Tag: Philomena nó Heliotrope

To The Boiling Point

“The post has arrived, my lord. Three letters from the Court, one from the financier, and one from Lady Helen,” the footman said from just behind Kyrian, setting the mail on the table next to the bed. Kyrian rolled out of bed, going to stand by the open window. He was still naked from the night before where a maid whose name he did not know had been his plaything. 

“You are sure, footman, that there’s no missive from my pet?” Kyrian asked without looking away from the window. The view of the boats on the distant river was more interesting than what was happening behind him. If he had looked, he would have seen the footman studiously ignoring the young maid who was frantically pulling on her clothes. He would’ve seen the pitying and sympathetic look the footman had given her as she slipped silently out the open door. But he didn’t see any of it because servants and women were not something that Kyrian bothered with unless he had a need.

“Yes, my lord, I am sure, no news from Heliotrope since last week. I’ll take my leave so that my lord can look over the correspondence in peace,” the man said, the door closing quietly behind him. 

Kyrian stood for a moment longer, looking out and thinking about his pet. He didn’t understand why she was avoiding him; it was not her usual behavior. Just before Olivier finally left the House, she’d said that she was going to be busier in the coming weeks and months, so her time would be limited. Surely, as her lord, that meant that their visits would have to be shorter than usual. That had not been a concern for Kyrie; he was able to get what he needed from her in a short time. 

He grabbed his robe off the chair and pulled it on before sitting in his chair to see what the world had brought him today, trying to push thoughts of her out of his mind. First, the financier had written to say that the merchant ships his late brother had purchased and arranged were bringing in the profit expected, so the Montaban house would maintain its station. Kyrie tossed the letter aside, uncaring. He knew he should be wanting the family name to improve, but right now, he was incapable of finding it within himself to care about the Montaban name. Things weren’t declining, that was enough. Once his pet came to him permanently, he would have the means to improve their status. She was pretty, well-bred, and a joy in bed. He was sure that she’d continue to make money. It rankled that something that was his was making money for others, let alone for Olivier. Elua, how he hated that man; he was always making it harder for Kyrie to have access to his pet, claiming that she was no one but her own. Kyrie scoffed, he knew better. That was his pet.

Next, Lady Helen. He sighed heavily, already irritated. What on earth could his mother want now? She was installed in a modest home on the edge of the estate, well-appointed but modest. She had a servant and a cook, plus an allowance. Women were needy like horses but, unlike the animals, they could speak and write.  He ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter, then tossed it into the rubbish pile next to his desk. He thought, ‘Hmm, why hadn’t the maid grabbed that on her way out of the bed? Odd.’ 

Helen, as expected, was pressing him for information on his brother’s whereabouts. He kept telling her that his brother was indisposed, but that wasn’t enough for her, evidently. He really wanted to tell her that his worthless older brother was rotting at the bottom of a ditch near the Skaldi border, but that would evidently upset her. Kyrie put his feet on the desk and pondered for a minute how to proceed. At the time, he’d not known the content of his father’s will, so it seemed that a ditch near Skaldi was the best solution to his problem. If their father’s will had not stated clearly that failing to care for her would result in forfeiture of land and property, Kyrie would have thrown her out on the street. Truth be told, their father would have as well when she had produced the two heirs, but the title and all the things that went with it were from her family. This clause was part of the marriage agreement that had allowed their father access to her to begin with. Both he and Kyrie had tried and failed to find a way out of it; Gerard was another matter altogether. 

Gerard did not agree with the way that Kyrie and their late father handled themselves, so when the old man had finally died, he’d started making changes. Things like moving their mother back into the main house, sending money to the toys he and his father had enjoyed and discarded, and worst of all, he put Kyrie on a strict allowance with stipulations. Kyrie scoffed and poured himself a glass of wine remembering the audacity of his brother. Expecting Kyrie to stop enjoying the servants and settle down with one woman was already too much, but Gerard had made it clear that their father’s teachings on Elua and women had been wrong. Heresy, he’d called them, in the screaming match that had led to Kyrie taking action. Kyrie took a long swig of wine and laughed, the only heresy was the belief that Elua expected all His people to be equals. There were rich and poor, D’Angeline and unfortunates, men and women, and that showed that Elua Himself knew that some were just better than others. Kyrie laughed harder and jotted down a note to have someone go speak to Helen and remind her that she was in that house on her lord Kyrie’s good will, so she needed to act accordingly.

He scooped up the Court correspondences, Lady Helen completely forgotten. The first two were normal, who attended what event, what was upcoming on the social calendar. All of that was handled by his valet, so Kyrie tossed them over his shoulder to discard them. The man would find them and make Kyrie’s schedule accordingly. The last one Kyrie read carefully, his anger rising again. Gustav, or should he say, the Dauphin had returned. He did not know the current Dauphin, but Gerard had been on good terms with the recently departed Daniel. No one was close to a Courcel because of their annoying morals, so it is not as though they were friends, but they were friendly enough that condolences had come when Gerard had died. Kyrie could only assume this new Dauphin would be the same. 

The letter was from one of his friend group, a higher ranking man with similar ideals. The man collected gossip and sent it out to the rest of the group when they were away from Court. According to the missive, the relationship between the new Dauphin and his mother was formal with no hints if they were as close as she was with her late son. Worse, there was proof that prior to him going to the University in Siovale, he had been a regular visitor to Dahlia House. Of all the Houses, it had to be that one. 

Kyrie balled up the paper and threw it at the wall. Dahlia. Dahlia adepts never understood their place; they never properly deferred to him when he’d been forced to visit their public salon in the past. His pet rose to mind again, and righteous indignation swept through him. How dare she. She was his, not anyone else’s. What could she need to do that was more important than serving him? He had to put a stop to this. There was only one way to do that.

He would go to Cereus and order the Dowayne to fix his pet. And while he was there, he would take his fill of the new Dowayne.

To See Olivier

The day Mena was to head out to Laurent’s estate to see Olivier had finally arrived. Though it had really only been two weeks, to Mena it had been a lifetime. She woke early, as the carriage ride would take three hours, and she didn’t want to miss any time with her favorite people. The chirugeons so graciously sent by Niklos had examined her grandfather and come to the same conclusion as his usual one: he was near the end of time here. They suggested that word be sent to Moon House, a place that was staffed largely by retired Balm adepts and specialized in caring for the dying. Today was the day that Eléonora nó Balm, the woman who was picked for Olivier, was arriving at the estate. While Mena’s presence wasn’t required, she would not miss this for all the money in Heliotrope’s coffers. This visit, like all to the Marquis’s home, was to be a homey affair, so she didn’t need to put on anything fancy. She opted for a dress like the ones she wore before patrons arrived, albeit a new one. It was loose enough that she was able to put it on alone, which granted her private time for her thoughts. 

Yawning, she laid out her light coat and slipped her feet into her favorite shoes, her thoughts shying away from speculation on Olivier’s condition and settling to the equally unpleasant topic of Kyrie and—

The door to her room slammed open, saving her from that line of thought, but startling her so much that she swore like a merchant. Loir, for who else would it be since no one else was as comfortable with Mena as her, started laughing. “Thank Elua that Kyrian isn’t here to hear such unladylike words come from your mouth.”

Mena snorted her own laugh. “Oh please, don’t remind me. I am ready to be free of him.”

Loir came over and picked up the brush, helping Mena with her hair. “I know you are, but I have a feeling that, when all is said and done, getting rid of the plague will have been less of a feat than yourself from disentangling him.”

Mena sighed, letting her shoulders drop. Loir was her closest friend, someone that she never had to keep up appearances around. “I know, Loir, he didn’t handle this last week well, did he?”

“I think a cat would handle an ice bath better,” Loir said, her hands making quick work of Mena’s hair, braiding it and having it pinned up in half the time it would have taken Mena herself. “But they say that the first step is always the hardest, do they not?”

“Let’s pray you’re right, I have too much going on to have to add the alternative to my list.”

*

“This bread is incredible,” Eléonora said, dipping said bread into her soup. “I am glad to know that we don’t have any worries about your diet, Olivier.”

The group was seated in the large conservatory at the de Clair estate, enjoying a comfortable meal. Eléonora had arrived and immediately it was clear that she was a perfect fit. She slid into a space in Mena’s little family that she didn’t know existed until the other woman filled it.

Olivier laughed, his hearty, room-filling laugh filling the large space as easily at it filled Mena’s heart. “The bread at Heliotrope is famous. Our cook is magical, everything she makes is delicious, but baking is where her talent really shines.”

He stopped for a moment to cough into a handkerchief, dark blue to better camouflage the blood, before continuing. “She sends unbaked loaves to us daily.”

“I tell her she should sell them and make money for her family,” Mena chimed in, “but she’s insistent it’s for us to love and share alone. Eléonora, the next time you come to the city, please come by the house. We’d love to share our hospitality with you.”

“Please, call me Leona,” the other woman said with a smile. “I would love to experience food that’s referred to as ‘magical.’ To the matter at hand, if no one objects?”

Mena felt her heart drop, but she kept her face calm as nodded. When she looked around the table, she saw tears in Laurent’s eyes, so she reached out for his free hand, lacing their fingers together in support. Olivier’s face was tired, his raw emotions visible. Mena wished she was closer, she wanted to do something to ease his pains.

Leona smiled, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “I am here with you all until the end, and beyond if you need me. I promise to do anything and everything to ease this transition for you, Olivier.” She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it firmly. “I will take care of you, and I will make sure your loved ones are taken care of, as well. Pass that burden of care to me, all of you, and just revel in your time together.”

Tears choked Mena’s throat, stealing her voice and making her shake slightly. All she could manage was a tight nod, her vision swimming. She felt a warm, strong hand take her free hand and squeeze it. It was Leona, she knew it, and she let herself take the comfort freely offered.

They all sat in silence, letting the hard fact sink in. Olivier’s days were waning, his sunlike warmth slipping towards the horizon. Mena took a deep breath, letting the knowledge filter through her body, promising herself that she would soak in as much of Oilivier as possible every visit she was able to make. That way she could carry him with her through the cold days that would inevitably come, and she could pass that warmth to others when they needed it. 

She made eye contact with him, feeling his love wash over her. When he smiled at her, it was easy to return it. Olivier nó Heliotrope was a paragon of the House ideals. Mena hoped she could manage to walk in his footsteps and be a credit to both him and the House.

*

In the evening, after the moon rose, Laurent took Leona to familiarize her with the ins and outs of his household, leaving Mena with Olivier. Hours prior, Mena had moved to the deep sofa Olivier was reclining on, burrowing into his side like she had as a child. He had wrapped one arm around her, still turning the pages on his book with the other hand. Mena had her embroidery project on her lap, working diligently, letting her responsibilities slip away and be replaced with the familiar comfort of the man who raised her.

Laurent and Leona hadn’t been gone long when Olivier spoke. “Your mother and the duke came to see me yesterday. It was so good of her to come all this way to see an old man.”

Mena set her work down and turned to lean her cheek on his chest, “You’re not just ‘an old man’, Gran-père, you’re her Dowayne.”

He laughed, loud and full, only coughing lightly as he spoke. “You’re sweet child, but I’ve not been her Dowayne in decades. Even before she left the house, she had detached from us all and turned her light elsewhere. We’re all lucky that she landed on the duke, he was always one of her kindest patrons.”

Mena made a quiet noise of agreement, “That is true, the duke is so very kind. He’s as kind as he is intelligent and devoted to her. I suppose in that way, she’s living Heliotrope still, despite not being with us.”

“Ah, baby duck,” Olivier sighed deeply, closing his book and pulling her closer. “That hurt hasn’t gone yet has it? I had always hoped that by this time, you would have found your own sun to help you fill that spot with warmth. And understand why Chrystanthe did what she did. It has never been that she didn’t love you or want you, child. She loved you so much that she saw that she wouldn’t be able to shine on you like you needed. She set aside herself and asked me to nurture you into your best self.”

Mena nodded but didn’t respond. This was a conversation they’d had countless times over Mena’s life. Chrysanthe had married the duke and left the house when Mena was three, breaking the House tradition of parents raising their children. While growing up, Mena heard so many stories of her mother; how delicate Chrysanthe was, how she had always been suited to receiving devotions not bestowing them, how her mother had spoken openly that she wanted a child so that she could feel the love of a child. She’d heard the whispers that the only reason Chrysanthe had agreed to Olivier’s plan was that she assumed any child she bore would look at her with the singular focus she craved. All of the older adepts spoke critically of her, saying that while she was a Heliotrope, she wasn’t a true and balanced one, how she was selfish, on the edge of being an embarrassment to the house. 

“You know,” Olivier’s pensive voice cut through the fog of her thoughts, bringing her mind away from the turbulence that was her mother. “I would like to see Belisario one last time.”

Mena nodded, “I will go to Byrony and tell him to come. It has been long enough, I am sure he’s let it go. Or if not, I know Arietta will escort him here herself.”

Olivier was silent for a long moment before he spoke quietly, “Your grandmother and I never could figure out where we went wrong with him.”

Mena shook her head, “You know it’s not wrong. He’s just devoted to Namaah and Elua differently. Just like his sisters and brother went to different Houses, Belisario was always for Bryony.”

Olivier shook his head, “If it was just being for Bryony, I would not be so troubled. The others, they stepped on to their paths easily, to Balm, to the guards, to a quiet life in Aragonia—” he trailed off, tipping his head back, clearly struggling. Mena didn’t interrupt his thoughts, she knew that as much as Chrysanthe was like a millstone on her neck, Belisario was Olivier’s. 

After a few minutes of thought, Olivier finally spoke again. “It was like no matter the love we shone on him, it was never enough. He views love as his due, not a gift from Namaah to be shared. I have tried and tried to understand, we all have, but he just jealously hoards everything he can grasp as though Elua and Namaah will come and take it from him at any moment.”

He started coughing, more violently this time, the attack grabbing him in its jaws with incredible speed, making him shake with the force of it. Mena moved quickly, giving him his handkerchief, shifting to her knees so she could lean him forward to help, and running her hand smoothly over his back as she tried to soothe him through it. She chose to ignore how thin he was, how he felt like little more than skin laid loosely over bone beneath her palm. Leona and Laurent returned, both out of breath as though they had run when they heard him start coughing. Leona reached into her apron and pulled out a small bottle. Moving with a speed and grace that only decades in Balm could grant, she gently cradled Olivier’s head and helped him drink from the bottle. When he was done, she leaned him back and smoothed his wrinkled clothing with soft hands. He smiled at her, reaching blindly for Mena’s hand and squeezing it tightly when he caught it. She sat, still on her knees, holding his hand, until the medicine gently pulled him into sleep.

“Child, we should let him rest now,” came Leona’s soft voice.

Mena nodded, taking a moment to set his book safely within reach, tucking him in so he stayed warm. He was always so cold now. She stood carefully and looked at Leona. “Thank you. Already, you are easing his suffering.”

Leona nodded, but didn’t respond, instead taking Mena’s hand in hers as quiet comfort. Laurent spoke quietly. “Your carriage is out front whenever you need to head back to the city.”

Mena took a deep breath and nodded, “I will go now. I have so much work to handle. He asked me to go to Byrony. I’ll send word when I do.”

Laurent’s face fell, and he sighed. “I went before we left the city. Belisario refused to even speak to me. I am afraid it’s a fool’s errand.”

Mena pulled her hand gently from Leona’s grasp and cupped Laurent’s face. “He will see me, Laurent, or he will pay.”

Whispers at the Table – Part 2

Mena heard them coming before they arrived. Loir had a razor sharp wit and a quick tongue that always managed to stay on the right side of propriety. If it hadn’t been for her desire to deeply bond with people, to understand them, and to honor them, the combination of that wit and her confidence in her place would have landed her in Dahlia.

When the door opened, Mena smiled and went to greet her friend. “Niklos, it is wonderful to see you after so long. I am glad you sent word. We were beginning to worry about you.”

She took the robe from Loir and made a shooing motion. “Off you go, Loir, the Olivier Party has started, and I’m sure the merchants will be arriving soon. Perhaps you’ll find a favorite.”

Loir sighed as she turned to leave. “I am sure my favorite will be no merchant, Mena. I saw more than enough of them back home, and they do not interest me. My Lord, it was a pleasure to see you.”

He grinned as Loir sighed. “Perhaps they might be no favorite of yours, Vouloir… but you could very well be a favorite of theirs. And that is a complicated line to walk. Best of fortune to you!” He turned back to Mena, pausing as she went to pull on her robe.

Mena turned her attention to Nik as she pulled on her robe. “Please, sit, sit! We aren’t standing on any ceremony you don’t want tonight. Leonardo opened your wine for you; we still have that crate you sent. And dinner will be here very soon.”

Taking a seat at the table, he smiled at Mena. “You should sit, too. There’s to be no dancing attendance tonight. And I’m glad to be back in the city. The plague caught us all unawares in Kusheth. I am glad you look as hale as you do. How are things here?”

She slid into her chair with a quiet sigh. “Things went shockingly smoothly in Heliotrope. Very few of us became ill and we had no deaths, thanks in part to us already being careful because of Olivier’s health.” As she talked, she selected a few items from the array on the table and placed them on the plate in front of Niklos. “I can not say the same for other Houses, unfortunately. Rumor has it that Balm and Valerian were hardest hit, but I have not heard any official confirmation of that.”

He nodded slowly, having heard something similar about Valerian. “One can’t be too surprised, considering the more… interactive nature… of those Houses. They would have put themselves into close proximity to sick people. I would be willing to bet some of the Balm adepts fell ill trying to assist in healing, especially if the chirurgeons felt someone’s situation was a milder case.” He smiled as the plate appeared in front of him, poking at things briefly. “How is your Dowayne? I know he’s been slowly declining for some time, but is he still in good spirits?” Niklos knew all too well what losing someone was like. Sometimes, and this was infrequent, it was like Uncle Demitrios’s passing, but often it was much… messier.

“I believe that to be the case about Balm, I know that there are adepts who refuse to see outside help and only get their care there. As for Valerian—” She sighed, trying to choose her words. “— heard that unlike Cereus where fragility is expected and sacred, Valerian treats fragility as something for the patron to explore and push. So they had a few adepts who were already healing, who’d been pushed to a limit that was normal, but the plague overwhelmed them.”

It hurt her to hear of fellow adepts who suffered and died when it was, to her, an avoidable situation. She wasn’t an expert, and she wasn’t sure how much of what she’d been told was true, but she hoped that Valerian found a way to honor Naamah and still guard those among them that were delicate. 

Giving her head a small shake, she looked up from her plate and opened her mouth to answer, when a knock drew her up short. In came their meal, on a cart that would be left, and in a pot that was set on the stove. The novice who brought it curtsied to Niklos and then to Mena before leaving on silent feet.

“It seems we have roasted fowl, cheese, and Cook’s best bread for our meal, as well as some manner of soup that will be ready soon.” She smiled at him. “It is simple fare and I’d offer an apology but Cook’s bread is the best in the city and could carry a meal alone.”

She uncovered the fowl, the aroma filling the room. “Please, eat as you will. I know there is always more in our kitchen.” Leaning back, she sipped her wine slowly before she answered his most important question. “This is a matter of great discretion, it goes without saying that it cannot leave this room. No one outside of this household knows, but our Dowayne is in the last stage of his life. He was advised by his chirurgeon to retire to the home of his lover, the Marquis de Clair.” Mena turned her head towards the open door and gazed out into the garden, feeling tears gather in her eyes. “He departed this morning.”

Nik had been treated to the food produced by Heliotrope’s kitchens and their redoubtable cook in the past, and he knew the meal would be outstanding. He moved to serve them both and paused as he saw Mena’s eyes go distant, refraining from immediately beginning to portion out as she spoke. 

He winced softly, his brows drawing together. “Oh, Mena, I’m so sorry… if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. Your Dowayne has always been a wonderful man, and he has certainly been kind to me throughout the years. We have some Eisandine chirurgeons that we have contracts with. Not to say his chirurgeon isn’t good, but perhaps another set of eyes….” he trailed off as he saw the sparkle in her eyes, and stood silently, stepping around the table to embrace her tightly. “If there’s anything at all…” He just held her for a time, offering silent support in place of failing words.

Mena leaned into him for a moment, then said quietly, “Thank you, Niklos. Here in the House, I am the one they lean on. I am to be Dowayne after all. I don’t have anyone who’s there for me to lean on like this. It means a lot to me.”

She wiped her eyes and smiled at him. “I also appreciate the offer of a second chirurgeon. He’s been looked at by a man who teaches in Eisande, and the answer is all the same. Whatever it is that’s eating him from the inside has almost finished him. He’s coughing blood now, and the chirurgeon has gone.” She waved her hand. “Somewhere that I can not remember, he’s gone somewhere to get things to ease Olivier’s pain. That’s all that’s left now.”

Ignoring the way her hands shook a little, she reached over and started cutting the chicken into slices. “It’s harder than most people realize. He is my grandfather by blood.” Her hands were steadier when she carefully placed slices of the chicken she knew Niklos preferred on his plate. Looking up at him, she continued, “Now that you know, that makes—” She stopped to count, her brow furrowing for a moment. “That makes nine people in the world that know.”

He nodded slowly, taking in all the news. Nik hadn’t moved from her side as he watched her steel herself to the loss that she knew was coming. At her revelation that Olivier was her grandfather, he started. There had always been rumors, of course. Noble or Night Court, whenever someone younger was suddenly thrust into the spotlight before their course, there was always some reason why. They were the illegitimate child of someone powerful. Their parent had done some great but secret service to the realm. Or, in Mena’s case, it was just a simple family connection. He made a mental note to have Jacob send the best chirurgeons they knew to the de Clair estate—with introductory letters, of course—he would not have his friend’s grandfather suffer any worse if there was some way he could help prevent it. 

He slowly retook his seat, his eyes on Mena. “Are you certain that tonight is still a good night for us? I have no desire to overtax you unnecessarily. But, I also couldn’t bear missing out on your cook’s food. The kitchens of Heliotrope are well-praised.” He smiled faintly, taking a slow sip of wine and waiting for Mena’s reaction.

Mena returned his smile, feeling some of the weight off of her shoulders after telling someone. She understood the need for secrecy, particularly after the plague, but that didn’t make it any less upsetting. “No, I am very sure that tonight is good. I invited you, after all. I knew what was going on here and I craved friendly company. Now—” She sipped her own wine and exhaled. “—I will leave you to puzzle out the mystery of my parentage. I know the Shahrizai mind loves a good puzzle, and this one is quite twisted up. I would like to know what you were up to while the plague trapped us all.”

He grinned. Now that he knew some of her heritage, it might be easier to puzzle out her family. He might not, though. Sometimes a little mystery was fun. He took a sip of her wine and cleared his throat before responding. “What was I up to during the plague? I was at my parents’ estate. My father issued quarantine orders and closed the property before even the city was closed. We had no contact with the rest of Kusheth, let alone any further afield, from early March until the third week in May when word finally reached us from the city that the quarantine had been lifted. We got very little news in, as Father has never kept many pigeons, and the ones he sent out when we quarantined were returned quickly with acknowledgements from the various family members who had been informed. It took a messenger of the Royal Guard to get him to open the gates, and if we’d been missed, I likely would still be on the estate. Not that I fault him… none of the residents of the estate caught the plague, and since it was spring, there was plenty of work to be done anyway. It was just… so miserably boring. I can only lose a game of chess to my father so many times before I begin to feel like he’s toying with me. Toward the end of our playing, even I could see the mistakes I was making, I just couldn’t see how to avoid his traps. Life on a minor holding in Kusheth is rather pastoral and bucolic, if you want to be a farmer.” 

Mena laughed. “Niklos, not only did you, a.Shahrizai, describe your home as ‘bucolic’, you lost at chess repeatedly! The scandal! Don’t worry, your secret is safe here.”

He grinned and shrugged, choosing not to bring up Demitrios… he had to make certain everything would go according to the man’s wishes and will. But wouldn’t that be a surprise for his old friends, once he felt comfortable telling the whole tale. “Of course, we heard later that some members of the family passed, I think only one to plague, though, thank Eisheth. Thanks to Father’s proactive stance on the plague, though, we missed the funerals, but I believe the family understood. That might be a reason why I was sent to the city for this year—they probably figured I’d been cooped up with my parents enough already this year.” He chuckled before taking a bite of the chicken on his plate. “It could be an interesting summer.”

Mena nodded. “I think it will be an interesting summer. There’s whispers in the palace that Prince Gustav has been called back, patrons are finally coming back after so long stuck with the handful here, and the Weaver’s Guild finally signed a contract for dye with this new caravan. Things are finally changing.”

Niklos leaned back in his chair, a frown on his face. Prince Gustav—well he supposed he was the Dauphin now—had been called back? That was both good and bad. Things might be changing more rapidly now that he was back in town. Nik had never been thoroughly impressed with Gustav. He always seemed a bit of a fop, and there had been rumors that his eye had been caught by one of the Night Court adepts some time ago. 

Nik took a deep breath and smiled. “Well, it’s good to hear the Weaver’s Guild was able to get some business done. And it’s better to hear that you’re getting some options on patrons again. I can’t imagine how difficult things must have gotten.” He took another sip of wine. “Are there any other rumors out of the palace? Anything that might have made ripples on the Mont without disrupting the rest of the city?”

Mena swirled her wine glass and rolled her eyes, “You have no idea how tedious those months were for us. We had a handful of dedicated patrons who still came.” She felt her face twist at the unbidden thought of Kyrian before she smoothed it out and went on. “I’m sure you can imagine how that played out. As for the rest of the Mont…”

Trailing off, she thought through all the information Loir had given her over the last weeks. “Well there’s something happening at Cereus that I think Aliks should tell you about. Dahlia is starting to buzz like a kicked hive. Prince Gustav’s imminent return has even the most stoic and shall we say frigid of them invested in what’s happening outside of their walls.”

She realized belatedly that might have been petty wording it as such, but she knew Nik, and knew he wanted honesty from his friends. And what sort of Heliotrope adept would she be if she denied him what he wanted most?

”I did hear through the grapevine that Bryony made an absolute killing during our months of isolation. That’s not surprising, it is Bryony after all, but I heard that this was exceptional by their standards.” She leaned in a sly grin on her face. “I heard that one merchant lost a ship at the games tables. The adept was evidently only nineteen with their marque barely started, of course. The limner’s apprentice says they scheduled it to completion off that one patron, with money to spare.”

She sipped her wine before going on. “And that was just the one story that made it out fastest. Loir heard it when she went for her most recent appointment. Word from the other houses hasn’t made it to our ears, unfortunately. You know how insular Mandrake and Valerian are, you’ll have to go there for information. If you do—” She gestured with her hands and winked. “—Remember how good Cook’s bread is.”

He chuckled softly. “I would have been one of those dedicated patrons, if I hadn’t been stuck in the wilds of Kusheth. But things happen for a reason, right?” 

He was a little surprised at the almost catty comment about Dahlia, but Mena wasn’t wrong. And he appreciated her unvarnished words. “A merchant lost an entire ship to Bryony? Must have been a Caerdicci… they tend to have more lust than brains.” He sounded exasperated, he’d had some not great experiences in Tiberium, and some of the merchants still set him off. 

He continued picking at his food. It was delicious, but he was enjoying the conversation more. There had been so much he’d missed out on for those months. “I hadn’t planned to check into Valerian, and you know my preferences don’t… lean towards Mandrake. They do put on a fabulous showing, and their table is one of the better ones in the city… but that might be because they contract with Valerians to be present as servers. Usually one of the Valerians…” He trailed off. Some things he wouldn’t speak about in another House. “Well, we’ll be able to talk about that later. You should come to the townhouse for dinner some time. Maybe once things are more settled for you?” He smiled sadly, knowing exactly what was going on and the implications of that. 

Mena gestured excitedly. “Are you referring to the Adept Comme Assiette? That is something that must be experienced at least once even when it involves things past one’s own boundaries.”

She caught the sadness in his smile, though her own didn’t slip as she said. “Or, you send a messenger with a time and place, and I’ll come visit while I can go tell Olivier all about it after, if that’s alright with you.  You know how he loves a good tale.”

Whispers at the Table – Part 1

Mena sat on the sill of one of the wide windows, lost in thought. Every minute that passed made it clear that Nik would be attending dinner with her. It was good. Olivier had said his goodbyes to the House just an hour before and had set off for the d’Clair villa. Everyone wept, Olivier included, but they all knew it had to be this way. Mena had felt a clawing panic rise up as the carriage left the courtyard and turned towards the Western Gate. Even though she was to go to see him in four days, it was the first time they’d really been apart like this since she was born.

Shaking her head, she stood from her seat and made her way back to the kitchen, touching the shoulders of the adepts who sat around the main salon. 

As she left the room, she heard Dara say, “Come on, loves, Olivier wouldn’t want us to sit around with long faces. We’ll have guests soon! Remember, there’s the monthly Olivier Party tonight! The dye contract went through with the Weaver’s Guild, so the caravan that found the supplier will be in high spirits. We don’t want their first taste of our signature dye to be with tear streaked faces! Come on now, up we go.”

Mena smiled, pushing open the kitchen door. Dara was always good for a party. She loved games, loved making new games to keep the parties new and fun. Recently, she had become intrigued by an old Hellene game that Mena could not understand clearly, but Dara claimed would be fun with a few small changes. The next night the House was closed to all but scheduled visitors, she promised she’d show everyone. 

“Cook? I’m sorry to bother you,” she called out across the room. Food preparation was in full swing. The party needed food, dinners needed to be served to patrons, adepts needed to eat, and children needed to be fed their evening meal. Mena felt guilt wash over her.

Cook turned to her with red rimmed eyes and said, “Oh, my sweet, you are rarely a bother. What can I do for you?”

Mena smiled apologetically. “I am expecting Lord Niklos for dinner. Would it be too much to ask for a meal to be served in one of the back dining rooms?”

Cook’s face split into a wide grin. “Lord Niklos is coming back! Thank Elua. I was worried something had happened to him. Of course I would be glad to feed my favorite Shahrizai, I’ll even break out a bottle of his favorite wine. Now, shoo, girl.” She gestured at Mena just like she would a novice. “I have work to do. Go get the room opened and ready, and I’ll see to the rest of it.”

*

Niklos had been pleased that Mena had gotten back to him so quickly. He was only slightly surprised that she had been the first, considering her arrangement with the Azzalese lord, but he had responded to set up a dinner with her. And now the evening was upon them. He dressed appropriately—no one would ever accuse any of the Shahrizai of being improperly attired for any occasion, but as this was a friendly dinner and nothing of more serious import, he was dressed a little more casually. White shirt and black breeches—he’d always hated hose—and a brocade vest with the Shahrizai crest over his heart. Jacob had ordered one of the coaches for him as there was no one else in the city to use it, and the coachman was in need of a distraction, or so Jacob had told Niklos. And so Niklos had set off for Heliotrope House. 

The ride to the Mont was uneventful, but Niklos was too distracted to pay attention. He had a lot on his mind: he would need to speak with the Queen and the Dauphin regarding his investiture with Demitrios’s lands and titles, and there seemed to be undercurrents of activities happening all throughout the city. Jacob had reported that some of the Houses were not taking as much business as was usual, even for the summer, and that implied something. But Niklos didn’t yet have the information he needed to make a play, which is partially why he’d been sent to the city in the first place. He would have to see what information he could get from Mena and see which way the winds were starting to blow.

*

The small dining room on the back corner of the house was Mena’s personal favorite. It was quiet, removed from the hustle and bustle, was heated by a stove instead of a fireplace, and had large double doors that could be opened in good weather like tonight. She set the table casually—she was entertaining a friend after all—made sure the lamps were high enough, checked that the stove had enough fuel, and threw open the doors. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of night air.

There was a rapid knock on the door, and it swung open before she had the chance to respond. A small flood of people came through it: Cook’s assistant with two bottles of wine; an older child carrying a glass bowl of flowers; another child pushing a small cart with small dishes full of pickled vegetables, meatballs, cooked vegetables and other foods to tide them over while dinner was finished; the butler, his expert eyes scanning the room to ensure everything was to his standard; and at the end of the flow was Loir, wearing a grin. 

As people set down what they were carrying, the butler looked at her, worry flashing over his face. “My lady, are you sure that opening both doors is wise? It is still chilly, and the last thing we need is for you to be sick for even a day.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you for your concern, Leonardo, I will have Loir bring me my heavier robe once she’s passed on her message.”

That seemed to mollify him. He nodded, uncorked Nik’s wine so it could breathe, needlessly turned the flower bowl, and headed to the door. “Do not hesitate to send for blankets or more fuel, my lady.”

Loir stepped aside to let him pass and grinned at Mena. “His Lordship is here. Would you like me to bring him back after I bring you that robe?”

”You can bring him and my robe at the same time.” Mena laughed. “The Lord Shahrizai has seen me before I was ready for the public, so I doubt he would be offended by the sight of a heavy robe.”

Loir nodded. “He is very pragmatic and level-headed. Two things I never thought I’d see in a Shahrizai.”

Mena threw her head back and laughed. “How much of D’Angelline politics did you learn in Jebe-Barkal?”

”When I made my intention clear, Papa gave me a thorough course in politics and history. Mama wanted me to do what I thought would elevate me, and Papa wanted me to be prepared.” She shrugged, still laughing. “It’s not my fault I also got his Camlachian sensibilities. I’ll return with both of your packages, Lady Second.” Loir dropped a curtsy that was deeper than ever needed, making Mena roll her eyes and laugh even harder.

”You better, scoundrel. I know where you sleep.”

*

Niklos slipped out of the coach to a flurry of activity. Stable boys rushing out to aid the coachman with the horses and two servants opening the doors to the main entry hall of the house. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a cloak. He always hated people fussing over him, and the servants stumbling over taking his overgarments would have annoyed him more than he would have wanted. 

As he stepped into the entry hall, he was brought up short by a dark-skinned young woman waiting for him. A faint smile crossed his lips as he recognised the robe in her arms.  “I presume you’re to take me to Mena, as you have her robe in your possession? ” He stepped up to her and gestured deeper into the house. Pleasantries could be exchanged at any time, and as this was a private dinner between friends, there was no negotiation needed. “And what might this humble noble call you, my dear?”

Loir laughed lightly and curtsied. “My Lord Shahrizai, I know it has been some months, but I can’t have changed that much. It is Vouloir, your second favorite Heliotrope. If you follow me, Mena is in the back dining room. And you’ll remember how Leonardo hovers about her health.”

He grinned, his teeth showing briefly. He had met Vouloir once before, and the woman was as quick-witted as he remembered. Still, there was something else there to it. “You must be shouldering some additional responsibility, Vouloir, and that has given you a more somber mein.” He chuckled, nodding at her comments about Leonardo. “I do remember Leondaro’s fussing, indeed, but that’s his job, isn’t it? And the back dining room? I’m shocked! I didn’t realize my presence merited the back dining room. I shall dine on this tale for weeks, once someone gets back to this blessed city for me to share it with!” He teased lightly. The cousins he would tell would indeed be impressed, as Heliotrope was known for its well-presented rooms. None of them, however, had been invited to as intimate a space as one of the private dining rooms.

“As you should, my lord.” Loir smiled at him. “With the exception of your lordship, the esteemed Shahrizai family often overlooks our hospitality in favor of others. So let them be so jealous that it flavors their morning tea.”

Kushiel’s Keys

Spring had begun clear and bright, and Niklos was at his parents’ estate in Kusheth when news broke of the plague ravaging the City of Elua. His father, the wise man he was, had immediately placed a quarantine on their lands, sending out their last pigeons to some of the family locally. So, Niklos had weathered the entire spring on the border of Mohrban-Shahrizai lands, no cousins visiting, and no little news coming in. He had his books, to be certain, and his father made sure he was also helping out around the estate, but spring had always provided time to visit the family… and decide who was headed to the City for the summer. The cousins often drew lots or wagered their chances over card and dice games, and with his father’s quarantine, Nik figured he’d be left out of the running. 

In mid-May, word from the City had gone out, informing everyone that the plague had lifted, so Nik’s father had ended his quarantine. With the news of the plague abating, they also received a message they should have received in February. Apparently, Great Uncle Demitrios had died at the end of January and had named Niklos his heir to his County. Days after, messages began flooding into the estate, the most important one from Demitrios’ Steward and Secretary, informing Niklos that the will had been verified by the Judiciary in the City of Elua and had been accepted, and that legally there was no bar to his inheritance. There had been other letters from jealous cousins, but the will stipulated that the County was to go to the most senior Shahrizai of Niklos’ generation who was not currently in line for their own title. 

Nik didn’t make it to the City until the second week of June. There had been far too much going on. He’d had to make the trip to Angers to assure the staff and folk of the titled estate that he had no plans to change anything at the moment, but that he was looking forward to discussing the running of the County and seeing where they could improve. He also was shown the books of accounts and was surprised to see that the estate was doing well financially, Great Uncle Demitrios had been a good steward of his lands.

Upon his entry to the City, Nik took up residence in one of the townhouses the family owned. There were cousins already in residence, but rumor of the inheritance had already spread to the Shahrizai in the city. There was some squabbling, but most just continued on with their usual summer activities. He was introduced to Jacob, the townhome’s butler, and was informed that someone from Jacob’s family had served with the Shahrizai for generations. The man was considered impeccably trustworthy by all the senior members of the family. Nik was certain they would get along fabulously.

He had been in the city for a few days, getting settled before reaching out to some of the people he knew from his previous visits. His first letters went out to some of the nobles he’d gotten to know, but many of them remained unanswered. Some people had moved up in the world, and his inheritance was not generally known, so he was ignored. Some were out of the City on their own business. Finally, he began sending out notes to those he recalled from the Night Court, including Aliksandria nó Cereus and Philomena nó Heliotrope. His last time in residence, he had spent a good amount of time in all the houses of the Night Court, and had enjoyed his time in both Cereus and Heliotrope. He expected that, with the calendar moving to full summer, patronage would be reduced in the Court, and he might be able to see some of his old acquaintances and renew some old relationships.

*

When Mena received Nik’s letter, it was the most welcome of distractions. Today was the day Olivier was moving to the Marquis de Clair’s home. So instead of thinking about that, she read her friend’s letter and thought about how to reply. She finally decided on a quickly handwritten note:

Dear Lord Niklos,

Welcome back to the city, my friend! Please, come to Heliotrope this evening as our cherished guest. We would love to catch up with you, and it would be our pleasure to offer you a meal.

Mena

She folded the missive up as she went out into the hallway to find someone to carry the message back across town. 

Complications of Devotion

The plague that had ravaged the land had somehow spared Heliotrope House. Despite his illness, their beloved Dowayne Olivier Mathan nó Heliotrope had not fallen ill, their ranks were not much diminished, and the handful of babes born had all lived. Every day, Second Philomena Desiderio nó Heliotrope led a handful of Adepts and Novices to the shrines of Elua and Eisheth, aiding the priests in keeping them clean, and leaving their own offerings. 

Heliotrope was blessed beyond measure.

*

Mena stretched carefully, her back aching from having been hunched over her desk since breakfast. There was so much paperwork, more than normal. With her grandfather, the Dowayne, needing to rest, more of his duties were falling to her. At least this batch of orders – requests for visits from Patrons, requests for Adepts, official correspondence from the doctor’s guild, and messages from other Houses – had been handled. She understood why the Dowayne had designated a network of Adepts to help run the House. It was too much for one person. However, that network was attached to his time as Dowayne and, as his successor, she would have to decide how she wanted to run the House and who she wanted to aid her. To that end, all the paperwork was on her desk in the Official Second’s office, and she felt like she was going to be buried under it. 

The breeze carried a slight warmth that said spring was right around the corner. While not her favorite season, it was still a welcome change after the brutality of both the past winter and the plague. Mena wished she was able to get out in the fresh air, she wished she had a Patron lined up, she wished for many things, few of them within her reach today. She sighed deeply and stood, stretching her arms over her head for a more vigorous stretch. There was a polite knock at her half open door, followed by the smiling face of her friend Vouloir.

“Oh good, you’re already taking a break,” Vouloir said with a smile.

Mena laughed and said, “Better than that, Loir, I’m caught up for the day.”

Loir grinned back and came all the way into the room, “Really? That stack from this morning was massive. I can’t wait until I’m able to actually help you.”


“You’re almost there, once your Marque is half-finished, I can start training you.”

Loir smiled, “And if Lord and Lady de’Marr keep being generous, that will be before the Masque.”

Mena snorted, “Knowing you and them, you’ll be there before summer solstice on the outside.”

Throwing her head back in a loud, honest laugh, Loir said, “That may be true, we’ll see what Naamah has to say about it, I suppose.” She shook her head, her smile taking on a gentle air, “I came in here for two reasons; first, Olivier has asked for you to come up and Lord Montaban sent word, he’ll be around for your dinner.”

Mena smiled, “Good for him, I suppose, that I don’t already have a patron for the evening. Please have my room aired out and the table reset. I’ll see him in there, of course. And see if we’ve any more of that apple wine I like, I cannot stand to drink the red he brings. It’s bitter.”

Loir nodded, “Of course. If you’ve time, you should come by the main salon in between. Dara has the first version of her ball toss game set up.”

“Ooh, I hope I have time, I’m excited to see what she’s come up with. Elua knows we need all the fun and cheer we can get.”

*

Olivier’s rooms were on the first floor, though it hadn’t always been. Three years prior, he’d fallen off his horse and broken his hip, so the chirurgeon had insisted that his rooms be moved to the ground floor. While he’d made a full recovery and even gone back to riding, his rooms remained where they’d been moved. Mena made her way to the familiar door and knocked three times, just as she always had.

“Come in,” she heard her grandfather say and she pushed the door open with a smile.

Olivier was seated on his sofa near the fire, his feet tucked up under one of the many blankets her late grandmother had made. As his health declined, he left these rooms less and less, though he always made it a point to get out of the bed.

Also seated on the sofa, with Olivier’s feet in his lap was Laurent, the Marquis de Clair of Namarre, her grandfather’s long time lover. He’d been spending more and more time in the House, particularly after he’d been forced to stay when the plague was considered so dangerous that they’d been told to remain indoors. 

“Granpère, Laurent, you sent for me?” She took her usual seat on the ottoman in front of the sofa and smiled at the two of them. Mena loved Laurent, he’d always been kind and gentle with her.

“I sent for you, child, Laurent is just here to be attractive, as usual,” Olivier said with nothing but fondness in his tone.

“My deepest apologies, esteemed and dearest grandfather,” she replied with a barely restrained laugh and a half bow.

“Tch,” her grandfather said, reaching out with firm but gentle hands to hold her face, “Why are you so much like me?”

“Lucky is what I’ve always been told,” she quickly replied, “Grandmother always said it was for the best, since your son-“

“Is a disgrace, yes, yes, I know what she said,” he cut in, a little irritation evident in his tone, “If I hadn’t been there when the candle was lit, I would say he was no son of mine, but alas, we have to play with the hand we were dealt.”

Mena smiled, taking Olivier’s hand in her own and saying, “Granpère, I doubt you sent for me to complain about my parentage-“

“Half of it, don’t malign Chrysanthe like that. She’s not cruel, just delicate,” he cut in with a smile.

“Half of my parentage. You can do that with just Laurent, you don’t need me for that.” She finished with a smile.

“I never need you, Mena, I just want you around. However, you are correct. My doctor came around earlier, as I know you are aware.”

Mena felt her heart fly into her throat. Her grandfather’s doctor was a specialist in the wasting sickness that was ravaging his formerly strong body and would steal him from her. She at times hated the man for existing, though she also lit private candles in thanks that he did. Shoving all that back down and schooling her face into one of calm, she said, “I did, sir. What did he say?”

Olivier smiled at her, his eyes brimming with love and sympathy, and she knew that he saw through her. As always. He didn’t comment on what he saw, instead he just answered her question. “When the last risk of blizzard passes, he says it’s time for me to go to Laurent’s home.”

The heart in her throat stopped and dropped like a stone to her feet. She knew what that meant, it meant that the doctor and her grandfather agreed that he had deteriorated to the point where he needed a quieter environment, away from prying eyes, to prepare to meet Elua.

She felt tears flood her eyes, cascading down her cheeks before she had time to think. “If-if you’re sure, Granpère. What-” her voice broke, and she looked into her lap seeing her tears falling onto her dress. “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh my sweet Mena, nothing,” Laurent finally spoke, his gentle voice seeping between Mena and Olivier, soothing over their hurt like warm velvet. “I will handle all the arrangements and I’ll send my carriage for you once the move is complete. You have my word.”

She nodded and reached blindly for his hand, “Thank you, Laurent. It means the world to me to know you’ll be there.”

Olivier gave her hand a squeeze before lifting her chin up again so she had no choice but to look into his warm brown eyes. “Sweet girl, remember to stay this soft, no matter what happens. Elua and Naamah saw fit to bless you with this, never forget that.”

She nodded and said shakily, “I will. For you, I will.”

His face got stern for a moment, “No, for you you will. You deserve it. Save those tears though, I am not gone to Elua yet, Philomena, I am right here with you and what do we say of tears?”

They swam in her eyes, obscuring his face, but she nodded firmly. “That they are only for those that deserve them, for those that value us like Naamah and Elua demand for us.”

“Good girl,” the shape that she knew to be Olivier said, his voice starting to get raspy, “Now, I hear that Lord Montaban is coming to see you?”

She nodded, “He is but he should know his place, he’s not the most important man in my life.”

That pulled a loud, full body laugh from Olivier, that unfortunately started a coughing fit. “Oh, child!” He said when he had coughed into his handkerchief and she’d studiously acted like she didn’t see the blood left behind. “Get out of this old man’s room! Go attend to your patron before he rises even further above his station.”

Mena stood and gave a small, wry curtsy, feeling a smile start, “As you command, my lord Dowayne.”

Luckily she was used to Olivier and fast, she had the door closed before the small pillow he threw at her hit it with a thump. She stood in self-indulgence at the door for another minute, listening to her grandfather’s laugh, trying to burn it into her memory. Lord Montaban could wait.

*

The fact that Mena beat Kyrie to dinner was not astonishing. He was notoriously late and even more arrogant about it. Sometimes she wondered why she continued to take him as a Patron. To be honest, these days it was most of the time that she wondered why she still saw him. The honest answer was that she’d been seeing him for most of her time as an Adept. 

As she lit the candles around the small dining room, she remembered the first day he’d come to Heliotrope. He was older than her, twenty-seven to her sixteen, and was attending one of her grandfather’s parties. Despite the years that had passed, she could still remember the weight of his gaze on her as she’d moved through the party attendees. Once she’d made her way to him, he kept her captive all night, telling her at great length how he was a Lord from Azzalle, a distant relative of the Trevalion family; how he was supposed to be making his way through the Houses as was befitting his station, but she’d entranced him so he’d abandoned his companions to stay; how his elder brothers had all died in accidents or fallen to illness, so he was now the next in line to inherit his family’s lands and title. At the time, she’d known he was boasting to impress her, that relation to the Trevalion family wasn’t something to just tell people. But part of her training had been to learn to hang on a Patron’s every word, to make them feel like they were the most important person to you at that moment. Kyrie had lapped it up like a dog with broth.

“Hello, pet. You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” his voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see Kyrie leaning on the doorframe, looking her up and down. 

Her face broke into a habitual smile and she went to greet him, “Kyrie, you came.”

She knew the dance he wanted as well as she knew her own hands. Crafting the illusion that he was the only thing on her mind now, and ever, was as easy as breathing. Her subservience to him was a lie she slipped into as easily as she slipped into his embrace for a kiss.

Kyrie was an artless kisser, though it had taken her several years of other Patrons to realize how the way he covered her lips with his mouth, the way his tongue moved, and the spit he left behind was so below standard. It made part of her angry, he’d been seeing at least her, a fully trained Adept, for well over a decade, and yet he still kissed with less skill than the young man she’d seen three days ago who was brought to Heliotrope for his first proper taste of Naamah’s Arts. 

“Ah, pet,” he said when he pulled away, “I see you missed your Lord.”

“Of course. You’ve not been to see me in several days, Lord Kyrie. I was beginning to think that someone else had stolen your affections from me,” she said, taking his hands to lead him to the table, a pout in her voice. The same way she’d talked to him when she was a new Adept and she’d not had her choice of Patrons.

He smiled wolfishly, his handsome mask slipping slightly as he let himself be tugged to the table, taking his seat before she took hers. “Now, pet, what have I told you?”

“That no one is above me in your eyes,” she repeated back easily as she poured the wine, his always first, her second.

The door to the room opened and Loir came in, pushing a cart laden with their dinner. Another thing Kyrie was particular about: once his coat had been taken, he refused to see any more servants, Adepts and Novices brought what he needed. His airs grated, but he’d been a regular even during the Plague when the House had needed it. Things were returning to normal now, but Lord Pierre Kyrian de Montaban, a minor Earl of Azzalle, was a situation they all just flawlessly navigated out of pure habit.

Mena would be lying if she didn’t say she stopped paying full attention to Kyrie in the middle of the first course. His stories were always the same, full of his prowess and downplaying the contributions of others. He didn’t really care for her input, that wasn’t her place with him. All he wanted was a pretty face to hang on his every word and she was quite good at that. Little did he know that she’d already heard of this particular story, only the factual version. Yes, there was a negotiation that involved all the lords of Azzalle so yes, he had been in attendance. Yes, he had offered an idea that had been ultimately taken into the terms, but after so much adjustment that it was a far-reach to say it was the same idea. ‘I really need to start refusing his visits,’ she thought while she nodded and smiled at something he said, ‘He’s served his purpose and it is time, particularly at his age, that he find a wife and make a new heir. I wonder—‘

“—when we wed,” she heard him say, his words suddenly drawing all of her attention.

”When we what, Kyrie?” She said, hoping that she had misheard him.

“Silly pet with her pretty head in the clouds,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand. “I said that I would be sure to send my parents to a comfortable residence in Caerdicca Unitas when we wed.”

“But why on earth—“ she started to say, only to be cut off.

“Because, silly girl, there’s only room for one woman in the Montaban Household and it is my wife.”

She felt like her brain was underwater, struggling for the surface. Luckily, her mouth seemed to work just fine,  “Certainly it would be the Earl’s wife?” She managed to say without stammering.

Kyrie snorted, a loud and rude sound, “I suppose so, but as I am to be Earl, it will be you.”

“But Kyrie, surely your parents—“

“Philomena,” he said, sternly giving her hands a squeeze just past comfortable, “As the man of the house, what I say will go and my parents will go quietly as they are instructed if they know what’s good for them.”

Mena’s poor brain caught up with her mouth in time to stop further commentary. She just nodded, smiled at him in the way she knew he liked and had a sip of her wine. Kyrie started talking again and she fell back into the pattern quickly. Her mind however would now not stop. ‘If they know what’s good for them?’ She felt the cold hand of horror on the back of her neck and promised herself she would start refusing his visits sooner rather than later.

Storyline: A Year in Review

Here is a review of everything that has happened this year in and around the City of Elua

  • Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, lights a candle to Eisheth and has a romantic evening with Waldemar nò Mandrake, her longtime lover.
  • Waldemar is involved in a carriage accident and passes away.
  • As all of the Night Court mourns the passing of the fallen Mandrake, Aliks visits the Yeshuite quarters to give the news to Waldemar’s mother, who is ashamed of her son.
  • News comes to Mont Nuit that King Gustav is to marry Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale.
  • Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, and longtime lover of the king, leaves the City of Elua, retreating to the estate of Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace. Roland proposes an advantageous, political marriage to her.
  • Philomena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope House, wonders how the Night Court will handle the news of the king’s betrothal in light of his relationship with Odilia.
  • Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House and granddaughter of Roland, visits her family’s country estate to discuss the state of the Duc’s proposal to her best friend. The family is stunned and unsupportive, viewing it as disrespectful to their grandmother, Roland’s late wife.
  • Gustav and Corrian are shocked that news of their nuptials was leaked to the Night Court. They write to Odilia, asking that she come to the palace to clear the air.
  • Odilia leaves Roland’s estate, much to his chagrin.
  • Gustav and Corrian ask Odilia to be their official Royal Consort and Royal Companion. Odilia does not give an answer, as she must consider Roland’s proposal. She says she will give an answer before the wedding.
  • Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, suspects that Aliks may be with child. This is confirmed by an Eisandine chirurgeon.
  • Rosanna visits Roland, who asks her to convince the family to support his proposal to Odilia—who is her best friend—and help settle the gossip in the Night Court.
  • Mena ponders her duties as Dowayne, overcome with all of the responsibilities given the current situation.
  • The Dowaynes meet to discuss what is to be done about Odilia. Odilia informs them that she must leave her decision of which proposal to accept to the council. It is decided that she must choose the king. A subtle show of support is proposed.
  • Petrea writes a letter of support to Odilia
  • Two nobles enjoy a romantic night at Balm House.
  • Aliks tells her parents she is pregnant. They suggest that she could retire, and she balks at the suggestion.
  • The King of Terre de Ange marries Lady Corrian de Borean of Azzale and they publicly name Odilia as Royal Consort and Royal Companion.
  • The Court of Night Blooming Flowers celebrates the royal wedding long into the night.
  • Rosanna meets with Roland, and they discuss his plans for how to proceed now that Odilia has rejected his offer. In a strategic move, Roland invites Odilia to join him and Rosanna at the theater.
  • Gustav, Corrian, and Odilia negotiate Odilia’s contract as an adept of the Night Court. They make the decision that she is not to serve them exclusively in an attempt to be a conduit of information.
  • Corrian struggles with her duties as queen and looks to Odilia for help.
  • The City of Elua celebrates the harvest festival of Steward’s Eve in celebration of the Good Steward, the angel Anael.
  • Aliks’s baby is born, and she names him Patroclus.
  • Mena relates the story of a troubling patron to her Second, Loir.
  • Petrea tells Mena that she intends to retire from her position as Second of Cereus House after the Longest Night.
  • Aimée nó Cereus, unofficial Third of Cereus House, goes to the tailor to put together a stunning costume for the Longest Night.
  • Valerian House makes preparations for the Longest Night and discusses their preparations for Mara’s Eve, the special vigil that they celebrate in February.
  • Roland and Odilia make peace with their relationship and the path that it has taken.
  • Aliks and Petrea reminisce about their childhood at Cereus House and come to terms with their future together, and apart.

Storyline: The Shortest Days

Odilia

It was not the sunlight kissing her face that woke her gently, it was the soft kisses of her lover. In the start of this shortest day, he was not the King of Terre d’Ange, he was only Gustav, and she was not the Second of Dahlia House, she was only Odilia. Wrapped together in each other’s arms, this was precious time. All the most precious for how brief it was.

He looked at her, his Courcel blue eyes looking deep into her brown ones, and he stroked her cheek. She leaned her forehead against his and let her arm drape around his waist. Nothing needed to be said.  They had fought too hard to get to where they were now not to appreciate the peaceful morning for what it was. 

When finally they rose, he helped her into her dressing gown.  She did the same for him, a quiet kind of reserved intimacy, and accepted his hand to join him for the breakfast laid in his solar. Fresh oranges and pomegranates were presented in a bowl along with the warm, crusty bread with goat cheese and honey. A pot of warm lemon water sweetened with honey was set on a warmer. 

“So much citrus and honey,” Odilia said warmly, letting him serve her with his own hands. “Is this a hint from your staff? Will you be the Sun Prince at the palace masque tonight?”

“Not as far as I know,” Gustav laughed lightly. “The Master of Revels has seen to all the details, I know very little about what is planned for tonight.”

The footman entered and announced the arrival. “Her Majesty, Queen Corrian,” followed shortly by Corrian herself, dressed in a simple day dress of pale green.

She beamed at her two favourite people and swept to the table before sitting and reaching for an iced bun. “Good morning, husband, Odillia. I trust you had a pleasant night?” But that really wasn’t what she was most excited to talk about as she continued, “Are you excited for this evening? I am! My gown has been set out already, it will truly be a delight.”

“We were just discussing the Masque ourselves,” Gustav said.

“Oh, Odilia.” Corrian leaned forward to catch her eyes. “I cannot wait to dance with you this evening. Please promise me you will not let my husband monopolize you.”

Odilia paused as she reached for a quarter of a pomegranate, the tiniest furrow appearing between her brows. “This evening?”

“Well yes, of course. The Longest Night Masque, whatever else would I be talking about?”

Gustav coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter, and Odilia ripped the pomegranate quarter in two.  She reached to lay the fruit onto the Queen’s plate as she said lightly, “Surely you are aware I will not be in attendance with you at the palace.”

Corrian looked aghast. “Why ever not? Haven’t we made your position in the palace and our lives quite clear? Who could object to your presence?”

Odilia watched the exuberance of the outrage completely transform Corrian’s face and she pursed her lips slightly to restrain her smile.  Corrian was so full of life.  She would be good for Gustav and balance him in ways that Odilia couldn’t. So, the Dahlia said, not unkindly, “My position is not in doubt in any way, but I will celebrate the Longest Night on Mont Nuit with the rest of the Night-Blooming Flowers. As I must. I am still the Second of Dahlia House.”

A flush of red spread across Corrian’s cheeks. “Oh my, I had completely forgotten.”

“Nevertheless,” Gustav interjected with a warm smile, “I am certain that we will find another occasion for the two of you to dance soon.” 

“I would like that,” Odilia said, allowing herself a small smile. She could allow herself this hard-earned joy.

Her chess game was far from over, but at last she had achieved her own victory for herself. Jocaste had once asked her who she was playing against when she studied the chessboard in her private chambers.  She hadn’t known how to answer. Now she did, because she was finally at peace. 

Her heart and her head were finally balanced.

~*~

Aliks

“You look lovely, my lady Dowayne,” the cook said when she entered the kitchens for a final pre-Masque check. 

“Thank you, I am just checking to make sure all is well in here.”

“Of course, my lady, the meats are being cooked as we speak, the savories are being plated, and the fruit ices are in the cold box. All is well and on schedule.”

“Very good, I’m off to get ready, then I shall ensure the initiates are ready to serve, have a good Longest Night.” And with that Aliks left the kitchen.

Aliks went to the nursery to see Patroclus before going to her own chambers. He was spending more and more time there these days. He still slept in his mother’s chambers, but time had come for him to go to the nursery during the days.

“Good Afternoon, my lady,” said Cecile. The adept had recently finished her marque and was beginning to train in the running of the House. As such, she was put in charge of initiates for the Longest Night. Aliks went with Cecile to gather the initiates and watched approvingly as she gave them their instructions. Before she left, she wished them all a happy Longest Night.

Folk of the Night Court would begin arriving in a few hours time. Tonight would be Petrea’s last  official night as Second, and tomorrow Aliks would be returned to full Dowayne duties. She would miss her friend, but Aimee was more than up for the job of Second of Cereus House. And Aliks, in truth, had missed working, she loved her job and was excited to get back to it. 

~*~

Rosanna

Nothing was so hectic as the hours leading up to the opening bells which heralded the beginning of the Longest Night festivities. From one point of the country to the other, celebrations of all kinds were had by royal and commoner both. On Mont Nuit, this was no different. 

Valerian House was all perfectly executed chaos. Through it all, those who were directing said madness remained as calm as possible. Dressed in a combination of costume and dressing gowns, the Dowayne and Second answered questions as they sat at their boudoir tables, applying makeup and checking hair. During this time, a young novice navigated through the crowd with a missive clutched in hand. 

“For the Dowayne,” he said to the apprentice watching the door. Taking a look at the familiar seal of black wax, embellished by a golden honey bee, she took it and gave the young messenger a cinnamon sweet for his efforts.

Rosana accepted the letter, opening it to read even as another member of the House was attending to her long, red hair. Grandfather had written to her.  

Abandoning all preparations, she opened the letter with her bare hands rather than reach for an opening tool, her eyes voraciously scanning the words within. Of all the grandchildren, she was closest to the Duc. When he deigned to show an emotion, it was to her he expressed it. What she read was bittersweet. He would not challenge the suit Odilia accepted, of course not. That she was happy and had made the selection of her heart was what mattered to him, especially since he had once made a scandal by choosing Grandmother all those years ago. While there was a possibility that he and Odilia may one day have another tender moment, their affair was settled and settled well. All this he told her because she was the one he trusted in the city, in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, to guard their secret. To be present for her friend as he knew she always would be. 

She did not have time to write a reply, but to be sure, Grandfather would be at the palace ball. Seeing as she would be there for part of the night, perhaps she could seek him out. They could dance and mingle and watch the crowd, speaking to one another about who they estimated would be the next to spin the gossip mill. 

Life had returned to something that could be called normal.

Blessed Elua was kind to give them such peace.

“Back to the work,” she called and placed the letter in a locked box where all her most intimate correspondence was kept. 

Eventually came the time to don cloaks and make their way to Cereus House. The procession was to begin soon, and all those attending the event needed to be ready to make the trek up the hill. During this time, Rosanna spoke to her Second. 

“I will most likely not return until late tomorrow or the morning of the following day. But not later than that,” she reiterated. “Should the latter happen, I will send a page. If you should need me, should some accident occur, inquire at the Baphinol home first. No matter if I am not there at the time, my family will handle anything you might need.”

Since the processional was in alphabetical order following Cereus House, they need not rush. Valerian always rounded out the show, and they could afford a leisurely stroll.

“All will be fine, my friend. Do not worry, the House will be fine. I am more interested in hearing how you wind up spending your night. Such as the gossip you will get up to with your bosom companion from Dahlia.” Tryphosa grinned under her mask.

“Whatever we shall gossip about will be confidential, thank you very much. However, you are correct, I look forward to a celebration with her. Like old times. Just, happier and more settled.”

As she had received news of how things had concluded, sweet and hopeful, but in peace, with the Duc de Chalasse, she was eager to see her friend. Watch her be happy again and enjoy such a holy night with her. At least until Rosanna was pulled away by the call of family and the chaos of the royal party. 

“I am excited to watch the changes in our quarter, the whole city, and even beyond now that the King has both a Queen and Courtesan,” Tryphosa said, twirling her fur lined cloak about as they prepared to leave the House. Outside was a dusting of snow. Not so much to make the walk to Cereus difficult, but enough to make the Mont sparkle.

“I am excited for the new year, and all the joys it is sure to bring. We all deserve it, having come through the bitter cold as we have,” Rosanna replied. 

~*~

Petrea

Petrea sat at her dressing table and frowned at her reflection. She fiddled with the long strands of beads at her neck for the thousandth time in the last hour. Nothing felt right. Her hair felt too puffy, her makeup too bold, her jewelry unmatching, and her costume just…wrong. She looked over at the shimmering gown that hung over the door of her armoire. It was beautiful, and she had loved it from the moment she saw the design through every pinning and fitting until it was brought to the House the prior morning. But tonight, every bead looked askew, every seam crooked. 

Petrea looked down at the myriad cosmetics and baubles strewn about the table. She knew in her heart that everything was perfect. The only thing off was inside her. Her heart ached knowing that this was her last Longest Night as Second of Cereus House. Her last Midwinter Masque processing next to Aliks—next to her best friend—as they led the Houses through the grand ballroom. Next year, it would be Aimee at the front of the procession. Next year, she would be relegated to the ranks of the other adepts. Next year, she would wear the matching costumes of the rest of the House. No more special designs for her. Just something delivered in bulk and fitted tacitly in a room of twenty others at the last minute. 

No more would she be charged with planning the Masquerade Ball at Cereus House. No more would it be her responsibility to oversee the most important ball in the City of Elua. And while, yes, that would take a massive weight from her shoulders, it had been the one weight she had carried with joy. The one responsibility she had truly loved as Second. But, if she was giving up her position, she had to give up everything that came with it. There was no such thing as an a la carte Second. Perhaps, she considered, as her fingers toyed with a string of beads, Aimee would allow her to assist with the planning. Perhaps Aimee would allow her this one small concession? She could ask. 

But this is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She had never wanted to be Second, and she certainly had no designs on becoming Dowayne. So where had this melancholy come from? Perhaps it was simply that her life was being upended, that all that she and Aliks had planned since the night Aliks had found her crying in their bedroom was ending. A piece of her identity was dying.  And did one not mourn any death? 

But tonight was not a time for sadness, for melancholy, for mourning. This was a night for celebration, for love, for joie. It was the Longest Night, and she was Second of Cereus House. This was her Masquerade Ball. And by Blessed Elua and Naamah, she was going to enjoy it.

Petrea turned to look at the shining gown behind her. Now she could see the way the fabric hung flawlessly, the way the beading seemed to glow in the light of her dressing room, the perfection of each stitch and seam. It was an ideal dress, and indeed an ideal theme, for her last Masque as Second. She cast her gaze into the looking glass and smiled a true smile for the first time that evening as she began again applying her cosmetics. Tonight she would sparkle and shine like a jewel. 

~*~

Philomena

The Shortest Day in Heliotrope House was always a chaotic struggle, behind the scenes at least. The patrons never knew how hard the adepts and novices struggled with the loss of the sun, how the busyness of their patrons made the loss feel sharper. What the patrons saw was a House single-mindedly focused on the upcoming Midwinter Masque at Cereus House. Favored patrons were granted a favor that would allow them entry, they were told how they could subtly coordinate with their adept, and they were swept up in the food and drinks and laughter of the season. Dara’s new games continued to be in rotation, keeping everyone laughing and happy.

Behind the scenes, Mena and Loir were both fighting hard to keep things running and make sure the House was ready. Loir had to go herself to the fabric merchant to get the bolts and bolts of fabric needed to get everyone Masque ready. The theme was Innocent Love, and each adept was wearing garments that mimicked undergarments and sleepwear, with delicate masks of stiffened lace, calling to mind the hopeful feeling of fresh pledges to Namaah, the first fluttering of love, and honesty of the first assignation with a Patron that will make their way into your heart. It was Loir’s job to make sure that everyone’s costume was on schedule as many adepts chose to make their own while the rest were being made by the adepts and novices with deft hands. Mena knew that Loir fell exhausted into her bed each night and rose as soon as she could to make sure things were done, and for that Mena was eternally grateful. Despite her youth, Loir was an incredible Second. Mena also knew that most nights, Loir’s bed was far from empty. Her new favorite patron, Leandré, came every evening when Loir took her evening meal and left when she did, so she knew Loir was being well taken care of.

For her part, Mena had to take care of the adepts themselves. It was the nature of Heliotrope adepts to become attached and invested in each of their patrons, so when they had obligations that kept them away, the adepts tended to feel melancholy. That was where Mena came in: she went room to room, visiting the adepts, keeping their spirits up with news of the costume progress, fresh gossip, and food. When that wasn’t enough, she sat and listened, talked them through their thoughts, and encouraged them. She had one, a lovely man named Antoine who struggled more than most when the nights lengthened. No one understood why, but the less sun there was, the harder it was for him. She’d moved him to a room on the highest floor of the house, with windows that faced the sunrise and the path it took across the sky, and she made a point of climbing the stairs every day to see him. 

“Antoine,” she said as she pushed his door open. “It’s Mena.”

He was awake but still abed and she smiled gently at him. “How are you today?”

Antoine sighed and gestured for her to sit, which she did not. Instead she opened his curtains, and started finding clothes for him to wear.

“Today is not a good day, Mena. I have no interest in the dark sky or putting on clothing.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you do, you just don’t know yet.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it, but tell me why?”

Turning around and holding his clothes out to him, she said, “I think the Comté and Countess sent word.”

The smile he gave at that news lit up her heart. They’d made it through the Night.

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.”