Leveaux is requesting that Odilia step down from her position as my Second,” Jocaste said, her eyes intent on the other woman. “A position she holds because of her skills and dedication to our House, an appointment I made personally as is my right as Dowayne of Dahlia House, a title that has never fallen under the purview of any outside of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.”

Madame Leveaux shook her head. “She’s not on any at this time, true. But if she stated that she would neither seek nor accept them in the future, that would certainly suffice.
Excepting, of course, any offered by the King.”

Odilia gave Aliksandria a short nod and the Cereus Dowayne said, “That seems reasonable.”

Madame Leveaux bowed slightly toward Aliksandria before addressing the Magistrate. “Due to the graciousness of the Night Court, all our concerns are addressed, and we now stand with them on this issue.”

At the exchange, Helene Bridault and Margot Langneau, two women known often to vote together on issues, stood almost as one. Helene was the more outspoken of the two.

She raised her raspy voice to the Magistrate. “Madame Langneau and I wish to make it known that the Silk Weavers and Ceramics Guilds stand with the Night Court and,” she glared at the silversmith, “in opposition to Monsieur Halceaux’s proposition.”

Halceaux’s eyes flashed as Helene and Margot sat. As each Guild spoke and turned their back on him, his knuckles grew whiter as he clutched his cane and his face grew more purple. A vein pulsed in his forehead. Though he did not speak, his rage was evident to even the most unobservant. He had misjudged…greatly.

The Magistrate banged his gavel once, nodding to the assembled body. “It would seem that the guild masters have made their thoughts known and are ready to make a decision, then. Let us put this issue to bed,” he chuckled at his own joke, “with a vote, then.”

A murmur rushed through the crowd. This was it! Aliksandria felt her heart pound in her throat and she swallowed against a wave of nausea and dizziness, willing herself to sit tall and straight in her seat. Beside her, Odilia sat unmoving and seemingly unmoved. It might have been a trick of the light, but the Dowayne thought she might have caught a flash of something – fear? anger? hurt? – behind Odilia’s eyes. Surely, the Dahlia was not made of stone?

“Quiet in the gallery, please!” The Magistrate rapped his gavel impatiently. “If we may get on with it. Those in favor of the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers retaining its seat on this body, represented by the Dowayne of Cereus House, say aye.”

A chorus of ‘aye’ sounded through the chamber.

“All those opposed, say ‘nay’.”

A single sharp, clipped voice echoed across the room. “Nay.”

One had to give Halceaux credit; he stood his ground to the end.

The Magistrate spoke. “The Night Court retains its seat. If there is no further business, we will adjourn.”

Aliks felt her heart slow down and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She reached over and squeezed Odilia’s hand, giving her a gentle smile.

“You know this is far from over.”

Odilia nodded, her chin held high. “I know.”

Jocasta took Odilia’s arm, leading her towards the door. “You have strong allies, my Second. You need not worry.”

Across the large chamber, a woman sat and watched the leaders of the Night Court talk amongst themselves. She watched the guild masters file out in small groups, chatting idly and gossiping. She watched the Magistrate confer with his aide over some papers. Finally, she turned her head to the one man who remained seated, very much by himself. His hands still gripped his silver tipped cane, but his knuckles were no longer quite so white. His face was drained of all colour. His shoulders sagged and his head bowed in defeat. Jaques Halceaux no longer appeared the venerable, powerful statesman he had only minutes before. Now, he simply looked…old.

Madame Halceaux sighed sadly and went to comfort her husband.

Storyline: The Meeting of the Judiciary, Part 1

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please! Come to order!” The Magistrate banged his gavel on the podium in an almost futile attempt to gain the attention of the members of the Judiciary. The nobles and guild leaders continued to talk amongst themselves, ignoring the Magistrate’s pleas to come to order and begin the Judiciary meeting.

It had been over a year since Monsieur Jacques Halceux, head of the silversmiths guild, had brought a motion to the floor to remove the Night Court from the Judiciary. The Judiciary would hear arguments for both sides and determine if it was finally time for a vote, or if even more time was necessary to make the critical decision.

The argument was as old as Terre d’Ange itself. The Court of the Night Blooming Flowers held a seat on both the Council of Religious Orders and City Judiciary, and guild leaders argued again and again that this gave the Night Court undue influence in government. And circumstances in the City of Elua were perhaps turning the tide in favor of the guild leaders’ case.

The longstanding relationship between the newly crowned King Gustav de Courcel and Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, and the notion that she advised the king on more than just the baubles she preferred, lent credence to the idea of courtesans holding more sway than was appropriate. Today, a special visitor joined Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, on the side of the Night Court. Sitting tall and regal was Odilia nó Dahlia herself, looking ready to do battle.

Across the room, one man did not engage in idle chatter. He sat, the instigator of this fight, his gaze fixed pointedly on the two members of the Night Court: Jacques Halceaux, head of the Silversmiths Guild. A man of middling years, he had clearly once been handsome, but his work had worn his body down and grayed his hair; bitterness turned his face an unattractive mask. He hunched forward in his chair, scowling, elbows on his knees, hands clenching a silver tipped cane.

Once again the Magistrate cried desperately for order. This time, he succeeded. “My dear ladies and gentlemen!” he thundered, “I beg you to come to order so that we may begin our business and not languish here all day!”

Slowly the chatter died down and the guild leaders and nobles took their seats with sidelong glances towards the two courtesans. Night Court trained both, one would have thought they sat in a Palace salon awaiting an assignation for the grace and composure they both displayed. One would never know that their futures hung in the balance.

“We are gathered,” the Magistrate said, sounding ever so slightly impatient, “in the hopes that this issue raised as to the Night Court Guild’s presence on this Judiciary may finally be decided. Too long have we delayed this vote for reasons of varying validity, but so help me Blessed Elua, today will bring it to an end one way or another!”

Aliksandria turned her head to Odilia, looking to gauge her resolve. This was the largest attendance she had ever seen in this hall; clearly many in the city wanted to see what the outcome would be.

Aliksandria took a deep breath and rose. “My lord Magistrate, you asked me these many months gone by how the Night Court responded to Monsieur Halceaux’s proposal. I spoke the truth when I told you that, while I may be the Night Court’s representative on this body, I am not its leader. I am, however, the leader of Cereus House, and as such, I can speak for her. As the governing body of the trade guilds, this body has the power to make changes to Guild Laws and regulations. Without a voice in such matters, I simply do not see how we could continue to operate as the trade guild we are, governed by Guild Law. And as anyone who has visited Mandrake or Valerian House knows -” She paused and looked pointedly at several of the guild masters, “- Guild Law protects the very lives of some of our adepts. So, without laws to protect our adepts, I fail to see any way that we could continue to conduct trade. Cereus House would, regrettably, be forced to close its doors.”

Her hands would have been shaking if she had not grasped them so tightly as she waited.

This was an unexpected play, a bold play by the Cereus Dowayne and no few of the other Guild leaders murmured to each other, casting furtive looks between the courtesans and the leader of the Silversmith Guild. That was certainly enough to give them pause as to this venture; was it enough to cow him?

The door to the chamber, which had been closed when the Magistrate called the meeting to order, flew open. A woman of middle years, upright in posture and strong in determination, with hair the color of a Cassiline’s sword, walked in. Jocaste nó Dahlia took her place next to her Second and spoke in a clear and resonant voice, “Dahlia House echoes the sentiments of Cereus House.”

Behind her, Xixilya nó Orchis flounced in, a grin on her face, “Orchis House agrees with Cereus and Dahlia.”

Kali nó Mandrake marched up, stood next to Aliksandria, and proclaimed, “Mandrake House stands with her sisters.” One by one, all 13 Dowaynes of the Night Court entered the chamber and swore the same, that they would close their doors before they would violate the sacred call of their order.

The Magistrate let out a breath as the last Dowayne, Philomena nó Heliotrope, finished. He waved to a servant to close the door, but as he did so, he found resistance. An older woman, well into her twilight years and leaning heavily on a cane walked in, leading a line of men and women so long they did not all fit in the room. She was D’Angeline and, as such beautiful, but one could tell by her carriage and bearing that she was not now, nor had she ever been, of the Night Court. She walked up the aisle, passing the Dowaynes and stopped in the center of the chamber. She cleared her throat and spoke. “Naamah’s Servants of the City of Elua who do not reside on Mont Nuit wish to have their voices heard as well. In this hall, you have made many decisions over the years that have affected us without deigning to acknowledge that we also ply Naamah’s trade. But know this, should a king or prince find himself on my doorstep, I would not turn him away either. We stand with Mont Nuit. No Servant of Naamah in this city will ply the trade without proper representation.”

to be continued…

(read part 2)

D’Angeline Gossip

In case you’ve missed anything, here’s all the gossip that has been circulating in the City of Elua.

- Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, continues her love affair with the newly crowned King Gustav.
- The head of the silversmith guild, Jacques Halceaux, is furious over this and is rallying the guilds to remove the Night Court from the Judiciary over “undue influence.”
- Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace, has managed to convince Niniane de Perigeux , Sovereign Duchess of Soivale, to enact an unofficial embargo of silver as punishment. This embargo has begun to affect international trade.
- Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, has been gone from the City of Elua with her lover, Marco Meridius, a Tiberian trader, on an “extended assignation” since last year’s Masque.
- Cereus House’s Dowayne, Aliksandria, fears that Petrea’s absence reflects poorly on her House and, thus, the entire Night Court.
- Aliksandria has written to Petrea and demanded that she return to Terre d’Ange immediately.
- The Magistrate has ruled that the Judiciary will vote on the matter after the Longest Night. He has declared that the vote has been delayed as long as possible out of respect for the holy day, but the matter must be resolved.

You can also read back through our blog for the full story, starting at the end of this page and reading backwards from oldest to newest.

Storyline: A Plea to Return Home

Petrea nó Cereus read the letter again. The words never changed but, every time she read them, the knot in her stomach grew.

Petrea,

The situation in the Judiciary grows dire. Your absence as Second of Cereus House is no longer feasible. I need you here. You must return home immediately.

-Aliks

So, the decision had been made for her. Her Dowayne was demanding her come home. In some ways, it was a relief. She no longer had to decide whether or not to confess her unhappiness to Marco and return to the City of Elua of her own accord or continue to struggle for happiness here in Tiberium. It was done. But still, she had to tell him she would be leaving. Thus, the growing knot in her belly. The fear of his reaction. The worry of her future with him – or without him.

Marco walked into the bedroom where she sat on the bed, still clutching the letter. She turned towards him and, hands shaking, held out the parchment. He looked at her questioningly, but took the page and read it.

“So, you’re to leave then?” he said simply.

Petrea nodded, staring at her hands, unable to look at him.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the bed. “I’m honestly surprised it took this long. The letter must have been delayed,” he mused absently.

He continued gently. “Darling, we both heard the rumors in Aragonia and the same rumors still come from Terre D’Ange. Aliks’s letters continue to mention the trade guild fights and her fears for Cereus House.”

He tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re unhappy.”

She started to respond, but her words died on her tongue.

“You may think you’re hiding it well, but I know you very well, my love. You’re not the vibrant woman I knew in Terre d’Ange. Your eyes don’t sparkle as they once did. You don’t belong here.”

He traced a line at the base of her neck where he knew the finial of her marque lay. He knew the lines by heart. “You cannot live a life where you have to hide this. I am not ashamed of you and I cannot keep you to a life of shame. And besides that, you, my dearest, would never be content being a Tiberian trader’s wife. You would never be content being a Tiberian anything. I should have known in Amílcar that this was a fool’s errand.”

“Amílcar?” Petrea was confused. “What does Amílcar have to do with anything?”

Marco burst out laughing. “You took a patron for the price of room and board! But I suspect you would have gone to him for free.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You are a Servant of Naamah and was a fool to think that would change if I took you away with me. It’s time to go, love.”

Petrea blinked back the tears that had been threatening to fall. When she spoke, her words came out barely above a whisper. “You’re right, but what of us? I truly do love you.”

“And I you. But that won’t stop simply because you no longer travel with me. Or live in Tiberium with me. You don’t have to be my wife for us to love each other. After all, I’ve been your patron for years.” Marco shrugged. “So I’ll continue to be your patron and your lover.”

“As simply as that?” She was stunned; her tears suddenly forgotten.

“Yes. As simply as that.”

“You would simply have me go back to the City of Elua and return to Naamah’s service, knowing that I will be taking other patrons? You nearly tore your hair out over the Marqués in Amílcar!”

“I know,” he chuckled. “And that’s when I began to doubt this arrangement, as I said. I spent many hours that night thinking about how our life would be if we wed, if you could be happy with this. I thought that, if you were happy in Tiberium, then it would mean a marriage could work. But you aren’t and it won’t. You need to go back to the City of Elua and be a proper Servant of Naamah.”

She gave a long sigh. “This is not how I expected this conversation to go.”

He frowned. “You expected I would be what? Angry? Devastated? Dejected?”

She shook her head. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t expect you to just kiss me on the cheek and send me away!”

He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not sending you away. I’m agreeing that you should go home. You simply forgot to ask me whether or not I thought you should.”

Storyline: Homesick in Tiberium

Petrea nó Cereus stared out the window of the beautiful house and felt…disappointed. She had been in Tiberium for weeks now and had expected to feel…happy? Relieved? Satisfied? She didn’t know how she had expected to feel exactly, but disappointment wasn’t it. It had everything she dreamed of: beautiful buildings, delicious food, fascinating history, exotic peoples from all over the world and, most importantly, Marco. At first, Tiberium felt magical, just as every other city and country they had visited. And being in Marco’s home was even more special as he excitedly showed her his city, taking her to all of his favorite places, and proudly introducing her to his friends. But she quickly grew weary of Tiberium, and of its people. The Tiberians knew what she was and shunned her. Just as Aliks had predicted. It was worse than Aragonia, and far worse than Alba. There was no reverence or protection for courtesans here. Petrea was tired of hiding herself and pretending to be someone she was not. She was no Tiberian matron, no lady of the house.

She turned her gaze to where her lover sat at his desk, bent over business sheets, and smiled to herself. Being with Marco was everything she had expected and everything she had hoped for. He was loving and attentive, kind and caring, and so excited to show her the life that they could live together. But his nearness couldn’t seem to fill the emptiness she felt. She had put on a brave face for him, trying to find solace in his happiness at her presence in his home. But even his joy and his passion could not make up for the hole in her heart.

Simply put, his love could not make up for home. It was home that Petrea missed. Not just Cereus House and the City of Elua, but her chosen family there: her best friend and Dowayne, Aliks, the adepts she was helping train, the members of the other Houses, and the nobles who she took as patrons. Blessed Elua, she even missed the foolish gossip that had driven her away in the first place.

Petrea knew that trouble was brewing in the City of Elua. Letter from Aliks had been waiting in Tiberium: the Judiciary was closing in on the Night Court and the guilds were at each other’s throats. As Second of her House, Petrea knew she had responsibilities to her House and she worried that she was ignoring them – and for what? She feared that her absence might have consequences that could not be undone. Her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what she should do.

As she stared out the window at the setting, Marco came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her throat.

“What troubles you, love?” he whispered in her ear.

She sighed, leaning back into him. “Thoughts of home, I suppose.”

She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around him.

“I worry,” is all she could say, resting her head on his chest.

He turned her face to his and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Come with me,” he said softly. “Let me distract you.”

Petrea closed her eyes. Disappointed in her situation? Yes. Missing home? Yes. But what would happen to their relationship if she left Marco and went home? Would she lose him?

She couldn’t stand to think about that and so she let him guide her to his bedroom.

Storyline: On the Rue Courcel

They were all watching. She could feel the eyes, in the House and whenever she left on errands or business. The events of the previous year’s Longest Night Masquerade were still in everyone’s memory. The image of the sangoire cloak hanging at the gates would not be forgotten anytime soon. And the Longest Night was coming again. What would happen this year? Would someone try to outdo the warning of last year? Would the sacred night be interrupted with violence?

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…

She had been thinking more and more about the epic poem. She had sat in the theatre next to the Duc de Chalasse and listened as the poet sang about the violence and war and blood and death that had come to Troy, armies fighting and men dying for possession of a woman. THe Gods themselves cast their lots and chose sides. She had sat there, knowing what it was Jocaste had wanted her to hear in the song, the warning that it was.

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…

She sat in the carriage now, across from her Dowayne, as the two of them travelled across the river to the Noble’s District, to the Rue Courcel that had the best shops of the City. She sat there, knowing the people outside were watching the carriage go by, seeing the dahlia design embossed on the outer door, whispering about who was inside. The Longest Night was fast approaching, Odilia could feel the City holding its breath to see what would happen. The matter of the Judiciary still needed to be resolved, it had been postponed until after the Longest Night out of respect for the holy day and the preparations that the Night Court needed to make, but it would still need to be addressed. Which meant she would have to see him. Would have to speak to him.

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of the common folk of the City. Sing, O Goddess, the rage of the silversmith. Sing, O Goddess, sing!

Sing, O Goddess, the chaos of Odilia the Dahlia.

“Odilia?”

She brought a smile to her face, “Yes, Jocaste, I’m listening.”

Her Dowayne didn’t look like she believed it, but she didn’t pry, only saying, “Are you sure about the statement you want to be making with your costume?”

“I am.”

“As I am unable to attend the Masquerade this year, you will be representing Dahlia House with it as well, you understand that?”

“Are you requesting I change my costume?”

“No,” Jocaste said. “Your choice is your own, I just want to make sure you know the possible messages you will be sending as you represent us all.”

“I know the risks,” Odilia responded.

“After last year, I should hope you do,” Jocaste said gently. “As you are determined, I will not order otherwise. I trust you, Odilia. Remember that.”

“I know.”

They came to a stop and Odilia stepped down from the carriage first to offer her hand to her Dowayne. The couturier was already bowing at the door to the tailor’s shop, welcoming them in for Odilia’s final fitting to ensure the costume was what she wanted. Payment was given and the package was handed reverently over with a whisper from the tailor that she hoped it pleased the Dahlia Second. Returning to the carriage, they were stopped by a voice calling, “Ah, two of my favorite flowers! What a lucky chance.”

“There is no such thing when you are involved, Roland,” Jocaste said with a smile, giving him a kiss of greeting.

“Odilia,” he greeted her with a tiny bow, “You have been in my thoughts much as of late.”

“Have I, Your Grace?” She gave him a curtsy just as small as his bow to her, “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about our evenings at the theatre this past summer.”

“Were you?” His brows lifted as he claimed her hand for a courtly kiss, “What song are the Muses singing for you?”

“The song of the Longest Night, of course.”

“Let us hope it has more peaceful verses than the song of the previous year.”

“Keeping the young nobles of your province in line, Your Grace?”

“I would not dream of having them disrespect you again.” His eyes dropped to the package tucked under her arm, “Something for the Masque?”

“The tailors have finished my costume,” she said lightly, “Will you be in attendance at Cereus to see it, Your Grace?”

“Unfortunately not,” he said, “My Longest Night invitation came from the palace, not the Night Court. I am surprised that you were not requested at the palace to dance with the young King.”

“There are some traditions that no Servant of Naamah will refuse,” she said, “The Longest Night at Cereus is one of them. His Majesty understood my polite refusal.”

“Then I will have to endure the palace fête without your clever company to keep me entertained.”

“I’m sure you will find a way to manage.”

“What brings you out today, Roland?” Jocaste asked it of the Duc, lest her Second entirely monopolize his time with her witty conversation, though she was proud that it seemed her advice had been followed. Odilia was polite and courteous, clever and warm, but not overly familiar and there was nothing of substance said under the words. She was doing well to keep Roland de Chalasse out of her head. Jocaste was pleased.

“I was on my way to the jeweler in the Palace District,” he said lightly, “I had commissioned a gift for my granddaughter that I was going to retrieve. I would be honored to have your company on my errand. I know little about baubles and you are familiar with dear Rosanna’s preferences through your work together at the Night Court. Additional advice on her gift would be deeply appreciated.”

“You old fox,” Jocaste laughed, “You just want to be seen with us.”

“Two of the loveliest flowers of the Night Court? Absolutely.”

“You are fortunate we are not so prone to flattery, sir,” she smiled at him even as she looped her arm through his. “Odilia, we must go with him now to save his pride.”

“I don’t think that is ever at risk,” Odilia said lightly. “Give me a moment to put my package in the carriage and I will be with you.”

She turned and opened the door to the carriage so she could settle the parcel in the corner of the seat. She heard Roland and Jocaste strike up their conversation again, light and pleasant. This was what the Longest Night was supposed to be, excitement and joy and joie, no dark thoughts, no worries or cares, just the celebration of the night and the return of the Sun Prince to his Winter Queen. She dared to smile.

That was when the hand closed on her wrist. It was a tight grip, wiry and strong and it jerked her around to face the man that the hand belonged to. Greying hair, a lined face, once-handsome eyes now tight and hard with fierce hatred.

“You,” she breathed, looking Jacques Halceaux full in the face. The open carriage door was between her and her other companions on the side of the Rue, and Halceaux had waited to approach until they were both distracted so he could be uninterrupted.

“You have the rest of the City fooled,” he hissed, his grip on her wrist keeping her from pulling away as he stepped closer to snarl at her, “But not me. I know who you are, Odilia, who you really are. Wear your pretty flowers and let them worship their precious Dahlia, enjoy it while you can. You have them all fooled but not me, I know your truth and I will use it.”

His grip tightened and her eyes widened as she saw in his face just how deep his hatred and contempt for her went. What had gone wrong? When had he chosen this path?

“It’s a pretty little fantasy world you’ve built for yourself,” he said, standing so close to her they were almost touching, his other hand brushing the front of her thigh as he leaned even further, lips brushing her ear as he breathed, “But I will tear it down, piece by piece, until you have nowhere to go but the real world with the rest of us. I will drag you back to where you belong, you and the rest of those fancy whores.”

She looked up at him, lips parting, “Please…”

He was gone, vanished back into the traffic of the street with only the dull, tingling pain in her wrist to know that he was ever there.

“Odilia?” Jocaste called, “Is everything alright?”

Odilia slowly closed the carriage door. They were both watching her; Jocaste curiously, Roland intently. She looked her Dowayne and friend in her eyes, pulled up a bright smile, and for the first time, lied to her face.

“Of course,” she said, “Everything’s fine.”

Storyline: A Letter from Aragonia

My dearest Aliks,

We have been several weeks in Aragonia and, thank Elua, I have been able to arrange our accommodations this time. Upon arrival in Amílcar, our presence was requested by Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués of Almazán, the son of the Duque de Soria who has traveled to Terre d’Ange through his family business dealings. Aragonia is not like Terre d’Ange in its ways of love and the Marqués was thrilled to find a servant of Naamah in the city. He requested the pleasure of an assignation at any price. I negotiated food and lodging for the duration of our stay in Amílcar, which he felt was quite the bargain. Perhaps it was, but the idea of not sleeping in yet another crowded, smelly inn is worth more to me than any amount of money I could fathom at the moment. I was surprised when Marco balked at the idea of my serving another patron! While we may be traveling together, I am still who and what I am and we are not wed. He has always known that I have other patrons and this is the first time he has expressed any jealousy. Aliks, I was truly shocked. He did eventually calm down and I spent a luxurious night with Ramiro.

Marco has not been as fortunate as I in his business ventures. We learned from the Marqués, whose family owns silver mines here, that the silver trade has slowed considerably due to a new and quite unexpected D’Angeline embargo on the metal. This has thrown the international silver market into disarray and caused a ripple effect into other markets. Traders and merchants are confused by the embargo, as there are no conflicts between Terre D’Ange and any other nations. Ramiro has, however, heard rumors of internal conflict between the guilds. Whatever the cause, there is fear this embargo could affect Terre D’Ange’s relations with its partner nations and have serious implications for future alliances.

While days are difficult for Marco, I find enjoyment in exploring the city, delighting in the vast differences between here and home, seeing the beautiful architecture, and visiting local shops. I do, however, feel I am quite the stranger, as I did in Alba, not speaking the language or knowing the local customs. Would that I were Phedrè nó Delaunay – able to blend in to any country and learn the language! I have been fortunate in that the Marques has provided me a servant girl from his household to serve as my guide, so that I am not completely lost. She has advised me to hide my marque, as the Aragonians would not look so kindly upon it. I was expecting different customs and attitudes, but I am not ashamed of who I am and hiding my marque felt uncomfortable. I suppose that if I am to conduct myself as Marco’s betrothed, I should expect to adapt. Ah the things we do for love, yes?

Always yours,

Petrea

Storyline: Roland’s Letter to Siovale

To the Ducal Seat of Siovale, Her Grace the Sovereign Duchesse de Perigeux, Niniane, greetings.

I am not the kind of man to dance around the topic of something that I want. We have been friends for long enough for you to know this about me. I will not waste my ink or your time with idle conversation or clever turns of phrase when there is something important to be done that you may assist me with. Even out in Siovale, I am sure you have heard the gossip of the City of Elua in regards to the effect the young Dahlia is having on the City. She is a capable woman but because she is by very nature as a Dahlia, not someone who is easily led, the City is twisting and turning in on itself trying to figure out if she’s a saint or a sinner as she holds the King’s heart in her hands. The other nobles are testing her to see how easily she can be manipulated for their own ends, the common peoples are torn between adoring her for rising above the circumstances of her birth or demonizing her for turning her back on the struggles of the lower classes. No matter what she does, she will be attacked over it.

That is not my concern. I trust my old friend Jocaste has trained her well and she will handle the challenges in her way the best way she can. No, what concerns me was the mutterings coming from the common folk, the guilds and the artisans. They are being whipped into – I cannot say it is a frenzy for they are not rioting in the streets – but they are being organized by a firebrand. He has convinced too many of the artisans and merchants that to protest the young Dahlia and the increasing power of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers over the Royal Court, that it is the duty of the common folk to remove some of that influence that things may be more balanced. As if anything is truly balanced or fair in politics.

This man, Halceaux, is of the Silversmith Guild, one of the guild leaders. And he has felt too comfortable criticizing the hierarchy of the City, the very D’Angeline way of life that is so dear to us. He demands too much from his betters while threatening too much in retaliation. I do not believe he speaks for all of the common people of the city, but he is certainly the loudest of their voices. I do not know what grievance he has against the young Dahlia, but my concern is the disrespect he shows to so sacred a D’Angeline institution.

Perhaps, as he is a silversmith, he should learn just how much of his business relies on the powerful permitting him access to his supplies. It would be a shame if one of the supply trains of Aragonian silver wasn’t permitted past your mountains, wouldn’t it? The sooner he understands his place in the weave and weft of the very fabric of our society, the sooner he will keep his private opinions to himself instead of criticizing the Night Court, the Service of Namaah, and the decisions of his King.

The decision is, of course, yours, Niniane. They are your mountains, after all.

By my hand and with my seal,
Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace

Storyline: Aliks’s Reflections

From the private journal of Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowanye of Cereus House

I feel as though the world presses on my shoulders more and more every day. Perhaps I was foolish to let Petrea go off on her grand tour, as everything appears to be falling apart at the seams. Thank Elua I have Waldemar to distract me.

The notion of having our seat on the Judiciary is an old one, but a contentious one amongst the guilds and the Dowaynes are, frankly, tired of having to fight for our place as a legitimate guild. We maintain our business operations just as any other guild and have the right to present our views on important issues that affect us. Simply because we use words like adept and Dowayne does not make us any less legitimate than if we called ourselves apprentices and master craftsmen. One pays for the service of a Night Blooming Flower just as one pays for cut gems and dyed silk! I grow more frustrated and angry each time I think of these foolish arguments from these foolish guildsmen.

The Dowaynes met in anticipation of the upcoming Judiciary meeting and it was not a quiet affair. The reactions from the other Houses ranged from dismissive to outraged to fearful. While the general consensus is, of course, that the Night Court must maintain a seat on the Judiciary, the way in which to best present our case is not so simple.

The crux of Monsieur Halceaux’s angry argument lies, of course, in Odilia’s romance with the King. But we are servants of Naamah and Blessed Elua and we follow the tenet of love as thou wilt. To deny Odilia and Gustav their affair would be tantamount to heresy and treason. To hold the threat of removal from the Judiciary if we do not turn away House Courcel is asking us to either step aside as a guild or commit treason! How could any D’Angeline ask this of another?

Their real fear is that a courtesan is influencing the King in matters of state. The idiots. How do I convince these halfwits that the King, while young, is capable of his own thoughts and decisions, that Terre d’Ange is not being ruled from Dahlia House?

Would that I had my Second here to discuss this. Instability at Cereus House reflects poorly upon us all and I fear that they will use this against us. If one cannot keep one’s own House in order, how can one possibly hope to maintain order throughout the other Houses?

Storyline: An Evening with the Duc

The ducal Chalasse carriage was not one usually seen on the streets by the Théâtre Theselis. When Roland de Chalasse was seen enjoying outings, it was to the yards and the lists, for he was an active man and would have none forget it. Therefore, the other patrons and people on the street outside the theatre were already whispering at the sight of his coat of arms. Whispers that only increased when he stepped down from his carriage and offered his hand to help down his companion.

Odilia nó Dahlia ignored the murmuring people with all the grace expected from one of her House, her gloved hand resting lightly in his palm while the other touched her dark hair just once to ensure the jostling of the carriage had not knocked one of her hairpins askew.

“Not a hair out of place,” the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace assured her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, keeping her close to his side as they approached the steps up to the theatre, “As though you’d suffer anything less, little Dahlia.”

“I would hate to embarrass you with my dishevelment,” she said lightly, her free hand lifting her skirts a hairsbreadth to let her climb the stairs unhampered. Her ears caught the tiniest exhale of air through his nose and she suppressed a smirk at getting the fearsome Roland de Chalasse to laugh. With her hair swept up and the low back of her gown, the summer air was warm on her bared marque; all could see her for what she was and know her for her guild. The Duc de Chalasse was not the first and would certainly not be the last to contract a courtesan of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers for an evening’s entertainment in the City, but for him to choose her of all the other options on offer from all the other Houses? It was deliberate. And she knew that.

Odilia had spent the day leading up to this assignation closed in her room with her private chessboard. It was only too clear what her place was. King-side Bishop. Subtle, indirect, but close to the King and maneuverable. But the Duc…she had argued with herself about where he fit on the board. Queen-side Bishop? Close to the court but unaligned to anyone but himself? Knight, with his unpredictable movements and motivations? Rook, with his direct mentality and clear use of his power? She had puzzled over it for almost too long, her attendants needing to remind her when to start preparing, but somewhere between the final fitting of her gown and the rubbing of perfume into her skin she had decided that she would save her judgement as to what chess piece Roland de Chalasse represented until after the evening was done. She would be studying him as much as he was studying her, she was sure.

As she had studied her chessboard and considered the evening ahead of her, she had done her best to consider what he was looking to achieve from this. She did her best with what she knew about him and what she had learned from both Rosanna’s stories about her grandfather and Jocaste’s advice about her former patron. But the thing that kept running through her memory was Jocaste’s warning: He is a dangerous man. A powerful friend and a deadly enemy. He is a generous patron and he will ensure your evening is enjoyable. Do not let your guard down with him, ever.

Do not let him get inside your head. Be careful with him, Odilia.

Well, it was too late for that, wasn’t it?

This was what she knew about Roland de Chalasse: he was the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace and the grandfather of her friend. He was a powerful man, with money and political weight, enough that Queen Anielle and her husband had been careful not to anger him without proper reason. He was among the elite of the elite, his family line tracing themselves directly back to the Angel Anael. Which made him an elitist, who prized family lines, blood, titles, money, and power over anything else. The fact that he would lower himself to be seen with a common-born girl from Rue Courcel, Servant of Namaah or no, was surprising.

Unless that was his intention: to bring her out to the highest echelons of society and prove that she was unfit to move among them, that she could not rise from the dust of the streets where she was born and that she was ill-suited for the King’s affections. That was what she held in her mind as they ascended the steps to the main doors of the theatre, that this was a test. She had always done well with tests. This elitist nobleman would not shake her.

Odilia’s head was high as he guided her into the entrance of the theatre, passing under the second gallery and descending into the yard before the stage, letting all who were already present see him enter with her on his arm. More whispers, more heads turning, and Odilia took the chance to survey the stage. Raised to be of a level with the first gallery and the noble boxes, it had been done up with artfully painted wood and plaster to match the theme of the evening’s performance. The support columns were covered in artful applique to make them seem like the great marble columns of the Hellene temples. The stage itself was bare of set pieces or furniture, the emphasis of the evening was to be on the poet’s voice in the recitation.

And then Roland was guiding her towards the young Eleanore de Mereliot, daughter of the current Lady of Marsilikos. A polite conversation, then he moved on to speak with a group of Caerdicci scholars that wore the crest and colours of the Tiberian ambassador. A tour of the yard, she acknowledged, letting him be seen with her. Very well, then let them also see her with him. She greeted a trio of merchants by name and thanked them for their continued supply contracts to Dahlia house. A couple of former Eglantine adepts smiled at her and kissed her cheeks as he escorted her past them to exchange brief hellos with the Count Niklos Shahrizai.

It was only when a theatre attendant approached to inform the Duc that His Grace’s customary box was prepared with refreshments for himself and his companion that Roland began steering her towards the noble boxes to the right of the stage. A flicker of movement caught her eye and her head turned to see two boys, one in his teen years and one not yet ten, hovering anxiously at the entrance. Another theatre attendant was attempting to usher them away, but the younger boy was looking so desperately at the stage, so longingly, that her hand slipped from Roland’s arm as she turned toward them.

“I’m sorry,” she heard the attendant saying as she approached, “But if you don’t have the money for seats, I can’t let you stay.”

“We can just stand back here,” the older boy said, “We won’t get in anyone’s way.”

“I’ll get in trouble,” the attendant said, “I really am sorry but you have to go.”

“Please,” the little boy said, looking up at Odilia as she came closer, “Please, I wanna see it. I want to hear the song.”

The attendant turned to look at her and flushed, “I apologize, my lady. I assure you-”

She ignored him and crouched down to look at the little boy, “Why do you want to hear the song so much?”

The boy looked at her with big, dark eyes and it was his older brother that answered, “Our mother was from Hellas, milady. She used to sing it to us in Hellene but the plague took her. I’m only an apothecary apprentice, I can’t afford-”

“Please, lady,” the little boy said, “Mitera can’t sing it again, I just want to hear it again.”

Odilia’s gloved hand reached slowly to touch his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb before she rose and instructed the attendant, “Find them seats in the gallery.”

“My lady,” he tried to argue, but she shook her head. Her hand went to her waist, reaching among the folds of her skirt for the coin-purse she had tucked there, but Roland’s hand extended first, handing the attendant two coins.

“Seats in the gallery,” he said, “As the lady said.”

The attendant bowed low to the Duc, a gesture the older brother copied a moment later, stiff and awkward. But the little boy beamed up at them, “Thank you! Thank you, lady!”

She smiled at him and felt the weight of Roland’s hand on her lower back as he stepped closer to her to murmur, “You have a soft heart, Odilia.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” She couldn’t afford a soft heart, a soft heart was an invitation for more trouble like the cloak, like the Judiciary, like him.

“You guard it well, even despite this little kindness, but under all of those defenses, you do have a soft heart.”

Her spine stiffened in direct contrast with his words, remembering her Dahlia composure as he led her back through the yard toward his private box. Her head turned toward him as she climbed the steps to the box level, saying quietly, “I understand what you’re doing, contracting me publically like this, letting people see me with someone like you.” It could be read as a gesture of support. That a Sovereign Duc like Roland de Chalasse would be willing to be seen with the King’s Dahlia meant that not all of the nobles thought her an upstart peasant. Perhaps.

“Oh do you?” He sounded amused at her shoulder as he showed her to his box and the waiting cushioned seats.

“And I do appreciate it,” she said as she sank onto the seat offered to her, accepting the chilled glass of crisp wine he handed her from the waiting tray, “but I’m not so naive as to think this means you approve of me either.”

He hummed as he took his own seat, saying lightly, “I’d be quite disappointed if you were.”

The poet appeared on the stage with a strum of his lyre, accompanied by two other musicians, one playing the aulos and the other shaking a chiming sistrum. The poet took a moment to look around the galleries of the theatre, taking in the audience gathered there to listen. And, with a great breath and a strum of his lyre, he began to sing.

“μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος…”

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus…

The Song of Ilium was a great epic, too long to perform in one sitting for a people unaccustomed to the practice. Therefore, three hours and a third of the epic later, the poet bowed and left the stage. The next two thirds would be performed the day after next, and the last third a second day later. The last lines of the first third had left the audience with the images of the Trojan fires in the plain after the Hellene Gods had shown their might amongst themselves, the very forces of nature choosing sides in this grand epic.

And so much battle, so much death, so much unrest because of desire for one woman. That was what sat the heaviest in Odilia’s mind as the Sovereign Duc offered his hand to help her rise from her seat. What was it Jocaste was warning her of by having her come to see and hear this?

“Is something troubling you, little Dahlia?”

She summoned a smile to her face and looked up at him, “Not at all. This was my first time hearing a great Hellene recitation, I am still caught up in the beauty of the words.”

“Are you familiar with the Song of Ilium?”

“Not in the original Hellene,” she said as he escorted her down to the yard and towards the exit. “But I have read translations that I am finding hardly do the language justice.”

“Dahlia has ensured you have had a fine education,” he said absently as he steered her towards his waiting carriage.

“The Night Court will suffer no less from their adepts,” she said, gathering her skirts, “And Dahlia will ensure we shine even beyond the other flowers.”

His short laugh followed her up into the carriage as they settled themselves among the cushions, across from each other. And she watched the public face of Roland de Chalasse slip slightly now that they were closed together in his carriage. Just the two of them, looking at each other, without the ever-present weight of the rest of the City’s gaze.

“An enjoyable evening,” he said lightly, the courtesy not reaching his eyes, “You are a charming and pleasant companion, Dahlia.”

Her brows lifted slightly, “Better than you expected of a common girl from the streets?”

“It is only the truth of your birth.”

“Whatever the circumstances of my birth may be, I am the Second of the Dahlia House and that is what I have become.”

“And is that what you will tell the guild leaders of the Judiciary?”

The slightest tightening of her eyes and the tiniest twitch of her jaw and he smiled, continuing, “Come now, you did not think I had not heard about that, did you?”

“I would not insult you so,” she said, not even bothering to feign conversational lightness, knowing he would not appreciate so glib a manner now, “but I am curious as to what relevance that has to our evening.”

“Oh, everything.”

In her mind’s eye, she could see the chessboard, the same one she had been pouring over all day. King-side bishop facing Queen-side bishop. Equal in power in very different ways. They faced each other but were they on opposite sides of the board? Were they working against each other or in conjunction? What in Elua’s name did he want? Be damned Jocaste’s warnings about not letting him in her head, she’d let him in if only she could get into his as well.

“What was your purpose, then, Your Grace, in this assignation? To remind me of my place in the hierarchy of society? I am well aware of that.” The carriage jostled over the streets but her posture remained impeccable even as he lounged against the cushions of his side. Her eyes skimmed his body as she said, “To threaten the King’s affection for me with your own interest? Interest someone like you could not possibly have in one so low-born? To flaunt to the City that anyone can buy what the King wants? I was already shamed enough with the cloak last winter; do you seek to ruin me entirely? You will find me more resilient than that, sir.”

“I know.”

He said it so simply. He knew. Of course he knew. He had been playing this game for much longer than she, it was likely he knew everything about her by taking one look at her.

“All of those things, yes,” he agreed with a careless shrug, “and more. To remind these fools that you are not the threat they think you are.”

Her gloved hands tightened in her lap. She just wanted to be left alone. The nobles circling her like vultures were bad enough, the de Somerville’s attempt to frighten her was bad enough, the fact that the common merchants and guilds of the people – her people – were turning on her was bad enough. And Roland de Chalasse wanted to come in and show everyone they were right about her? That she didn’t deserve to be among them? That she wasn’t good enough? That she would never be welcome among them even with the King’s affection? The King’s affection that would only make her and him more enemies as he refused to let her go…

“But you could be.”

She refocused on him at that, her brows furrowing ever so slightly as she processed the way he was looking at her, the hunger and the temptation clear in his face as he said, “With the right friends on your side of the chessboard.”

It clicked into place. Time slowed for a moment as she realized what he was offering.

“Why?” It came out as a whisper as she looked at him, “What do you want from me?”

“What I have always wanted, and what I think you want too.” His eyes glittered in the half-shadow of his carriage as he said, “Influence.”

“Over the King?”

“Over the country.”