Tag: Niklos Shahrizai

Where the Sun Sleeps – Part I

The Masquerade was a wonderful event, one that Mena enjoyed to the fullest in Olivier’s honor. It was what he would have wanted, nothing was of more value to him than the happiness of his family. That included the entirety of the House, so they all did their best to honor him. 

Once they returned home and slept off their revelry, the mood shifted. A pair of adepts gathered all the children into the playroom, closed the door, and spoke to them at great length about what had happened to Olivier. How they handled it, Mena did not know, she was busy with preparations. The novices swept every corner of the House, washed the floors, helped Cook, and covered all the art. The adepts were busy day and night for three days, changing curtains, covering mirrors, setting out the incense and candles, and making sure every member of the House had suitable mourning garments. Loir oversaw everything for the first two days, before she joined Mena at the Temple of Elua. 

The space reserved for death vigils was small without feeling claustrophobic. Loir had arrived just before sunset, as was the custom in Heliotrope. She slipped in, laying her coat and bag down on the couch that was along one wall, and knelt next to Mena, taking in her friend’s appearance. It was clear that she’d been crying, her eyes were red rimmed and a little swollen, and her hair was still partly in the arrangement she’d worn to the Masque. Has she slept? Loir asked herself, her brows furrowing as she reached for Mena’s hands. They were ice cold, her fingertips were even a little red, so Loir squeezed them gently.

“Come on, love,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you and Laurent nap while the Priestess and I do our part?”

Mena stared at her for a long moment, her eyes clearly showing her deep grief and soul-deep loneliness. Loir waited, her thumbs idly rubbing circles on the backs of her friend’s hands. Mena drew in a shuddering breath and said, “Yes. Yes, that’s what we should do next.”

An Acolyte of Elua gently touched Mena’s shoulder, drawing her attention and encouraging her to stand. “Please, follow me, Sister. Let us care for you so you can care for the dead.”

Loir smiled encouragingly as Mena and Laurent were led away before she stood and retrieved her bag. When his wife had died, Loir had spoken at length to Olivier about how death was handled in Jebe-Barkal. He had been fascinated and had asked her to carry out a few of the things she had mentioned when his time came. She laid out the contents of her bag on her side of his body and looked over at the Priestess who would be helping her prepare his body for entombment. The woman smiled gently, and Loir returned her smile, then turned and took her first good, long look at Olivier. The toll his sickness had taken on him was visible in the frailty left behind. She closed her eyes for a moment, speaking to Elua and the goddess of death who she’d grown up with as well, asking them to care for the man who helped raise her, who’d taken her in without question, who’d been the sun for everyone who knew him. Opening her eyes, she spoke to him. “Olivier Mathan nò Heliotrope, beloved of so many, guiding light of Heliotrope, I come to you humbly, as your graveminder. My hands will be the last that touch your body, may they convey to your spirit our love and respect. My hands will be the last ones to seal your tomb, may you be welcomed into the afterlife by all that have gone before you. My body will be the last one to leave your graveside vigil, may you flourish in Terre d’Ange Beyond in perfect love and health until we meet again.”

She took a deep breath, reaching to uncover him and start his preparations with hands that did not shake.

~

The week since Olivier’s death had passed as a blur for Mena. She felt like she was moving through her life under someone else’s control for the first four days, but now she was feeling more lucid. Mourning in Helitrope was a serious and sacred affair, so much so that the wake seemed to materialize over night. She stood on the back porch, watching the sun inch closer to the horizon. It was a moment of peace, something she hadn’t felt this whole week and knew would not come again until the funeral was completed. That was three days away though, first came the wake. She would receive mourners for the next three nights, from dusk to dawn. At dawn on the third day, his funeral would be held in their tradition. 

She sighed and headed inside towards the front parlor. The entire House was present, spilling through the public rooms, already speaking quietly among themselves. None of them had seen Olivier yet, they would when the parlor was opened. Mena stepped through them, giving and accepting sympathy as she went. Pausing at the parlor doors, she turned and said, “My House, my family, join me in remembering our departed Olivier as he wanted. Eat and drink freely, let merriment fill you if it comes.”

With that she opened the doors and stepped in. Olivier was laid in the middle of the room on a wooden table. He was dressed in what he’d selected: a pair of pants made by his late wife, a sweater knitted for him by Mena, and a shirt selected by Laurent. Where the flowers had been found, Mena did not know, but he was surrounded by gentle banks of all varieties of sun-following flowers, the bright yellow of sunflowers somehow existing with the purples of the ground covering heliotropes. He had a gentle smile on his face, and a wreath of flowers and grasses adorned his head. Loir stepped close to her, sliding her arm around Mena’s waist and leaning her head on her shoulder. Mena returned her gentle hug and said, “Vouloir, he looks splendid. You have made us all proud. Will you stay with me while the mourners come? For a while anyway.”

Loir nodded and gestured towards the door, “Of course, my friend. Here they come now.”

~

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House entered the Heliotrope House quietly. She had made sure that she would be among the first to arrive, wanting to show both the respect of her position and the support to her friend. She took in the assembled adepts who murmured quietly amongst themselves, a somber air filling the hallways and public rooms. She scanned the space for Mena, but did not see her in the groups gathered there. Petrea made her way towards the parlor, where she knew the late Dowayne would be lying in state, offering gentle smiles and soft words of sympathy to those she passed. She could see the depth of sadness in everyone’s eyes. It was a far different atmosphere than the highly formal one of Gerault’s funeral. Olivier had so clearly been loved, and Petrea’s heart ached for the members of Heliotrope House. If only it could have been so with her passed Dowayne.

Moving into the front parlor, Petrea’s eyes landed on Mena, who stood near Olivier’s body, another woman—perhaps this was Loir?—leaning on her shoulder. Petrea approached silently, not wanting to interrupt. She stepped up to Olivier, so lovely in his vestments, so peaceful in death, his soul gone to True Terre d’Ange Beyond, his body surrounded by beautiful flowers. His body had been carefully prepared, and he looked…loved…was, again, the word that came to Petrea’s mind. This was a manifestation of Blessed Elua’s tenet. Heliotrope House had truly loved Olivier, and they showed that love for him in this way.

Raising her eyes from the bier, Petrea met Mena’s eyes and offered a small smile. She walked around to her friend and gave her the kiss of greeting. “Mena,” she said, taking her friend’s hands. “On behalf of Dowayne Aliksandria and all of Cereus House, please accept our deepest condolences on your loss.” She bit her lip and looked away from a brief moment, thinking carefully on her next words before continuing. “Aliks did so wish that she could come to pay respects personally upon the death of another Dowayne. She is, however, somewhat unwell, and we did not want to risk bringing any sickness to your House.” Petrea paused, then spoke again, her voice softer. “I also wanted to come see you myself. To visit you as, well, as a friend. To offer any support. Please know that I am here for you in this difficult time.”

Mena gently squeezed Petrea’s hands. “Thank you for coming, my friend. I hope Aliks feels better soon, being sick in the winter is miserable.”

She looked at the ceiling for a minute, inhaling deeply before she looked back at Petrea. “I wish that Gerault had allowed you out of your House, I am sure you would have loved Olivier, and I know he would have loved you. Please,” she said and gently squeezed Petrea’s hands again, “come and visit. We’d love to shower you with the love you deserve.”

Petrea’s smile wobbled slightly at the sentiment. She then turned to the younger woman standing with Mena. “You must be Loir. It is my pleasure to meet you. Mena speaks so highly of you, and I am pleased to finally have the chance to see you in person. I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

Loir took Petrea’s hands in hers. “Petrea, it is wonderful to meet you as well. Thank you so much for coming and for your condolences, it means so much to me and to the House.”

Petrea glanced around the room and saw that there were other mourners, but none stood close enough to hear their conversation. She leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. “I assume you are now the Dowayne, Mena, and Loir—” She glanced at the other woman. “—I am guessing that you will be named Second. As Cereus House has a new Dowayne and Second, we are familiar with the changes and upheaval it can cause within a House.” Her lip raised in a wry look. “Although I suspect your change in leadership will be far smoother than ours. I, personally, and Cereus House in its position in the Night Court, will do whatever we can to help you with this transition. We are all here for you.”

Mena smiled gently, “Thank you for that. Luckily for us, Olivier was very sick for a very long time. I have been working as Dowayne privately for more than a year. I will, of course, come and call you for advice with the public aspect.”

Loir’s laugh was less restrained, “I will certainly come see you. We Seconds have to work together since we get to do the dirty work. Speaking of that—” She leaned in closer to Petrea. “—If I’d had any idea how terrible Gerault was behind closed doors, I would have come and sped his return to Elua for you.” She winked before stepping away to speak to another adept.

Petrea bit her lip to hold in her laugh at Loir’s candor, so appreciative of the support she knew she now had in this House. She gave Mena’s hands one last squeeze. “I will let you greet the rest of your guests. Please do call on me.” She stepped away and made her way through the crowd gathering around Olivier.

~

Adam nó Heliotrope sat in a corner on the grand staircase in the main foyer of the House, pressed against the wall next to his best friend, Alain. The two young men often found themselves in such a position—pressed together, hidden away. Olivier often found them where they shouldn’t be, spying on events they shouldn’t. But he would find them hiding no more. 

“What are you thinking, sweets?” Alain whispered, using their private nickname for each other. His arm was wrapped around Adam’s shoulders, and Adam’s wound around Alain’s waist. 

“I couldn’t pick out a particular thought. Everything is so jumbled up. This doesn’t feel real,” Adam murmured back. Olivier’s death felt impossible to Adam. Olivier had been Dowayne for Adam and Alain’s entire lives; they had known no other steering the steadfast ship of Heliotrope. Having never known his own father, Adam looked up to Olivier like one. How did a young man go on without his father? Adam had loved Olivier so fiercely. Tears welled in his eyes, and his throat tightened. He buried his face in Alain’s shoulder, clutching his waist as though his friend could hold him steady in the sea of grief.

Alain ran a hand through Adam’s hair and made soothing sounds. His own sadness was not as sharp, for he has come to the House not as a babe, but a young boy. “You know I will always take care of you, right?” Adam nodded, his tears staining Alain’s shirt. He kissed Adam’s head and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Why don’t we go back to our rooms? I think you need some privacy to grieve appropriately.”

The two stood, almost as one. Alain put a hand on Adam’s back and guided him up the stairs and back to their quarters. They moved silently, as they always did, slipping away unnoticed. 

~

Niklos arrived in the big, glittery family coach. A pair of cousins arrived with him; they’d been patrons in Heliotrope one of the years he wasn’t in the City. Their mood was somber, and well it should be. Olivier had been well known and well loved in the City, and his loss was a difficult one. Upon their entrance, they were directed toward the parlor, and Niklos could already see a crowd gathering near the bier. He thought he spotted both Mena and Loir in that direction and looked to his cousins. “You don’t have to follow me, but I hope you will pay your respects to the new Dowayne and the House.” With a brief nod from both of them, Niklos turned and moved slowly towards Mena, murmuring his sympathies to any member of Heliotrope that he passed.

He recognised the stately woman speaking to Mena as the Dowayne of Dahlia House. She grasped the Heliotrope adept’s hands warmly, a kind and gentle smile on her face as she offered soft words of comfort and strength to her. No more than that, she did not take up much time, but Jocaste ever had a large heart, so she had come to offer what comfort she could. 

She nodded to Mena and the other Heliotrope at her side, before lifting her skirt and stepping back to free her for the next person seeking her time. 

He slipped up to Mena quietly, having nodded to Jocaste as he passed her. He was familiar enough with the Dowayne of Dahlia House, as she had helped facilitate his chess matches earlier in the year. He rested a hand on Mena’s upper arm and leaned in, whispering his condolences to her softly and promising her that he would be in touch soon. He thought to invite her to dinner away from the House, once things had settled once again.

A Moment After the Masque

The Longest Night Masquerade at Cereus House had been more than Niklos could have dreamt of. Certainly there had been stories he had heard, and rumors as well, but nothing could really compare to being there himself. The tables had fair groaned under the weight of the food, and the ballroom of Cereus House had been bedecked as a winter forest. The costumes were stunning, as Markus nò Eglantine had promised when Niklos had picked up the outfit the adept had designed for him three days before the Longest Night, as the couturier swore he would be far too busy to meet Niklos at any time closer to the event. And with what Niklos had seen the adepts of Eglantine adorned in, it was no lie. The freedom afforded the adepts was surprising, though he knew of the traditions of the Longest Night. A number of the adepts that he had made acquaintance with over his Grand Tour had stopped to greet him as well, which he felt boded well for his hopes to continue pursuing them. The Masquerade, performed to renew the Winter Queen by her Sun Prince, had been moving. Niklos had almost found himself crying. He’d seen it before, either at one of the Shahrizai holdings or within his parents’ home, but to see it at Cereus House was something different. Something almost holy. The Winter Queen was, as usual, represented by a Cereus adept, and this year her Prince was a Mandrake. Niklos wasn’t sure if that prophesied anything for the year, but both adepts had done a beautiful job of things, and he was honored that he had been invited to witness the event.

“I really must send a thank you to Cereus House,” Niklos thought to himself as he crossed the atrium of the townhouse, “addressed to both Petrea and Aliksandria. One of them was responsible for my invitation, but it is always a good idea to keep all pathways open.” Calling for tea and some food, Niklos headed to the stairs to the bedrooms. The letter could wait until he woke up, though he would leave himself a note to not forget it.

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Cereus House was abuzz with activity as servants and adepts alike prepared for the upcoming Midwinter Masque. It was the highlight of the year for the House, and this year had been one of changes, to put it mildly.

Petrea nó Cereus sat in the Second’s bedchamber, waiting for her friend Aimée nó Cereus to arrive so that they could dress together. Petrea marvelled at how different this was from a year ago. This time last year, Aimée had been ensconced with Aliksandria—then Second herself—drinking wine, giggling, and likely just getting out of bed from an afternoon romp, to begin dressing in finery for the masque. Petrea had been alone in her own room, her plain costume laid out on her bed. Marielle had poked her head in and asked about borrowing thread to fix up some mishap with a mask or dress or trousers. 

But this year, Petrea was the Second. And Aimée was not in bed with Aliks. She was on her way to Petrea’s room. Their friendship had blossomed over the year, and with Aimée’s assistance—and the invaluable advice of the Seconds from Dahlia and Heliotrope Houses—she was beginning to feel less like she was fighting stormy seas in a rowboat. 

Aliks was now the Dowayne. An overburdened, burnt out Dowayne, thanks to the untimely death of her predecessor, Gerault, who had kept so many secrets from her, they might never truly discover them all. Petrea’s heart went out to her best friend, who spent her days locked in the Dowayne’s office, seemingly only emerging in the wee hours of the morning to take in a few hours of sleep. At the same time, Petrea wished that Aliks had taken more time to help train her, so that she need not turn to others for help. But almost more than that, Petrea wished that Aliks’s and Aimée’s relationship had not become so deeply damaged and strained. She knew that Aimée was hurt and angry. Aimée did not want to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, so Petrea did not pry. 

Petrea knew that Aliks could not push the two of them away forever. She knew that Aliks needed both of them. And Aimée and Petrea both needed Aliks. But greater than their personal feelings, Cereus House needed the three of them to come together to bring it back to its glory.

~

The Shahrizai townhouse was quietly gearing up for the Longest Night. Numerous cousins had flooded into the City as the days got shorter, and there was a constant flow of invitations to various fêtes on the actual night. A number of the older members of the family were invited to the event at the Palace, and the younger members had invitations to the houses of their friends in the City. All save Niklos, whose invite lingered on his desk. Not just an invitation, but an invitation with a token. His invitation was signed by Petrea nó Cereus and was for the Masquerade on Mont Nuit itself. That news had been a wildfire amongst House Shahrizai when it arrived. Older family members commented that they couldn’t recall the last time a Shahrizai had been invited to spend the Longest Night on Mont Nuit, and the younger cousins pestered Niklos about how he had received the token and why he had been singled out. All he could tell them was that he had spent a significant amount of time in the City since he had arrived this year, and apparently his attempts to make connections with people were paying off. There were numerous late night conversations in the library, and Niklos had explained his plans to the family. The Longest Night would be a time for them all to enjoy themselves…and to gather what information they could; there was already a strategy going into the new year.

~

The Heliotrope carriage ride to Cereus House was uncharacteristically silent. News of Dowayne Olivier’s death hit the House hard, he was deeply beloved and had been their Dowayne for decades. Even though they had all been preparing for months, it still hit them like a kick to the chest. 

None were hit as hard as Mena, the new Dowayne. Olivier was her grandfather, the man who raised her, taught her about Elua and Namaah, who’d shown her love that truly felt like the gentle, constant rays of the sun. The death of his wife, her grandmother, a decade prior was hard, but this was crushing. She knew that his presence, his reputation, had kept her shielded from a lot of things that could come crashing down on her. In the back of her mind, she hoped that the affection people had for him could be transferred in some way to her. The coming months would likely be hard ones; his funeral would have to be held right at the start of the new year, his estate would need to be handled, the House still needed to be kept together, and she had an uneasy feeling about Kyrie. Someone as full of hatred, entitlement, and heresy was not going to go away as quietly as it seemed he had. Without Olivier, she felt adrift, like she had no idea where to begin. Tonight was easy, the House would attend the Midwinter Masque, they would throw themselves into the revelry in Olivier’s honor. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was for Olivier.

~

As she did every night before laying down her head for sleep, Rosanna prayed. At the niche in her bedchamber, where incense burned and offerings were made, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

In turn, she repeated the prayers taught to her in childhood, turning to the comfort she always found in the presence of the divine. One by one, she spoke the names of the angels from whom her people descended, who to this day watched over them all in times of peace and turmoil. 

Azza the Navigator, Anael the Good Steward, Camael the Flaming Sword, Cassiel the Perfect Companion, Eisheth Lady of Healing and Music, Kushiel the Punisher, Naamah the Bright Lady, and Shemhazai of Keen Mind

A little rhyme was gifted to each Companion, and from them she named a facet of her life where their guidance would be appreciated.Only in the most dire of times did she outright ask for anything from the angels. 

Now was not such a time…yet she still felt very much in need of some divine intervention, even just a little. 

This year had begun with the change in her path as a servant of Naamah, progressing forward toward that aspiration she had so longed for. Yet, for her to ascend from the office of Second to Dowyane, she lost the mentor who named her to that position to begin with. Eitene was surely a character and for some an acquired taste, but he was her dear friend, someone who believed in her even when the Dowayne before him expressed doubts. 

And now he was off to live his happily ever after with the Lord he adored, out in the idyllic countryside. Truly she was glad for him. It was a fairytale, and he deserved his happiness. 

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

Which was more intimidating than she had allowed herself to understand. Even with her own Second, Tryphosa, to help with the many responsibilities, the sheer volume of planning, especially for the Longest Night, was nigh overwhelming. Seeking solace, she had gone to the temple district on her usual weekly schedule, and where now she became acquainted with a fellow leader of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. Together they began attending services, discussing faith and duty. Slowly but surely, the worry subsided.

Now the Prince was set to ascend, too. They would have a new King. On her very first Longest Night as Dowayne. It felt as though the stars were aligning.

Snuffing the candles, she left an offering of wine and sweets then pulled herself to bed. Everything was falling into place, no matter if she was prepared or not. Best she face the dawn with a good night’s sleep and faith in the powers that be that all would be well.

~

At the end of next year, Gustav will become King of Terre d’Ange.

Odilia had barely slept since Lord Maël had come to bring the news. Too many thoughts roiled through her head. Was he ready? What help did he need? What could she do? What was her place and responsibility to do? His letters, sent regularly over the years he had been gone from the city at his studies in the Rocaille University, had a special place in her private desk, kept under lock in their own drawer, but she had read them enough that she hardly needed to look at them to remember his words. 

Ah, his words! Young and impassioned, excited to share with her all of his triumphs and asking her advice on his challenges. Some of them had been sent with small gifts, books and bookmarks, or a fine new pen with an inlaid handle, some were only his words and his honest voice. It was strange, she thought abstractly, to feel such a rush of true and dear affection in her chest for the young man in her letters. He hadn’t signed them with his title, only his name, which had made it easier to let herself forget who he was. Then the plague changed it all. He was poised to rise like a brilliant star, shining in glory for the entire country. She was a loyal subject, surely that was the only reason why she worried for how to help him. He was to be her king, it was her duty to serve the crown in whatever it needed. It couldn’t be anything more than that. 

“Odilia?”

She came back to herself with a sharp blink, refocusing on the details of her personal dressing room and tearing her eyes away from the chessboard before her. 

Silvére hovered in the door. “Are you ready? We’re gathering for the procession over to Cereus.”

“Yes,” she said, rising. “Yes, I am ready.”

She was an adept of Dahlia House, she had to be ready for whatever would come next. Upright and Unbending. 

~

Manuel Cassid sank to his knees, preparing—as he had every year since the age of ten—to offer prayers to the Perfect Companion on the Longest Night. This night, however, he was praying not just for himself, but perhaps for his entire country. And unlike every other Vigil, he was not alone.

Kneeling beside the Cassiline brother, Gustav closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to quiet, sinking into a meditative calm as he began the Vigil. While the rest of the city danced and drank and feted the night away, waiting for the midnight hour when the Sun Prince would return to rejuvenate his Winter Queen and begin the cycle of the year again, he would kneel in Cassiel’s Vigil. 

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before. 

Cassiel, he whispered silently in his heart, Guide me in this year to come, that I may be the Perfect Companion to my country. As Cassiel was the Perfect Companion to Elua, what was a king but a perfect companion to his people? 

He still had so far to go.

The sun slowly set over the City, and the Longest Night began. 

The Grand Tour

As the summer wore on, things in the City were proceeding well. Niklos had missed out on the great fête of the season at Dahlia, and he still wasn’t certain he had all the rumors—or the truth —of everything that happened that evening. But he was becoming a regular at Dahlia all the same, though it seemed like each time he visited, he was introduced to a new adept. Whether that was the Dowayne’s way of protecting her adepts from the new Count, or if it was merely a chance to give him more varied opponents, Nik hadn’t decided yet. But while he was becoming a known entity at Dahlia, and Mena had always welcomed him at Heliotrope, it was time for him to undertake what many called “The Grand Tour.” Usually at least a fortnight of visits across the Mont undertaken by young nobles to make a name for themselves. And perhaps meet an adept who they would patronize for a good part of that adept’s life. Nik drew up a list one night of the Houses he planned to visit and made a separate entry in his journal for each in order to keep notes for himself. 

Alyssum – Before he’d set out from the townhouse, Jacob had reminded Niklos that his visit to Alyssum would be eye opening for him and not likely in a way that was comfortable for him. Even with this reminder, Niklos was a bit thrown by his experience. The Showing made him feel like he was intruding on something despite the fact that it had been arranged for his visit. The dinner after was another strange experience. The meal was of very high-quality as was the wine, two things that made him very happy. Beyond that, to his mind, everything felt slightly off.  The adept was attentive, but in a way that set herself as distant second to him. She prepared his plate but didn’t prepare her own until he told her to. She poured his wine but remained standing next to his glass until he said the wine was good. Still, he thanked her for her attention before he left. When he gave her the customary kiss of parting, her cheeks flamed with blush, and she stammered out that he was most welcome. When Jacob met him at the door of his home, he said, “You were right, as usual, demure and mindful are not my taste. Still, send over a generous sum to the House and the adept I dined with.” Jacob nodded, a small smile on his face.

Balm –  Balm was the last house Niklos visited, on the recommendation of a number of the members of the staff at the townhouse. They all assured him it would be the best relaxation after a fortnight of visiting the Night Court. Jacob had even made most of the arrangements, taking upon himself the role of an older, wiser cousin. The young adept who had been selected for Niklos had a look that suggested either Menekhetan or Akkadian heritage in her lineage, not that Niklos was there to ask. The Dowayne had selected this particular adept on Jacob’s recommendation because she knew techniques that helped ease some of the deeper knots in muscles, allowing for a better healing experience. She had worked wonders for him, gently but firmly working knots out of his back and legs that he hadn’t even realized were there or were bothering him. There were a couple of times that Niklos expected they were finished until he was proven wrong. Food was brought at some point and wine as well, and he was informed that the contract had stipulated an entire day’s worth of treatment. As Niklos left the next morning, he found the family coach waiting outside, a footman holding the reins of his horse and, with a happy sigh, he climbed into the coach and collapsed.

Camellia – Niklos had found it difficult to settle Camellia into his schedule. He had planned to visit the House just as autumn was beginning, but a number of cousins had returned to the city at that point, and he became wrapped up in introductions and entertaining, and by the time he was able to refocus on his tour, his opportunity to visit Camellia had passed. 

Cereus –  Niklos had sent a note to Aliksandria, though Jacob had informed him that rumor had it she had just recently been made Dowayne, and Niklos wondered if she would still have time for an old friend. He received a response from her Second, inviting him to a private dinner, and he responded with an immediate acceptance. Cereus’s kitchen was well-renowned for serving some of the most exquisite food, though personally, he felt that the chef the Shahrizai employed was better than any others. He would finally have the opportunity to compare.

Eglantine – Niklos’ visit to Eglantine came as he was working with Jacob planning a dinner. The tailor most of the Shahrizai used was occupied with other commissions. The adept he was guided to was a young man who had fantastic vision for court clothes. Their first meeting lasted for hours, with the young adept taking Niklos’s measurements, showing Niklos the drawings for his ideas, and the two discussing Nikos’s preferences. Niklos had to dissuade the adept from some of his ideas—Niklos had never been a fan of codpiece and hose, and while it was certainly coming back into fashion among the young gentry, it was damnably uncomfortable and Niklos made certain to voice that opinion clearly. Still, on his ride back to the townhouse, he smiled faintly in satisfaction for what should be an excellent wardrobe. Jacob met him at the foyer, enquiring after the appointment and the adept’s name for his own records and provided Niklos with the menu for the dinner as well as some recommended invitees.

Gentian – Niklos started his tour with Gentian, mostly hoping the House could provide him some insight into his path forward. He’d had some curious dreams of late, and Jacob had suggested Gentian as the best place to start. The young adept Louis had welcomed him with tea into a chamber with a low table and pillows on the floor, the air redolent with incense. Apparently, the recipe was similar to one that was used at the Temple of Kushiel, using spikenard as one of its key components. The assignation went well, with the adept reading cards for Niklos as well as listening to what Niklos could remember of his dreams, and they had agreed to meet again so that the adept could provide Niklos with more guidance in the future.

Jasmine – Niklos decided to visit Jasmine in the middle of his tour, and he was pleased he had. It was just the right amount of hedonism for him. The adept he had met with had half her marque completed, and the evening was enlightening. Niklos felt relaxed and focused after his night at Jasmine, and the adept was curious about the newest Count in The City, so there had been an exchange of some basic gossip which allowed for plans for future visits.

Mandrake – Niklos’s appointment with Mandrake was different. He was not a fan of being beaten for pleasure, and he wasn’t certain any of his cousins were either. Mandrakes were, however, masters at their game, and one could always learn from a master. For this reason, Niklos had contracted with the Dowaynes of Mandrake and Valerian for a joint assignation so that he could work with adepts of each House to expand his proficiencies. He thought it surprised the Mandrake adept a bit to have a different target in the room, but they had gotten into a good rhythm, and both Niklos and the Mandrake adept had agreed to more joint sessions.

Orchis – Niklos’s visit to Orchis ended up being not what he had expected at all. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he should have expected, but that night was not it. He had arrived at the House, and the building was already filled with a festive atmosphere. Niklos was informed that there was to be a presentation of sorts that evening, and he was invited to stay. What he ended up seeing was a hilarity of two hours, set up like he was attending one of the Court Poet’s presentations, but with the Orchis adepts speaking to the current political questions and generally making vaguely unflattering comments regarding most of the noble houses. They even targeted members of the Night Court. Niklos was just shy of scandalized, but the evening was fantastic and refreshments had been provided. After the showing, the Dowanye and her Second wandered through the crowd, gauging the opinions of the invitees. The Second mentioned to Niklos that, in the future, only certain guests would be invited back regularly and asked if Niklos would be interested in attending. Niklos agreed, if only to see what else they would come up with.

Valerian – Niklos’s visit to Valerian happened after his visit to Mandrake, and he had contracted for the same Valerian adept for his solo visit. He already had an idea about her preferences, and she knew he was learning. He had to give her permission to let him know if something was wrong or uncomfortable, but they worked well together, and in his gratitude, he made a significant contribution toward her marque with plans to work with her again.

He had almost left Mandrake and Valerian off his list, the one being not to his taste and the other being a place he frequented with his cousins when they were all in the City. He reconsidered when he realized that perhaps a more intimate conversation would yield fruitful results. He left Bryony off his initial tour because he was trying to avoid losing money, and he wasn’t sure he could walk into Bryony without lightening his purse, and he already had insight at Heliotrope. His visit to Dahlia had become a series of visits, not as he had expected, but definitely to his benefit.

J’adoube, Count Shahrizai

Niklos walked into the receiving chamber at Dahlia, uncertain as to how today would play out. He thought he’d faced most every adept in Dahlia who played chess. And some of them had been challenges. His father was good, but there were some adepts who used strategies that Niklos had never seen before, and his father had been good at making certain that Niklos’s playing stayed nimble. He settled into a chair to wait, smiling at the young novice who brought him a small tray of snacks and a cup of tea. He had learned early on not to ask who his next tutor would be—often the novice either didn’t know or had been instructed not to say. The one time he had pressed the issue he found himself without an opponent for a fortnight and was only welcomed back when the Dowayne herself had written and instructed that he could return. He would not seek to press that specific issue with Dahlia House ever again.

Finally, an adept entered the waiting hall. Lithe and sleek, with silver-blond hair that might have been a better fit for the canon of Cereus House had it not been for the haughty cast of his face, the adept glanced across the small salon before settling on the Shahrizai Count. 

“Lord Niklos?” That was all the respect to his title Silvère would give. Oh, he knew the status of the Count of Angers, that was quite certainly the business of Dahlia House, but it was also quite certainly theirs to enjoy a challenge. “She is ready for you.”

Niklos set his teacup down on one of the small tables. He’d visited often enough to know that it would be taken care of without his attention. He languidly rose to his feet, his eyes quickly examining and dismissing the adept who had been sent to direct him. He nodded and gestured. “Please, lead on. I’m looking forward to meeting the next person I get to square off against.”

Silvère guided him up a flight of grand stairs, away from the public eye of the grand Dahlia salon with its famed life-sized chess board—Niklos was a little disappointed, game after game he had played here against the adepts and still he had yet to see the grand board in action or play on it himself—and up to the back of the mansion, stepping out onto the second-floor terrace that overlooked the gardens. Silvère paused there and gestured the Count forward. “Onward. She waits at the north corner.”

The gallery spanned the back of the mansion, tracing the silhouette of the grand house and curling around to the corner before it stopped at the corner turret. There, tucked into the privacy of the semi-hidden corner, was a table set with a chessboard with pieces of green marble and carved ivory. A decanter of wine sat breathing between two Serenissiman blown-glass goblets and a small dish of ripe blackberries. 

He was surprised when the adept stopped at the top of the stairs, gesturing him along the gallery. Previously, he had been escorted all the way to whomever was waiting for him. Either he had regained the trust of the house, his opponent wished for their interaction to remain unobserved, or he was going to be unceremoniously escorted from the House. Whatever the reasoning, he quirked a small smile and continued down the gallery, noticing the adept waiting for him by one of the corners. As he got closer, he realized he wasn’t certain who was waiting for him. He squared his shoulders, glancing around to see that they would, in fact, be alone.

The figure at the railing turned, her dark eyes studying his face for a moment before she spoke. “Good evening, Lord Niklos.”

She stepped into the light cast by the lantern, dark hair caught up in a jewelled net away from the completed marque that graced her back. Her hand gestured to the chair set at his side of the table. “Please, sit. Be comfortable.”

She poured the wine with her own hands. “I have heard the gossip among the adepts about your chess games. They really have enjoyed the challenge, though we are running out of adepts to present you with a new face with each of your visits.”

He nodded as he neared her, not surprised that he would have reached the Second eventually. “Well met, Second Odilia. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you. It warms my heart to hear that your adepts are gossiping about me as well.” He took one of the seats, relaxing into it as he observed the board. “This is quite a lovely set, is it a treasure of the house?” His eyes flickered to the decanter of wine as she poured. “It has been quite a challenge, playing through your adepts. You have some very skilled members of your House. It has been quite enjoyable. Though I could always play some of your adepts again, if their pride wasn’t too bruised from losing to a simple Count.”

Her smile flickered across her face as quick as a lightning flash, there and gone in a breath as she settled herself into her own seat. “Ah, perhaps. Dahlia does not wager on games the way Bryony does but we have our own strategies. Perhaps one or two of them did not play as hard as they could have? A hard-won win might be enough to whet the appetite to have a patron return again.”

Her fingers gently caressed the edge of the chess board. “As for the set, it is mine. A gift from the Dowayne when she named me her Second. It is quite a treasure, isn’t it? You named it rightly when you called it so.”

“Well, I would hope that none of your adepts would take it easy on me for any reason, so hopefully, they will still be interested if I were to offer them a challenge again. And it is a lovely set, certainly a treasure.” He reached out for one of the glasses of wine, taking it and smelling it, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. “This smells Aragonian. Is it?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in her seat, comfortable in her power here in her own House. “I keep a small selection for myself from the House collection, and I have always favored the Aragonian spices. Does it meet your standards?”

“I am certain it is fantastic. I have faith that your House has impeccable cellars, and that your tastes will align well with my own.” He took a small sip, tasting the wine as he looked over the board, and then examined her as he swallowed. “It is exquisite, as I am certain you knew. I have a feeling that our interactions here will prove most enlightening for both of us.” He leaned back into the chair, comfortable. He did so enjoy sitting across the table from a Dahlia. They had some of the same instincts that his cousins did, and it kept him on his toes.

“Then shall we begin?” She gestured to the board between them. “The guest has the first move.”

He smiled and nodded, focusing his attention on the board and briefly considering before opening the game by moving one of his knights. If the Second had been briefed on his play style from any of the adepts he had faced off against, he wanted to throw something new at her. His father had always warned him about a knight opening, saying it was an aggressive move, and it was a gamble if you didn’t know your opponent; but Niklos felt in a gambling mood this evening, and there was a need for a certain amount of aggression as well. It felt like the calendar was speeding up, and things were moving quickly enough that he was barely keeping ahead of it all. He took a slow sip of wine and waited patiently for Odilia’s move. The dance had begun.

They played in comfortable silence for the first set of moves. His aggressive opening was countered by her patient, almost teasing strategy as she left pieces undefended, baiting him to chase them across the board. 

“What brought you to Dahlia for this series of games, Lord Shahrizai?” She asked it after he had captured one of her pawns, showing absolutely nothing on her face about the loss of the piece. “Many patrons who enjoy gaming go to Bryony or Orchis for their amusements. How did Dahlia catch your interest?” Well did she know that after the events of the Autumn Revelry, more and more eyes were turning to her House and to her in particular. Was he one of them that looked to influence the Dauphin by courting her attentions?

He leaned back in his chair, assessing the board as pieces were picked off. He’d spread his troops out. Perhaps too much. He could recover, but it would take adjusting his strategy. And then there was her queen. Almost overprotected in its position. His father had played like this for a time, it was usually a trap, and he couldn’t fall for it. “What brought me to Dahlia? The rumors in the city are that Dahlia raises the best chess players to be found. Sure, I could have gone to Bryony and frittered away my inheritance. I’ve joined Orchis for one of their open showings, and they were quite amusing. But, if I wanted a challenge, I needed to come to Dahlia. And, thank Elua, the rumors have proved true. Dahlia… Dahlia is a House I can learn things in. And I do so enjoy learning many things.” He grinned, almost irreverently, and took another sip of his wine, wincing as she captured another pawn. Well, that one was going to be a sacrifice anyway, he’d just hoped to get a few more turns with it on the board. He was developing his own approach.

“I do regret,” he continued conversationally, “that I was not well enough known to your House to have been invited to the Autumn festivities you held. Rumor has that it was quite the spectacle. But I can’t seem to get a straight story from anyone. You must know how rumors are. Would you be willing to share with me some of the highlights that you remember of the evening? I am curious what has the city all aflutter with gossip.”

She smiled and there was something flinty underneath the smooth satin of her face. She threatened his rook with one of her knights and said, “I am sure there are plenty of whispers. What I remember most about the evening was the delicious tartness of the pomegranate I ate. They are my favorite fruits. I quite enjoy the challenge of them that makes the taste all the sweeter.”

Odilia sat forward slightly, choosing a blackberry from the dish and asking courteously, “How did you welcome the start of the season, my lord? Here in the city or at your new estate?”

He smiled, catching the faint hardening of her face as she made her next move. Something he’d said had hit the mark. Or hit a mark at least. Perhaps it was the question about the festivities…or the comment about gossip. Nothing to press on, but definitely something to keep tucked in the back of his mind. He reached for the bowl of nuts and plucked some shelled walnuts, popping them in his mouth slowly, one at a time. He saw the threat to his rook and shifted one of his own knights for defense, backing off from the aggressive opening he had presented. 

“I’ve been in the city since before news of my inheritance came. Before everything happened, the elder members of the family had decided I needed to spend some time here once again, and since I had been shut up on my parents’ lands since the first whisper of the plague, I did not debate any of the ideas. When the inheritance was announced, it was decided I would be the ranking member of the family in The City…at least until the season turned. So now I am awaiting the arrival of other family members, when I will be relegated to the second rank for now.” He relaxed, surprised at how little that disturbed him. Still, if he was to be of any use to the Palace, he would have to be present but unobtrusive enough to hear things without people truly paying attention to him. “At least it was a pleasant summer. When I was here some years ago it was truly unbearable. But then, my parents’ estate is near to Morhban lands, and so near to the ocean, and it always seems cooler there. How did you find the summer?” He blithely looked at the board, seeing at least three traps waiting, and finished the last walnut of the handful he had taken.

She danced one of her remaining pawns closer to his knight, saying, “Summer has never been my favored season. I much prefer the cooling mists of autumn. But for everything there is a time, and this summer, being the first since the plague struck, carried with it its own celebrations of survival. Not everyone survived, of course, and I hope that they find their peace in the True Terre d’Ange that Lies Beyond, but for those of us who have survived, summer was a time to celebrate what we have.”

Her brows lifted ever so slightly as she said, “Which means congratulations are in order. I have heard of your new title, Count of Angers. I never met your predecessor, but I understand that you have large shoes to fill. Of course, any member of your family is almost expected to do great things, I would assume, considering the history of your House. I do wish you luck.”

She advanced one of her own bishops, directly threatening his king.

He nodded slowly, considering the bishop as she spoke. He would have to deal with that first. It seemed a hasty move on her part, but perhaps they were trading playing styles now with her being more aggressive and him playing the more reserved style. Still, he had hoped that she would have shown more promise, considering that she was considered one of the better players in the House. He shrugged, almost to himself, and captured the bishop with his queen, smiling at her in response and saying, “Dimitrios was a gentle hand on his lands and was one of the most respected members of the family. If I can be half the Count he was, I will consider it an accomplishment. He grew up almost directly in the shadow of Melisande’s treason, and he knew how important it was and would be for connections to be created and maintained…” 

He trailed off as he poured himself some more wine and took a slow sip. “I think we’re alike in that way. Friendships are valuable, and if they support what one desires, then so much the better.” He rested his fingers idly on the stem of the wine glass, waiting for her response. “What are your thoughts on patrons, especially reliable ones?”

“My Dowayne made waves when she rose to her place,” she said lightly. “She established a new rule within the House that assignations are not chosen at her desk but by the adepts themselves. No courtesan of the Night Court goes to a bedchamber against their will, but especially in Dahlia do we enjoy our own choice in who we take to bed. Patrons come to the salon here as though offering tribute to a throne and hoping to be selected for a night. Some of my fellow adepts revel in that power and chose as many as amuses. Some of us are more reserved and meticulous in who we select of those that catch our eyes. It is a unique freedom, one that we quite enjoy, each of us on our own terms.”

She retreated one of her knights to make a deliberate trap, testing to see if he would press a perceived advantage. A lock of her dark hair fell from her pins to brush the curve of her cheek and she said, “If, Lord Shahrizai, you are asking if you could become one of my reliable patrons, then I must disappoint you. At the moment, my desk is full of papers and plans for the Longest Night that is coming. I have little time to myself to consider new patrons in my bed.”

She did not necessarily think that was what he was asking, but she was ever cautious as she had seen more and more hungry nobles coming to Dahlia once the word had spread about the autumn party. The eyes watched her; jealous, scornful, hungry, ambitious, lustful, she could feel them all looking at her and looking to pass judgement against her. The nobility circled, looking for weakness, looking for advantages to take, looking for openings to test. She had to keep to her composure, remain reserved and armoured so that they would not find her wanting. Nor use her against the Dauphin.

He raised an eyebrow as she explained how patrons were currently chosen in Dahlia House. He was familiar with Jocaste nò Dahlia, but he had not been aware of how she had changed patronage in Dahlia. Still, he supposed it was similar in other Houses. Bryony adepts, he had been told, often would lay wagers with patrons in their salon. In that light, he supposed he was already a regular patron of Dahlia, as he had spent some time in private with multiple adepts. So his credit, as it were, was good. 

His eyes widened slightly as he watched her withdraw her knight. As his eyes flickered across the board, he saw multiple possible sequences and decided not to pursue the piece. He had already captured one of her knights, and he could afford to allow her to keep the other. Instead, he shifted his queen, capturing another of her pawns. She was down to three, and none of them currently threatened promotion. He grinned at her polite denial, though he was intrigued as the lock of hair slipped from its pins. The look softened her slightly, the unintentional shift at odds with her words. “Sadly, no, Lady Odilia. That was not my query at all, though I do hope we will be able to continue meeting across this field of battle. You are offering quite the challenge, and I am very much enjoying myself. I am very certain an adept of your grace and knowledge has far more demands on her time than a lowly Count of the realm.” He grinned, hoping to show it for the self-deprecating joke he meant it to be. “Should I consider visiting the House in the evening, to see how my peers grovel at the dais of Dahlia?” He chuckled, taking another sip of the wine.

“No one is turned away from the salon who has not proved themselves unwelcome and unworthy of a place here vying for our attentions,” she said, taking a small sip of her wine as she studied the board and considered her options. “You have certainly proved yourself nothing of the sort, so you will be welcomed if you choose to attend. Though discretion is the paramount rule of the salon. Whatever you see, whomever you see, belongs to Dahlia and Dahlia alone. We will be quite displeased if any malicious gossip were to discredit any of our patrons or our House.”

Her brown eyes lifted to his face, something more steely under the tone as she said quietly, “And there is no need to stand on jesting ceremony, Lord Shahrizai. I am no lady. The circumstances of my birth were far more humble, which is well known. I do not need an empty, unearned courtesy.”

She knew she was common-born. Even a place like the Court of Night Blooming Flowers did not let her forget that. So, knowing well that it was a trap, she advanced her bishop to capture his queen. She knew well that it would open her to losing the match, but the night air was continuing to drop in temperature, a long game would not be pleasant for either of them if they froze. 

He sighed, he was always putting his foot wrong when he spoke with people. His mother had always encouraged him to think more before he spoke, but sometimes his impulsivity got the best of him. “I would never consider spreading malicious gossip about anyone I saw in the Night Court, no matter where they were. You have my word on that fact. As for my naming you Lady, you are the Second of a House in the Night Court, which means you have far more knowledge and ability than many who claim the title by birth. So if you think you have not earned the respect of the title, I do apologize, but you are wrong…” he frowned as she captured his queen with her bishop. He had been playing recklessly with the queen but he hadn’t realized he’d left her that undefended…until he took a better look at the board. With a faint smile, he advanced his rook one rank. “I believe that is both check and mate, Odilia…” 

To his surprise and confusion, she smiled, something glittering in her eyes as she said, “Then, by all means, take my king.”

He reached to take the piece, lifting it to consider the craftsmanship of the piece. It really was well made. 

“You are fortunate the game ends so quickly,” she said, sitting back in her chair and taking up her goblet in one hand. “If this was a true battlefield, as this game was once played to emulate, I would have taken you with me.”

He frowned, looking at her. He had heard that she was the best player in the House, for her to seem so relaxed and cavalier was not what he had expected, until he looked down at the board again. His frown deepened, realizing his own king was in check. When he advanced his rook to check her king, he had given her the opening to lay the blade at his own king. “Well… that is an interesting result…”

Perhaps the stories of her strategic mind weren’t so embellished. However, had she learned to play so? Surely her father hadn’t taught her the way his had taught him. 

He looked up at her again and she smiled, “I believe that is our time, Lord Shahrizai. Do you know your way out? Or shall I call a novice to guide you?”

He shook his head minutely, bemused at the result of the contest. “I believe, Lady Odilia,”—and he would continue addressing her as such, she had earned all of his respect—“that I can find my way at least as far as the reception chambers from here. From there, I suspect a servant will suffice to direct me to the doors.” He smiled as he rose, bowing to her. “A most skillful battle. I hope we can meet over the field again in the future.” 

As he stepped out of the nook they were in and towards the stairs, he looked back at the board again. Odilia was definitely someone he should play against more frequently. He had a feeling she would give his father a solid game as well. He hoped that her ability in the game would translate and make her a fantastic ally in his own ambitions going forward. 

He nodded politely to adepts and novices as he passed on the way through the house, not completely lost in the possibilities in his own mind. He reviewed their conversation and the game, and he was distracted enough that he brushed into another guest on his way to the door. The man turned to comment, his face angry, but he blanched when he saw Niklos’s black and gold clothes and thought better of it, murmuring to his friends as he watched Niklos walk through the door.

There was so much still left to do before the Longest Night. Niklos would need to consider his strategy well as he prepared to prove himself to the Queen. 

A Visit to Dahlia

He’d not been wrong. It had taken less than a week for news of his elevation to become the talk of the Palace, if not the entire City. He couldn’t enter the gaming salon at the Palace without all eyes seeking him out. Any table he sat down at was quickly filled and slowly surrounded by an audience. It was all rather… smothering… if he was honest. Not that anyone cared, they just expected the newest Shahrizai Count to have deep pockets and a penchant for losing some of his newly gained inheritance. Nik wasn’t that bad of a gambler, and most nights he left after making sure he at least was not losing on the night. But he didn’t enjoy the attention. Courtiers flinging themselves at him, or more likely at his wallet, and barely any acceptable conversation. Oh, he learned some things, like the fact that it seemed that half of the newer Azzalese lords had married politically, and both husbands and wives were taking lovers. Curiously, a number of the Namarrese holdings were held by quite happy couples. 

One night, returning from yet another night of lackluster gaming and gossip at the Palace for Niklos, Jacob spoke up as Niklos reentered the townhouse. “My Lord, it may not be my place, but perhaps the Hall of Games is not the best place for you to visit.” 

Niklos raised his eyebrows, Jacob certainly had the tenure to speak his mind freely, but he rarely exercised it. 

“I know you and your father are both chess players, and the rumor is you are quite good at the game. Perhaps, and this is merely a suggestion, you might reach out to Jocaste nò Dahlia and see if one of her adepts might be willing to entertain you? Dahlias are known to be quite sharp, and there is rumor that there is a life-sized chessboard in their salon. Perhaps you might find a worthy opponent there? And a contract certainly would be less stressful than making certain you don’t fritter away your inheritance at the Palace.”

Niklos laughed. He hadn’t considered that Houses other than Bryony might indulge in gaming, and Dahlia certainly seemed like the right House for a game like chess. Nodding to Jacob, he grinned. “Once again, I find your knowledge of the City and your thoughts most valuable to me. Thank you, I will have a note for you to send over to Dahlia House shortly. If you could…” 

He trailed off as Jacob cut in, “I’ve already made certain to have some cider brought up to your desk along with some food. Come now, my lord, if I didn’t know your mannerisms and expectations by now, you would have every right to dismiss me from service.” 

Niklos grinned again in silent thanks and made his way up the stairs.

Dowayne Jocaste nò Dahlia,

I am aware that contracts for members of a House of the Night Court are often commenced in person, but I am hoping that by writing, I might be able to have things sorted before I come to visit your House. I find myself searching for someone with whom I can play chess. It is a favorite pastime of mine, and my father, who is my usual opponent, remains in Kusheth. He has little desire for the City. I was hoping to set up a regular schedule to visit with and play chess with one of your adepts. As I hear rumor that there is a living chessboard within your House, it seems apropos to seek out the keen minds of Dahlia, as I have no desire to wager on every single move or which piece might leave the board first. Please let me know if you have an adept who is interested in this contract and when I might be able to meet with you to sign the agreement.

Most respectfully,

Niklos Shahrizai, Count of Angers

He sealed the note with his personal sigil and closed the envelope, sealing it with the three keys of House Shahrizai. After addressing the front, he took a long swallow of the cider and stood, making his way out into the hall, where one of the young hall boys looked up at him. “Is that the letter Master Jacob is to be sending, my Lord? I can take it for you!” 

Niklos smiled and handed the letter to the boy, nodding. “Thank you. Please let Jacob know that I am planning on retiring for the evening as well.” 

The boy grinned and dashed off, and Niklos returned to his chambers.

When the note arrived at Dahlia House, Jocaste considered it curiously. The rumors had certainly spread by now of what had happened at the Autumn Revelry, and there was little doubt that their House would soon see a great deal more interest from the nobles and courtiers of the palace as they came to investigate the House that had turned the Dauphin’s head. And she herself had heard the whispers of the new Shahrizai Count who had been recently elevated. Not one who frequented Valerian House, the word was, but one who seemed to enjoy the Hall of Games. Curious that he would not then choose Bryony. But this was court strategy and she saw it well. 

And there was an adept who had skill at chess, as it so happened. But Jocaste, Dowayne as she was, was still protective somewhat over her Second, who was also her dear friend. The more that Jocaste could shield Odilia from the public attentions of those who would come to gawk at her, the better would the peace of the House be preserved. 

Lord Shahrizai,

Our human chessboard has earned its reputation well as a grand entertainment in our House salon. It is, however, saved for some of our grander events, such as our recent Revelry. While I cannot offer a match in our grand salon, Dahlia House does still have a collection of the boards at the usual size that could entertain your game, should that be enough to entice your visit. Any number of our adepts have trained at the game of kings and will prove themselves to be suitable opponents for your lordship in the absence of your lord father. As such, you will have your choice of them. 

Rather than choose one myself, I will arrange for you to meet with several and play against each of them at your leisure. Dahlia House does things somewhat differently than many of our sister houses on Mont Nuit; the Dowayne does not choose the patrons for the assignation. Rather, as Naamah bestowed herself like a Queen, so do the Dahlia adepts. If you prove yourself well, one of the adepts will choose to accept your contract. 

Upright and Unbending,

Jocaste nó Dahlia, Dowayne

Sealed with the dahlia flower stamped into the golden wax, it was sent across the city to be given to the Shahrizai Count. 

Niklos was deep in the business of examining the ledgers of the townhouse when the note arrived the next day, and so it was put to the side for more pressing matters. When he finally did take the time to read the response, well after dinner, he smiled to himself. The Dahlia Dowayne had made an interesting proposal, suggesting that Niklos play for the honor of setting a regular game at Dahlia House instead of just informing him the price of such an assignation. He was curious, as well, about the mention of the Revelry. He had heard rumor but, having not received an invitation, had been unable to attend. Apparently, there had been some rather large to do regarding the Dauphin and one of the Dahlia adepts. These were precisely the things that he intended on having an ear on, and he was disappointed that he had not been included. 

Jacob already knew he wanted whatever news the man could procure, so Dahlia had kept everything tightly under wraps. He resolved that he would visit the Mont the following night. He had to begin planning to make other visits as well; it just wouldn’t be right for him to reserve his patronage to only one or two of the Houses. Plus, adepts heard many things, and a reliable patron might be able to convince them to share some of the secrets they were privy to.

Plans in Motion

Niklos returned to the townhouse from his investiture ceremony with a sense of purpose. Jacob met him at the door with a curious look in his eyes, as Niklos was moving with a different sort of intent than he had seen from any of the Shahrizai for some time. 

Niklos grinned. “Her Majesty has given me leave to turn the Shahrizai reputation around. And she has granted me the county. Small steps, subtle moves… Everything Melisande was a master at, but I am to employ those skills to the benefit of the Crown.” 

Jacob nodded, knowing that there would be pushback. But the connections that had been cultivated over years and decades would be employed. 

Niklos stepped around the butler and moved toward the stairs. “I have some letters to write, please have food sent up to me, Jacob. Also, you know of my association with Philomena nò Heliotrope? Please do me a favor and look into her family… I have a feeling there is a connection there that would benefit both of us greatly.” Niklos continued up the stairs to his chamber, moving toward the desk once he was inside and drawing out paper for a number of letters. The first would be to his parents to let them know of his fortune and request their advice.

“Dearest Maman and Father,

I have just returned to The City Townhouse from an audience at the Palace with Her Majesty the Queen and His Highness the Dauphin, and they have granted me the inheritance laid out in Demitrios’s will. The County of Angers remains in the family, and I am its current custodian. The Queen has also accepted my rather ambitious goal to rehabilitate the image of our family, and so I must become the perfect courtier. I would ask that you please pass along any rumors that you might become aware of, for good or for ill, that would affect our great nation so that I can help protect it. I do not wish to see our name go the way of the Trevalion or de Somervilles. I will close this now, but I wish you the best for summer. Please send some of the late honey with your response, there is nothing as good in The City!

Your devoted son,

Niklos

PS – Kn D7-E5”

The food was brought up as he was finishing the letter to his parents, and he sealed it with his personal seal—an eagle with its wings outstretched—as opposed to the Keys of the house. He smiled at the servant and nodded. “My thanks, and could you see that Jacob has this dispatched with the rest of the family communication? It’s a note to my parents and I wouldn’t want to bother the Royal Post carriers with it.” 

The servant nodded and bowed with a mumbled, “Of course, my Lord” as he took the letter and left the room. 

Niklos settled back into his chair and began some simple notes to a number of bankers, introducing himself and explaining that he was, at the moment, the family member in charge at the Townhouse. He also wrote to Demitrios’s banker in The City and informed him of the inheritance and offered to meet with the man at his convenience to go over everything with the accounts. Leaning back, he took a deep breath and began to eat as he considered who else he would need to contact. Word would spread by the next week, if not sooner.

Niklos’s Investiture

The Royal Post had delivered a letter addressed to Niklos marked with all of the hallmarks of the Palace. He’d let it sit on his desk for a day, staring at the Courcel swan impressed in the navy wax of the seal every time he walked past it. It demanded an answer, and he didn’t know that he wanted to see the question. Finally, after some subtle prodding from Jacob, he opened the letter to see what the Palace might want from him. 

From the Office of Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, to Lord Niklos Shahrizai

Regarding the matter of the succession of the County of Angers and the wishes of the late Demitrios Shahrizai, Her Majesty wishes to discuss the future of the title. Your presence is expected at the Royal Palace tomorrow after the midday bells. 

Court dress is not required. 

On behalf of Queen Anielle, from the hand of the Royal Steward

The official seal of the House Royal of Terre d’Ange was pressed into blue wax, a crowned swan beneath a lily flower. 

Niklos made his way down to the main level of the townhouse, proffering the rather basic summons to Jacob. A faint chuckle escaped from his throat as one of Jacob’s eyebrows raised as the man read the summons. “It could be much worse,” Nikolas said. “The note could have said that the inheritance had been voided due to some peculiarity of law. Unless Her Majesty is saving that information to tell me tomorrow.” 

Jacob’s head shifted marginally. Niklos thought it was in the negative, before the taciturn man spoke. “My Lord, were the Crown to rule in opposition to your inheritance, there might be some issue. The lands are within the Shahrizai duchy and held by the family since the very beginning of Terre d’Ange. While the Crown must approve of the inheritance, the lands around Angers must remain within the family’s holdings. And there are—” Jacob paused, considering his words, “—only a few qualified members of the family that the lands could be bestowed upon… and none of them fit every stipulation of Lord Demitrious’s will. None aside from you. I rather think Lord Demitrious wrote the provisions with you specifically in mind. And he was old enough to have met Melisande… He would have made certain everything was to the letter.” Jacob smiled briefly and handed the note back to Niklos. “I shall have the good coach prepared. We wouldn’t want the Palace thinking that you were some backwoods relative trying to press your way into the higher echelons of the nobility without any training.” 

With that, Jacob slipped across the main hall and through a concealed doorway, leaving Niklos standing there, summons in hand. Niklos took a deep breath and made his way back to the stairs; tomorrow couldn’t arrive soon enough. And after that, well, he had more people in the city to see. Perhaps a visit to Cereus was in order… or possibly Jasmine.

When the royal guards at the gate of the royal palace saw the carriage bearing the Shahrizai keys rolling up the Rue Courcel towards the grand gates, there was not a hint of their personal thoughts on their faces. Trained for discipline and loyalty, they paused only to verify the summons before permitting the coach to pass through. 

Likewise, the footmen that waited at the door requested to view the invitation to verify the parchment, ink, and seal before opening the doors to the halls and salons housed within the royal palace. While the Shahrizai maintained apartments within the palace, this particular Shahrizai had not made use of them in some time, and the steward had briefed the footmen carefully about the summons for this day. 

Therefore, the footmen guided the Kusheline nobleman through the hallways, not to the grand throne room, but to a smaller reception chamber deeper inside the palace. The guards on either side of the door did their duty to ensure the guest did not enter into the royal presence armed then stood aside to let the footmen open the door and answer, “Lord Niklos Shahrizai.”

Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, sat in a simple chair set against a drape of Courcel blue. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, her elbows rested on the arms of her chair, her crown prominent on her dark head, she was every inch the ruler of the country as she looked evenly at her guest entering into her presence. And she was not alone. Off to the side, standing at the tall window with the narrow circlet on his head, stood her second son, Gustav de la Courcel, the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. He was looking pensively out of the window at first, his head only turning when the Shahrizai name was introduced. Two sets of Courcel eyes watched Niklos enter. 

Niklos made his way into the audience chamber slowly. He’d been present in the past for audiences, but those were always in the grand Audience Hall, and he hadn’t been the focus of those audiences. Jacob had reminded him of some of the more significant courtly customs that he would need to be aware of for this, though even Jacob hadn’t anticipated a fully private audience.

He crossed the hall at a measured pace, his boots whispering across the floor. He’d always had a light step, and Jacob had cautioned him about making too much noise as well. Nine paces back from the Queen, he paused and bowed deeply, his attention on her, though he had noted Gustav by the windows. The Dauphin seemed pensive, which could prove to be a good quality. Jacob had passed word that Gustav had once been rowdier than his brother, but that was to be expected from a spare…at least it would have been expected. Now Gustav was the heir, and that role seemed to weigh heavier on his shoulders than it had his brother. Or perhaps it was more obvious in Gustav. 

Niklos cleared his throat softly. “Majesties, I am responding to your summons.” Niklos spoke clearly, though quietly. There was no reason to be loud, no one was going to interrupt them.

“Welcome, Lord Niklos,” Queen Anielle said evenly, gesturing for him to rise. “Let us begin by offering our sorrows for the passing of the late Count. This last year, it seems, has taken much from many of us, and offered opportunities to prove the mettle of our spirits in how we rise to fill the empty places left.”

The Dauphin turned more of his attention to the conversation then, not yet joining his mother at the chair sat by her right hand, only watching from the sides at the moment as he considered the two people in the center of the room. The tiniest smile flickered across his face as he remembered the chessboard his lady kept in her chambers, the one that laid out all of the world of politics in thirty-two little pieces. 

“Yet, the world does not stop moving while we grieve,” the Queen continued, gesturing a footman forward. He bowed and presented her a document on a silver tray, which she plucked up with her fingers to scan. “And there is the matter of the succession of the Shahrizai County to consider. In this document, Count Demitrios makes his wishes clear, and the Judiciary committee regarding noble inheritances has informed me that, as per the stipulations laid out in Count Demitrios’ will, you are the next in line for the title. The only thing that could alter that would be a royal decree.”

Niklos listened, his eyes focused on her, though he monitored the Dauphin in his peripheral vision. He missed the faint smile as the footman stepped forward with the tray, another distraction. He was too close—bad for the angles for observation. His father had taught him that. Never stay in a position where you couldn’t see all the pieces on the board. Of course, his father was warning him about getting stabbed, something that really shouldn’t happen in the chamber he was in, but stranger things had happened. Of course, old Demitrios had warned him about being too observant one of the times he’d met the old man. Melisande spent much of her life in exile on Cytherea, the Count had reminded him, because she had the vision to see all the pieces and all the moves…but not the vision to see the final endgame. Sapphire eyes met Courcel blue ones as the Queen finished scanning the information about Demitrios’ will and the Judiciary Committee’s ruling. Well, one hurdle out of the way.

Laying the document in her lap, the Queen lifted her eyes to regard the lord before her. “We have called you here, Lord Niklos, to discuss the future of the title. Considering our families’ torrid past and complicated entanglement, we have a vested interest in the actions and ambitions of your line. While I bore your predecessor no ill will, nor do I seek to judge you on the past actions of your forebears, it is nevertheless prudent to discuss the matter that I might see what kind of a count you could choose to become.”

He smiled faintly at her comments regarding the discussion of the title. It was only one generation since Imriel de la Courcel, son of the greatest traitor the realm had ever known, had wed Sidonie de la Courcel and continued on the royal line that stretched all the way back to Blessed Elua. Torrid and complicated indeed. This queen and her son could well be considered blood cousins of the family.

“What kind of count I might choose to become, Majesty? I’m not certain how you mean. Every Shahrizai knows of our duty and obligation to the Crown, and anyone who pretends to the cleverness of our shared ancestress are very directly told that there will be none of that nonsense again.” He chuckled lightly. “I fear, Your Majesty, that when it comes to the Crown, the Shahrizai are well and truly under control. We have our personal interests, but we are well and truly yours.” He’d expected something like this, even before news of the will came out. Various aunts and uncles had all made it crystal clear that if any question of loyalty came up, he was to assure whomever asked of the Shahrizai’s absolute loyalty to the crown and realm, at the point of a knife if it came to that.

“It is not just me you will have to convince, Lord Niklos,” Anielle said softly, watching him with the unerring focus of a falcon. “Your family has a reputation, cast by a very long shadow. How fairly it is earned is little matter when all of the nobility, indeed in many ways all of the country, is watching you.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, comfortable in her seat of power. “But let us speak candidly, then. Few of us often get that chance. Not every person who inherits a title is meant for greatness. Names can easily fade into the mists of history. What matters when heirs are given their titles, with all the power and prestige that can come with them, is what they will do with them. And what legacy they will leave. What legacy do you wish to earn for your name, Niklos Shahrizai?”

Niklos paused, the Queen’s question seeming innocuous. It wasn’t. Questions like that never were. He had considered it, certainly. Didn’t all aspire to some form of greatness or another? He had been quiet, and he had studied. His father had sent him to Tiberium to study at the University there for a time, and there were no books in his father’s library that were unread. And his father had made certain that he understood, in his bones, what he had learned. But she hadn’t asked what he wanted, she asked what legacy he wanted. There was a subtle difference there, and he hoped he could use it to his advantage. 

His eyes snapped back into sharp focus as he smiled at her. “My legacy? I hope to be the counterpoint to Melisande Shahrizai. Where her legacy is treason, I wish mine to be trustworthiness.” 

He never again wanted a Shahrizai to be suspected of what Melisande had been guilty of. Falsehood would never again wear black and gold. “It will take a lifetime of work. And some of our many relations in the nobility have always been jealous of us, merited or not, but the effort is worthwhile.” And incredibly appropriate for the holder of a minor county well within the Shahrizai duchy in Kusheth. 

“And how will that work begin?” Resting her elbows on the arms of her chair, she laced her fingers carelessly together as she watched him. “You must have given it some thought. Beyond the cousins whispering in your ear and the aunts and uncles giving their advice, you on your own must have thought about how your tenure as Count could start. Regale me. If I choose to permit this succession and not stand in the way, how will you begin to prove your trustworthiness?”

He smiled faintly, almost pensively, and nodded to her. “I am here, Your Majesty. Yes, my family encouraged me to take up residence in The City, but I could have just as easily remained in Kusheth. I am present, I did not demur or delay your invitation, and I have not taken possession of property that is yours to grant. Duc Alexius is administering the property, awaiting your decision. We are a well-connected family, and I am doing what I might to reestablish the connections and friendships I have had in the past. Not all news passes through the Palace, Majesty, and some of that which does travel these halls may not reach your ears or the ears of His Highness. Political intrigue is a much safer game to play when you know you have the throne behind you, instead of opposite you.” He took a deep breath. This was a very deep game that could be played, and he had barely established himself on the board. He really needed to get back into the City and reacquaint himself with people.

He was pleased that it didn’t sound like the guards had moved yet, so there had been no hidden signal to restrain him, and he hadn’t threatened. But he wanted the access, and he wanted the information. Melisande had been visionary. The rest of the family, Niklos included, had no chance of matching her brilliance, but that very brilliance was her downfall. She needed to be the smartest person anywhere she had gone, and she desired the power that her brilliance had indicated could be hers. But brilliant people and powerful people were rarely one in the same: The brilliant frequently overlooked something miniscule that could bring them down, and those in power often had to resort to basic brute violence to remain there. Far better an understanding or agreement where both sides aided the other.

“So you offer to be my eyes and ears where neither my son or I may go,” Anielle said, knowing full well the ambitious lordling had said nothing of the sort. But it was a chance that she would extend as a first test. She knew better than to forget the snake in the grass, but a snake that she could direct was far more valuable. “It was that very subterfuge that damned your family before, but you have caught my attention, Niklos Shahrizai.”

She leveled her gaze at him, her voice regal and terrible as thunder as she spoke with the full weight, authority, and power of her throne. “Let us see what you do with this rope: climb or hang.”

Gustav, reading the Queen’s body language and understanding her play, finally moved. Crossing to stand at his place by the Queen’s right hand, he examined the Shahrizai with his blue-black hair and deep blue eyes, blue meeting blue as the cousins regarded each other. But there was enough established now that the rest would come, both Queen and Dauphin watching closely. 

So Gustav gave the faintest smile that did not reach his eyes, saying only, “Congratulations, then, Count Shahrizai.”

A royal acknowledgement of the title. It settled on Niklos’ shoulders. There would be paperwork and official acceptance and court announcements, but it started here, with the Queen and the Dauphin seeing in him a noble ready for the title. 

Niklos squared his shoulders as the Dauphin caught his eye. He grinned briefly, though the Dauphin’s eyes were cool. He bowed again to both of them, his own eyes dimming, as if looking at a sapphire at night. “My thanks to both of you, Majesties… cousins. I hope I will serve you well.” He bowed again, having recognized the dismissal, and backed away through the audience chamber, bowing once again at the door before exiting.

Anielle watched the door close and murmured quietly, “We will see.”

Whispers at the Table – Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whispers at the Table – Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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