It had been quite some time since he had come to visit. She understood that. He had a duchy to run, just as she had a House. But Jocaste nó Dahlia kept her collection of connections well tended and she knew that his letter brought with it plenty of possible advantages. Or disasters. She wasn’t a fool, certainly not where it concerned people such as Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace. She stood watching at her window as he rode up to the front doors, still proud as ever on his stallion as he dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting ostler.
She didn’t need to watch him enter the House, she trusted in her Second and the adepts to ensure just the right amount of haughty welcome as guests came in to the salon. But the Duc was not interested in the salon, he had said. This was not just a social visit from an old friend and patron. No, his letter had been quite interesting. She glanced down at it where it lay on her desk, eyes flicking over his confident penmanship. So little had changed.
The servant opened the door and Jocaste’s gaze lifted as Roland de Chalasse strode into her office and her life for the first time in over eight years.
“I hear you have been named Dowayne,” was his greeting, punctuated by the meeting kiss before he said, “My congratulations. Surely you have done well for yourself and for the House.”
“I will suffer no less,” she said, gesturing him to the couches, her own little private salon.
He was still tall and strong, betraying that he kept himself active even in his sixth decade. She had never known him to be idle, though he had every opportunity to with his wealth and title. His hair was turning silver with age but she remembered how golden it had once been in his youth. She had enjoyed carding her fingers through his thick hair when they had shared a bed in his assignation and he had hummed so warmly when she had done so that she had teased him he was purring and thereafter he had been her golden lion, an endearment only for him. And for her, he had called her his little queen, teasing her for her Dahlia pride that she had worn so well. He had been a skilled patron whom she had enjoyed whenever he chose to visit Dahlia House. And a very valuable contact with whom to keep up correspondence. And then, as happens in life, duties and responsibilities and family took up more of his time and his visits were less and less frequent. There was no sadness to it, it was just the way of things. She kept up a periodic correspondence with him, keeping her network of contacts as was her pride and habit, but she had not expected this most recent letter. She had expected something after the news of the Longest Night and the stolen cloak but certainly not this.
“You are looking well,” the Duc said as he made himself comfortable on her couch with all the effortless grace of the nobility. “Being Dowayne agrees with you.”
“As your title agrees with you,” she said, easing herself down onto the couch across from him with a rustle of her skirts, “We are well suited to that which we have become.”
“Hardly a surprise.”
“No,” she agreed, “Unlike your letter to me.”
“Just like that?”
“Do not tell me you have become a man of idle chatter with the time you have spent with the other nobles in the court?”
The hint of a smile, “Never.”
“I thought not,” her smile was more visible. “So yes, right to your letter.”
“An apology was only appropriate considering it was a son of my province, one of the families under my ducal authority, that offered the insult.”
“Young Cyran de Somerville was a victim of his ambition.”
“Something neither of us has ever denied in ourselves,” the Duc said absently, “Ambition itself is not the issue, it was the misguided actions that he neglected to think through that caused the offence.”
“To your pride as much as that of my Second,” Jocaste said, her brows lifting.
“Yes,” he inclined his head a fraction, “De Somerville’s actions have embarrassed my province and shamed his family and my power. Hence the need for my personal apology.”
“Which you offered in the letter,” the Dowayne said, “Would you repeat yourself now that you are here in person?”
She knew him too well. There was something else he wanted. Something he had hinted at in the words of his letter.
This time, his smile had teeth, a hint of the danger in him that had made him so interesting a lover and so valuable a patron. “My granddaughter has written to me, concerned for her friend.”
“Dowayne Rosanna has a kind heart,” Jocaste said, “She is a good friend to my Second and has been for many years. She is a credit to her House as much as to her family.”
Roland accepted the compliment graciously, something mischievous glittering in his green eyes as he said, “I should hope my daughter finally got it right after so many children. Nevertheless, with the events of the Longest Night, my granddaughter’s concerns, the coronation of the King, and now the whispers I am hearing from the Guilds, my interest is thoroughly piqued.”
Jocaste’s face had cooled slightly at the mention of the Guilds. Yes she knew what those whispers were. Dowayne Aliksandria had sent a note to all of the other Dowaynes regarding the trouble the leader of the Silversmith Guild was stirring up because of Odilia’s affair with the King. And if Duc Roland de Chalasse was in the City, in her office, claiming to be interested, then this could be most advantageous indeed. It wasn’t an apology he offered, not really. It was a favor. One she could use as she pleased, keeping it for herself until she chose to call in the favor, she could keep him in her debt – he was a powerful man to have in her pocket – or she could use it for someone else. He was a powerful man to have as an ally and Odilia needed all the powerful allies she could get.
An arch of her brow and she asked, almost coyly, but too canny to be coy, “Would you like to meet her?”
“I think it is rather overdue,” he said lightly.
“As a grandfather or as a nobleman?”
“Both.” He raised a hand as she moved to rise, saying, “I am too old for the excitement of the salon, Jocaste. I would prefer to have her join us here.”
“Ah, a shame,” Jocaste said, settling herself and ringing a bell to summon one of the young novices, “She really does shine in the salon.”
“Rosanna has told me in her letters about her skill with the chess board,” he said, leaning back against the couch, “Perhaps another time I will challenge her to a game.”
Yes, Jocaste thought, and she would certainly be a challenge even for you. However, out loud she only asked for the novice to find Odilia and arrange some light fare for the three of them. Ten minutes later, Jocaste recognized the knock at her door, “Enter.”
Odilia bore the tray herself, bringing it to the table and setting it down with a sweep of her skirts. Jocaste smiled, “Thank you, Odilia, you did not have to bring it yourself.”
“Even the Second carries trays for the Dowayne,” Odilia said with her quiet smile.
“Odilia,” Jocaste said, gesturing, “I would like you to meet Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace.”
Odilia swept him a curtsy with a polite, “Your Grace.”
He noticed she did not wait for his leave to rise, straightening from her almost too shallow curtsy herself and, of course, wasn’t that her right as a Dahlia? He had come to their kingdom for this meeting and she would remind him of her own sovereignty within her own walls. Had she met him in his own estate, perhaps she would have shown him a deeper courtesy. Then again, perhaps not. She seemed a bold thing. Very bold as her dark eyes met his without flinching.
“A pleasure,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles. “Please, sit.”
A twist of one dark brow at his ease in offering her a seat that was not his, but she settled herself beside her Dowayne, both Dahlias watching the Duc as he, too, watched them. They made a good pair, he noted idly, clearly used to working together as a team as they sat easily next to each other. Different features, different faces, different bodies, but both clearly Dahlias. It was in every line of their limbs, every breath they breathed, every angle of their posture. He had been too long from Mont Nuit, he thought to himself with a private smile.
“I have heard much about you, Odilia,” he said lightly, “I thought it time we met.”
“You honor me, Your Grace,” she said, perfect courtesies, perfect etiquette. He expected that. He had also expected the coquetry that indicated interest in the feminine body language. Perhaps a smile, perhaps a modest turn of her head, perhaps a ducking of her eyes. But she met his gaze firmly, no false modesty. She was a brave thing. Perhaps the other nobles were right to be wary of her.
“And after Rosanna wrote to me about the ugliness after the Masque,” if he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the tiny flicker of shouldering anger in her eyes when he mentioned it, “I certainly had to come myself and offer my apology.”
“I was unaware you were involved.”
Very bold indeed for a girl from the streets to insinuate so much to a Sovereign Duc without blinking. His eyebrows lifted before he could school his own expression. “I was not,” he said coolly, “However young de Somerville is under my authority as Sovereign Duc and it is more than just his family he embarrassed by his clumsy attempts to threaten you.”
“I’m sure it would have been more preferable for many if he had not been caught.”
“Nevertheless,” his eyes narrowed slightly, “Allow me to offer my apologies and that of the de Somervilles for the incident.”
He watched the slightest tip of her chin to lift her face higher as she breathed in the moment of a Sovereign Duc offering an apology to her, common-born girl from the streets.
“Accepted,” she said lightly, “You are gracious to offer it yourself to take the weight from the De Somerville family, Your Grace. Surely they are blessed to have a Sovereign Duc that is so understanding.”
“Their punishment for this is still underway,” he said crisply, “They did not need to add debasing themselves before a commoner to their tasks.”
“Perhaps it might have been good for them,” she answered, the corners of her eyes tightening.
“Instead I chose to do it myself,” he said, watching her levelly, “My power and pride are not so easily insulted by it.”
“I’m sure,” she said softly.
Jocaste broke the tension of the moment by leaning forward towards the tray to choose for herself a ripe strawberry from the crystal fruit bowl. “Will you be staying long in the City, Your Grace?”
“I had not yet decided,” he said, taking a spoonful of the olive tapenade on fresh bread, “Will you attempt to persuade me to stay?”
“I think I will succeed, actually,” she smiled and it was the genteel, unassuming smile that Odilia knew meant she was up to something. “I have heard that the Théâtre Thelesis is hosting a Hellene poet who will be singing some of the great epics in the traditional style.”
“Is that so?”
“I believe he will be beginning with the Song of Illium next week. I find that appropriate for what the rumors say is the state of the city now. A story of war and great heroes, all over the possession of a beautiful woman?”
Odilia’s eyes flicked to Jocaste.
“Perhaps then I will stay longer,” Roland said. “I would certainly be interested in an evening of the arts; one that also praises the art of war…well, that honey makes it all the sweeter for a man like me.”
“I had thought you would be interested,” Jocaste smiled. “I thought of you immediately when I heard the news.”
“You are a good friend to have, Jocaste,” he said courteously. “I would like to contract Odilia for that evening.”
Odilia blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. So it was possible, he thought, pleased with himself for achieving it.
“You know my philosophy, Roland,” Jocaste said easily, “A Dahlia chooses their own patrons and it is an honor to be chosen.”
“Admirable,” Roland inclined his head to her, “And very true. It would be my honor to have Odilia nó Dahlia on my arm as my companion for the evening. If she is willing to accept, of course.”
Her shoulders squared slightly, recognizing the challenge in his words. She would not let a man like Roland de Chalasse intimidate her. She had the heart of the King! She would survive an evening with the Duc.
“I am,” she said clearly.
“Excellent,” Roland said brusquely, rising to his feet, “I will return tomorrow to sign the contract.”
Odilia almost asked him if he did not want to discuss the price for the evening, but thought better of it. Old money nobility like him could afford nigh anything.
“Silvere will escort you out to your horse, Your Grace,” Jocaste said smoothly, rising with him and offering her face for the farewell kiss. “It was a delight to see you again after so long.”
“Fare you well, Dowayne Jocaste,” he said, almost warmly, “And do not think I will forget how neatly you maneuvered this.”
“I was not trying to be subtle,” she answered him, “I know you are too clever to try.”
His eyes flicked to the quiet brunette by the Dowayne’s side, green meeting dark brown as he said, “Odilia. I will see you soon.”
“I look forward to it, Your Grace.” A challenge of her own.
It wasn’t until the door of the study had closed behind him that Jocaste spoke again, “Be careful with him, Odilia. He is a dangerous man. A powerful friend to have and a deadly enemy.”
Odilia only waited silently until Jocaste sighed and continued, “To be seen with a man like him will help you. As it will help the reputation of the House. But you must play this chess game very carefully. I have dangled you before him as a challenge to catch his interest, but now that you have it, beware. I have my reasons for doing this, just as he has his own reasons for agreeing. Being seen with him will make a statement about your strength and resilience, but he will also be making his own statement by being seen with you.”
Jocaste turned to look at her Second, “Do not let him get inside your head. He is a generous patron and he will ensure your evening is enjoyable. Do not let your guard down with him, ever.”
Odilia nodded, “I understand.”
Lights, a most magical event only seen in the most northern areas of the world. Please accept this gift with Marco’s and my affections.