night court – Page 3 – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 2 – Solitude

Odilia sat in the shade of the terrace, her book long forgotten in her lap as she let the breeze soothe the warmth of the day and distract her with the view of the leaves and grasses and flowers rippling with the peace of the countryside.

It was quiet here. She could get used to that.

“My lady?”

She tucked some of her dark hair behind her ears as she turned to acknowledge the maidservant standing at the door to the estate. The girl dipped a curtsy and said quietly, “There was a letter for you.”

Odilia carefully marked her forgotten spot in her book and set it aside. “From?”

“From the palace.”

Carefully, Odilia smoothed her hands across the neat draping of her skirts before she nodded slowly. “I will read it.”

Her fingers broke the seal on the letter, and she sat back to read what they had sent her.

An hour later, when the Duc de Chalasse returned from his afternoon hunt with a brace of rabbits and some waterfowl for the kitchens, his manservant informed him that his guest had ordered her things packed and a carriage prepared for the next morning. And Roland went on the hunt again, but this time for his little flower.

“The servants tell me you are leaving,” he said once he found her sitting at the edge of one of his fountains.

She didn’t look up from where she was playing with a curious bumblebee that had come to investigate the scent of her perfume. “They tell you correctly.”

“Have I so failed in my host duties that you would return to the City of Elua without telling me?”

“No,” she said, letting the fat, fuzzy insect land on her fingers. “You have been a perfect host. This time here has been wonderful for my soul.”

“You must see how I will take insult to this.”

“Of course,” she said with a quiet smile, as the bumblebee finished its exploration of her hand and turned its attention instead to the water lilies floating in the fountain. And she looked up at him. “You are a proud man, Roland. I know your first instinct is to see this a failure. But it is not. I have no choice.”

“I am a proud man,” he agreed, pulling his riding gloves from his hands and looking down his nose at her. “I have enjoyed the prize of your attentions for quite some time, am I to let you go willingly?”

“You do not have a choice either,” she said, watching how he bristled at it. But, when she withdrew the invitation from where she had tucked it into her sleeve and held it out to him, he did take it. Yet, she didn’t need to watch him read it. She trailed her fingertips through the water of the fountain, tracing the edge of the lily pad.

She didn’t look up as he sat down next to her, the peace was too important now that it was so soon to be shattered.

“So I must let you go,” he said quietly.

“You must,” she said. “I cannot ignore a summons from the palace.”

“I had a letter from Rosanna,” he said, folding the invitation back up neatly and tilting his head back to consider the estate at the top of the hill. “She will be coming here soon.”

“It seems it is the time for the important conversations to occur,” Odilia said absently. “I am sure there are a great many things the family must discuss. I would not wish to be in the way of what you must say to each other and the answers she will demand.”

They sat together—quiet and still and so far away from each other even as they shared the same air.

Finally, he reached to take her hand, his voice impersonal even as his touch was warm and soft. “I will miss you, little Dahlia.”

“I am grateful for everything you have given to me,” she said, shaking the last droplets of the water from her fingertips as she withdrew her other hand from the fountain. “I know it was not for me. I know you have your own goals and purposes. But that does not change that you have shown me kindness in your own way. I respect you a great deal, Roland. That will not change.”

His arm slipped around her shoulders. “Perhaps it began selfishly on my part, seeking to find a weakness in the woman the royal court accused of turning the young king from his new duties. But I see what in you has so captured him. I am not a good man, little Dahlia, nor have I claimed to be. Yet the time I have spent with you has been my own, and you have…”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “I know.”

But she had run for long enough. Come the morning, she was in the carriage and returning to the City of Elua, the invitation in her reticule and the memory of Roland de Chalasse’s kiss on her lips.

Storyline: Clearing the Air: Part 1 – A United Front

“Things are precarious enough as it is,” Corrian said as she flicked through the papers set on the table between herself and the king as they took their midday meal together. “Everything hangs on a knife’s edge, turning one way or the other with but a whispered word. We cannot afford to ruffle any further feathers by being thoughtless in this.”

The king, a few strands of slowly graying hair falling forward on his brow—young as he was, the weight of the crown was heavy and the stresses were many—released a heavy sigh, “I still have not found who sent the message to be announced at Cereus. Of all the ways to have the news come to the Night Court…”

“I know,” Corrian said quietly, watching him. It should never have happened like that. There was, once again, a silent faction among the nobles and the court making their displeasure clear with the king’s actions and attempting to ruin what little peace they had managed to find for themselves. “But what is done is done, and she must know the truth.”

“At last,” Gustav nodded wearily. He had danced to the court’s game for far too long and let them run his life. He was the king of Terre D’Ange, and he would handle this at last like a man. “Let us then write to her, invite her here. To extend the olive branch may quell any whispers of her being set aside.”

Privately, Corrian thought that there was no way to control the direction the gossip would take— perhaps the people would see the gesture as one of kindness as the king hoped, or perhaps they would see it as the king bringing his former mistress to instruct his betrothed in the matters which pleased him best. But, at least they were agreed that Odilia had been kept out of this for far too long.

“Let us write it together,” she suggested. “That she knows it comes from the both of us.”

Together, they penned the invitation:

From the Royal Palace of Terre D’Ange, the private offices of His Majesty, King Gustav de la Courcel and Her Ladyship Corrian de Borlean, the King’s Betrothed.

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, greetings.

An invitation is extended to you to join His Majesty the King and the Lady de Borlean for light refreshment in the royal gardens of the palace. Your presence is expected a sennight from the date of this invitation.

Beneath the official seals and signatures were two more private messages:

It is time that the air was cleared between us all. Please Odilia, do not let them make us enemies where we should be bosom friends. ~Corrian

Please, my heart. If ever you believed I love you, which I do with all that I am, please come to us, that we may make this right. My sky is incomplete without your star. ~G

When the embossed letter arrived at Dahlia House, Dowayne Jocaste nó Dahlia turned it over in her elegant hands and released a long, heavy sigh.

“Please, Blessed Elua,” she whispered, holding the letter to her heart in her prayer, “Let this bring them peace.”

And she handed it to the waiting page. “Ride fast. Bring it to Odilia at the Duc de Chalasse’s estate. Go!”

Storyline: Spring Roses

Prayer was always a safe haven, familiar and fulfilling, for Rosanna. Nothing, not even the sweetest lash, could compare to the meditative healing which she always felt in the silence of the shrines.

She had been attending services and becoming engaged in private prayers more often than ever before. How could she not?

With all that had happened, calling to the angels was an obvious next step to resolution. Asking for help and guidance not only for herself but for those around her. From the mourning in their neighbor house of Mandrake to the absolute fiasco that occurred at the Cereus ball and the multitude of volatile emotions going through her family.

It was as though the deluge of pain would never end.

Of all her friends, Odilia was the closest. Which made the gossip spreading like wildfire all the more biting.

She prayed for her friend and family for now ensconced in the gardens tended by the clergy of Namaah. Spring flowers colored the pale green lawns with spots of white or purple, incense filled the air, its heady scent on the breeze. No other sound was heard in this part of the complex save for her own whispers.

Another day, another plea to their patron angel for some sort of grace in this troubling time. Maybe this time some divine intervention would arrive, she had faith it would.

As the hour chimed, Rosanna got to her feet and returned to the carriage waiting for her. This morning a letter arrived from two of her siblings, they were in town and wished to see her. It was not often they met her in the city, usually they all convened at the family estate in Eisande. But with Mother so shocked, and honestly quite hurt, over Grandfather’s proposal, going home at the moment would be naught but painful. Now the family townhouse here in the city, that was a safe place to congregate. Mother and Father would not be coming into the capital any time soon.

Soon enough, the rocking of the carriage came to a halt, and the footman in the livery of Valerian House opened the door for her, holding a hand to assist her to the ground. Almost instantly, a valet bearing the red and white trident crest of the Baphinol family rushed out to help with bringing the carriage to their private stable, showing the footmen to the servants’ quarters for refreshment.

Rosanna was near to drawing the key from her purse when the front door was flung open. Two dearly familiar faces greeted her. A bright-eyed youth of dark, curly hair, and a smiling lady with red tresses to match her own.

“Baby sister!” Auberi, her nearest sibling in age, gushed and threw his arms around her and squeezed tight.

“Don’t suffocate her, you dolt!” Joia, the sister closest to her own age, scolded their brother. “Well, come in Rosie. Extract yourself, and let’s get inside.”

Auberi never did wholly let her go, slinging an arm around her shoulders as the three of them at last went inside. Drinks and treats were already awaiting them in the family solar, favorites of the three siblings the kitchens had long since memorized. Truly a feat of domestic prowess since there were eight Baphinol children in all.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to have you both in town right now,” Rosanna sighed as she fell down upon the nearest settee. “Everything is bearing down and falling to pieces…as though nowhere I go is untouched by disaster.”

“Too true, Rosie. We have heard it all from Mother before coming here,” Joia said as she poured them all tea.

“She has taken the news of Grandpere’s proposal very hard,” Auberi informed her and sat back in a plush chair. “A betrayal of her mother’s memory and her father’s vow to never take another in her place. It especially hurts as she cares so much for your friend.”

“And our father, the Comte? How is he faring through all this?”

“Taking care of Mother,” Joia replied and handed out delicate cups topped with honey to each sibling’s preference. “He knows she would not do well if left alone, so he deemed it unwise to come to the capital. Though he sends his love, as always, and will look forward to any letters you send. Papa misses you, but he knows you will reach out should you truly need him.”

A heavy sigh escaped her before partaking of her first sip. Warm and floral, rose hip tea. Perfect for spring and one of her favorites, a small comfort.

“Mother would not do well with all the gossip, the stares and prying questions, which would be flung her way if she were to come into town now,” Rosanna agreed. “Not even Grandpere and Odilia are in the city.”

“She did not wish for you to join her?” Auberi asked, a furrow in his brow.

“I would wager they are at his estate, maybe the hunting lodge. But no, I received no invitation to join them. Probably for the best. I was in no little amount of shock when I heard the news myself,” she was forced to admit.

“Rosie has enough on her plate, running her House. To up and leave would be no favor to those she would leave behind to manage in her stead. No, it is better this way.” Joia nodded as if to convince herself as well.

Had their grandfather told anyone ahead of time of his plan or even asked to join him and Odilia away from the cruelties of the city, it would have been Rosanna. A fact the entire family knew. She was his favorite grandchild, this was just a fact. In no small part this was due to her being the only one in the family since his deceased wife to enter the service of Namaah.

Neither Joia, nor Auberi, nor Rosanna ever met their grandmother, who was a lay member of the order, for she was gone before any of their births. But her memory cast a long shadow, the story of how Roland de Chalesse fought a duel for the right to court her was the stuff of song.

“How are you faring through all this, sister?” Aurberi turned to her. His pale eyes were stormy with worry, and she wished they had been able to come together again under kinder circumstances.

“To be truthful…it is hard to say,” she confessed. “First, the announcement of the King’s engagement, which was sudden and unexpected and downright cruel. Then, Odilia is whisked off before I can speak to her. Finally, my companion House suffers an unexpected tragedy, and I had a funeral to attend on top of it all. I…hurt, brother. And though I pray every day, no answer seems to come, and I am at a loss of what to do.”

“Nor should you go searching for it,” Joia said as gently as possible. “None of this could be prevented by you, nor solved either for that matter. You have a big heart, of course you feel adrift. This has blindsided us all, but you are close to your friend, it is only natural. Nevermind the mourning you and your fellows at Mont Nuit must be feeling.”

Several plates of sweets were passed around, and the siblings talked amongst themselves about as much of the trials and tribulations as they could. Each of them provided a unique perspective on the happenings of the last few months, surely they could find some path forward together? Because Rosanna could not simply stand back and do nothing. Attending the funeral was a given, she had already sent condolences and met with her own Showing partner from Mandrake to ease his grief. Flowers would be sent as well to join the other offerings when the day came.

But as for her family? Her friend? There were no easy motions to make in that regard.

Eventually Joia pulled her vielle from its traveling case. Some music would surely do them all some good, and she was the musician of the family, after all. With bow in hand, the solar was quickly filled with the sweet sound of light-hearted song. Whilst it did not remove the many troubles weighing so heavy on Rosanna’s mind, just being in the company of her two closest siblings did help soothe her worried self. For several hours, they remained ensconced in the comfort of the house.

When the time came to go, she made them both promise to stay in the city as long as possible. Being spring, there would be much in the way of amusements to be had in the capital, ways they could spend time together before responsibility took them all away again.

“Worry not, I will be haunting Mont Nuit as any worthless son of a noble should,” Auberi assured her. They embraced, and he also whispered words of brotherly love and encouragement for her ears alone.

“We will see you through these ordeals, little sister,” Joia assured her with a tight hug of her own. “Keep your head high, despite whatever mantra you have in Valerian House. All will be well in the end, you’ll see. Trust in your prayers, Namaah and Eisheth will see you through.”

Despite all the confusing emotions swirling around in her heart and mind, she would not just turn her back on Grandpere or Odilia—even if the wagging tongues were surely taking bets if she would. Eventually she must speak to them, hear their side of the story, deduce just what might be required of her moving forward.

To think, she had once thought so highly of the king, sure he loved her friend. Now, she wondered just what was going on in his royal head, if anything. Well, Odilia was certainly his loss if he could not see the good fortune, which had smiled upon him when she gave her favor.

When Rosanna returned to Valerian House, the usual business of the evening was well into its productivity. She would not be working tonight and let her secretary know this. For now, she had a letter to write.

Dearest Grandpere,

I will not fall back upon idyllic pleasantries, as I know better than to ask how you are faring or what news you might share from L’Agnace.

As I am sure your many eyes and ears have already whispered back what words are being spoken in the city, there is no use repeating them here.

What I would inquire is whether or not you would welcome any more company to your home. Would my presence be a help or a hindrance?

Being how I care for the both of you tremendously, surely you must know how concerned I have been, how worried at your silence. Please let me know how you are, good or ill.

Should you permit me a visit, it would be no trouble to require my Second to take charge of the House in my absence. If not, my heart will not be broken, and I would honor your wish for privacy. Just know I am thinking of you.

Your devoted granddaughter,

Rosanna

A rider was dispatched with stern instruction to see the letter to the estate of the sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, and the man was well paid for his efforts.

For some time, there was nothing left to do but continue on with the matters of everyday life. Eventually though, a reply did come, rather quickly as a matter of fact. When placed in her hand, Rosanna closed her office door to read alone, so that not even her staff might see whatever reaction might follow the missive. Fortune was finally with her, however. Grandfather wanted her to come, desired it in fact, and asked that she forgive his lack of usual communication. Much had been upturned, and he had become lacking in that facet of life.

Rosanna made the necessary arrangements and began the journey to his estate within the week. Valerian House could do without her for a fortnight. Obligations of friends and family had their place of honor in her world, too. She wondered just what sort of situation would be awaiting her upon arrival and sent up a prayer of thanks as she disembarked.

***

Storyline: Questions Without Answers

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

What exactly are we respecting?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: A Strategic Retreat

By the time the official announcements had been made and the pamphlets were papered across the City of Elua, she was gone. She had stayed long enough to offer her brief respects to the fallen Mandrake, but soon enough she was gone.

Jocaste had tried to stop her, tried to ask for time and for patience, for her Second to choose temperance instead of passion. But Odilia had been cold as the winter ice of the Longest Night itself. “Why should I stay when again I have been humiliated?”

And there was another willing to offer sanctuary.

The Duc of L’Agnace had a marvelous estate, several generations old and filled with the history of Terre D’Ange and the glory of L’Agnace. The province was the heart of the country geographically and many would say even culturally. L’Agnace hosted the City of Elua itself within its territory, and the fertile farmland fed most of the country.

It was a peaceful place. And she needed peace.

Odilia stood at the balcony outside the parlor of her private suite—the second best rooms of the chateau—watching the gardeners tend to the grounds of the Chalasse estate. The flowers were blooming, they needed upkeep so they could provide the Duc’s bees with enough nectar to create the honey of which he was so proud.

It was peaceful here. She could find happiness here.

His invitation had arrived the very same day that the first announcements had been made of the royal engagement. He certainly had wasted no time. The clinical part of her appreciated his pragmatism. Better to jump on the new opportunity as soon as it arose. And the wounded part of her, the part that had hoped for something special and magical, wanted to be taken care of. She hurt. In the deepest parts of her heart, she hurt.

Her left hand rose to press her palm to her cheek, trying to force herself to calm again—trying to push down the emotions that rose in her chest, the ones that would bring her to tears again. There was no use in weeping. She had known who the Crown Prince was when he had first come to Dahlia House. She had known there would be no fairytale, no grand romance like the great Phedrè with her Cassiline or Queen Ysandre with her Cruarch. She had known this. There was no use wasting her tears on something she had always known she would never have.

She wished Gustav all the best, she really did. There was nothing else she could do. And she…

Well, she did love him. She wanted him happy. Her prince who had rested in her arms and told her her eyes were the stars by which he set his course. She loved him.

But he needed to love Terre D’Ange more, and she was many things, but selfish was not one of them. She wouldn’t keep him hers when a king needed to serve his people above all.

Besides, there was another offer on her table. Another question had been raised, another possibility lay before her.

She glanced down at the topaz and diamond ring that Roland had gifted to her, remembering his words. As my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind.

Odilia would need to give him an answer soon. Perhaps the kingdom should see a double wedding. Perhaps she finally ought to grow up and leave her girlish heart behind.

What had it given her but pain?

Storyline: Nuptial News

It was strange to hear such joyful news so soon after the announcement of the grief of Mandrake House. The Court of Night Blooming Flowers mourned the untimely pruning of one of their best blossoms, and yet that did not stop the politics and the hustle of the City of Elua beyond the gates on Mont Nuit.

A messenger from the palace had brought the news, delivered in trusted hands to the Dowayne of Cereus House, that the Longest Night might be a time of joy for all to celebrate the young King’s happiness.

And soon enough, the notices were placed throughout the city, and riders carried the news throughout the countryside to all the provinces of Terre D’Ange.

From the Royal Palace of the City of Elua, the seat of House Courcel.

By the Grace of Blessed Elua and all of his Companions, His Majesty Gustav de la Courcel, King of Terre D’Ange announces his betrothal.

Upon the Longest Day of the year will His Majesty be wed to Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale!

Long live the King! And all blessings to his future Queen!

Storyline: A Fallen Mandrake

Officially, Mandrake House closed its doors for three days of mourning. Unofficially, it would be more than a week before the adepts began entertaining patrons again. For two days after Waldemar nó Mandrake’s passing, Aliksandria was inconsolable. She shut herself in her room and refused all food. On the third day, she emerged in a black gown and attended his funeral.

At the funeral, Aliks sat next to Dowayne Kali nó Mandrake, in the seat usually reserved for the deceased’s wife. She had no legal claim to it, as they were not married and had not even declared each other consorts, and yet no one begrudged her the space of closest family member. The service was overseen by Priests of Elua, as was customary. Afterwards, when everyone left, Aliks stayed in her seat. Only Petrea remained, supporting her oldest friend.

As dusk began to settle, Aliks rose and looked at Petrea. “You should go to Mandrake House, give Cereus’s regards.”

“What? I should go? Where are you going?” Petrea asked, shocked.

“There is somewhat I need to do, and I must do it alone,” replied Aliks, and she left, walking to the carriage and leaving.

Aliks didn’t go to Mandrake House. If she had she would have seen her lover’s flogger laid on a silken cushion in his honor. She would have heard the adepts talk with grim merriment about their lost friend. Likely, she would have been deep in her cups, and she certainly wouldn’t have been alone in that.

No, Aliks went to the Yeshuite quarter.

Her carriage pulled up in front of the Yeshiva, and she bid the driver remain. He was in service to Cereus House and would, of course, never leave the Dowayne stranded.

When she rapped upon the door, a young boy answered it. His eyes grew big upon seeing her, and while she was wearing a modest gown, she knew it was modest by D’Angeline standards not Yeshuite ones.

“I am looking for Esther Negron, do you know her?” she asked the boy, and he quickly nodded then opened the door further to let her in.

She stepped into a small hallway and was directed to sit upon a very uncomfortable bench as the boy left through a different door. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only half of an hour before the door opened, and the Rebbe appeared.

He was a man of middle years with a beard only slightly streaked with gray and a sour look on his face. Clearly, he was not happy about having a Servant of Naamah appear on his doorstep. Nevertheless, hospitality demanded he permit her entrance and curiosity prodded him forward.

He opened the door to permit Aliks into what appeared to be an office of sorts. Seated in one chair was a woman of elder years, eyes downcast. Aliks took one of the other chairs unprompted, followed by the Rebbe.

“Why are you looking for Esther,” he asked coldly.

Aliks looked at him and said, “that I can tell only her.”

The Rebe nodded toward the woman, and Aliks addressed her in Aragonian. “Señora Negron, I am her to talk to you about your son.”

The woman raised her head and looked Aliks square in the eyes. “I speak D’Angeline, girl,” she spat in D’Angeline. “And I do not wish to speak of my son. He made his choices, and I have made mine. Until the day he repents his sin, leaves your goddess’s service, and returns to the One God, I will not speak of him.”

“Señora, I am very sorry to say, but I have come from his funeral. Your son is no longer with us.”

Tears fell down Esther’s face, and she wrung her hands for many minutes. “You loved him.” She said it as a statement not a question.

“I did, Señora.”

Esther stood and turned to leave then paused at the door. “Are you one of her Servants too? Like him?”

“I am, Señora,” Aliks replied.

“And does it bring shame to your family too?” Esther spat.

Aliks sat up straighter in her chair, which was equally as uncomfortable as the bench had been. “My family has been in Naamah’s service for generations, both my parents before me and my grandparents before them serve her. It brings them pride.”

With that, Esther left, and then the Rebbe addressed her. “You have delivered your message, do not come here again.” And she was shown out.

On the ride home, Aliks shed all the tears she had been holding back. She grieved for her lost lover and for his mother too. It had been a thing of great trust that he had even told her where to find his mother. Though his choices had grieved his mother so, they brought joy and pride to Aliksandria and to the others who were fortunate enough to call him family.

Storyline: A Candle in the Night

The decision was made. Aliks had talked to nearly every person of import to her. She had called upon Count Shahrizai, Manuel from the Cassiline Brotherhood, Petrea, even her parents.

Count Shahrizai had told her that she was strong and would do well regardless of her choice. That, while he had never expected her to become a mother, he could see her being a great one. In the end though, he had no opinion nor advice on her choice.

Manuel had written a lengthy letter back, reminding her that while both their lives had been chosen for them by their parents, they loved their paths. He also took care to point out that crofters’ children usually became crofters, and merchants’ children usually grew up to become merchants, so how was her profession any different (a decidedly un-Cassiline thing to say)? His final statement was that his only regret in his path was his lack of children and advised her to have them.

Petrea, on the other hand, had been furious. First, because Aliks had not told her first (though the reason she had not was because she wanted to be sure before she involved her Second). Second, because she feared for her friend. An adept from Gentian House had passed in the child bed not a year gone by, and they had both gone to her funeral. Finally, she had reminded her that every child at Cereus House was Aliks’s child. It was part of the Dowayne’s duty to guide the children under her care.

Her parents, having retired from Naamah’s service and taken up a residence in the city, told her what it was like raising a child in the Night Court. They shared their challenges of living in different Houses and how her father had made a point to visit his child twice a week, at least until her marque was sold. It was not easy, they said, to be a parent and a Servant of Naamah, but it was emphatically worth it to them. They left her with the reminder that the choice was hers alone, but help and advice would always be available from their home.

Aliksandria sent a missive to Mandrake House, requesting an assignation with Waldemar at the Shahrizai hunting estate outside the city. Count Niklos had been kind enough to offer it. This was a conversation she wanted to have away from Mont Nuit.

The day arrived, and with it early snows. They arrived at the manor separately, Waldemar arriving about an hour before Aliksandria. They greeted each other warmly then went to the sitting room to talk.

A large fire was roaring in the hearth when Aliksandria pulled the single beeswax taper in its box from her cloak. She looked at him expectantly, his face was schooled to stillness, but she knew his mind must be racing.

“There is a Temple to Eisheth in the city,” she said softly, “but I wanted to do this alone with you.”

Carefully she took a twig and ignited it from the fire, then lit the candle. She sank to her knees abeyante and began the prayer. Though it was one she had learned years ago, she had never said it before, but her voice held true, and her words did not falter.

They honored Naamah as only a pair of her Servants could, in front of the roaring fire as the candle melted. Their union blessed by both goddesses.

——

As they had arrived in separate carriages, they needs must leave the same way. But Waldemar gave her a departing kiss and assured her he would call upon Cereus House tomorrow.

A funny thing it was. Aliks was a Servant of Naamah and had lain with many a patron, and Waldemar more than any of them. Yet that night in the hunting lodge felt different, and she was giddy as a schoolgirl about it.

Aliks owed it to Petrea to tell her first, so when she got back to Cereus House she summoned her friend and Second to her office. It was during that conversation that the footman burst in.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” Aliksandria demanded, rising from her chair.

“My lady Dowayne, I am so sorry, word has come from Mandrake House. Master Waldemar’s carriage overturned in the snow. He did not make it.”

Storyline: A Stunning Proposal

“How is my little Dahlia?”

Odilia glanced up as Roland de Chalasse came striding into the private parlor of his ducal townhouse. He didn’t bother removing his leather gloves before taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Missing the anxiety of your Mont Nuit and the preparations for the Longest Night?”

“No,” she said, a tiny smile on her face at the thought. “I am not missing that at all. These days spent here have been a balm for my mind.”

“I may not be an adept, but I can manage the basics of resting and soothing.”

She scoffed a little laugh, and he settled beside her on the couch with a theatrical groan. She smiled at him, asking archly, “Shall I have the servants stoke up the fires and prepare a hot bath to soothe your ancient bones?”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “I am hardly in need of coddling. Not even by you, courtesan.”

She feigned a blush, ducking her head in a show of false modesty that he didn’t believe and made it clear with another little snort under his breath. But her fingers absently toyed with the tooled leather of the book she had been reading during her morning of leisure, and she asked it quietly, “What news from court?”

There was a long breath of silence, and she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t look up, just traced the gilded designs stamped into the leather binding of the book on her lap.

“The vultures continue circling,” he said at last, answering her quietly. “The Caerdicci are particularly intent. They bring their breeding stock out every chance they get to try to catch the king’s eye. Certainly they are lovely, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in any of them. People are beginning to whisper.”

She continued stroking the leather, determined not to react. “What else?”

“They are insisting he make a decision soon. They say it has been long enough. He must choose a bride and a queen by the Longest Night. They have given him enough time to get to know them. A decision must be made.”

“I know,” she whispered. It would break her heart, but she knew it would happen soon, she couldn’t deny that the day was coming. “I won’t stand in the way.”

“I know you won’t,” Roland said, taking her foot and drawing it into his lap so he could rub her feet slowly. “But you have plenty of courtiers afraid that you will.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” she said. “No matter what happens. I wouldn’t. I love him too much.”

It felt strange to admit it to the Duc de Chalasse. How far had they come? She had thought he was her enemy, and she still wondered at times what his angle was, what he was getting out of their arrangement, but he had acted with honor, and she couldn’t ask for anything more than that. And strong and fit as he was, he was still past the prime of his life, a man with grown grandchildren. It was strange to find in him a compassionate soul after everything. Jocaste had warned her not to let him into her head, but there were times that she thought he was letting her into his first. And this assignation now, three days as his guest and courtesan in his home…

A year ago, in her rage and fury, she had asked him to help her show the court that she did not have a soft heart, that she was a threat to the court, and he had delivered. Patron gifts, nights on the town, assignations. He favored her for all the City to see. But now with Gustav’s letter, with the very real possibility that she would lose him, her fire had dulled slightly. She had allowed a certain intimate honesty to rise between her and Roland.

And there was warmth in his voice when he said, “I know you do, little Dahlia. That’s why you’re still such a threat.”

“Because I love him?”

“Because he loves you.”

She finally looked up at him as he took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of her knuckles. His eyes were filled with sympathy. Not pity, he knew better than to hurt her pride like that. But he had seen how the court was pressing in on the young king, had known that if the king had his way, there wouldn’t be any question whom he would choose. And he knew she had been hurting, keeping it to herself, trying to prove herself strong and capable. There was so much in her that he recognised from his younger self. There was so much he could do to help her, if she would let him be so sentimental.

“He does,” Roland continued. “He loves you. This choice is tearing him apart because he knows no matter what he chooses, he will lose. Follow his heart, and he loses power. Follow his head, and he loses you.”

“I never wanted this for him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “None of us want such hardship for the ones we love.”

He reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing her chin to lift her face again, meeting her eyes. “I have grown very fond of you, Odilia. Far more fond than I had ever thought I would. I would help you, if you let me.”

“How?”

Elua, she looked young. Sadness and trust and hope all glittered in her eyes, and he knew she was a balm for his lonely soul.

“We both know he must choose a wife, the kingdom needs a queen. We also both know he will struggle with this duty so long as you are available to him.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“As a courtesan of the Night Court, you have made your marque and all of the country knows what that marque indicates. That you are accepting of contracts. Even if he were to marry, he could still contract you through your House and continue to play at having you for his, even for a night.”

He watched her brows pinch, seeing the way her dark eyes flicked between his, watching the thoughts race through her mind as she followed his logic.

“As a married woman,” he said quietly, “He would not be able to cling to the hope of keeping you. It would break his heart, but he would move on stronger than before and determined to do his duty without…distraction.”

“Married?” The word was almost silent as it passed her lips. He had stunned her, he knew, so he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

“I do not love you,” he said gently, “nor am I asking you to love me. Upon my death, the ducal title will pass to my son, I am not giving you a title of that magnitude. There are some traditions I still uphold, and my son has the right of the ducal lands upon my death. But…as my wife, you would have certain protections. You would be a Duchesse, so long as I am living, you would have a place at court where you could still play your games and influence the politics with your cunning mind. And he couldn’t keep you as his mistress without unbalancing the tenuous peace of the duchies.”

He opened the ring box to show her the ring he had had made. A gold band with a topaz in the center, like the necklace he had given her, but tucked to the side of the topaz, was a small diamond.

“I know he is the one in your heart,” Roland said, looking down at the design. “The diamond is for him. I acknowledge his place in your love. But the topaz is for me, for the opportunity and protections I can offer you.”

“Roland, I…”

“I don’t want an answer now,” he said. “There’s too much already weighing you down. But I ask that you think about it. Consider it in your grand game. Regardless of what you choose, the ring is yours. Wear it as my wife or as my courtesan, it’s a gift.”

Storyline: Tea at Heliotrope – Part Four

Part Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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