Night Court – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

The Warmth of the Sun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was why he was there that set him apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, go find out how to find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home from Cereus

Niklos made his way back into the townhouse, only to be greeted by Jacob in the main hall. “My lord, how was dinner with Petrea nò Cereus?”

With a glance, Nik told Jacob that there was to be a conversation, and Jacob moved toward the library, quiet this night with the others out on the town. Some had announced they were going out for a show at the Royal Theater, and others were undoubtedly in the Hall of Games. That was an experience that Niklos would not want to revisit anytime soon. The last time he was there, he’d been almost accosted by that de Bretel lordling. Well, the man hadn’t truly accosted him, he was just using Niklos as an excuse to get away from his companions for a time, and there might be something good that came out of that conversation anyway. It was no big loss.

Nik sighed as he slumped into one of the overstuffed chairs, waving off Jacob’s offer to pour him a drink. “I’m too damned full, Jacob, but thank you. You asked about dinner. Well, I didn’t end up having dinner with Petrea. She had something come up, so I was passed off to some adept… an Aimée nò Cereus. Are you familiar with her?”

Jacob blinked, then frowned and blinked again. Niklos was never this abrupt. He sounded frustrated, which threw Jacob off his mental lists. “I… possibly, my Lord? I apologize. Cereus has never treated you like that. Some of the others, perhaps, when they deign to visit, but not you. I need a moment.”

Niklos nodded. “Understood. Dinner was excellent. If I hadn’t been spoiled by our cook here, I might have even said it was one of the best dinners I’ve had. But you know Aliksandria has been trying to steal our cook from us for years. She can’t find anyone who can compare. Dinner was excellent, and the conversation was decent. I mentioned the silversmith to the adept and she didn’t react, so she may not know what’s going on, or news may not have reached Mont Nuit yet, which I suspect is more likely the case.”

Jacob nodded, then his eyes twinkled, and Niklos knew the man had something for him. “Aimée nò Cereus, my lord, is rumored to be both Aliksandria’s and Petrea’s assistant. I am surprised you haven’t met her before. Perhaps one of them felt the two of you should meet to establish another line of communication?”

Niklos chuckled and shook his head. “Likely both of them, but I think it would have been halfway decent of them to let her know who I was before chucking her into the fire. At least I didn’t get fobbed off on some random adept. I think I put her off by wishing her well after dinner. I don’t think she knew that it was just dinner.”

“Dinner and information, my Lord.” Niklos shook his head at Jacob’s addition, knowing the man was right.

A Nightcap at Cereus

Cozied in the Dowayne’s private apartments of Cereus House, Aliksandra and Petrea gently sipped their wine in front of the fireplace on a rather chilly late spring night. It had been a newly rare busy couple of days filled with back to back meetings, responsibilities, and last minute emergencies that demanded no one less than the Dowayne or Second of Cereus House. They were exhausted but pleased. The House was finally running like finely tuned clockwork. Aliksandra fulfilled her roles as Dowayne of Cereus House, Premier of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, and Adviser to the Royal Family. Petrea was tackling her responsibilities as Second with vigor. The relationships amongst the Houses of Mont Nuit were blossoming. The new generation of Dowaynes and Seconds worked closer with one another than any could recall in recent memory. Petrea was working working to leverage her relationships amongst the Nobility and Naamah’s Servants to begin rebuilding the patronage that Cereus had lost due to Gerault’s mismanagement. There were several especially curated events set in the House calendar. According to Aimée’s calculations, the summer would be extremely lucrative.

Aliks and Petrea, relaxing from their busy day, waited on their missing third: Aimée. Petrea had been urgently called away from a prearranged dinner with a mutual friend, Count Niklos Shahrizai, and Aimée had to step up and host. The dinner had run longer than expected, and Aliks and Petrea had both finally returned to Cereus House. Normally, they would have happily joined, but both were in no fit state to be in the public areas of Cereus. They felt it was best to leave Aimée and Nik to their own devices. Aimée definitely didn’t need them to micromanage a friendly meal.

And so Aimée found them, leisurely drinking, lounging in front of the fire and oblivious to the fact that she had entered the room. She took great pleasure in their being jolted out of their chairs in a shocked reaction as she slammed the door closed with enough force to make it rattle on its hinges. Aliks and Petrea’s attention immediately fixed on Aimée’s face. They shared a quick look with one another, like that of novices being dressed down by senior adepts.

Aliks’ mind began to race, something was very very wrong and everything in Aimée’s continence and bearing said it was their fault. The larger issue being there shouldn’t be anything wrong. It had been busy this week, but things were going well. Aimée had dined with Nik, and while he was a Shahrizai, he was a gentleman through and through. Nothing should be wrong.

Petrea spoke first. “Wha—” and was cut off by Aimée erupting: “You should have told me!”

Petrea and Aliks tried to parse through the tirade that followed, whilst shooting each other quizzical and entreating looks.

“I have never been so embarrassed! And in front of a Shahrizai, no less! You let me walk in there unprepared, uninformed! I could strangle the two of you this instant!” Aimée paced, gesticulating frantically, all her Cereus composure nowhere to be found. “I walked into an assignation and learned halfway through that the patron is expecting nothing but dinner. Oh! I could wring your necks!”

Still rather confused, Aliks chirped out, “…but…it’s Nik?”

Petrea followed up with a tiny: “You know…Nik. Our old friend…Nik?”

Aimée looked at the women before her, who shared completely flummoxed expressions. “No, I certainly did not know! I had never met that man before in my life!” Her face and voice immediately changed to something playful with a slightly sinister undertone. “But I have now. We have had all evening to get to know one another and share so many interesting stories about our favorite people.” She finished, her eyes promising good natured retribution in the not too distant future.

At the realization that Aimée wasn’t truly livid and was teasing them, a sigh of relief escaped Aliks and Petrea as the oppressive energy dissipated. Only for their minds to truly register what Aimée had just said.

Aliks started: “I’m sure I introduced you at…” Aimée arched a brow. “But what about that one party with…” Aimée’s brow was joined by an emphatic crossing of her arms. “Surely we couldn’t have…” Aliks sent a pleading look to Petrea as Aimée began to slowly tap one of her fingers menacingly.

“I told you it was dinner,” Petrea stated cautiously.

“With a patron. During a busy evening. With a full House.” Aimée ticked off each point by raising a finger.

“He is, technically, a patron,” Aliks popped in. Aimée’s already arched eyebrow managed to gain several more millimeters in Intimidation.

“…only technically,” Petrea conceded.

There was a held breath for a moment and then… “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” Aliks and Petrea’s words tripped over each other as their apologies began to tumble out.

Aimée reached out to give each of them a comforting touch. “Forgiven, but we really need to better communicate. This can not happen again,” she said. “And while we will laugh about this later, tonight I need wine.”

She sank into a previously unoccupied chair that was also situated by the fire. Aliksandra refilled her own and Petrea’s drinks while Petrea grabbed a fresh glass for Aimée. After all glasses were filled, Petrea and Aliks retook their seats.

“So, what did you two talk about over dinner?” Petrea asked as she passed Aimée the wine, nearly getting splashed with the liquid as Aimée almost up ended the cup as she broke into raucous laughter.

After taking a minute to recover, but still fighting sporadic giggles, Aimée replied, “Your dear Nik is very well informed in all manner of subjects. I now have several very skilled individuals I shall be making acquaintances of.” As she continued a cat-like smile spread across her face, “An exchange entirely in my favor. All he received as payment was the lovely revelation that his two dear friends had once managed to dye the pristine and beautifully white novice tunics for the Longest Night a hideous putrid green.”

Aliksandra and Petrea’s faces morphed from vaguely confused, to stunned clarity, finally settling into embarrassed horror. All the while Aimée smugly sipped her wine before adding, “Don’t worry, Petrea. If he has a loose tongue, it will never be anything more than a rumor. I should know. Our dear Aliks told me the two of you burned the evidence over twenty years ago.”

And with that definitive pronouncement, Petrea delivered a well aimed smack to her partner in crime. “You told her about that! Aliks!”

Before a good-natured kerfuffle could ensue, Aimée began to laugh once more. “She did, but it is still a secret between us three and the angels,” she said whilst giving her Dowayne and Second a pointed look. “Perhaps that small taste of panic will remind you to keep me well informed the next time you think to throw me to the wolves.”

Deep sighs of relief escaped Aliks and Petrea for the second time that night.

“My love, that was cruel. Well played.” Aliks said as she tipped her glass in salute to Aimée. “Now all vengeance aside, what did you and Niklos actually talk about?”

“Mostly it was polite conversation,” Aimée replied. “There was a query on his part that stood out, though.”

“Oh?” Petrea asked curiously.

“Are either of you familiar with Jacques Halceaux? He is the current Guild Master for the Silversmiths,” Aimée asked.

“The name is vaguely familiar,” Aliks responded. “We may have commissioned pieces through him at some point. But nothing definitive or recent comes to mind.”

Aimée tapped her glass thoughtfully, “Our Count seems rather well informed. I will look into Halceaux. There was something in Niklos’ tone that makes me nervous about the Silversmith.”

A Count Pays a Visit

Spring had turned, and with it came a welter of invitations for Niklos to all sorts of various events throughout the city. His plan was starting to bear fruit, and that pleased him. He also had cousins starting to make their way into the city from Kusheth, and there had been numerous late night meetings in the library to draw up plans.

He had been out meeting some acquaintances in Night’s Doorstep for a drink one afternoon and returned to Jacob proffering a letter on a tray. “I believe it comes from Cereus House, my Lord… don’t you know some of the adepts there?”

Niklos nodded as he took the envelope, frowning as the handwriting wasn’t quite familiar. “I do, Aliksandria and Petrea. I’ve known Aliks for some time. Petrea I’ve only known for a year or so. But we have exchanged letters in the past. My thanks, Jacob.”

Niklos made his way across to one of the parlors, opening the letter as he slouched into a chair. He scanned it, then frowned and read it again.

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

at the behest of Dowayne Aliksandria nó Cereus

My dearest Lord Shahrizai,

I understand that you are undertaking a Grand Tour of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. It would be my great honor were you to attend a private dinner at Cereus House a fortnight hence. I wish to personally ensure that you experience the full measure of our hospitality and graciousness during your visit.

Yours most sincerely,

Petrea nó Cereus

The curious thing was that, while it had the cadence of Petrea’s writing, the letters didn’t look correct. There was something off, which indicated that Petrea had not actually penned the note. However, he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer just staring at the paper. He moved over to the writing desk in the room and hastily scratched out a response.

My dear Petrea,

While my grand tour was actually this past autumn, I had postponed visiting Cereus because I knew there was much happening within the house and I did not want to bring any of my own confusion in as well. I would be most pleased to dine with you in a fortnight. Please provide me a specific day, and allow me to bring the wine. I look forward to chatting with you.

My best,

Niklos

He sealed the envelope quickly, using the Keys, and passed it to Jacob who nodded in acknowledgement as Niklos headed up the stairs toward his chambers. He wanted to add the dinner to his calendar before he forgot it.

Aimée lingered in the entrance hall of Cereus House. Hosting a Shahrizai was not an endeavor one approached lightly, if one had any sense. So of course, Aliksandra proposed that Cereus should extend such an invitation. It was then decided that Petrea should host the actual meeting. And of course, both were called away to deal with issues even more pressing than dinner with a scion of the most infamous family in all of Terre d’Ange. It gave Aimée some comfort that her Dowayne and Second had a genuine like and affection for Count Niklos Shahrizai. Strengthening his ties to Cereus House would only be a benefit in rebuilding the prestige of Cereus.

Aimée was pulled from her mind’s wandering when an older novice announced the arrival of her most esteemed guest.

His arrival had been greeted by a flurry of activity. He’d taken one of the family carriages, if for no other reason than to see what sort of gossip it would produce. Jacob had eyes and ears in the city, and that sort of information would eventually make its way to the man. Niklos smiled as he slipped out of the carriage, the Cereus servants bowing deeply. The driver and footman from the townhouse knew where to take the carriage, and service for waiting attendants was always impeccable at Cereus. Nik took the entry stairs slowly. Nothing had changed but it felt like everything had changed. Aliks was Dowayne and Petrea, unsurprisingly, was her Second. As he stepped through the massive entry doors, he frowned as he realized neither Aliks nor Petrea were anywhere to be seen. As he paused, another adept stepped forward to greet him.

She greeted Niklos Shahrizai with all the grace and elegance Cereus House was known for. “Lord Shahrizai, welcome to Cereus House. I am Aimée no Cereus. The Second has been called away by House duties that needed her immediate attention. I am happy to host you this evening in her stead if that arrangement suits you.”

Chuckling softly, he shook his head lightly. “Of course we’d set dinner plans and something would come up. I swear, as both of them found themselves more duties within Cereus, it’s been more difficult for an easy dinner. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Aimée. I would be happy to join you for dinner this evening.” He grinned and bowed to her. “Please, lead on.”

“Very gracious of you. Allow me to escort you to the appointed room,” Aimée replied.

Taking her offered hand, Nik allowed himself to be led through the halls of Cereus House, noting that new life had been breathed into the hall.

Nik’s eyes took in everything as they walked through the halls. Something had changed, likely with Aliks taking on the role of Dowayne. There was a different feel to the house, almost as if someone had told the whole host to stand straighter. The last time he had visited, there had been almost an air of indolence that was no longer around. He smiled faintly as he glanced at Aimée, a question on his lips. “How has the transition been, now that Aliksandra is Dowayne? Something feels different in the air.”

He was curious to see how she responded, and he wondered if he could puzzle out whether she’d been born to the House or if she’d been adopted in. Sometimes that made for the best game in his mind.

“The transition of Dowaynes is trying under any circumstance. However, the position and responsibilities of Cereus House have added complexity that—” Aimée paused, choosing her words carefully. “—would bring a less dedicated person to the edge.”

As they moved towards a secluded salon Aimée continued. “Cereus House is regaining blooms that have been neglected in less than careful tending. All Loveliness Fades, but one does not usually accelerate the process.”

At last, Nik is guided into a private salon filled with an impeccable aroma wafting from a selection of dishes displayed on a well laid table. The food even looked and smelled better than his previous experience of Cereus hospitality.

Niklos smiled and nodded at Aimée’s words. She felt like she’d been raised to the House as opposed to being adopted in, the poise and concern for the House being undeniable. His eyes flickered at the implication of difficulties that surrounded the word ‘complexity’. He would have to speak with Jacob and find out what the man knew. Surely, there was some rumor he could divine from somewhere. He glanced around the room, eyes widening slightly. “Will anyone else be joining us tonight? There looks to be enough food here for six, at least.” He grinned, gesturing to the table. “I am looking forward to sharing this meal with you.”

On Dove’s Wings

Rosanna was not a woman easily rattled. Being trained for years to handle all manner of pain, the deprivation of sense, to feel fear in congruence with pleasure, to find joy in arts that would make others pale and run, she was not prone to flights of deep worry or fright. Now though, she dared to think she felt it. And that was a difficult realization to make. Upon returning to her House after visiting her grandfather, she waited until the duties of the day were completed before pulling Tryphosa aside.

“What I tell you now does not leave this room, am I understood?” She asked with a certainty and depth of seriousness that almost mirrored their friends in Mandrake.

“Of course you have my confidence,” Tryphosa assured her. “Why though? What has happened?”

“I can only tell you in summary but I promise you it is vital to keep this to ourselves.”

So she did. Informed her trusted friend and Second what had happened with her grandfather, what was discussed, and what possibilities now lay at the delicate feet of another courtesan and her unprepared prince. By the end, her fellow Valerian and confidante was pale-faced herself, sitting down on a fainting couch and asking for a drink. Luckily, the office was always well stocked for just such troublesome times.

“Do you really think someone would start a war over a love affair?” Tryphosa almost whispered.

“Is there not a famous poem from your mother’s homeland about just that? Did it not last ten years?” Rosanna shot back.

“I do not see Odilia being stolen away like Helene but…all epic tales have a kernel of truth in them, in some way. Blessed Elua preserve us if anyone really takes their love so offensively!” They each made a quick sign to the gods above and in the true Terre D’Ange beyond.

“If the Dauphin makes his affections publicly known there is no telling what some of the nobility may do. His Dahlia is an intelligent, successful, and beautiful woman. But she is common born and for some that is a sin that cannot be forgiven, holy precept or no.”

Tryphosa looked quite uncomfortable at that but she nodded slowly. She sipped her wine, the cup held in both hands quite tightly. Nervous, that was easy to tell for one who knew her so well and for so long.

“Speak, my friend. You have something to say, I can hear it.”

“It is just…sometimes I forget that you come from that same rank. We see the nobility and wealthy merchants every night, so it is no surprise how well you handle them. Then there is the matter that we have been here, together, for so long that it is far too tempting to forget what lies beyond Mont Nuit,” the Valerian Second confessed. “To think something could actually be capable of harming one of our own for the crime of loving our Dauphin and for him loving her in kind. It feels…against all we are.”

Rosanna listened and nodded lightly along. Yes, it was so easy to fall into the sensuality and rhythm of life amongst the great Houses of Naamah. To pretend that the politics and machinations of the Court and the elite could not reach them. A fine dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“They can and, if given reason to feel offended, they would. I cannot say who, but he is still to be King. And someone will want their daughter, their noble daughter, to be a bridal candidate for him. To compete against a woman such as Odilia? I fear one of them might dare to forget good sense and precept to keep the royal line as free of what they consider bad blood as possible.”

Such thoughts kept Rosanna up all night. Tossing and turning, she could not help but think of the words of her grandfather. Roland had not survived, and thrived, as he had by underestimating the ambitions of others. There was a reason the old King had a healthy respect, some even said a healthy fear, of him. Taking back the sovereignty of an entire duchy was no mean feat either.

Valerian House was her duchy, in that sense. Her domain. To protect it was to protect herself and all those under her roof. As well as the honor of her family name. Of all times to become Dowayne, her luck would have it be during a time of completely unprecedented social change.

Which was why, some days later when she found the time, she left early for the temple district. Her carriage was en route when the sun was just rising, when no prying eyes might see her. Not out of shame, of course not, but to keep this business to herself. It was to the Temple of Eisheth, her own ancestress, that she went for divine advice first.

Leaving offerings of sweet wine and fruits, Rosanna lit the incense, bowed her head, and prayed, “Blessed Eisheth, mother of my father’s line, I beg for your grace and calm in this time of turmoil. I see around me the chapters of a greater story being woven, but I do not know if I am a spectator or if I have a part to play. What reads as a simple love affair is spilling into places I worry for, that its players are the first act in a drama which has the capacity to unmake and harm. Please grant me insight to see the machinations around me, and to continue to live in your grace.”

After that it was to the Temple of Naamah, the small building of white marble which held so much sway in her life and in those she cared for. Surrounded by gardens, it was a familiar and calming place. Rosanna purchased a dove from one of the sellers just getting set up for the day before moving within. At the entrance was the likeness of the divine patroness, which always inspired awe in Rosanna. She would never tire of looking upon the perfectly serene and enchanting face of the angel. Arms wide in welcome, the holy artwork bid all who came in love and times of need into the sanctum. Around the domed ceiling were rows and rows of doves, sleeping or nesting in the perches placed there. Some flew through the oculus at the center, as the one she brought. Whispering a wish and prayer, she let the pure white bird make its own way. Up into the sky it went. Perhaps right to Naamah herself, or so one could hope.

“Lady Dowayne, you honor us with your presence this fine morning. What might the holy order do for you?” A priest in scarlet robes smiled in greeting. Hands spread wide in imitation of his goddess, he was a man of middle age, long blond hair and a handsome countenance. Rosanna had always liked him and felt peace already by simply being in his presence.

“I have a somewhat…worrisome matter on my mind, Priest Jaques,” she admitted and came to hold his offered hands. “And find myself in need of sage advice. Might we speak in private?”

“Is this serious, my lady?” He inquired, brow furrowed. Still, he nodded and led her along the marble hall to a room meant for meditation and divine assignations.

“For the Servants of Naamah, yes. As well as for some beloved figures high in society,” she confessed as the door was shut behind them. “But I must ask that what I speak of here does not leave this room unless you think the priestly order must be involved.”

“My dear girl, of course. You always have my confidence. Now sit, tell me whatever is the matter.”

…It’s Another

Mena did not sleep easily the day after Florian’s visit. Belisario was out of control, even for him. She knew that she could go to Bryony and get his Dowayne to get him in hand. However, she wouldn’t do that. Belisario was vindictive, conniving, shameless, and capable of the particular brutality of someone raised in Heliotrope possessed. She didn’t want to cause him to turn on Bryony if she could avoid it.

So, she tossed and turned, failing to really rest. When sunset finally came, she pulled on her robe and headed down to see how preparations for the night were going. She helped the adepts readying the front parlor, the routine soothing her more than she had expected. One of her close friends Dara was in the back salon setting up games for the patrons and adepts. Dara had an almost unstoppable good humor and sunny disposition. When Mena peeked in, she was seated on the floor in trousers and her chemise top, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

“Dara, what are you up to now?” Mena asked, laughing lightly.

“Oh Mena! I didn’t hear you,” Dara said with her trademark rich laugh. “I’m trying to come up with new games! The Longest Day is coming, I know our visitors would love some unique entertainment!”

Mena grinned at her. “You know I always love your games. Let me know when they’re ready to be tested, I’ll make sure to come down.”

Dara nodded and bent back over her work. Mena wandered away, enjoying the familiarity and comfort of her House coming to life. The kitchen smelled incredible, but she knew better than to intrude on Cook so she wandered back towards the front of the House.

There was a loud knock at the main door, so she headed over to answer it. There was no one standing there when she got there, making her shake her head. As she was closing the door, she looked down and saw a small box. Bending down, she picked it up and turned back into the House, greeting Loir who was coming down the stairs.

“Hello there, sleepy-head,” Mena said teasingly as she opened the box lid. “I hope you slept well, I’ve been up—“

Her scream had people come running from all parts of the House. She stood, frozen in shock, the box and its contents lying on the formerly clean rug. A decomposing and headless rat lay oozing on the carpet, causing more screams and running to get something to clean it up. The box lid lay near Mena’s feet, the inside covered with words written in what looked at first glance like blood:

precious pet

it took a while but i found this

it reminded me of your future

so i had it brought over

think of me

-K

If It’s Not One Thing…

“Philomena, you’ve got a guest.”

Mena looked up, confusion on her face. A young novice stood in the doorway of her office, clearly nervous. Clara was new, a transfer from Orchis. “A guest? You should just bring them to me, darling. No need to be nervous.”

Tension slid from the young woman’s shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when an advocate showed up at Orchis, someone was in trouble. Particularly one with special privileges.”

Mena smiled. “That makes sense, Clara. Trouble is much less likely here. Please show them in.”

Clara nodded and disappeared for a few minutes, then returned and held the door open for someone to enter. “Dowayne, your guest, Special Advocate Bonheur.”

Mena laughed and quickly came out from behind her desk. “Oh, Florian, you had to scare the novices didn’t you?”

She quickly embraced the man, gesturing for him to sit. “Clara, this is Florian Boneur, my mother’s husband. Please send up light tea. Florian, what brings you here?”

Florian was a handsome man, thick, dark hair, cut short, styled fashionably. He looked younger than his almost sixty years, something he used to his advantage at all opportunities. He laughed richly. “Oh Mena, you know I can’t resist! I do it in court all the time, it’s the one joy I still retain. “

She laughed, scoffing at his dramatics. “Oh. I wouldn’t let Chrysanthe hear you say that. You know how she pouts.”

Florian nodded. “Your mother sends her regards. by the way. She is very proud of her ability to keep me entertained, let’s keep my wording to ourselves, shall we?” He nodded his thanks to the novice who had returned with their tea. “All jokes aside, I’m here for serious reasons. First, it is time to read Olivier’s will.”

Mena didn’t mean to inhale sharply, but she did. “Is it that time already? Very good, I’ll have it sent to you”

Florian nodded, “Very good, very good, even though we all know he left it all to you, Laurent, and the House, we need that official copy. The second piece is that your father is contesting it, claiming that it was made under duress and undue influence. He’s had an advocate file his claim with the Judiciary.”

Mena sat for a second, trying to process this, her hands starting to shake. “Even for him, this is unmitigated gall. What do we do, Florian?”

“You give me the document and leave the rest to me. I was Olivier’s advocate, this is mine to handle.” He took her hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I should be able to keep you out of the mess for a while, maybe even the entire time. Please, trust me Philomena.”

Mena nodded. “Thank you, Florian. You’ve always been kind to me, more so than Chrysanthe. I trust you.”

Florian sighed. “Your mother tries, you know she does. You were wanted, so much. She just didn’t count on Belisario causing so much grief and pain.”

Mena nodded. “I know, I’ve heard some of what he did after. What does Belisario want, exactly?”

“Everything that’s not Heliotrope.”

La Gemme Charmant

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Dauphin, Odilia?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

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

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

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

“Letters?”

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

“What replies were you sending that encouraged this?”

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

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

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

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

Her gaze sharpened on him. “What people?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he love you, Odilia?”

She sat back slightly. “What?”

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

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

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

“I’m not…sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Season of Again

The sun rose in a clear blue sky on the 100th day after Olivier’s death. The time of official mourning had ended and seemed like the House took a deep breath. Servants, novices, and the children swept the House with brooms made of dried herbs and flowers, other servants took down the black curtains and threw open all the windows. Adepts shook out bedding, took down the black buntings that hung on the outside of the House, uncovered paintings, and talked animatedly about returning to their lives. Word of the sounds of conversations and uninhibited laughter coming from Heliotrope quickly spread around the City. Regular patrons made preparations to attend the House once the sun set.

Mena stood on her balcony and listened to her House, her family, bloom back to life. The first flowers had just sprung from the cold ground, and it seemed fitting. She smiled and for the first time in a long time, it came easily. While the death of her Grandpère had of course been a brutal blow, his illness and decline had been harder in a way. Now she stood alone, for now, at the head of Heliotrope and alone, always, in her blood family. Loir had told her of whispers that Belisario was scheming, that he’d been in Bryony’s library with a visitor who had arrived early in the morning when only the servants were awake and had left before lunch. Mena had a feeling that he was up to something but until she knew, he was of no concern to her.

The knock on her door drew her attention back to things that were her concern, and she crossed her room to the door. When Mena pulled it open, she saw the smiling face of Loir. “Good morning my friend!” She said, pushing her way past Mena into the room, her hands full of a tray with covered dishes and a stack of letters. “I hope our illustrious leader is ready for the day.”

Mena laughed quietly. “I am ready, but I am not illustrious. What do you have for me?”

Loir smiled and set the tray down on the low table Mena kept near her couch. “To me, you are always illustrious,” she laughed, taking the covers off the dishes. “Aevelline sent up your breakfast; porridge, meat, bread with jam; your coffee, and an extra slice of bread with jam. She said to tell you, ‘Philomena. You are getting thin, you’re not eating all I give you and I’m over it, eat!’” Loir did her best impression of their cook’s voice, making Mena laugh.

“I will do my best to eat better,” Mena said, sinking down onto her couch and pulling her robe around her. “I expected this loss, you know? I didn’t expect the loneliness that came with it.”

Loir sat next to her and handed her her bowl of porridge. “Eat while you talk.” The other woman leaned back on the couch, stretching languidly before gathering up her own robe. “I suppose that makes sense if you think about it. Taking care of Olivier and the House took all your time before, so you didn’t see patrons often, you certainly haven’t had a favorite in a long while.”

”Plus Kyrian,” Mena said between bites. Aevelliene’s food was incredible as always. “You’re right, I need to make the time to see patrons again. I can’t yet.” She gestured with her spoon at the paperwork that remained on the tray. “I am behind in this paperwork. Once that’s under control again, I’ll make myself available.”

Loir nodded and scooped up the papers. “I will also keep an eye out for someone for you. It’s my job as your best friend. Now, let’s work on these.” She looked quickly through the papers, nodding to herself. “It seems that these are requests for assignations for specific events.”

Mena nodded, set down her empty bowl, picked up one of the breads, and took the first paper off the stack. “Hmm, let’s see. This one is an easy one, a noble whose son died suddenly. Send Adam, he seems to fit her description of her son, and he’s so gentle. He’ll be a good fit to help her grief.”

As she kept eating, she went through the letters and assigned adepts for each. Several were like the one she sent Adam on, standing in for a loved one. The first time she had spoken to someone who wanted that kind of assignation with an adept, she was surprised. It seemed to her that Balm would be better suited. The patron said that what they needed was the chance to say what they wished they had to their loved one, not to feel better about having not said it. Heliotrope adepts were taught to give themselves fully to their patron and to receive their patron’s all in return. If the patron needed their adept to be someone else, they did. After some time filling these kinds of requests and hearing the adepts reports afterwards, it made sense to Mena. She was surprised that she was fielding so many of these requests, it seemed that their initial patron had spoken to their friends and spread the word.

She managed to eat all the food that had been sent to her while they finished the letters. “Loir,” Mena asked as she drained the last of her coffee. “I need to make you officially Second.”

”Is that the best choice, Mena?” Loir was staring off at the door to Mena’s balcony.

”What do you mean, who else?” Mena was surprised that her friend would even ask that question.

“Perhaps I am better suited to handle the information gathering part of the House work. How will people deal with Heliotrope having a Second who is not a full D’Angeline?”

Mena stood up, her irritation clear in her movements. “I do not care what people think, Loir. Your parentage has nothing to do with your ability to help me run this House. I am not stupid, I know that some at Court treat you as a novelty. I see the requests, remember?” She exhaled noisily. “Honestly, I can not imagine running this House without you, hang the rest of them. If you find that you’re having issues, we’ll address it then. It’s not like I’ll bend to them, I am no Valerian nor am I an Alyssum. Devotion is not blind worship after all.”

Loir laughed quietly. “I am happy to see that you are feeling better enough to be spirited again. Okay, my friend, I will be your Second.”

Mena made a show of bowing dramatically. “Thank you. Now, let’s go down and supervise the preparations for tonight’s salon opening. It’s our first since Olivier died, it needs to be everything.”

Two Letters, Sealed with Honeybees and Roses

From the private desk of His Grace, Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace to Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House

Granddaughter,

Now that the spring has come, and the flowers are in their budding and blooming, I hope to host you in my townhouse for an afternoon. The duties of your position have kept you from coming to visit me, and that will not stand. You have written to me of some of your struggles and some of the stories of Mont Nuit, I would like to hear you regale me with them in person.

How did the celebrations of Mara’s Eve fare in your House? I hope you did your House proud with your arrangements? I wish to hear of it, you know what high expectations I have of you, especially in your dear grandmother’s memory. I know she watches you in the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond, filled with pride for all you accomplish.

I seem to remember another letter you sent me with some gossip from last autumn. You wrote to me how the Dauphin was seen showing some clear affection to one of the other adepts of the Night Court. I wish to know what you know of her. The King-to-be surely has discerning taste in courtesans, and I am sure the attention will turn to her soon enough. I am relying on you to provide me an advantage.

Prepare yourself to receive my carriage, Rosanna. I expect your visit when I send it for you.

Your Grandfather, R

From the private desk of Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House to His Grace, Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace

Dearest Grandfather,

Be assured that nothing would make me happier than to visit you here in the City! Being away from L’Agnace in the autumn was a struggle, but I bore it well, I am proud to say. Hopefully, this coming year I will have settled into my role and have a little time to come to you during the height of the apple season and hear all about the new hives and varieties of honey you craft as well. I do miss you so, but I am sure you know that.

Mara’s Eve was a resounding success, and I am very proud not only of myself but of my adepts. We had the pleasure of three making their debut, and they did us all great honor. As such, I have, of course, made my thanks known by taking great time in the temples to send prayers and lay offerings at the feet of Namaah, Kushiel, and Blessed Elua. I will let you know that the prayer scrolls you gifted me from Grandmother are well cared for and very well used, they are among the greatest gifts I have ever received.

You ask about the gossip of our King in waiting—well, there is much to tell. While I trust our messenger to deliver this letter to you safely, I will not write down what news I have for you in great detail. Just know there are many moving pieces, but when are there not?

What I can say here is that I have made the acquaintance of the courtesan upon whom the Dauphin has bestowed his affection and that you will be most delighted—as she is a Dahlia. Odilia is her name, and I have had the pleasure of her conversation. And I recall how you were once a favored patron of that House. A good companion for a member of the royal family, I should think.

I look forward to visiting you, Grandfather. I will have our footmen look for your carriage!

All my love,

Rosanna