Tag: heliotrope

Storyline: Ripples in the pond

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, entered the salon at Heliotrope and took a seat at the small table that was laid out with tea and small snacks. As Petrea sat, she realized that she had never been to Heliotrope House and wondered how, in her many years as a Servant of the Night Court, that was possible. She ran through the catalog of Houses and considered how many others she had not visited and frowned. While there were many she did not visit as a patron or guest, certainly she should have been to each on occasion in her role as Second, but that was not true. Had she been so consumed with her own life at Cereus, first as an adept and then as Second that she had neglected to meet with other leaders of the Night Court. Well, that would need to be resolved, and quickly. Or was it a waste of time?

Vouloir came around the corner taking in the appearance of the Cereus Second. Pale, beautiful, the standard for her House: exhausted, frayed at the ends, the stress she was living with unraveling that beauty before its time. Loir cleared her throat and nodded, “Petrea nó Cereus, the adepts indicated you’d arrived. I am Vouloir, one of the Seconds here at Heliotrope, you may call me Loir. Our Dowayne will see you in her private Salon.”

She led Petrea through the halls towards the back stairs, “We’ve not seen you since the Wedding. How have you been faring?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. What with the new babe, the business of the House…” Petrea trailed off, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Loir pushed open a half-open door and gestured for Petrea to go in ahead of her. She smiled at the other woman and said, “It was wonderful to meet you in person and not at an event. We should become friends if you’re not busy. Our Dowayne will be right in.”

Petrea sat for a moment before she heard Mena in the hallway say, “Make it very clear that he is no longer welcome here.” There was an inaudible response, and Mena made a sound of annoyance. “Yes, I know he won’t take it well, but he’ll have to. I’ve already filed it with the City Guards. Now shoo, I have company.”

Mena came in with a smile, “Petrea, it’s wonderful to see you.” She leaned over and gave Petrea a kiss of greeting. While they did not know each other well, the two had socialized a few times. Petrea held a fondness for Mena and made a mental note to invite Mena to her own home.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Petrea replied. “I was just thinking that I have taken the time to get to know the other Dowaynes and Seconds as well as I should, so this is a wonderful opportunity for me to do that.” She chuckled. “I suppose that I have been overly busy these past months. What with the babe and all.”

Mena nodded with a light chuckle and gestured for Petrea to sit down. “I am sure. Between the surprise child and the other, also unexpected situations, I’ve barely known my head from a melon these last days.”

“As do I. I will admit, I was surprised by your invitation. Pleased, but somewhat surprised.” Petrea sighed, her eyes trailing about the room, her smile rueful. “I confess it is a relief to leave Cereus House, if for only an afternoon. Ever since Patroclus arrived, it has been beyond chaos there.”

Mena laughed. “Babes bring so much chaos for beings so small! Even if we think that we and the House are prepared, we never are. You’re welcome here anytime you need some peace.”

Petrea brushed an errant lock of hair out of her face. She took a small sip of tea before setting the cup down and reaching for a pastry. Her fingers hovered over one, then moved to another, and another, before dropping her hand back into her lap. It appeared almost as though the simple act of choosing a bit of food was too much.

“Our cook makes many of these here so I know which ones are the best,” Mena said as she placed some pieces on Petrea’s plate. “Well, best to me anyway.”

She took a bite of her own favorite, filled with a sweetened and smoothed paste of an imported nut. As she chewed, she watched Petrea. She looked pale and utterly exhausted, which was to be expected since she was a Cereus. What was intriguing to Mena was underlying tension and panic at the corners of her eyes and in her movements. 

“How are you finding him, Patroclus was it? I remember you were very concerned about your Dowayne and the child,” she asked very mildly.

“Oh yes, now that Patroclus has arrived, I realize how…ridiculous perhaps…I was. Those last weeks of Aliks’s laying in were more overwhelming than anything I have ever felt. Especially with her mother present.” Petrea huffed a laugh. “I think between the two of us hovering like haunting ghosts, had Aliks not been ordered to stay abed, she would have fled the House. But, in the end, all was well with the birth.” Petrea shrugged and looked again at the pastries.

Mena laughed quietly. “I think you’ll be readily forgiven. After all, it was a lot to have thrust on you, particularly given the other high-stakes things happening at the same time. And it was the first for either of you.”

She sat quietly for a moment. “Forgive me if I overstep, but you don’t seem happy. Normally births bring so much happiness to the House, along with their chaos, of course. And yet you seem—” She looked Petrea over “—downtrodden is the word that comes to mind. There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Petrea hesitated. She wondered how much she should confide in Mena. She knew that Mena had been thrust into the position of Dowayne unexpectedly. Perhaps she would understand? Petrea cleared her throat and began slowly. “Aliks has taken back some of her work, but the day to day operations still fall to Aimee and me. I think that Aliks believes she is handling many things, but truly she is not. She is signing contracts, yes, but she is merely a signatory. We are asking her to make decisions about household business, but we are carefully phrasing things in such a way that she does not understand that the decision has already been made and that her opinion is meaningless. She is consumed by Patroclus. And, I suppose, as well she should be, as a new mother.” Petrea cleared her throat and met Mena’s gaze. “Mena, I have seen the amount of time and attention he requires. I do not begrudge a child his mother, by any means. But she is exhausted. He keeps her up all hours of the day and night. He needs every moment of her attention. Aimee and I are worried. We are concerned about the number of weeks, nay, months, or even—dare I say, years—that it could take before Aliks is able to return to her full duties.” 

Mena thought for a long minute before speaking. “You are right, it is customary for a new babe to take up all of their parents’ time. Ideally, the parents divide it, though one of their mothers, a sibling, a friend, or even a fellow member of the House, helps them. Normally, I’d say to find her a wet nurse or at least a Novice to help her, but I get the feeling that’s not what’s really bothering you. 

Petrea folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I…if I may confide in you, privately between us.” She hesitated for a long moment. Mena gave her a gentle look, encouraging her to continue. “Mena, I never sought a position in the Night Court. I was content to be an adept, to take patrons, be one of many. But, Aliks has dreamed of being Dowayne for as long as I have known her—since we were but children. And I would do anything for her. And that includes being dragged along to be her Second. And while being Aliks’s Second does not make me terribly unhappy, I do not share her joy of leadership and responsibility. I am fine to stand in her shadow, to handle business behind the scenes while she attends to all of the public functions and handles the public—” Petrea waved her hand in a helpless gesture “—everything else, but that is where it ends for me. When she retires, I have no intention—none—of stepping into her shoes. I will not become Dowayne of Cereus House. I cannot do it. I don’t have the stomach for it.” 

Her face fell then, an air of sadness in her composure. “But I thought we had years. Years to train someone else, years to get the House used to the idea, years before I had to confess this to Aliks…But with the pregnancy and the arrival of Patroculs, I have been thrust into the de facto role I never desired, that was not my choice. I had to tell her. And I think it broke her heart. Elua knows, it broke my heart to tell her. But I had to. Aliks never spoke to me about her desire to have a child with Waldemar. We never discussed what might happen if she did this. What would happen to me. And perhaps it is selfish to ask Aliks to make such decisions based on my, but…is it really so much to ask that she take into consideration the thoughts and feelings of her Second? Of her best friend? Of someone she loves? Of someone whose very position in life could hang in the balance? And…I…I fear that I will be forced to become someone I am not. Something that I am not.” She shook her head. “Aliks is a Dowayne, Mena. I am not.” 

Mena felt her heart sink with Petrea’s words. When the other woman had finished, Mena set her cup down and reached across the table for Petrea’s hands. 

“Oh, my darling. I am so sorry. The things we do in the name of Love.”

“I do love Aliks so. I always have, and I always will. But for that love, I fear I have sacrificed a piece of myself. For her. For her ambitions. And I am lost now.”

Mena squeezed Petrea’s hands, “We know more than most about that sacrifice here. Why don’t you stay a while, talk with my adepts, find comfort and peace with us? Stay and rest your heart with us. I’ll send one of the children over to Cereus to let them know where you are.”

Petrea nodded. “I would appreciate that. You are kind to offer me such.”

“We’re glad to have you. And if you’d like, I can introduce you to our adepts, perhaps—”

Petrea interrupted her in a rush. “Mena, if I tell you something, may I trust that it stays between us? Only us? Please? I find myself feeling I can trust you. That you might understand.”

There was something desperate in Petrea’s eyes, and Mena found herself agreeing immediately. 

“Of course, nothing said here leaves here. “

Petrea could not meet Mena’s gaze as she spoke, her voice no more than a whisper. “I have decided that I will be stepping down after the Longest Night. I will plan the Midwinter Masque and assist Aimee with transition, but come spring, I will no longer be the Second of Cereus House.”

Mena’s eyes widened for a moment before her face softened. “Oh Petrea. You must have been unhappy for so very much longer than this babe and his turmoil.”

“I have thought long about this over many sleepless months.” Tears sprung to Petrea’s eyes, and her voice quivered. “I know that I am throwing a boulder into a pond, and the waves may flood the shores. But, Mena, I must do this, or I fear I will drown.”

Storyline: A Face of Mena’s Past

When the news of the birth of Aliks’s baby arrived, Mena was glad for the distraction. She’d been up to her eyes in paperwork since the wedding festivities had wound down. So busy that she hadn’t been able to sit and talk to Loir, so she took the opportunity to make an event out of their little celebration.

Loir arrived at the same time the food and drinks did, a smile on her pretty face. “Mena! Did you send our congratulations over to Cereus already, or is there time for me to add a note?”

Mena took the cart from the novice with a nod, wheeling it out to her tiny balcony that looked out over the kitchen garden. “It’s on my desk, in the upper right corner. I figured you would want to send your blessing as well. But leave it until tomorrow, I am sick to death of work.”

Loir held up her hands with a laugh. “Understood. Only gossip tonight.”

Mena sunk into a chair with a sigh. “Well, let’s still complain about work if needed, but yes, gossip only.”

Loir poured wine for them both before she sat. “That sounds perfect to me. But first, what are we eating tonight?”

“Chef made hearty stew and fresh bread, plus bought some of our favorite cheese at the market. You know the one; hard, sharp, nutty, no one likes it but me and you.”

Loir nodded. “Sounds like Chef is remarking on how hard we’ve been working.”

“That is my assumption as well. She’s right, we’ve both been nonstop. Did you get a sense of how the palace is adjusting like you’d hoped?”

“Yes, actually. It’s as I thought,” Loir said as she handed a bowl of stew to Mena. “The staff thinks this is the best thing they’ve ever heard of while the Court is divided. The ones that are responsible for the new queen feel out-maneuvered by Odilia.”

“Mmm, that’s expected though, people with power they didn’t earn are vile losers. I’ll make sure the adepts know not to bring up the topic with patrons and to do their best to dodge it when it comes up. Particularly with new patrons.”

“That is probably the wisest. I can’t imagine an anti-Odilia courtier visiting us, but caution is never a bad idea.”

The two ate quietly for a few minutes, savoring the quiet and the delicious meal. Loir broke the silence with a laugh. “Now, tell me about Kyrie. Yacinia says he had to be escorted out?”

Mena groaned, then laughed. “Ugh, Kyrie. That’s a long story though, Loir!”

The younger woman laughed loudly. “I’d hope it was! You don’t take patrons. and I’d always heard there was a man involved. Tell, tell!!”

Mena sighed. “Alright, alright, keep your dress on. Kyrie was one of my last serious patron before I took over as Dowayne.”

She looked out over the garden for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “He’s a noble, albeit a lower tier one. His family still works as shipping agents. They have a small fleet of vessels that they use to import things from around the world. Just over five years ago, he asked me to leave the House and marry him.”

Loir gasped quietly but didn’t speak.

“It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and like every time before, I laughed and told him that his father would never allow it. This time was different, he said, his father had been killed.”

Mena paused to dip her bread into her stew, chewing thoughtfully before continuing with a loud exhale. “I was stunned, of course. His father was a relatively young man still, Kyrie was the third son, but the children are only a year apart, with the first being born when the late Comte was but nineteen.” She remembered the pang she felt for the Comtesse, pregnant almost every year for twenty-five long years, losing a dozen children to sickness in the nursery, losing five more to accidents, her body so fragile from childbirth that at not even forty she was confined almost entirely to her bed or a chair, while the Comte set about making his mistress step into the role as wife.

With a sharp shake of her head she brought herself back to the present. “Kyrie pressed me to marry him, coming every day to speak to me about it. At this time, the late Dowayne was moving to the countryside to be with his partner as his illness rapidly progressed. so I was not always here. On those days, he worked very hard to get the rest of the House on his side, to convince me to marry him and run away from all of this.”

Mena drained her wineglass before she went on. “One afternoon , we were here in my old room, me getting ready for the night, him pacing like a caged animal and deep in his cups. He was frantically trying to make me agree or at least forgo the evening so we could ‘talk.’ I was so frustrated, he wouldn’t listen to me. Then he said that we’d go to Eisheth, then I’d have to marry him.”

Loir was aghast. “This is Terre d’Ange, not some Aragonian backwater!”

Mena laughed, “That is very close to what I said actually. I told him I had no interest in marrying him and even less interest in having a child with him. He flew into a rage, throwing the decanter of wine across the room. I think his words were ‘I paid for you, your marque came from my purse, you will do as I say or I’ll force you.”

Loir gasped so hard she choked for a moment. “What? A man from the land of Blessed Elua has that kind of attitude?”

Mena shrugged, “In the moment, I assumed he was just in one of his angry fits. I’d been seeing him as a patron since I was two years out of novicehood, I’d seen childish spoiled anger out of him before. I told him that the small amount of money he’d given me, as well as every other small thing about him, were never going to be enough for me to want to marry him, let alone leave my home.”

“Good, good for you. That is the only acceptable response to that. Well, that and a permanent ban from the House.”

“Mmm, absolutely true. He grabbed his coat, threw open the door, screamed that I’d see when he came back that I would do as I was told. He cursed me and my whole bloodline as he left. I collected myself and went to the salon as I’d planned. He was only one of my patrons. so I was upset and rattled, but I wasn’t crushed.”

Loir shook her head. “I forget that people are people, even when they’re blessed by Elua. I suppose it is true what the palace servants say; the ‘smaller’ the noble, the more trouble they bring.” 

Mena laughed and ran a hand through her hair, using her fingers to comb out the knots she found. “I will say that I have found that to be completely true, particularly of the men. The women,” she shook her head from side to side, “They’re a dice roll honestly. So, I assumed Kyrie would be back in the morning, but he never came. News of the Dowayne’s death came and I took over. For months, maybe even a year, I would receive unmarked packages full of dirt, dead things, fish heads, dead roses, that kind of thing, but still no sign of him. Eventually those stopped and the next thing I know, months and years passed with no word. Then he shows up like you saw, wanting to reconcile.”

She snorted. “I will never understand where he keeps his audacity. I spoke kindly but firmly to him, reminding him of what I said when he was last here. He took it worse if possible. He threw money at me, called me common trash with delusions of importance, said that he was the best I’d get, particularly now at ‘my age,’ and that he couldn’t believe I was still ‘ungrateful’ after what he did for me.”

With a heavy sigh, she poured more wine into both of their glasses. “So I had him removed and turned over to the guards. Nathaniel and Jacovy made sure to tell the guard that he implied he’d murdered his father, the late Comte.”

Loir shook her head. “Do you think he did it?”

Mena shrugged, “I wouldn’t put it past him, particularly since he came back after all these years like no time passed. No matter though, I am sure he’ll be banned from the Night Court grounds. I passed the report of his behavior on to the other Houses yesterday.”

She leaned back and stared at the now risen moon for a long moment. “So that is the story of why your Dowayne stopped taking patrons. And that’s just the highlights, it is a long story. And one I’m glad is through. The future can begin when the Sun King arrives.”

The two sat in silence, Mena thinking about how much of her life Kyrie had stolen, Loir trying to think what to say. The silence stretched, but never became uncomfortable.

After a long while, Loir finally spoke. “Is that why you chose Love for our theme?”

Mena looked over at her and smiled. “Of course! We are Love, we bask in it, we are devoted to it alone, we should show that to the world.”

Loir reached over the table and took Mena’s hand in hers, “We will. And may Naamah’s hand bless you very soon, Mena.”

Storyline: Mont Nuit in Celebration

“I’m bored,” Aliksandria nó Cereus said, crossing her arms over her swelling bosom petulantly.

“Here, go over these ledgers with me, then,” Petrea responded. 

“Ledgers? Are you mad? There is a celebration going on downstairs, and you have me cooped up here like an Akkadian maiden!”

Petrea threw her hands in the air. “You are with child! The chirurgeon says you

are to deliver in less than a month. If you go down there, Elua knows what could happen.”

Aliks glared at her friend. “It has been seven months of you mothering me, and I am exhausted from it. I can assure you that if I go down to the party, I will not suddenly burst into flames. I will have some fun, dance a bit, maybe take a patron for the evening. It will all be fine.”

“A patron! Have you lost your mind? You can’t take a patron in your condition.” Petrea was aghast. 

“Of course I can. In fact, though it is gauche here in the Night Court, I have heard there is an establishment at Night’s Doorstep that employs only Servants of Naamah who carry Eisheth’s blessing.”

The two women continued to bicker for some time before a knock came at the door to Aliks’s chambers. 

“Ah, Aimee dear, how is the soiree going?” Aliks asked, happily turning her attention away from her Second.

“Um, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There have been requests, a great many of them, for you, both of you that is, to join us.”

“See,” Ailks said smugly to Petrea, then added to Aimee, “Tell them that the Dowayne and her Second will be along presently.”

Petrea, knowing she had been beaten, followed Aliks down the grand staircase to the party. It was in truth a grand affair, all of the city was celebrating the royal wedding and the Night Court was doing so in their own fashion. A very small House fee was charged to patrons at the door, and upon admittance they could choose from any of the adepts present. It was rumored all the Houses were following this format, and thus the more seasoned adepts who usually command a higher fee, were in quite a lot of demand, most notably Dowaynes and Seconds.

“Aliks, please, just walk about and mingle, but no patrons, not in your condition,” Petrea hissed. Aliks waved her friend off and disappeared into the fray. 

Petrea was right, the babe would be here sooner than later and then everything would really change. Tonight, she would remind herself what it truly was to be Naamah’s Servant. Tomorrow, she would deal with her friend’s fears. 

*

Most Houses on Mont Nuit could boast their celebrations and what special offers could be found on various holy days and observances. Not so much with the two Houses which specialized in the sharper pleasures, outside of Mara’s Eve that is. But for the royal wedding and naming of a courtesan as Companion and Mistress? They did not shout from the rooftops but they did have some elegant tricks up their sleeves tonight.

“I don’t know if we purchased enough flowers,” Tryphosa nó Valerian bemoaned as she checked in the head of the House. She popped in after barely knocking, which the Dowayne was perfectly fine with this night, so much was going on after all.

Rosanna was making some last minute changes to her ensemble for the evening. A diaphanous gown of white silk with bronze trim, cuffs and choker. Still in the spirit of the triumph of happy endings today, but far more maneuverable in the heady environment of Valerian House.

“If they go through every rose, dahlia, and peony we have on hand then I would consider the night to be a success. Should that happen, we shall leave the patrons wanting more, which will only draw them back,” she replied and adjusted the corded belt around her waist. 

“I just don’t want the novices to be picking up petals for the next week when they should be at their studies,” the Second mumbled and checked her own hair in a mirror.

“Then they learn a valuable lesson. And they would also be picking up thornes, which will be tempered by those petals. Rose flogging is an art, they need to pay attention. It’s not often we have it in such abundance.”

Indeed, the choice of harsh and soft flogging with long-stemmed flowers was usually a request made by a patron already experienced in the activity. For the special occasion this day however, Rosanna had directed Showings and more access to the niche spectacle. Apparently her idea had merit, if interest was already so invested as to send her Second into worry over inventory. 

“Do you still think you might be called away tonight?”

“Perhaps. If Grandfather or Odilia ask for me. I’d like to go to Dahlia House myself just to offer my congratulations in person, but I know the place will no doubt be mobbed. I shall remain here as long as I can, it’s not as if I do not have a perfectly capable Second to take over should I need to step out for an hour or so.”

And it was not as though her friend and family were banging down her door. Let them celebrate and sit with the happy news however they so pleased.  

When she did make her entrance, Tryphosa at her side, the pair first made their prayers and offerings to Kushiel and Naamah as was their tradition before opening the doors.

After that, Rosanna would see where the night took her.

*

After the wedding was done and the couple headed to the castle, Philomena and Vouloir nó Heliotrope made their way through the streets. The crowd was electric, even this close to the palace where it was just the nobility, the energy was palpable. As she wove through the people, she felt the stress of the last few years melting off of her, making her steps lighter and her mood soar. She smiled, feeling happiness flood through her for the first time since she became Dowayne. 

They made their way through the streets, passing into the less prosperous quarters, the places Mena and Loir both felt more comfortable. Here the celebrations were more raucous: drinking spilling out of taverns into the streets, groups of people singing love songs, bawdy and not, as loud as possible, with varying skill, to small clusters of listeners, food vendors and bakeries hawking goods for almost free, streams of children running and playing. It was incredible, for someone like Mena who found her joy in the joy of others, it was almost overwhelming. 

Just before they crossed into the Night Court proper, a voice rang out.

“Philomena?”

Her head whipped around, her eyes scanning the crowd for the source of that voice. It had been years, half a decade since she’d heard that voice, was it possible?

A man materialized from the bodies around him, a crooked grin splitting his face. “As I live and breathe, it is you.”

“Kyrie?” She knew her voice broke saying his name, but on this of all days, she didn’t care for her image as Dowayne. Loir came to her side, slipping her arm through Mena’s and squeezing her upper arm. She felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the sight before her.

He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away. “I heard the House would be open for the celebration and I thought that you wouldn’t be able to throw me out, so…”

She stared at him, her mind racing. All this time, she’d thought—

A quick shake of her head brought her back, “The House!”

Spinning on her heel, she started back though the gate, stopping just inside to turn back to him, holding out her hand,  “Come on, come see what we have for you.”

The front of Heliotrope House was decked out in fabric buntings in the colors of the king and his new queen, with flowers spilling out of the open windows. Also hanging out the windows were several Novices, weaving Odilia’s bronze in, placing dahlias among the flowers, and as she approached, Mena could hear them laughing. 

One of the young men noticed her and waved enthusiastically, “Lady Dowayne! How was the wedding! Come in! Dara has the games started in the Salon! And Cook made your favorite cold soup!”

Laughing, she waved back as she climbed the steps, “Thank you, Henri. The wedding was wonderful, Blessed Elua and Naamah are sure to be pleased. We’ll tell everyone the tale at midnight.”

Henri groaned, “Past bedtime as usual.”

It was Loir who answered, “Silly, there’s no bedtime during a Festival!”

Inside, laughter rang through the halls. It was wonderful to have a crowded House. Mena looked around and saw her Adepts cozying up to new Patrons and she knew that these days would see new loves forged, marques made, and would also be blessed by Naamah and Elua, as much as the Royal Couple were. 

Making her way through to the stairs, she turned to Loir and said, “Thank you for attending with me, your presence was a comfort.” She didn’t look at Kyrie, but she knew her Second understood what she meant. 

Loir grinned and gave a small curtsey, “It was incredible, I am glad I saw it with my own eyes. I’ll see you in the back Salon once you’ve changed, Lady Mena.” The young woman turned to Kyrie and gestured down the hallway. “If you’ll come with me, my Lord, to the Salon, the Lady Dowayne will be with you shortly.”

Mena went up to change, not looking back. Kyrie knew this House as well as he knew his own hands, but making him stand on ceremony felt right. Her helper, a Novice named Anton, deaf from birth, sprung up when she entered her room. He helped her out of her fancier dress and into her day dress. Her bronze caul was carefully placed on a wooden sphere the artisan had sent over. When Anton reached for her hair to put it up, she shook her head. He smiled and instead worked quickly to free her from the pins that held her hair back. The relief was instant and the relaxed look was what this festival called for: all people were equal in the eyes of Eula and Naamah in the celebration of love. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. ‘You are the Dowayne’ she reminded herself ‘He is the one who left like that. If you can handle the last few years, you can handle one man.’

Before that, she needed to check on the Salons. Not that she was avoiding him.

The front Salon was a riot of noise; people laughing and talking, the clink of coins hitting the tables, the occasional sound of a ball hitting the wooden floor causing groans and chants of “Drink, drink, drink!” to sound from the back corner. She grinned and made her way through the people, stopping to greet those she knew with a hug or a small word. There were card games of so many types happening, Patrons betting with coin, Adepts with favor slips. It was a favored activity between her Adepts and their usuals, this was the only time they’d allow strangers into their games with no real losers . A group slipped upstairs, following an Adept to their room to get their winnings.

Deeper in the room, there was a serious game underway. It was one of the games Dara had come up with for this festival, and if it caught on, it would be a regular game. It consisted of small squares with letters and was played like dominoes, only the players had to make words instead of number matches. The two playing were intently focused on the space between them. Lina, one the Adepts who had a thirst for knowledge and had a scholar as a regular Patron, was playing against a woman that Mena had never seen. Not wanting to distract the pair, she whispered to an onlooker, “What’s on the table?”

“A week of whatever the winner wants,” the man whispered back, his eyes never leaving the pair. Mena made an impressed face and went onwards. The back corner was her destination.

Dara stood in the circle of players, watching the person with the ball plan their move. She’d set up lines of sturdy cups that she’d gotten from the housekeeper by some means that she didn’t clarify, filling them halfway with mead. The goal was to toss the ball into the cups that still contained liquid, if that was done the player would pick another player to drink. If the player failed, there were punishments that ranged from drinking to favors, depending on the cup that was aimed for. Mena barely understood the rules, but she knew that it was going to be incredibly popular and she planned to buy Dara some special cups.

She slid into the group, slipping her arm around Dara’s waist and giving the woman a kiss on the side of her neck as greeting. “Dara, love. How’s your game going?”

The Adept laughed quietly, “Quite well, Lady Dowayne. Would you like to join?”

The assembled Patrons turned and looked with shocked faces. The Dowayne in the Salon was a rather rare occurrence. Mena wanted to change that now that the pressure had released. With a grin, she took the ball out of the man’s hand who’d just thrown and surveyed the cups. “Third row, second in.”

Her toss was aimed well, but unfortunately the cup rim was higher than she’d thought. The ball bounced up and landed in an empty cup in the second row. Laughing, she reached over, retrieved the ball, and looked back at the group. Someone was pouring a liquid into a small glass as the rest shouted, “Drink, drink, drink!”

She took the glass from the woman and tipped it back. It burned like fire, but tasted like the spices used in winter cooking. When she’d emptied her cup, the group cheered. With an exaggerated bow, she said, “With that, I’ve got to take my leave. Have a wonderful time.”

Dara called to her as she left, “Come back later, we will be breaking out the color game after dinner.”

Mena laughed as she walked away. Dara loved her games, particularly ones like her color game where the longer you played, the less clothing you wore.

Winding her way back down the hall, heading deeper into the House, Mena glanced in the open doors. The smaller Salon’s held quieter activities, Adepts sitting with Patrons, brushing their hair or talking quietly over food and drinks. When people glanced up as she passed, she nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop. As the night wore on, she knew these rooms would empty as arrangements were made, and privacy was needed. As that happened, the party crowd would move towards the back of the House and out into the gardens for more room. She was looking forward to the next few days of relaxation and a return to being an Adept. She missed it more than she thought she had. But for now, she had a problem in the back Salon to deal with.

But Loir sat on the porch of her House in the setting sun, half watching the party-goers passing by. She swirled the cold cup of wine and fruit juice in her hand lazily, thinking about how things played out. The arrangement was one she was familiar with, but only because it was something that all Heliotrope adepts were taught was a rare but potential outcome of their long-term Patron relationships. More usually, the couple married when the adept’s marque was made or the patron married and visited when they could. She sighed, as much as she loved serving Naamah and knew in her heart this was her calling, the prospect of heartbreak loomed. She felt for Odilia in a way she knew the older Adepts didn’t. Still, the outcome was the best possible play with the cards in the king’s hands. As she’d been listening and taking notes and learning what she needed as Helio’s Second, she’d been surprised how many of the nobles had actually been in favor of Odilia as their queen. The only ones against it were, unfortunately, the ones with the most power. Maybe one day, soon she hoped, a Royal would be able to marry for love again.

“Excuse me?”

She looked up to see a young man smiling at her, nervous but with a full smile. She smiled back, “Yes?”

He took a step closer and she could more clearly see that he was a noble’s son, but young, not many years past her. His collar was undone and in his hand he had a wine bottle. Loir watched him take a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment as though gathering his courage. “I saw you during the wedding, you and your Lady Dowayne walked past my mother and I before the ceremony. I could see you, just a ways down in the crowd. The whole event, all my eyes could see was you. I followed you here, after, but didn’t have the courage to come speak to you until now.” He gestured with the wine bottle and looked away. Even in the fading light she could see the color rising on his neck.

She laughed a little as she stood and went to the top of the steps. Holding out her hand, she said, “Well, come closer so we can meet properly.”

The young noble stepped closer, into the light spilling from the doorway. The light showed that he was indeed a noble’s son, and a high-ranking one at that. His coat was long abandoned in the summer heat but his shirt was fine linen and his trousers were decorated in the most fashionable of woven patterns. She wondered what he had to be nervous about.

She held out her hand and said, “Come, come in, my lord. Let me get you some food and we can get to know each other.”

He reached out, but paused before their fingers touched. ‘“I would love to learn all I can about you, you shine like a second sun in my eyes. But I am unsure if the coin in my pocket is enough to allow me that honor.”

Loir leaned out, keeping her balance with an arm wrapped around the post that held the pergola. “My lord. The king has married, he has chosen to keep his love close, Blessed Elua and Naamah in her Grace are honored by this. Your eye has been caught by a simple adept of Heliotrope House, the coin in your pocket doesn’t matter.”

Her fingers brushed over his before tangling in them so she could pull him in. “I set my price, my lord, and today it’s only the stars in your eyes and the honey words on your tongue. Come inside.”

The young man allowed himself to be drawn up the stairs. He stammered out, “L-Leandré. M-m-my name is Leandré.”

Loir took his other hand in hers and slowly backed into the House. “I am Vouloir. But those who know me call me Loir.”

The stars in his eyes sparkled brighter, “Then I look forward to earning the honor of calling you that, Vouloir.”

Storyline: The Royal Wedding

Corrian had little opinion on her dress for the wedding, which was good because the royal dresser had not asked for it. A gown of pale blue with accents of silver and midnight blue had been constructed for the occasion. The trim had swans and lilies embroidered on it, making sure all knew that this was a royal wedding gown. Her auburn hair was left long with its curls, giving a joyous bounce as she walked. Her head was crowned for now with a simple garland of flowers. Before the day was done, it would be replaced with the Queen’s Crown of Terre D’Ange.  It was better to remain simple and celebratory now. She wore simple slippers in the carriage to the temple at the heart of the city, knowing she would remove them when she entered and not wishing to waste overmuch time fiddling with laces or buckles. 

For her bouquet, however, she had put her foot down on that. She carried a bouquet with anemones, which was traditional and symbolized Blessed Elua’s precept. She also had lilies to represent Terre d’Ange, the country of which she would soon be queen. She included oleanders, as a nod to her home of Borlean in Azzalle. And finally, she carried three large dahlia flowers in the bouquet. She was no fool, she knew every aspect of this day would be scrutinized, and she wanted the country to know that she supported Gustav and Odilia. 

Gustav stood ready to hand her up to the carriage and he looked every inch the king.  Resplendent in Courcel blue and gold, he had chosen to forego his great crown for this day.  Instead, his golden head was crowned with a wreath of anemones and lilies – Blessed Elua and Terre D’Ange together. He smiled at her. 

She returned his smile. Theirs was not a love match, but this was better.  It was a match of mutual respect and understanding.  A kind of love could grow easily from those seeds, even if she would always know that her husband’s heart belonged to another woman.

And that other woman had chosen to embark on this journey with them.  Odilia’s answer had come, and she knew Gustav had wept in relief. She had herself slept much easier since that letter had arrived.

The team of horses pulling the open-top carriage were pure white, with blue and gold ribbons braided into their manes and tails to toss in the sunshine as they pranced impatiently. The carriage would take them only to the great oak in the center of the city.  From there, it would be on foot to the Temples. And the way was filled with the people, the citizens of the City of Elua gathered to watch the procession of their king and his bride. 

It was the sound of their joy that first greeted the couple, the cheers and singing of joy that guided them on their walk through the winding streets – like so many royal couples before, treading the path from palace to temple to be joined in marriage. 

The flowers were next, the sights and smells of the flowers being waved, the petals being strewn before them as they walked together. 

The colors of the ribbons as they danced through the air, the garlands draping from the eaves of every building – evidence of how the people loved their king and celebrated his marriage. 

Gathered in the square of the temple district were the nobles and courtiers of the royal court, gathered there in all their finery to witness the arrival and entrance to the temple of the royal couple. And arrayed along the side of the square closest to Mont Nuit were the Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. 

Aliksandria stood with her fellow Dowaynes and their Seconds as the Royal procession passed. They bowed to their king and soon to be queen, though Aliks had a bit of difficulty doing so in her present condition. As they rose she turned her head almost imperceptibly to look at the second of Dahlia House. Odilia’s face showed no emotion. Jocoste had offered to her Second the option to attend the ceremony as a private individual and not as a member of the Night Court, but she had declined, insisting that her loyalty was to Naamah’s service above all. 

Rosanna stood with Tryphosa at her side, in line with the other leaders from Mont Nuit. Arranged, as always, with Cereus House at the fore and then descending down according to the alphabet, they stood last but never least in line. All the better to see the scope of the procession and the reactions of those watching. The Dowayne and Second of Valerian House wore gowns of silvery white and accents of shimmering bronze. When the time came, they tossed flowers upon the cobblestones with the other citizens, celebratory as could be. 

“I do not spy anyone seemingly unhappy with how things turned out,” Tryphosa whispered as she tossed another handful of petals.

“They would not do so here. Today we are celebrating, and keeping our eyes and ears open.”

Her own eyes followed the couple once she rose from her deep curtsy, until they vanished from sight into the most sacred of temples. No one outside of the closest family members and highest ranked nobles of the king’s inner court were permitted to actually watch the ceremony. Surely, they could not comfortably fit any more guests in the temple courtyard anyway. But the sanctity of the marriage ritual was something to be respected, and so that Rosanna understood. 

As the crowd quieted and awaited the royal couple’s return, she took the time to pray. Always a devout woman, the Dowayne of Valerian House asked Blessed Elua to watch over the king, the new queen, and her friend who was soon to be linked to them both in an unprecedented motion. 

They needed all the divine guidance one could hope for to navigate the path they would forge together. 

Mena stood with Vouloir, wearing simple flowing dresses in the palest purple, their hair held in fine bronze mesh cauls, waiting for the procession. 

“Odilia looks well today,” Vouloir said quietly by Mena’s ear. “I’m interested to see the bride. My friend in the palace says the mood in the royal wing has much improved.”

Mena made a noise of agreement. “She does look quite well. Her expression matches her bearing again. I’ve missed that.”

Vouloir nodded, but before she could respond, the roar of the crowd let them know the couple was approaching. A huge smile bloomed across Mena’s face at the sight of them. Love, in all its forms, made her heart happy. She threw petals when the couple was near and delighted in the smile on her King’s face. His bride looked at peace, her face relaxed.

As the couple passed, Vouloir leaned in again. “Her Majesty’s bouquet told the tale quite well, don’t you think?”

Mena looked at her. “I managed to miss it somehow.”

Vouloir smiled like a cat in the cream. “Oh, then wait until they return, she’ll be on our side then.”

Mena looked up the hill where the couple had disappeared into the temple proper. Everyone settled around her, a peace falling over the crowd that was tinged with excitement. Weddings were loved in the capital, the rare royal weddings were exciting. Everyone, herself included, was looking forward to the holiday and festivals that would last for a week. The plans they’d made for the House had been implemented quickly, the food was prepared, the wine and juices were ready, the salons were lively already when she’d left, the adepts excited for the occasion. Now all that needed to happen was for the couple to emerge.

When they did appear once again, the city was positively deafened by the cheers of the happy citizens. Cries of blessings, congratulations, and prayers were sent to the young king and his new queen. A great wedding feast would be served at the palace upon their arrival, and the celebrations would go for days. Every house on Mont Nuit would open their doors at a pittance for payment as their way of celebrating so that all who wished to make the event memorable in their own way might afford to do so. 

“Is all in readiness for tonight?” Rosanna asked her Second once the loud frenzy had died down somewhat. 

“To the best of our ability,” Tryphosa replied.

To the great joy of the gathered people of the city, the newlywed couple stood together under the great arch of the Temple of Elua and shared a long kiss together. When they parted, there was a bright sparkle in both of their eyes as they looked at each other.  It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. But some people, those who thrived on gossip and whispers, snuck glances at the Second of Dahlia House. She stood tall in the midmorning sun, and there was a small smile on her face – her Dahlia composure wasn’t compromised, but it was clear that she was happy. 

Mena cheered as loudly as all the other D’Angellines. Seeing the peace on her king’s face and on his bride’s made her relax even further. Things were going to finally get back to normal. Remembering Vouloir’s comment about the bouquet, she looked at it and felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

“Oh. Oh, really,” she said as she leaned towards her Second. “Well, my, my, my, Her Majesty certainly made her stance known. No one could confuse that.”

Vouloir smiled. “I know! I wonder what it will mean in the long term?”

And the affection in Odilia’s eyes only grew, sparkling and crinkling with her smile as the Priest of Elua laid their hand on the clasped hands of the couple, intoning for all the gathered peoples to hear. “Bound now in the sight of Blessed Elua, blessed by His Companion Naamah, Gustav de la Courcel and Corrian de Borlean are now husband and wife.  The wife of a king is his partner in all things and must be crowned as the new queen of our Terre D’Ange. She will be crowned in the shade of the great Elua’s Oak, witnessed by the Clergy of the Companions, the Royal Court, and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers.  Let the songs be sung as the king and his new queen process to the great oak tree!”

Gustav and Corrian exchanged a look and stepped together down the stairs of the temple, but they did not begin the procession as the High Priest said.  Rather, they walked together to where the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers stood arrayed. The adepts all bowed and the king and his bride smiled graciously at them before Corrian stepped forward to stand before Odilia.  The women looked at each other, and it seemed like a great many of the adepts and courtiers all held their breath. 

“Odilia,” Corrian said, gracious and smiling, “would you accompany us to the oak?”

“My lady, it would be my honor.”

The implication of those words hit Mena like a bucket of iced water. She managed to keep her cool, but Vouloir gasped quietly, her hand suddenly gripping Mena’s tightly. What could this mean?

“Did you know about this?” Tryphosa whispered to her Dowayne.

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” Rosanna replied with a conspiratorial little smile.

Corrian beamed and lifted the garland from her own head to place it on Odilia’s head, leaving the new queen bare-headed as she turned to begin the procession.  Gustav took his place at her left hand, Odilia stepped up to her right, and the members of the royal court slowly filed in behind them, the Servants of Naamah following. 

Gustav turned to glance at Odilia – there had been a childish dream that he had once held of seeing her in garlands and ribbons as they were wed together.  That dream could not come to be, the world got in the way.  But this was still almost like it, she was still beautiful and with him as they made this walk. 

Odilia turned her head to look at Gustav.  She had always known she would never be able to have him the way other lovers could be with each other forever.  Anything now was a gift she had never dared to hope she could have. This was a more mature, adult agreement, and it suited the people they had become over the years that they had loved each other. 

The great oak tree stood in the center of the city, the true and beating heart of Elua’s grace and blessing. It was here that the queen had chosen to be crowned.  The royal court arrayed themselves to the left of the tree, where the king stood.  The Night Court arrayed themselves to the right, where Odilia stood in her flowing bronze gown. 

And there, in the shade of the tree, Corrian knelt. 

Mena sharply drew in a breath. There was a crackle of tension in the air, she could feel it. They were on the precipice of something.

The High Priest of Elua stood before her, their hands open to the sky.  They said, “Corrian de Borlean de la Courcel, do you present yourself here in the sight of Blessed Elua and witnessed by the nobles of this great kingdom, ready to swear yourself to the sacred duty of queenship?”

Odilia watched Corrian’s chest rise and fall with her deep breath. “I do.”

“As you are wed to His Majesty, King of Terre D’Ange, Gustav de la Courcel, you understand your duty as his wife is to be his partner, equal, and support in all things.  This duty is ever more important when the nation is looking to him to lead.  Are you prepared to take your place as his queen, to support him and help guide Terre D’Ange for the years to come in which you remain bound together?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to wear this crown with grace and poise, understanding the weight and responsibility that it bears to serve the people of this land and bear the mantle of leadership?”

“I do.”

The High Priest nodded and turned to the side where another of Elua’s priests held a cushion of Courcel blue where the queen’s crown rested.  The king’s crown was of gold with fleur-de-lis in silver.  The queen’s crown was the opposite – a thin circlet of silver with gold stars.  Together, they were the lily and stars of the D’Angeline flag.  Together, they were Terre D’Ange. 

The crown settled on Corrian’s auburn head, and she closed her eyes, exhaling with the acceptance of her new title and duty. 

“Arise now, Queen Corrian of Terre D’Ange.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she carefully stood, turning to face the gathered court and courtesans, who bowed to their new queen.  Gustav reached for her hand, taking it and laying a kiss upon her knuckles as he joined her underneath the foliage of Elua’s Oak. 

Mena sighed happily, a huge smile on her face. It was done, life was balanced again.

“I accept this duty with a humble heart,” Corrian said, pitching her voice so all could hear.  She knew that the pages in attendance on their lords were scribbling down every word she spoke so that copies of her speech could be spread across the city and countryside in the days to come. “It is my honor to stand here, and it is my challenge to become the queen that my king and country need.  However, no one person may handle so great a responsibility alone.  None of us walk the journeys of our lives by ourselves. As your queen, I would embrace all of the royal customs of House Courcel, including that of a Royal Companion. It is the right of a member of House Courcel to choose for themselves a member of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers to instruct them in the arts of love and to serve as companion and counsel.  I would like to choose Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, as my Royal Companion, in the sight of Elua and His angels and witnessed by courtier and courtesan alike.”

Now they knew why she had been gifted with the queen’s garland, now they knew why she was invited to walk with them to the tree. Mena felt almost unable to breathe. Her eyes found Odilia’s profile, and she saw the knowledge of this evident in her small smile. The nobles turned their eyes to the Night Court, where the Dahlia stood shining in her metallic bronze among the Dowaynes and Seconds who wore their own hints of her color like badges of honor. 

“The queen has named her Royal Companion,” the High Priest of Naamah said, stepping forward to stand at the tree with the High Priest of Elua.  “Does the Companion accept the title?”

Odilia’s head was high as ever – upright and unbending – as she took her own step forward. “I do.”

“So it is witnessed.”

The High Priest of Naamah beamed as the queen and her new Royal Companion clasped hands and sealed the agreement with a kiss.  Corrian smelled like the flowers that had been her natural perfume; Odilia smelled like the cedar and amber that she favored.  Together they were florals and spice, herbs and woods, balancing beautifully. They parted after a long moment, Corrian slightly breathless and Odilia slightly smug.

Gustav smiled at Odilia and stepped forward himself to reach for her hand, declaring, “It is the greatest and most sacred of our tenets to love as thou wilt.  It is the message that Blessed Elua sought to bring to this world and one that we as D’Angelines embrace completely. All of the city, all of the country knows how much I love you, Odilia, it has never been secret. This marriage will not change that. I, too, wish to embrace you as we continue our journey together forward.”

She smiled at him, and Petrea thought that maybe the sun sone little more dim in comparison to the shared joy that rose from the king and courtesan together.

Rosanna held her breath as the king made his heart known for the entire country, for the world to see. Her heart was full of happiness for Odilia. However, she could not easily spy the other man who had made her dearest friend an offer. No doubt he was happy for her as well but had stepped back so that the lovers might enjoy their triumph, they so deserved this moment. 

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Gustav de la Courcel said clearly, making sure no one could confuse his words. “I love you with all that I am. It is my intention to name you my Royal Mistress, officially, so that all of the world may know what place you have in my heart.”

Corrian held Odilia’s other hand, making her own stance absolutely clear as the courtesan looked at the man before her – seeing in his face the young prince she had met all of those years ago – and said, “I will accept it.”

The High Priest of Naamah was ready again, scarlet robes swishing as they laid their hand over Odilia and Gustav’s clasped ones. “Gustav de la Courcel, you have named Odilia nó Dahlia as your Royal Mistress, and she has accepted. Witnessed by Blessed Elua, by the angel Naamah and all of the Companions, and in the presence of the royal court and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, let it be done.”

Gustav reached into his pocket and produced a ring.  A swan ring identical to the ones he and his wife wore.  It was clear how seriously all three of them took this moment.  Corrian wrapped her arm around Odilia’s waist, both women leaning their heads together to watch as Gustav slid the swan ring onto Odilia’s heart finger. 

The sight of the ring made Mena gasp, though she took comfort in the fact that she was not alone. A Royal Companion, a Royal Mistress, these were things that she had been prepared for. But to announce the titles and to treat them as if Odilia was an equal marriage partner, witnessed by Elua’s tree and both courts? She was happy for them but shocked just the same.

Another kiss, shared between Gustav and Odilia, then Odilia and Corrian, then Corrian and Gustav, and it was done.  The king was married, Terre D’Ange had a Queen, and all the country saw the Dahlia raised up to stand with the royals. 

Storyline: The Meeting of the Dowaynes

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin. 

“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”

Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”

Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”

Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.  

Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House. 

Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much. 

Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”

“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.

“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”

Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.

“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.

Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”

Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’

Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body. 

Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”

The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.

Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.  There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.

“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder. 

“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.” 

Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly.  She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this.  The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement.  Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses.  And thus did they come. 

Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself. 

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting.  They might as well begin. 

“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes.  I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”

“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace.  Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”

“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”

Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.

“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.

Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”

Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”

“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”

“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman.  “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”

“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”

Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.” 

“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”

“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered.  And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words. 

“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”

No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia.  Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched.  She would not back down from this.

“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”

Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?  

“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers.  I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”

“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”

Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone. 

“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”

Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could. 

“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice.  “I am sure we are ready to hear.”

Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking.  Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.

“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate.  We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer.  I blame my romantic heart.  It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful.  While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace.  The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too.  He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”

Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished. 

“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”

She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”

Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant.  Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself. 

One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”

“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider.  And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”

“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second. 

“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court.  I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”

Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.

“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”  

Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.” 

This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons. 

Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”

Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes.  For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years.  And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this. 

The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”

Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.

It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness.  But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics. 

Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court.  Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept.  She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.

Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.”  After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.

So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”

“Aliks!” 

She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house.  We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations.  Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day.  I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”

Odilia nodded, “Very well.”

Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”

Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.

“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?” 

Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?

Storyline: Devotion Dues

The height of the summer was rapidly approaching, and it seemed like years had passed since the ball. Rumor had reached her that Odilia had left the capital soon after the Masque, her destination unclear, and the irritation she felt towards the Dahlia melted away like the snow. She was flooded with guilt for being so frustrated with her, for feeling inconvenienced by someone else’s heartbreak. It was simply that these circumstances were so common in her House that she forgot that it wasn’t the norm. 

News of the death of her friend in Mandrake took longer to sink in than she had thought. Sitting through the service, listening to the priest speak about the Terre d’Ange beyond and how they’d all be reunited, watching Aliks move like a wooden doll in her uncharacteristic black dress, it all felt like it happened to someone else. While she didn’t deal much with Mandrake, her dealings were always with him. She didn’t realize it until she sent her runner to Mandrake to inquire about borrowing an adept. The woman who returned was not one she was familiar with. and it took all she had not to throw the woman out on her ear. There had been nothing wrong with the interaction, it just wasn’t familiar. 

As the woman was escorted to the parlor for small refreshments before they took her back to her House, Mena felt a wave of dizziness overtake her. Clearly she’d been neglecting her health, not that she’d admit that to a soul. Laying her head on the cool marble desktop, she closed her eyes and focused on making a list. First, she must send flowers and a note to Odilia. Even if the woman had no idea, Mena still knew how she’d thought about Odilia, and that needed apology. Second, she had the Showings and a handful of patron requests to handle. There was a rumor that one of her older patrons was returning to the city, so she needed to run that down. She missed him and could use relaxation seeing him always brought. Third, the House response to the king’s betrothal needed to be finalized. They were hanging bunting in the colors of the House Courcel and the House Borlean. The colors blended well, and Mena wanted to make sure that their public support of the king was visible. Fourth, the Dowayne meeting about the royal wedding and what she was to do about the celebration. Because she had no official Second, she’d needed to decide who was going to accompany her. Perhaps Loir. Yes, yes, Loir would be the best choice. She deserved the bit of a break the festivities would give her.

Her head had stopped pounding, so she sat up and stood slowly before reaching the bell pull that would let the kitchen know she needed them. The last problem that she had was her friend Aliks. Something was going on, though there was no official word, the rumors were swirling around the Court like so much muddy water. Whatever was happening in Cereus was nibbling at her through her gossip, like so many little fish in a pond. Aliks was hiding more than her grief at losing the man who was her husband in all ways but the legal one. But what could she be hiding? No one at Cereus was speaking about it and the “Our Dowayne is as well as she can be, all things considered” was suspicious when heard from every mouth in the House. 

Sighing heavily, she reminded herself that was a problem for Future Mena. Right now, she needed to eat, rest, and pen her note to Odilia.

Storyline: Questions Without Answers

The Night Court was like a kicked anthill, there were so many things to tend to. The start of the year was a blur on a good year, everything for the year to come was arranged and planned in the weeks that Heliotrope was closed. This year there was an extra twist. Planning a luncheon for Dowaynes and Seconds? When would be appropriate to invite Dahlia? The parties that were planned where Adepts traveled between Houses to fulfill certain roles? Can we send our list to Dahlia? Heliotrope hosted several Showings for their novices demonstrating how one would woo and be wooed by different types of patrons, and this always required adepts of other Houses. Should we disrupt our normal schedule so we can move Dahlia back out of respect? Normally straightforward tasks suddenly took on a new layer of difficulty leaving Mena and her Seconds asking a hard question:

What exactly are we respecting?

It was Loir that put it in words one night, late in the evening as she was headed to take a patron after having turned in a report of what was happening around the Court. She paused at the door and said quietly, “Mena, with no disrespect towards Odilia, what exactly are we respecting? The king did what noblemen are required to do, select a bride to light a candle with. It happened just last week to Elina and the House didn’t grind to a halt, let alone the whole Court. What are we doing?”

Mena sighed heavily, dropping her head on to the mound of papers in front of her. “To be honest, I am not sure.”

Vouloir nodded. “I don’t think anyone does. But we’re all doing it, aren’t we? I’ll be back to explain after Her Ladyship leaves.”

Mena waved her hand in dismissal, already back to her paperwork. What were they doing, exactly? Everyone, tiptoeing around Dahlia and Odilia, unsure how to proceed. She shook her head. It was a lack of communication, the Houses had no idea what had transpired, from start to finish, and had been left to guess about so much. ‘If Odilia hadn’t played so close to her chest,’ she thought as she made note of the House nurseries she’d need to visit. ‘Maybe we could have helped her, helped His Majesty, eased their burden some how.’’

She groaned, stretching her back. ‘Too late now for that, though. We’re all left bewildered in their wake. Perhaps we need to just ignore what’s happened and carry on as usual?’

Mena stood and abandoned her work, heading instead for the kitchen. A bowl of soup and a friendly visit with the kitchen staff would help clear her head. After that, she’d decide how to move forward. But for now, soup.

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?”