Tag: petrea

Storyline: Mont Nuit in Celebration

“I’m bored,” Aliksandria nó Cereus said, crossing her arms over her swelling bosom petulantly.

“Here, go over these ledgers with me, then,” Petrea responded. 

“Ledgers? Are you mad? There is a celebration going on downstairs, and you have me cooped up here like an Akkadian maiden!”

Petrea threw her hands in the air. “You are with child! The chirurgeon says you

are to deliver in less than a month. If you go down there, Elua knows what could happen.”

Aliks glared at her friend. “It has been seven months of you mothering me, and I am exhausted from it. I can assure you that if I go down to the party, I will not suddenly burst into flames. I will have some fun, dance a bit, maybe take a patron for the evening. It will all be fine.”

“A patron! Have you lost your mind? You can’t take a patron in your condition.” Petrea was aghast. 

“Of course I can. In fact, though it is gauche here in the Night Court, I have heard there is an establishment at Night’s Doorstep that employs only Servants of Naamah who carry Eisheth’s blessing.”

The two women continued to bicker for some time before a knock came at the door to Aliks’s chambers. 

“Ah, Aimee dear, how is the soiree going?” Aliks asked, happily turning her attention away from her Second.

“Um, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There have been requests, a great many of them, for you, both of you that is, to join us.”

“See,” Ailks said smugly to Petrea, then added to Aimee, “Tell them that the Dowayne and her Second will be along presently.”

Petrea, knowing she had been beaten, followed Aliks down the grand staircase to the party. It was in truth a grand affair, all of the city was celebrating the royal wedding and the Night Court was doing so in their own fashion. A very small House fee was charged to patrons at the door, and upon admittance they could choose from any of the adepts present. It was rumored all the Houses were following this format, and thus the more seasoned adepts who usually command a higher fee, were in quite a lot of demand, most notably Dowaynes and Seconds.

“Aliks, please, just walk about and mingle, but no patrons, not in your condition,” Petrea hissed. Aliks waved her friend off and disappeared into the fray. 

Petrea was right, the babe would be here sooner than later and then everything would really change. Tonight, she would remind herself what it truly was to be Naamah’s Servant. Tomorrow, she would deal with her friend’s fears. 

*

Most Houses on Mont Nuit could boast their celebrations and what special offers could be found on various holy days and observances. Not so much with the two Houses which specialized in the sharper pleasures, outside of Mara’s Eve that is. But for the royal wedding and naming of a courtesan as Companion and Mistress? They did not shout from the rooftops but they did have some elegant tricks up their sleeves tonight.

“I don’t know if we purchased enough flowers,” Tryphosa nó Valerian bemoaned as she checked in the head of the House. She popped in after barely knocking, which the Dowayne was perfectly fine with this night, so much was going on after all.

Rosanna was making some last minute changes to her ensemble for the evening. A diaphanous gown of white silk with bronze trim, cuffs and choker. Still in the spirit of the triumph of happy endings today, but far more maneuverable in the heady environment of Valerian House.

“If they go through every rose, dahlia, and peony we have on hand then I would consider the night to be a success. Should that happen, we shall leave the patrons wanting more, which will only draw them back,” she replied and adjusted the corded belt around her waist. 

“I just don’t want the novices to be picking up petals for the next week when they should be at their studies,” the Second mumbled and checked her own hair in a mirror.

“Then they learn a valuable lesson. And they would also be picking up thornes, which will be tempered by those petals. Rose flogging is an art, they need to pay attention. It’s not often we have it in such abundance.”

Indeed, the choice of harsh and soft flogging with long-stemmed flowers was usually a request made by a patron already experienced in the activity. For the special occasion this day however, Rosanna had directed Showings and more access to the niche spectacle. Apparently her idea had merit, if interest was already so invested as to send her Second into worry over inventory. 

“Do you still think you might be called away tonight?”

“Perhaps. If Grandfather or Odilia ask for me. I’d like to go to Dahlia House myself just to offer my congratulations in person, but I know the place will no doubt be mobbed. I shall remain here as long as I can, it’s not as if I do not have a perfectly capable Second to take over should I need to step out for an hour or so.”

And it was not as though her friend and family were banging down her door. Let them celebrate and sit with the happy news however they so pleased.  

When she did make her entrance, Tryphosa at her side, the pair first made their prayers and offerings to Kushiel and Naamah as was their tradition before opening the doors.

After that, Rosanna would see where the night took her.

*

After the wedding was done and the couple headed to the castle, Philomena and Vouloir nó Heliotrope made their way through the streets. The crowd was electric, even this close to the palace where it was just the nobility, the energy was palpable. As she wove through the people, she felt the stress of the last few years melting off of her, making her steps lighter and her mood soar. She smiled, feeling happiness flood through her for the first time since she became Dowayne. 

They made their way through the streets, passing into the less prosperous quarters, the places Mena and Loir both felt more comfortable. Here the celebrations were more raucous: drinking spilling out of taverns into the streets, groups of people singing love songs, bawdy and not, as loud as possible, with varying skill, to small clusters of listeners, food vendors and bakeries hawking goods for almost free, streams of children running and playing. It was incredible, for someone like Mena who found her joy in the joy of others, it was almost overwhelming. 

Just before they crossed into the Night Court proper, a voice rang out.

“Philomena?”

Her head whipped around, her eyes scanning the crowd for the source of that voice. It had been years, half a decade since she’d heard that voice, was it possible?

A man materialized from the bodies around him, a crooked grin splitting his face. “As I live and breathe, it is you.”

“Kyrie?” She knew her voice broke saying his name, but on this of all days, she didn’t care for her image as Dowayne. Loir came to her side, slipping her arm through Mena’s and squeezing her upper arm. She felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the sight before her.

He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away. “I heard the House would be open for the celebration and I thought that you wouldn’t be able to throw me out, so…”

She stared at him, her mind racing. All this time, she’d thought—

A quick shake of her head brought her back, “The House!”

Spinning on her heel, she started back though the gate, stopping just inside to turn back to him, holding out her hand,  “Come on, come see what we have for you.”

The front of Heliotrope House was decked out in fabric buntings in the colors of the king and his new queen, with flowers spilling out of the open windows. Also hanging out the windows were several Novices, weaving Odilia’s bronze in, placing dahlias among the flowers, and as she approached, Mena could hear them laughing. 

One of the young men noticed her and waved enthusiastically, “Lady Dowayne! How was the wedding! Come in! Dara has the games started in the Salon! And Cook made your favorite cold soup!”

Laughing, she waved back as she climbed the steps, “Thank you, Henri. The wedding was wonderful, Blessed Elua and Naamah are sure to be pleased. We’ll tell everyone the tale at midnight.”

Henri groaned, “Past bedtime as usual.”

It was Loir who answered, “Silly, there’s no bedtime during a Festival!”

Inside, laughter rang through the halls. It was wonderful to have a crowded House. Mena looked around and saw her Adepts cozying up to new Patrons and she knew that these days would see new loves forged, marques made, and would also be blessed by Naamah and Elua, as much as the Royal Couple were. 

Making her way through to the stairs, she turned to Loir and said, “Thank you for attending with me, your presence was a comfort.” She didn’t look at Kyrie, but she knew her Second understood what she meant. 

Loir grinned and gave a small curtsey, “It was incredible, I am glad I saw it with my own eyes. I’ll see you in the back Salon once you’ve changed, Lady Mena.” The young woman turned to Kyrie and gestured down the hallway. “If you’ll come with me, my Lord, to the Salon, the Lady Dowayne will be with you shortly.”

Mena went up to change, not looking back. Kyrie knew this House as well as he knew his own hands, but making him stand on ceremony felt right. Her helper, a Novice named Anton, deaf from birth, sprung up when she entered her room. He helped her out of her fancier dress and into her day dress. Her bronze caul was carefully placed on a wooden sphere the artisan had sent over. When Anton reached for her hair to put it up, she shook her head. He smiled and instead worked quickly to free her from the pins that held her hair back. The relief was instant and the relaxed look was what this festival called for: all people were equal in the eyes of Eula and Naamah in the celebration of love. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. ‘You are the Dowayne’ she reminded herself ‘He is the one who left like that. If you can handle the last few years, you can handle one man.’

Before that, she needed to check on the Salons. Not that she was avoiding him.

The front Salon was a riot of noise; people laughing and talking, the clink of coins hitting the tables, the occasional sound of a ball hitting the wooden floor causing groans and chants of “Drink, drink, drink!” to sound from the back corner. She grinned and made her way through the people, stopping to greet those she knew with a hug or a small word. There were card games of so many types happening, Patrons betting with coin, Adepts with favor slips. It was a favored activity between her Adepts and their usuals, this was the only time they’d allow strangers into their games with no real losers . A group slipped upstairs, following an Adept to their room to get their winnings.

Deeper in the room, there was a serious game underway. It was one of the games Dara had come up with for this festival, and if it caught on, it would be a regular game. It consisted of small squares with letters and was played like dominoes, only the players had to make words instead of number matches. The two playing were intently focused on the space between them. Lina, one the Adepts who had a thirst for knowledge and had a scholar as a regular Patron, was playing against a woman that Mena had never seen. Not wanting to distract the pair, she whispered to an onlooker, “What’s on the table?”

“A week of whatever the winner wants,” the man whispered back, his eyes never leaving the pair. Mena made an impressed face and went onwards. The back corner was her destination.

Dara stood in the circle of players, watching the person with the ball plan their move. She’d set up lines of sturdy cups that she’d gotten from the housekeeper by some means that she didn’t clarify, filling them halfway with mead. The goal was to toss the ball into the cups that still contained liquid, if that was done the player would pick another player to drink. If the player failed, there were punishments that ranged from drinking to favors, depending on the cup that was aimed for. Mena barely understood the rules, but she knew that it was going to be incredibly popular and she planned to buy Dara some special cups.

She slid into the group, slipping her arm around Dara’s waist and giving the woman a kiss on the side of her neck as greeting. “Dara, love. How’s your game going?”

The Adept laughed quietly, “Quite well, Lady Dowayne. Would you like to join?”

The assembled Patrons turned and looked with shocked faces. The Dowayne in the Salon was a rather rare occurrence. Mena wanted to change that now that the pressure had released. With a grin, she took the ball out of the man’s hand who’d just thrown and surveyed the cups. “Third row, second in.”

Her toss was aimed well, but unfortunately the cup rim was higher than she’d thought. The ball bounced up and landed in an empty cup in the second row. Laughing, she reached over, retrieved the ball, and looked back at the group. Someone was pouring a liquid into a small glass as the rest shouted, “Drink, drink, drink!”

She took the glass from the woman and tipped it back. It burned like fire, but tasted like the spices used in winter cooking. When she’d emptied her cup, the group cheered. With an exaggerated bow, she said, “With that, I’ve got to take my leave. Have a wonderful time.”

Dara called to her as she left, “Come back later, we will be breaking out the color game after dinner.”

Mena laughed as she walked away. Dara loved her games, particularly ones like her color game where the longer you played, the less clothing you wore.

Winding her way back down the hall, heading deeper into the House, Mena glanced in the open doors. The smaller Salon’s held quieter activities, Adepts sitting with Patrons, brushing their hair or talking quietly over food and drinks. When people glanced up as she passed, she nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop. As the night wore on, she knew these rooms would empty as arrangements were made, and privacy was needed. As that happened, the party crowd would move towards the back of the House and out into the gardens for more room. She was looking forward to the next few days of relaxation and a return to being an Adept. She missed it more than she thought she had. But for now, she had a problem in the back Salon to deal with.

But Loir sat on the porch of her House in the setting sun, half watching the party-goers passing by. She swirled the cold cup of wine and fruit juice in her hand lazily, thinking about how things played out. The arrangement was one she was familiar with, but only because it was something that all Heliotrope adepts were taught was a rare but potential outcome of their long-term Patron relationships. More usually, the couple married when the adept’s marque was made or the patron married and visited when they could. She sighed, as much as she loved serving Naamah and knew in her heart this was her calling, the prospect of heartbreak loomed. She felt for Odilia in a way she knew the older Adepts didn’t. Still, the outcome was the best possible play with the cards in the king’s hands. As she’d been listening and taking notes and learning what she needed as Helio’s Second, she’d been surprised how many of the nobles had actually been in favor of Odilia as their queen. The only ones against it were, unfortunately, the ones with the most power. Maybe one day, soon she hoped, a Royal would be able to marry for love again.

“Excuse me?”

She looked up to see a young man smiling at her, nervous but with a full smile. She smiled back, “Yes?”

He took a step closer and she could more clearly see that he was a noble’s son, but young, not many years past her. His collar was undone and in his hand he had a wine bottle. Loir watched him take a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment as though gathering his courage. “I saw you during the wedding, you and your Lady Dowayne walked past my mother and I before the ceremony. I could see you, just a ways down in the crowd. The whole event, all my eyes could see was you. I followed you here, after, but didn’t have the courage to come speak to you until now.” He gestured with the wine bottle and looked away. Even in the fading light she could see the color rising on his neck.

She laughed a little as she stood and went to the top of the steps. Holding out her hand, she said, “Well, come closer so we can meet properly.”

The young noble stepped closer, into the light spilling from the doorway. The light showed that he was indeed a noble’s son, and a high-ranking one at that. His coat was long abandoned in the summer heat but his shirt was fine linen and his trousers were decorated in the most fashionable of woven patterns. She wondered what he had to be nervous about.

She held out her hand and said, “Come, come in, my lord. Let me get you some food and we can get to know each other.”

He reached out, but paused before their fingers touched. ‘“I would love to learn all I can about you, you shine like a second sun in my eyes. But I am unsure if the coin in my pocket is enough to allow me that honor.”

Loir leaned out, keeping her balance with an arm wrapped around the post that held the pergola. “My lord. The king has married, he has chosen to keep his love close, Blessed Elua and Naamah in her Grace are honored by this. Your eye has been caught by a simple adept of Heliotrope House, the coin in your pocket doesn’t matter.”

Her fingers brushed over his before tangling in them so she could pull him in. “I set my price, my lord, and today it’s only the stars in your eyes and the honey words on your tongue. Come inside.”

The young man allowed himself to be drawn up the stairs. He stammered out, “L-Leandré. M-m-my name is Leandré.”

Loir took his other hand in hers and slowly backed into the House. “I am Vouloir. But those who know me call me Loir.”

The stars in his eyes sparkled brighter, “Then I look forward to earning the honor of calling you that, Vouloir.”

Storyline: The Royal Wedding

Corrian had little opinion on her dress for the wedding, which was good because the royal dresser had not asked for it. A gown of pale blue with accents of silver and midnight blue had been constructed for the occasion. The trim had swans and lilies embroidered on it, making sure all knew that this was a royal wedding gown. Her auburn hair was left long with its curls, giving a joyous bounce as she walked. Her head was crowned for now with a simple garland of flowers. Before the day was done, it would be replaced with the Queen’s Crown of Terre D’Ange.  It was better to remain simple and celebratory now. She wore simple slippers in the carriage to the temple at the heart of the city, knowing she would remove them when she entered and not wishing to waste overmuch time fiddling with laces or buckles. 

For her bouquet, however, she had put her foot down on that. She carried a bouquet with anemones, which was traditional and symbolized Blessed Elua’s precept. She also had lilies to represent Terre d’Ange, the country of which she would soon be queen. She included oleanders, as a nod to her home of Borlean in Azzalle. And finally, she carried three large dahlia flowers in the bouquet. She was no fool, she knew every aspect of this day would be scrutinized, and she wanted the country to know that she supported Gustav and Odilia. 

Gustav stood ready to hand her up to the carriage and he looked every inch the king.  Resplendent in Courcel blue and gold, he had chosen to forego his great crown for this day.  Instead, his golden head was crowned with a wreath of anemones and lilies – Blessed Elua and Terre D’Ange together. He smiled at her. 

She returned his smile. Theirs was not a love match, but this was better.  It was a match of mutual respect and understanding.  A kind of love could grow easily from those seeds, even if she would always know that her husband’s heart belonged to another woman.

And that other woman had chosen to embark on this journey with them.  Odilia’s answer had come, and she knew Gustav had wept in relief. She had herself slept much easier since that letter had arrived.

The team of horses pulling the open-top carriage were pure white, with blue and gold ribbons braided into their manes and tails to toss in the sunshine as they pranced impatiently. The carriage would take them only to the great oak in the center of the city.  From there, it would be on foot to the Temples. And the way was filled with the people, the citizens of the City of Elua gathered to watch the procession of their king and his bride. 

It was the sound of their joy that first greeted the couple, the cheers and singing of joy that guided them on their walk through the winding streets – like so many royal couples before, treading the path from palace to temple to be joined in marriage. 

The flowers were next, the sights and smells of the flowers being waved, the petals being strewn before them as they walked together. 

The colors of the ribbons as they danced through the air, the garlands draping from the eaves of every building – evidence of how the people loved their king and celebrated his marriage. 

Gathered in the square of the temple district were the nobles and courtiers of the royal court, gathered there in all their finery to witness the arrival and entrance to the temple of the royal couple. And arrayed along the side of the square closest to Mont Nuit were the Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. 

Aliksandria stood with her fellow Dowaynes and their Seconds as the Royal procession passed. They bowed to their king and soon to be queen, though Aliks had a bit of difficulty doing so in her present condition. As they rose she turned her head almost imperceptibly to look at the second of Dahlia House. Odilia’s face showed no emotion. Jocoste had offered to her Second the option to attend the ceremony as a private individual and not as a member of the Night Court, but she had declined, insisting that her loyalty was to Naamah’s service above all. 

Rosanna stood with Tryphosa at her side, in line with the other leaders from Mont Nuit. Arranged, as always, with Cereus House at the fore and then descending down according to the alphabet, they stood last but never least in line. All the better to see the scope of the procession and the reactions of those watching. The Dowayne and Second of Valerian House wore gowns of silvery white and accents of shimmering bronze. When the time came, they tossed flowers upon the cobblestones with the other citizens, celebratory as could be. 

“I do not spy anyone seemingly unhappy with how things turned out,” Tryphosa whispered as she tossed another handful of petals.

“They would not do so here. Today we are celebrating, and keeping our eyes and ears open.”

Her own eyes followed the couple once she rose from her deep curtsy, until they vanished from sight into the most sacred of temples. No one outside of the closest family members and highest ranked nobles of the king’s inner court were permitted to actually watch the ceremony. Surely, they could not comfortably fit any more guests in the temple courtyard anyway. But the sanctity of the marriage ritual was something to be respected, and so that Rosanna understood. 

As the crowd quieted and awaited the royal couple’s return, she took the time to pray. Always a devout woman, the Dowayne of Valerian House asked Blessed Elua to watch over the king, the new queen, and her friend who was soon to be linked to them both in an unprecedented motion. 

They needed all the divine guidance one could hope for to navigate the path they would forge together. 

Mena stood with Vouloir, wearing simple flowing dresses in the palest purple, their hair held in fine bronze mesh cauls, waiting for the procession. 

“Odilia looks well today,” Vouloir said quietly by Mena’s ear. “I’m interested to see the bride. My friend in the palace says the mood in the royal wing has much improved.”

Mena made a noise of agreement. “She does look quite well. Her expression matches her bearing again. I’ve missed that.”

Vouloir nodded, but before she could respond, the roar of the crowd let them know the couple was approaching. A huge smile bloomed across Mena’s face at the sight of them. Love, in all its forms, made her heart happy. She threw petals when the couple was near and delighted in the smile on her King’s face. His bride looked at peace, her face relaxed.

As the couple passed, Vouloir leaned in again. “Her Majesty’s bouquet told the tale quite well, don’t you think?”

Mena looked at her. “I managed to miss it somehow.”

Vouloir smiled like a cat in the cream. “Oh, then wait until they return, she’ll be on our side then.”

Mena looked up the hill where the couple had disappeared into the temple proper. Everyone settled around her, a peace falling over the crowd that was tinged with excitement. Weddings were loved in the capital, the rare royal weddings were exciting. Everyone, herself included, was looking forward to the holiday and festivals that would last for a week. The plans they’d made for the House had been implemented quickly, the food was prepared, the wine and juices were ready, the salons were lively already when she’d left, the adepts excited for the occasion. Now all that needed to happen was for the couple to emerge.

When they did appear once again, the city was positively deafened by the cheers of the happy citizens. Cries of blessings, congratulations, and prayers were sent to the young king and his new queen. A great wedding feast would be served at the palace upon their arrival, and the celebrations would go for days. Every house on Mont Nuit would open their doors at a pittance for payment as their way of celebrating so that all who wished to make the event memorable in their own way might afford to do so. 

“Is all in readiness for tonight?” Rosanna asked her Second once the loud frenzy had died down somewhat. 

“To the best of our ability,” Tryphosa replied.

To the great joy of the gathered people of the city, the newlywed couple stood together under the great arch of the Temple of Elua and shared a long kiss together. When they parted, there was a bright sparkle in both of their eyes as they looked at each other.  It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. But some people, those who thrived on gossip and whispers, snuck glances at the Second of Dahlia House. She stood tall in the midmorning sun, and there was a small smile on her face – her Dahlia composure wasn’t compromised, but it was clear that she was happy. 

Mena cheered as loudly as all the other D’Angellines. Seeing the peace on her king’s face and on his bride’s made her relax even further. Things were going to finally get back to normal. Remembering Vouloir’s comment about the bouquet, she looked at it and felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

“Oh. Oh, really,” she said as she leaned towards her Second. “Well, my, my, my, Her Majesty certainly made her stance known. No one could confuse that.”

Vouloir smiled. “I know! I wonder what it will mean in the long term?”

And the affection in Odilia’s eyes only grew, sparkling and crinkling with her smile as the Priest of Elua laid their hand on the clasped hands of the couple, intoning for all the gathered peoples to hear. “Bound now in the sight of Blessed Elua, blessed by His Companion Naamah, Gustav de la Courcel and Corrian de Borlean are now husband and wife.  The wife of a king is his partner in all things and must be crowned as the new queen of our Terre D’Ange. She will be crowned in the shade of the great Elua’s Oak, witnessed by the Clergy of the Companions, the Royal Court, and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers.  Let the songs be sung as the king and his new queen process to the great oak tree!”

Gustav and Corrian exchanged a look and stepped together down the stairs of the temple, but they did not begin the procession as the High Priest said.  Rather, they walked together to where the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers stood arrayed. The adepts all bowed and the king and his bride smiled graciously at them before Corrian stepped forward to stand before Odilia.  The women looked at each other, and it seemed like a great many of the adepts and courtiers all held their breath. 

“Odilia,” Corrian said, gracious and smiling, “would you accompany us to the oak?”

“My lady, it would be my honor.”

The implication of those words hit Mena like a bucket of iced water. She managed to keep her cool, but Vouloir gasped quietly, her hand suddenly gripping Mena’s tightly. What could this mean?

“Did you know about this?” Tryphosa whispered to her Dowayne.

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” Rosanna replied with a conspiratorial little smile.

Corrian beamed and lifted the garland from her own head to place it on Odilia’s head, leaving the new queen bare-headed as she turned to begin the procession.  Gustav took his place at her left hand, Odilia stepped up to her right, and the members of the royal court slowly filed in behind them, the Servants of Naamah following. 

Gustav turned to glance at Odilia – there had been a childish dream that he had once held of seeing her in garlands and ribbons as they were wed together.  That dream could not come to be, the world got in the way.  But this was still almost like it, she was still beautiful and with him as they made this walk. 

Odilia turned her head to look at Gustav.  She had always known she would never be able to have him the way other lovers could be with each other forever.  Anything now was a gift she had never dared to hope she could have. This was a more mature, adult agreement, and it suited the people they had become over the years that they had loved each other. 

The great oak tree stood in the center of the city, the true and beating heart of Elua’s grace and blessing. It was here that the queen had chosen to be crowned.  The royal court arrayed themselves to the left of the tree, where the king stood.  The Night Court arrayed themselves to the right, where Odilia stood in her flowing bronze gown. 

And there, in the shade of the tree, Corrian knelt. 

Mena sharply drew in a breath. There was a crackle of tension in the air, she could feel it. They were on the precipice of something.

The High Priest of Elua stood before her, their hands open to the sky.  They said, “Corrian de Borlean de la Courcel, do you present yourself here in the sight of Blessed Elua and witnessed by the nobles of this great kingdom, ready to swear yourself to the sacred duty of queenship?”

Odilia watched Corrian’s chest rise and fall with her deep breath. “I do.”

“As you are wed to His Majesty, King of Terre D’Ange, Gustav de la Courcel, you understand your duty as his wife is to be his partner, equal, and support in all things.  This duty is ever more important when the nation is looking to him to lead.  Are you prepared to take your place as his queen, to support him and help guide Terre D’Ange for the years to come in which you remain bound together?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to wear this crown with grace and poise, understanding the weight and responsibility that it bears to serve the people of this land and bear the mantle of leadership?”

“I do.”

The High Priest nodded and turned to the side where another of Elua’s priests held a cushion of Courcel blue where the queen’s crown rested.  The king’s crown was of gold with fleur-de-lis in silver.  The queen’s crown was the opposite – a thin circlet of silver with gold stars.  Together, they were the lily and stars of the D’Angeline flag.  Together, they were Terre D’Ange. 

The crown settled on Corrian’s auburn head, and she closed her eyes, exhaling with the acceptance of her new title and duty. 

“Arise now, Queen Corrian of Terre D’Ange.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she carefully stood, turning to face the gathered court and courtesans, who bowed to their new queen.  Gustav reached for her hand, taking it and laying a kiss upon her knuckles as he joined her underneath the foliage of Elua’s Oak. 

Mena sighed happily, a huge smile on her face. It was done, life was balanced again.

“I accept this duty with a humble heart,” Corrian said, pitching her voice so all could hear.  She knew that the pages in attendance on their lords were scribbling down every word she spoke so that copies of her speech could be spread across the city and countryside in the days to come. “It is my honor to stand here, and it is my challenge to become the queen that my king and country need.  However, no one person may handle so great a responsibility alone.  None of us walk the journeys of our lives by ourselves. As your queen, I would embrace all of the royal customs of House Courcel, including that of a Royal Companion. It is the right of a member of House Courcel to choose for themselves a member of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers to instruct them in the arts of love and to serve as companion and counsel.  I would like to choose Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, as my Royal Companion, in the sight of Elua and His angels and witnessed by courtier and courtesan alike.”

Now they knew why she had been gifted with the queen’s garland, now they knew why she was invited to walk with them to the tree. Mena felt almost unable to breathe. Her eyes found Odilia’s profile, and she saw the knowledge of this evident in her small smile. The nobles turned their eyes to the Night Court, where the Dahlia stood shining in her metallic bronze among the Dowaynes and Seconds who wore their own hints of her color like badges of honor. 

“The queen has named her Royal Companion,” the High Priest of Naamah said, stepping forward to stand at the tree with the High Priest of Elua.  “Does the Companion accept the title?”

Odilia’s head was high as ever – upright and unbending – as she took her own step forward. “I do.”

“So it is witnessed.”

The High Priest of Naamah beamed as the queen and her new Royal Companion clasped hands and sealed the agreement with a kiss.  Corrian smelled like the flowers that had been her natural perfume; Odilia smelled like the cedar and amber that she favored.  Together they were florals and spice, herbs and woods, balancing beautifully. They parted after a long moment, Corrian slightly breathless and Odilia slightly smug.

Gustav smiled at Odilia and stepped forward himself to reach for her hand, declaring, “It is the greatest and most sacred of our tenets to love as thou wilt.  It is the message that Blessed Elua sought to bring to this world and one that we as D’Angelines embrace completely. All of the city, all of the country knows how much I love you, Odilia, it has never been secret. This marriage will not change that. I, too, wish to embrace you as we continue our journey together forward.”

She smiled at him, and Petrea thought that maybe the sun sone little more dim in comparison to the shared joy that rose from the king and courtesan together.

Rosanna held her breath as the king made his heart known for the entire country, for the world to see. Her heart was full of happiness for Odilia. However, she could not easily spy the other man who had made her dearest friend an offer. No doubt he was happy for her as well but had stepped back so that the lovers might enjoy their triumph, they so deserved this moment. 

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Gustav de la Courcel said clearly, making sure no one could confuse his words. “I love you with all that I am. It is my intention to name you my Royal Mistress, officially, so that all of the world may know what place you have in my heart.”

Corrian held Odilia’s other hand, making her own stance absolutely clear as the courtesan looked at the man before her – seeing in his face the young prince she had met all of those years ago – and said, “I will accept it.”

The High Priest of Naamah was ready again, scarlet robes swishing as they laid their hand over Odilia and Gustav’s clasped ones. “Gustav de la Courcel, you have named Odilia nó Dahlia as your Royal Mistress, and she has accepted. Witnessed by Blessed Elua, by the angel Naamah and all of the Companions, and in the presence of the royal court and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, let it be done.”

Gustav reached into his pocket and produced a ring.  A swan ring identical to the ones he and his wife wore.  It was clear how seriously all three of them took this moment.  Corrian wrapped her arm around Odilia’s waist, both women leaning their heads together to watch as Gustav slid the swan ring onto Odilia’s heart finger. 

The sight of the ring made Mena gasp, though she took comfort in the fact that she was not alone. A Royal Companion, a Royal Mistress, these were things that she had been prepared for. But to announce the titles and to treat them as if Odilia was an equal marriage partner, witnessed by Elua’s tree and both courts? She was happy for them but shocked just the same.

Another kiss, shared between Gustav and Odilia, then Odilia and Corrian, then Corrian and Gustav, and it was done.  The king was married, Terre D’Ange had a Queen, and all the country saw the Dahlia raised up to stand with the royals. 

Storyline: Petrea reaches out

From the private desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

My dearest Odilia,

I have watched over these last many months as your personal struggles have been a public spectacle and your name dragged through the mud of the street of the City of Elua. Gossip on Mont Nuit and Night’s Doorstep is to be expected; your situation is not. It is not acceptable for one to be treated as you have been. And yet, you have handled all with grace and dignity. You are a paragon of the Dahlia tenets, and all should look to you with awe.

I have had my own troubles with love and heartache, though nothing close to what you have experienced. Please know that my heart is with you. Know that my feet stand beside you. Know that my shoulders carry your burden as though it were my own.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, I pray to Blessed Elua for strength for you. Should you ever need a confidant or a friend, you have me. You need only send me.

Yours,

Petrea

Storyline: The Meeting of the Dowaynes

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, ran a frustrated hand through her hair and glared at her Dowayne. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her patience had worn thin. 

“When I said light fabrics, I mean as in weight, not as in color, Aliks!”

Aliksandria rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why this is such a great matter, Petrea. You are working yourself into a fit for nothing.”

Petrea crossed her arms and pinned her friend with a glare. “It will not do for the Dowayne of Cereus House to faint from heat in the middle of the royal wedding! You are with child, Aliks!” She gestured at Aliks’s body. “You are sitting here, in this lovely, cool room, and I can see the sweat on your brow. Do you really expect that you can sit outside and not feel the heat? If nothing else, do you want to look like you have just stepped out of the bath?”

Petrea threw herself onto the couch next to Aliks and looked at her pleadingly. The two were sitting in a salon at Cereus House with a now terrified seamstress, discussing gowns for the upcoming royal nuptials. The Dowayne’s belly had grown round in recent months. Somehow the “morning” sickness that the Eisandine chirurgeon swore would only last a few months refused to abate and was thus far being uncooperative with regards to its specified time of day, forcing Aliks to turn green at all hours. She found herself eating large amounts of the strangest foods but refusing meat at all cost. This had made her moody and resulted in snapping at the adepts and servants, which was unlike her. As the babe grew inside her, she missed Waldemar more than she could describe. How she wished he were here to experience this with her, to feel the excitement and—yes—fear of the child she was carrying., and perhaps to hold her hand as she complained yet again about the frequency at which she had to use the privy.  

Petrea had taken it upon herself to play devoted and nervous nursemaid, which Aliks both loved and hated. She felt as though Petrea followed her like a shadow, watching her every move, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. Petrea had given so many strict instructions to the servants at the house that Aliks often felt deprived of her ability to do anything; it was awful. At the same time, Petrea doted on her, indulging her odd cravings and desires, doing everything in her power to make the pregnant woman comfortable. But their fights had become the stuff of legend among the Cereus adepts, shouting matches that echoed through the halls when Petrea refused to allow Aliks some strange thing in the name of safety. These arguments almost always ended with one or both women sobbing or slamming a door. The adepts knew better than to gossip about the goings on between their Dowayne and Second, and so these behaviors stayed within the walls of the Cereus House. 

Aliks laid her head on Petrea’s shoulder and handed her a cherry tart. “Eat this, love. You need to calm down before this poor young girl—” she motioned to the seamstress, who stood silently in the corner of the room, clutching her fabrics and sketchbook, “—passes out from fear.” Their eyes met. Petrea gave Aliks a flat look and opened her mouth so that Aliks could feed her. Aliks gave her an indulgent smile and patted her cheek as Petrea chewed. “Now, l will concede your fabrics, since you seem to be so intent on it, but you worry about far too much. 

Petrea put her head in her hands. “I cannot have you fainting at the royal wedding—”

“Why would she faint at the wedding?” Mena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope strode into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between her two friends. Something was definitely going on.

“My Second is going to worry herself to death over the fabric of my gown. She thinks that I shall overheat and fall like a sack of potatoes and cause such a stir that the Night Court shall never recover.”

Petrea scoffed at her friend. “Do not mock my concern. I simply want you to be as comfortable and beautiful as possible at the wedding. In your condition, you must be cautious. As I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes. You keep telling me. And keep telling me. And keep telling me,” Aliks said with teasing annoyance.

“I just couldn’t bear if anything happened to you,” Petrea said softly, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it.

Aliks smiled at her. “I know, dearest.”

Mena cleared her throat, reminding them that there was someone else in the room. She looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment, putting the little pieces of information she had into a possible picture. ‘No…there is no way,’ she thought. ‘It is the only answer that fits, though.’

Aliks arched her back, stretching out some sore muscles and dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. She inwardly cursed Petrea for her keen observation. She had wanted to wear the lovely raw silk, but her friend was right. Despite her personal vanity, she did need to remember to be kind to her body. 

Petrea sat up from her slumped position on the sofa. She brushed some crumbs off her and Aliks’s laps. She turned to the seamstress and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming today. I do apologize for all the shouting. We will send for you again in a few days?”

The young woman gave a curtsy and raced out of the room.

Now alone with the other two Night Court leaders, Aliks pulled her shoulders back and straightened up. As her posture changed, she was no longer petulant-child Aliks, but now Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.  There was business to attend to, and it was not dresses.

“Thank you for coming, Mena,” Aliks said, brushing her hair back and tossing it over her shoulder. 

“Of course I came,” she said with a smile, “I’m always glad to see you, officially or socially.” 

Petrea’s mouth pursed slightly.  She and Aliks had spoken long into the night about this and it was right to gather the Dowaynes for this.  The Night Court needed to present a unified front, so they must all be in agreement.  Therefore the invitations had been sent to the Dowaynes of all Thirteen Houses.  And thus did they come. 

Samantha nó Jasmine entered, laughing at a jest made by Xixiliya nó Orchis. Alyssum, Balm, and Gentian entered together, closely followed by Camellia. The newest of the Dowaynes, Amara nó Mandrake entered quietly, but Petrea could not deny the change in presence when she did. Eglantine came with her harp and plucked a few idle chords once she seated herself. 

Arietta de Millazza nó Bryony entered arm in arm with Odilia’s best friend, an unusually serious Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian. Aliks did a quick headcount. Twelve of the Thirteen. And the last was, in many ways, the subject of this meeting.  They might as well begin. 

“My friends,” Alikandria said from her place on the couch in the center of the Cereus salon, “thank you all for coming to this meeting of Dowaynes.  I appreciate the time you take from the running of your Houses to attend.”

“We are one short, Aliks,” Amara said from where she leaned against the marble mantle above the fireplace.  Her eyes, rather like a bird of prey, were intent on the Cereuses. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Dahlia has not yet arrived,” Aliks said, keeping her hands folded in her lap, thumbs lightly brushing the swell of her stomach. “But we all know what is to happen soon. The invitations will be sent for the king’s wedding and we must decide, as the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, what we are going to do.”

“Do? As in blow it off entirely and not attend?” Xixiliya smiled saucily, “That would cause no shortage of amusement.”

Petrea bit her lip to hide a smirk. Much though she hated the idea of causing yet another scandal, she held a fondness for the irreverence of the Orchises.

“As much of a lark as that may be, Xixiliya, we must remember this is a serious matter,” Aliks said softly to her friend.

Xixilia waved her off. “Yes, yes, I know. And, with weddings come parties, so I am sure there will be much other amusement to be had.”

Mena chuckled, “The entire Night Court not attending the royal wedding would be quite the scandal, to be sure. But we must attend, no matter how we feel.” She looked into the middle distance for a moment before continuing. “There’s no real way this could have gone any other way, no matter what anyone’s heart may have wished. So now, we have to decide how we’ll attend, what message we will convey with our presence. Even with almost no information from Odilia.” She looked around the room at each of them, pausing for a moment on Odilia’s best friend, “There have been so many questions from my adepts, so much confusion about the situation, the handling of it. Surely, someone has some information I can use to satisfy their concerns.”

“She plays her hand close to her chest,” Arietta said, smiling slightly at the game of cards metaphor. “It does make it difficult for the rest of us.”

“It is still her private life,” Rosanna argued from her perch on a silvery-blue damask ottoman.  “We are not entitled to it. And cannot speak in detail until she comes forward to inform us of whatever news she may or may not have.”

“Rosanna, I respect your friendship with her,” Aliks said firmly. “But in this, we are the leaders of the Night Court, and we must be objective. We must remember, the eyes of the City, nay the kingdom whole, will be upon us. How we approach this situation will cause ripples that may well become waves, and I fear there is no ‘safe’ choice for us. Should we choose to attend when Odilia does not, we will show support for this match and appear to have abandoned one of our own for political gain. Should we choose not to attend, we will in effect be jilting the Crown itself. We must make a choice as a united Mont Nuit, but we must also have all the information to do so. We need to know Odilia’s choice.”

Rosanna nodded, her face twisting slightly with her wilted displeasure. “There is also the consideration of whom Odilia might attend this ceremony with. Something that has been weighing on my mind and how best to act once an answer is known. Without that answer, much is simply up in the air. What I can say to this council is that we will not be alone in our support of her. She has allies outside of Mont Nuit, whatever her decision. Yet, that choice must be freely given, carefully considered. And should still be her own, since that option remains private at the moment.” 

“It ceased to be her private life when it began to impact the rest of us without our consent,” Mena said quietly. “Speaking for my House, I know that we would have welcomed, encouraged, and even sheltered the lovers behind our walls and kept their secrets as though they were our own, had we been given the chance. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” Mena shook her head. “Instead we, the entire Court and the whole city, were plunged headfirst into events we weren’t allowed to impact, only react to. We’re lucky to have Aliks to hold us together. If we didn’t, Odilia’s ‘private life’ could have shattered everything like cheap glass. As it stands, we’re between a rock and a hard place. The royal wedding should be a time of joy and festivities, and now the Night Court is left scrambling to make determinations about our attendance. She has made us have to tread like we’re walking on a rope over fire.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, “It has to stop here. We have to know what’s happening.”

“Then let us clear the air.” Jocaste nó Dahlia said coolly as Dahlia House entered.  And she was not alone. Odilia was at her shoulder, her face carefully blank and her eyes emotionless and neutral in a way that told Petrea immediately that she had overheard at least some of Mena’s words. 

“Jocaste, welcome,” Aliks said, holding her place of power determinedly in the center of the salon. “We are so pleased you could join us.” Her eyes slid to the silent woman at the Dahlia Dowayne’s shoulder, “And with an unexpected guest.”

No few of the other Dowaynes whispered among themselves at the sight of the Dahlia Second, but Odilia weathered it with the regal disregard one would expect from a Dahlia.  Her head lifted a fraction, the tiniest flex in her cheek as her teeth clenched.  She would not back down from this.

“It seems we have arrived late,” Jocaste said, taking her seat with an elegant swish of her skirts. “Certainly we did not intend to miss the first part of this conversation.”

Petrea glanced at Aliks, hearing the subtle scolding in the Dahlia Dowayne’s words. Unexpected guest? Had Aliks truly expected to hold this meeting without Odilia—the subject of the entire meeting, in attendance? Had she truly only invited Jocaste instead of both the Dahlia leadership? Perhaps there was more she would need to watch for as Aliks’s condition progressed. Was her mind affected? Her memory?  

“Nevertheless, as we have arrived now,” Jocaste said firmly. “It seems we are just in time to put to rest more of these whispers.  I have brought my Second with me, that she may speak for herself.”

“But will she speak?” Amara nó Mandrake said, her brow arching, “She has been keeping so quiet of late. Quiet and absent.”

Odilia met the Mandrake Dowayne’s gaze without blinking, and Rosanna remembered that Mandrake had also bid for her marque before Dahlia won out in the end. Those two could cut one another to ribbons with their stares alone. 

“The Dowayne of Heliotrope is right that my private affairs have become matters of public importance,” Odilia said quietly. “And as there are new developments that would further affect the affairs of the Night Court, I have come myself to bear the news.”

Amara matched Odilia’s firm expression with a tiny smirk of her own, enjoying the challenge of the moment as only a Mandrake could. 

“Please, Odilia, tell us,” Petrea said, not unkindly, wishing to diffuse the moment and give the other woman back her voice.  “I am sure we are ready to hear.”

Odilia took a moment to breathe, refusing to let the pressure of the eyes on her rush her in speaking.  Her fingers twisted the diamond and topaz ring on her left hand, and she finally spoke.

“The Duc de Chalasse has offered me his ring and a proposal of marriage,” she said, taking time with her words so that her tone remained even. “After the announcement of the king’s betrothal officially came, I left the city to clear my head, and he hosted me at his estate.  We reached an understanding about what a future could look like for me there. But I have not yet given him an answer.  I blame my romantic heart.  It refuses to die no matter how deeply it is cut. Perhaps it is for the best that my heart remained hopeful.  While I was at the Duc’s estate in L’Agnace, an invitation arrived for me from the palace.  The king and his queen-to-be requested my presence in the hopes that we might clear the air.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin lifting, “The king has made me an offer, too.  He wishes to name me his Royal Consort and give me a position in his court as his official mistress.”

Arietta opened her mouth, taking an inhale as though to speak, but Odilia was not finished. 

“More than that,” she continued firmly, “Lady Corrian de Borlean has also requested that I serve as her Royal Companion when she is crowned queen.”

She spread her hands before her. “As this would affect the standing and power of the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, it is, therefore, my duty to bring these events to your attention.”

Perfectly courteous, perfectly polite, but carefully distant.  Petrea looked at her fellow Second and wondered if Odilia would ever lower her guard enough to tell them what she really wanted for herself. 

One half of that news Rosanna was already privy to, the other she was not. So the surprise she wore on her face was not in the least bit false. “And, have you come to a decision? On either of these offers?”

“No,” Odilia said. “I have asked for time, on all fronts, that I may properly consider.  And so that the Night Court can decide what it is we wish to do.”

“It is only your choice,” Jocaste said, looking up at her friend and Second. 

“It is not and you know that,” Odilia said firmly. “My private life has already done enough damage to the Night Court.  I would hate for any more of the Dowaynes to feel like they must walk a tightrope for it.”

Mena felt the corner of her right eye tighten. Her words had been pointed, yes, and full of the frustrations of her entire House, yes, but they also had been carefully chosen and she stood by them. Heliotrope and Dahlia were two sides of the same coin in many ways but one place they firmly intersected was loyalty and stubbornness. A casual dig wasn’t going to shake her.

“As we are all gathered to discuss, then we best lay out our perspectives,” Rosanna spoke up. “If the council is ready to take note of who leans in which directions, regarding the proposal from the Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, my grandfather, it is the will of our family to welcome Odilia with open arms if she should accept him. I, too, went to visit the Chalasse Lodge, where we spoke heart to heart on the matter. The latter proposal, from the palace, is new to me. But it is a great honor, and one seemingly much debated with care. Although, it seems like a fork in the road.”  

Petrea was thoughtful. “Odilia, you have not one, but two, highly positioned options at your disposal. Both would serve you well. One takes you out of the public eye, which I suspect would be a relief after the last months. The other keeps you very much in the public eye, but leaves no question as to your place in the heart of the new king and esteem of the new queen. But, there could be questions as to whether or not she was pressured to put you in the palace, and if so, by what means. It is not unknown that you have much influence over many in high places. Some might question the genuineness of his offer. We all know how nobles like to spin tales.” 

This drew a chuckle from the gathered crowd, all of whom had spent their lives listening to outlandish tales from noble patrons. 

Mena sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Of course Heliotrope backs you in this, Odilia. What your heart wants, we want for you. All we wanted was to know so we could support you and the King in it.”

Odilia surveyed the room before she took a firm breath and leveled her dark gaze at the Dowayne of Cereus House. Seated in the chair beside her Second, Jocaste released a small sigh, closing her eyes.  For she knew her Second, they had been friends for years.  And she knew Odilia’s devotion to the Night Court only deepened her feelings of responsibility for this. 

The Dahlia Second said crisply, “Aliksandria, I am prepared to do what I must but I need a clear answer. As Cereus House is said to be the leaders of the Night Court, it must then fall to you. There are two choices before me and I know my duty to my House and to Mont Nuit. Which choice serves the best interests of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers? Chalasse or Courcel?”

Petrea’s heart squeezed in her chest, and her throat tightened with welling emotion. She knew all too well how a Servant of Naamah must put the needs of her own heart below those of her House and sometimes those of all of the Night Court. Though D’Angelines spoke reverently of love as thou wilt, it was those who served that love whose hearts were put on the line.

It was a strange kind of masochism, Amara thought as she considered the Dahlia, to permit her duty to control her happiness.  But it was a noble sacrifice of its own, she mused, to offer her own heart to the whims and service of the Night Court politics. 

Aliks felt a new fissure cross her already broken heart at what Odilia was saying, what she was offering before the Dowaynes of the Night Court.  Her very love, her very life, for their maneuverings. The woman in her wanted to assure Odilia that whatever she chose would be right for it would be following Blessed Elua’s most sacred precept.  She wanted to take the other woman’s hands in hers and promise that she could be happy and that she did not need to sacrifice herself on this great chess board of politics. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Aliks said quietly.

Odilia smiled tightly, “Yes, I do.”  After what her indecision had cost the Night Court over the last few years, after everything that had befallen all of them because of this ongoing saga, it was her duty to make the decision that would serve Mont Nuit best.

So it was as Dowayne of Cereus House that Aliksandria responded, not as Odilia’s friend. Taking a deep breath she said, “Courcel.”

“Aliks!” 

She ignored Petrea’s shocked gasp, focusing instead on Odilia and letting the weight of the choice settle fairly upon their shoulders together. “The Night Court once only served the royal house.  We have steadily declined in our power, we are well past our heyday. To place an adept within the royal palace as the King’s official mistress and the Queen’s Royal Companion would open opportunities for all of us that we have not seen in generations.  Perhaps, with this first step here, we could even see an adept on the throne one day.  I know your famous chess game, Odilia, you play it well. This is my move.”

Odilia nodded, “Very well.”

Aliks turned her gaze to survey the rest of the gathered Dowaynes, “Are we in agreement, then?”

Slowly, the Dowaynes nodded, voicing their acceptance of this decision. Some hesitated, some were reluctant, but they all knew what was at stake.

“Valerian House is ever at your side, Odilia,” Rosanna was the last to cast her vote, praying she was doing the right thing for her friend. Taking a sip from her delicate porcelain cup, she looked from her friend around the room at the other Dowaynes and Seconds gathered here. “As we are in accord with our support of Odilia, the question remains, how best to do so in the eyes of the city? A symbol of some kind perhaps?” 

Smiling, Mena picked up her tea. “Odilia, do you have a favorite color?

Storyline: A Discovery at Cereus House

Petrea’s head hurt. If she was being honest, her entire body ached. She felt as though she had been tied to the chair in Aliks’s office for the last several months. Perhaps this was how Valerian adepts felt when they were practicing bondage…but without the pleasure. Her Dowayne had been so overcome with grief at the sudden and violent death of her lover that she had been all but absent from Cereus House. And when Aliks had been physically present in the house, she haunted its halls like a spirit. 

It was not that Petrea begrudged her best friend time to mourn Waldemar. Her heart was not only broken on behalf of Aliks, but a little on her own behalf. Waldemar was both a highly respected member of the Night Court and frequent visitor to Cereus House, and over the years, Petrea had become fond of him. Though he and Aliks made an unlikely couple, they complimented each other, and he made Aliks happy. And there was nothing Petrea wanted more than for her friend to be happy.

But, in the absence of a Dowayne, it was the duty of the Second to take on the duties of managing the House. So, much to her dismay, Petrea had been thrust into exactly the position she had feared when Aliks first mentioned a babe: that of Dowayne. In addition to overseeing the entirety of the social aspects of the House, with which Petrea was intimately familiar, there were the incomes and expenses to account, the correspondences to write, and the contracts to manage. Petrea did not know how Aliks kept everything organized in her head while still maintaining relationships and taking on patrons. Every night, Petrea dropped into her bed exhausted, only to be woken in the early morning hours to begin it all again. She thanked Blessed Elus that she had Amie. Amie had stepped in when she, herself, had taken leave of the House two years prior, and Amie’s executive skills had been invaluable then just as they were now. The two had huddled together over accounting books and schedules, menus and letters. Amie was the only thing preventing Petrea from bursting into tears and curling on the floor in a tiny ball like a child.

Petrea rubbed her eyes, the candle burning low. She guessed it must be close to midnight. Everything was silent, save for the sounds a house makes when no one is awake. She wished not to be awake herself, but one cannot always have what one wished. She sighed and stretched her arms above her head.

She heard the swish of skirts and shuffle of slippers on the floor and looked up to see Aliks step through the door. Her face was drawn and gaunt, and dark circles swelled beneath her eyes. Aliks had lost no small amount of weight in the months following Waldemar’s death, and Petrea frowned to see her friend’s gown hanging off her withering frame. Aliks had not even bothered to have her clothing retailored.

“Good evening, Aliks. I am so pleased to see you up and about.” Petrea gave her friend a wide smile. Though she did not like the look of her friend, she was nonetheless happy to see her.

Aliks smiled wanly in return and dropped wearily onto the settee across from the desk, sighing. “It is far past evening, Petrea.”

“I am quite aware, dearest, but you know as well as I do that a Night Court House does not actually ever sleep.” Aliks hummed in agreement. “Are you hungry? Shall we sneak to the kitchens and fetch a bite like we used to do?”

“I could do with something small. Do you know if the cooks have any of the pickled herring in the pantry? I have been absolutely tortured with cravings for it of late.” Aliks gave a small chuckle. “It seems I cannot get enough.”

Petrea shuddered and made a face. “Pickled herring? How can you eat that? It is disgusting! I could never stomach it.” She paused. “And neither could you, for that matter. Why the sudden desire for it?”

Aliks lifted her shoulders. “I know now, only that it is the only thing I wish to eat.”

Petrea gave her friend a soft look. “I suppose grief does strange things to the body.”

Aliks nodded, tears springing to her eyes. Petrea stood quickly from her chair and moved to sit next to her friend. She put her arm around Aliks and pulled them close. Aliks leaned into Petrea’s side and allowed Petrea to stroke her hair. It was a complete turnaround from the roles they most often played, with Aliks comforting Petrea. 

“I cannot seem to wake up from this, Petrea. My body craves sleep, and even when I wake, I am still tired.”

“You have been through something terrible. It would seem to me that it is not odd that your body wishes for rest.”

“But it is not simply sleep I crave. As I said, I am eating this pickled herring that I formerly could not stand. And it seems that is the only thing I can eat.”

“We all grieve in our own ways, love.” Petrea soothed.

Aliks looked at Petrea, her eyes full of tears. Petrea could not remember a time she had seen Aliks cry. It was distressing to her. Aliks played absently with the threads on her gown. “I am sick with grief, Petrea. I cannot hold food in my belly, and scents make me ill.” Aliks gave a sniffle.

Petrea nodded, looking closely at her friend. “I wondered why we no longer had the roses you so love in the halls. I thought it was perhaps simply out of respect…” Petrea trailed off, something tickling the back of her mind. She reached for the thought as the two women sat in the quiet office.

“What am I to do without him, Petrea?” Aliks whispered in a voice so unlike her own. 

The tickling thought in the back of her mind slammed front and center, causing Petrea to gasp aloud. The exhaustion. The cravings. The illness. The overwhelming emotions. Could it be?

“Aliks,” she said carefully. “You and Waldemar lit a candle to Eisheth before he died, did you not?”

Aliks’s body stiffened and she pulled back from her friend. “Yes. We did,” she answered, her eyes going wide.

“Do you think,” Petrea said, her mind churning. “Do you think, Aliks, that you might be with child?”

“With child?” Aliks gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.

“Well, yes. You crave foodstuffs you hate. You have been physically ill. Scents you love make your stomach turn. You cannot sleep enough to feel rested.”

“Oh.” Aliks’s face went blank.

“I think, my dear.” Petrea put a steadying hand on Aliks’s arm. “That is is time we call an Eisande chirgeon.”

~

Petrea took Aliks to bed immediately and lay with her throughout the night. The next morning, the chirgeon was summoned, and Petrea’s suspicions confirmed: the Dowayne of Ceres House was, indeed, with child. 

Storyline: An Argument at Cereus House

Petrea stormed into Aliksandria’s private sitting room where the Dowayne was having tea with Aimee nó Cereus, the unofficial Third of the House.

“Well,” Petrea demanded angrily, “is it done? Have you done it yet?”

Aliks looked up from her cup and gave her Second a bland look. “What are you stamping in here, interrupting my tea with Aimee to yell at me about?”

Petrea huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath and turned to Aimee. “Aimee, I apologize for the interruption. Could you please excuse the Dowayne and me for a few moments? I have some business I must discuss with her in private.”

Aimee looked from one woman to the other, confusion coloring her gentle features. She rose gracefully. “I shall be in my office should anyone need me,” she said, shaking her head and retreating from the room, closing the door behind her.

Petrea gave Aliks a heavy glare and spoke through gritted teeth. “Have you lit the candle to Eisheth?”

Aliks calmly placed her teacup on its saucer and motioned for Petrea to sit. Petrea shook her head. Aliks rolled her eyes. “No. It is not done. I have yet to make a final decision about a babe.”

Petrea let out a small sigh of relief, a bit of tension leaving her shoulders. “Well, I suppose that’s a small comfort. At least I found out about it before you went ahead and began your conception.” Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Aliks, you are considering a child, and I find out about it from overhearing initiates gossiping in their beds! Why was I not one of the first to know? Why did you not speak to me before this monumental, life changing decision”—She threw her arms out to the sides— “reached the gossiping adepts?”

Aliks looked taken aback and pressed a hand to her breast. “The adepts know of this? But, how? I have only spoken to two…no, three people know. You were to be the next.” She frowned, her brows knitting. “Someone on Niklos’s staff must have overhead and opened their foolish mouths. No one in the Cassiline Brotherhood would tell tales, and certainly Waldemar and I have been discreet in our discussions…”

Petrea had begun pacing the room. “Really Aliks?! Your concern is who told whom? This is a serious consideration. Having a child? Are you mad? How could you even contemplate this? How could you do this? To the House? To me?”

“To you?” Aliks replied indignantly. “My having a child has nothing to do with you, Petrea.”

“Does it not? Would you not retire from the Night Court to raise the babe, leaving me as Dowayne?” Petrea arched an eyebrow.

Aliks looked at her in confusion. “Well, of course not. I have no intention of retiring as Dowayne, and I am shocked you would even consider such a silly notion.” She waved a hand dismissively. “We would raise the child in the Night Court. Just as I was. It’s a common enough practice. The child would live here at Cereus House until it was old enough to be adopted into the appropriate House, at which time, we would sell its marque to that House. Or, Waldemar could retire from the Night Court and raise the child in the City—again, if I choose to have said child. A choice, I will remind you, I have not yet made.”

“And you would, what, be a half-time Dowayne?” Petrea’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Don’t you dare take the tone with me,” Aliks snapped. “You know very well that I would never neglect my duties here, and besides, is it not your responsibility as Second to step in where I cannot? And did I not allow you an entire year to go gallivanting around with your Marco? So, do not speak to me of being a half anything, Petrea.”

Petrea looked at her feet, chastened by her Dowayne’s words. But there was more to her concerns than just fears of where the child would be raised. “What of the risks of carrying and birthing a child?”

Aliks blinked at her. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out.

Petrea’s words were barely a whisper. “I cannot lose you, Aliks. I simply could not bear it.”

Their eyes met, and some understanding passed between them. “You are not going to lose me, Petrea. I have every intention of being here for quite a long time.”

“But you cannot know that!” Petrea’s voice rose again. “You cannot know what the fates hold for you! And now is not the time to be toying with this, Aliks. There is too much at stake! And I say this not as your friend but as your Second. You are a leader—no, the leader—of the Night Court, and we have just begun to garner respect from the Judiciary again. We cannot afford to look weak or fractured. Our leadership must remain strong and firm. Now is simply not the time to take any risks—any risks at all.” Petrea’s agitation was clear; she had begun pacing the room and her voice grew louder as she spoke.

Aliks sighed. “Petrea. Even if I were—and Blessed Elua, it will not happen—to pass, you would simply step up as Dowayne. You are the Second, and we have been training and preparing for my retirement since we were but children.” She shrugged. “It would merely mean that you would take over sooner than we planned.”

“But Aliks, I don’t think you understand: I do not want to be Dowayne!”

The words hung in the air.

Aliks gaped at her friend.

The two women looked at each other—one shocked, one desperate.

It was Aliks who finally broke the silence, her voice full of confusion. “What do you mean you do not want to be Dowayne? It has always been our plan for you to be Dowayne when I step down. If you do not wish to be Dowayne, what do you plan to do when my tenure is finished, Petrea?”

“I will step down as well.” Petrea’s voice was soft, her eyes on the floor.

“But…I do not understand. We have been working towards this for practically our entire lives. It has always been our dream for you to follow me as Dowayne of Cereus House—”

“No!” Petrea’s eyes blazed as her eyes met Aliks’s. “It has been your dream. Your plan. And I have but followed along. I have followed you all these years.”

“But…why?”

“The first night I was here. Do you not remember? I was crying and you approached me. You told me that you were going to be Dowayne. You informed me that I was going to be your Second. And ever since that night, I have been by your side, following you.”

Aliks gritted her teeth. “Drying your tears for one night does not indenture you to me for your entire life. You make your own choices, Petrea. Do not put this on me.”

Petrea sank into one of the soft chairs across from Aliks. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost pleading. “I know. I know. I do not mean to say that I blame you. And I would not change our lives for anything, Elua knows.” She looked around the room as if something would give her the answers she sought. “It’s just…how could I follow you as Dowayne? Even as a child, I knew that I did not have your leadership abilities, your charisma, your ability to think on your feet. I am not you. I cannot be Dowayne, Aliks.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from spilling.

“Oh Petrea. You can absolutely be Dowayne. And regardless of what choice I make, one day you will.” She gave her friend a small smile. “But that day will not come any time soon.”

Storyline: Gentlemen Bring Word from Afar

The evening was chilly, so Petrea and Marco sat by the fireplace in her private apartments at Cereus House. He was in the City of Elua for several days, stopping on his way to Alba from Caerdicci Unitas. The silver embargo had been lifted, so Marco had no shortage of work and found himself passing through the City of Elua much more frequently over the past months. The past year had been slim, so he was making up for lost time and profits this fall.

Petrea had been quiet over dinner, much more distracted than usual when Marco was visiting. Her attention was elsewhere and they had retired early.

He sat against the corner of the chaise with her in his lap. She curled against him, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“You are troubled, my love. What can I do?” he asked, stroking her hair.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against him. She mumbled something into his chest.

“My ears are up here, not inside my shirt,” he laughed.

She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose in mock anger.

“I said: it feels like everything is going wrong and there is nothing I can do to fix it and unless you are here for the next month and able to step in as Second of Cereus House as well as plan the Midwinter Masque, then I do not believe that you will be able to fix it, either.”

“Ah. Well, yes, I think that may be beyond my capabilities. I am here to listen to you, though, if that will help.”

“I don’t know. I am just, well, it all feels as though it is falling apart. I laid out a very clear plan for the ball and, at every turn, there is some problem or someone has made a mistake. How do the silk dyers mistake blue silk for white? Why did the servants bring out brandy glasses instead of champagne flutes? Why have pheasants been delivered and not duck breasts? Where are the gooseberries for the jam? These are not small mistakes, Marco!” Her voice raised at every sentence and her face grew redder.

Marco took her chin in his hand and silenced her with a finger to her lips, “My love, you have time. The ball is not tomorrow. People make mistakes. You are clearly frustrated, but you are speaking of fabric and glasses and foodstuffs. You have planned this ball for many years and certainly there have been mistakes before. You have a large, experienced staff to assist you. What truly troubles you?”

Petrea looked away, her face falling.

“It is not just the ball; you are right. In years past, I have been able to focus solely on that and nothing else. This year, however, my attention is forced elsewhere and, if I’m being honest, my absence from the Night Court last year contributed to this. I fear that many of these ‘mistakes’ in the ball preparations are guild leaders testing my mettle, seeing how I – how our House – responds to the constant pressure from them. They want to see me fail so that they can talk of our crumbling leadership.”

Her voice grew bitter. “And Aliks certainly is not doing me any favors. Did you know that she – ”

She was interrupted by a light knock on the door and a young adept peeked his head in. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but the Aragonian gentleman has just returned to the City and is asking for you and, er, you did give specific orders that, uh, he was to be admitted the moment he arrived no matter what, and, um, well…”

The adept rambled and looked at the floor. Everyone in the House knew that she was not to be disturbed when she was with Marco, yet she had told them to admit Ramiro as soon as he set foot in the door.

Her face brightened noticeably. “Oh! Yes, please invite him to my chambers. Immediately.”

“Ramiro back in town, eh?” Marco smiled at her mischievously and tugged on a lock of her hair. She had made no secret of her relationship with Ramiro and took no steps to keep the two apart, yet this would be the first time the two had crossed paths for more than a brief conversation.

“It would appear so. You know that lifting the silver embargo has been even more beneficial to him than it has been for you and he is gobbling up the attention of the nobles here as he swaggers around, negotiating deals.”

“And I am sure that’s not all he has been gobbling up in the City,” he teased, pinching her thigh.

She laughed aloud as Ramiro burst into the room. His eyes flew to Petrea, his gaze full of fire.

“Mi florecita, how I have missed you!” He was at her side in an instant, on his knees before her.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving hers, “It has been too long since I have been in your presence, mi amor. I have counted the hours until we could be together again.”

She turned to him and leaned forward, giving him a deep smile and a kiss on the cheek. “It is good to see you, too, Ramiro.”

She gestured towards the man in whose lap she sat. “I believe you are acquainted with Marco Meridius?”

Ramiro blinked, coming out of his reverie. His eyes slid to Marco, who grinned at him. “Ramiro, how nice to see you again.”

Ramiro dropped Petrea’s hand and jumped to his feet. “Marco!” he cried, “What a wonderful surprise to find you here, as well!”

Petrea bit her lip to cover a smile. Surprise? Yes. Wonderful? Not as much.

“Perhaps we should not be shocked to find each other here. It was bound to happen sooner or later with the trade embargo being lifted,” Marco said plainly.

Ramiro nodded. “And what better place to meet than here?”

Marco chuckled.

Petrea motioned Ramiro to sit in the chair across from them, but instead he grabbed a tufted stool and pulled it close to the chaise. Petrea waited for Marco’s reaction, but none came. Ramiro liked to engage in intimate conversation, no matter the topic, but his tendency to ignore social niceties of personal space, which often put others ill at ease.

“So, Ramiro, what news from Aragonia?” Marco asked, lazily draping an arm across Petrea’s shoulders.

“Ah, well, things are much better now that we can trade for our silver. My father was extremely impressed with the way I finagled that Lancelin fellow into pushing for the embargo to be lifted.”

“That was your doing?” Marco raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. It was an interesting turn of events. One day, an embargo. The next, no embargo. I expected proclamations and fanfare, but, instead, business just went back to usual. It was quite an odd situation.”

Ramiro shrugged.

Petrea rolled her eyes inwardly. Of course Ramiro would believe that it was he who was responsible for lifting the ban. She truly hoped that word did not reach his father about what really happened with both the dinner and the lifting of the embargo. Strange that it seemed to simply vanish as though it had never existed. Perhaps, though, not so strange. Those who worked in the shadows clearly wished to remain there. She wondered what moves her chess playing friend made for the Duc de Chalasse to relent.

“So Marco, my friend, your business has picked up, eh?” Ramiro was all business.

Marco nodded. “Truly the lifting of the embargo has been a great boon. Not just for silver, either. With the movement of the ore, other materials and goods are finding their way back onto the trade routes, as well.”

Ramiro’s head was bobbing as Marco spoke. “Yes, yes, all excellent news.”

Ramiro took one of Petrea’s feet in his hands and began massaging it, as he often did when they were alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back against Marco’s shoulder. After a moment, Ramiro paused, as though something important had occurred to him. He looked up and gave Marco a questioning look. Marco shrugged and Ramiro went back to rubbing Petrea’s foot.

“Your muscles are extremely tight, my sweetest,” he commented. “You are troubled.”

Marco huffed a laugh. “She was just beginning to tell me of her troubles when you walked in.”

Petrea sighed. “I am frustrated with everyone and everything, Ramiro. Keeping up with my duties as Second, trying to keep up with the goings on in the City, plans for the ball – you are coming, yes?”

Ramiro shrugged. “I will do my best, but I make no promises. I still do not understand these duties you have. You are a Servant of Naamah, you call it. Is it your duty not to serve her? What else is there?”

Petrea gave him a smile. “The Second is a position of leadership in one’s House. It is not all parties and patrons. We are still a business, as we fought so dearly to prove, and must operate as such. There are accounts to keep, adepts to bring in and train, hired staff to manage, and now my Dowayne is considering lighting a candle to Eisheth!”

Ramiro frowned, working his fingers into her muscles. “What does it matter why she is lighting candles? Everyone lights candles every night?”

“It means she wants to have a baby. It’s some D’Angeline thing,” Marco explained.

“Ah, that would complicate matters for you. She would retire?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea shook her head. “Oh no, not Aliks! That would be far too easy for her. Her plan is to simply continue running Cereus House – essentially managing the entire Night Court – while carrying a child, lying in after giving birth, and then raising a child.”

Marco frowned. “That does seem…complicated. I assume this is with Waldermar?” Aliks’s love affair with the Mandrake adept was the worst kept secret in all of Terre d’Ange. Nevertheless, everyone pretended it was a secret.

Petrea nodded. “I have no idea what her plans are for his involvement. Who knows where this child would live? I assume here.”

She waved her hand. “The whole thing is simply preposterous. The ripple effects of the Dowayne of Cereus House having a child with an adept of another House are too many to even begin to list. And she accuses me of scandal.”

Ramiro nodded sagely and continued his ministrations.

The trio sat in silence for a moment. Neither man knew which scandal Petrea referred to; both secretly suspected it was the one he had caused.

It was Ramiro who finally spoke first. “Marco, word about town is our lady has taken a new Tiberian patron. She has been seen with Crescens Emerentius. Perhaps you have some competition, eh?”

Marco chuckled, toying with a lock of Petrea’s hair. “Ah yes, I know the man. He’s here with his sister, to present her to King Gustav in hopes to marry her off.”

Petrea groaned. “He is one of the most arrogant men I have ever encountered!
It takes every bit of my extensive training to get through the assignations. Of course, I have dealt with men of ego, but this is beyond the pale. He cannot stop talking about himself and his accomplishments – how much he has done in such a short time. Oh how, it is tiresome! Not one that, but he seems to believe that he can impress me with the names of people he has met while visiting here in the City! I must bite my tongue not to retort that I have had half of them in my bed!” She paused and poked Ramiro with her free foot. “I am trusting you two with private information.”

In fact, she trusted that none of this would stay private, what with Ramiro gossiping worse than any new adept. She wanted this to get out. Petrea knew that information about Crescens’s sister, Aurea, was scarce and rare information is always valuable. Petrea knew from Marco that Aurea was proud; she would likely not appreciate insults to her brother and would want to confront the person starting them. If Petrea could draw Aurea to her, so much the better. If nothing else, knowing the Second of Cereus thought poorly of someone would close other doors in the Night Court to him…and keep him away from her. Perhaps deflate his overly large ego.

Marco barked out a laugh. “That would fit with what I have seen of him. His father is well liked enough, but the little I know of Crescens? I would not have picked him to accompany Aurea. Let us just say that he does nothing to bolster her chances.”

“Aurea seems rather quiet, does she not?” Ramiro asked.

Petrea frowned. “She has been seen out and about and does the appropriate amount of socializing, but nothing more. She certainly has not visited the Night Court. Yet.”

“Yet? You have plans to change this?” Marco teased, pulling her closer and placing a kiss on her brow.

Petrea shrugged and gave him her most innocent smile. “Mayhaps.”

Ramiro put her foot on his thigh and motioned for her to give him her other foot, which she did. “Ah, Ramiro, you could make your marque at Balm House.”

“I think that would be quite boring,” he responded.

“Balm House is nice for a night, but there are more preferable Houses.” Marco grinned at him.

“Ramiro, have you had a chance to make the acquaintance of Évrard de Bretel? He spends much of his time in the Gaming Room at the Palace and I understand that you have been given apartments there,” Marco mentioned.

Ramiro brightened. “Beautiful accommodations! And yes, I have met Lord Bretel. Wonderful fellow. We have traded much money over dice. I believe he is engaged in a new love affair.”

“His family invests significant funds in various trading enterprises. I have worked with them often. Évrard always has a story to tell about someone, knows everything. He is most interesting,” Marco explained.

Petrea knew Lord Bretel well; she had used him as a contact many times to keep up with the gossip of the City. She wondered if Évrard had been in contact with Aurea Emerentius. If nothing else, he would have tried. She would have to ply him for information at their next assignation.

Ramiro’s hands had moved up to knead the muscles in her calf. Petrea let out a soft sigh of contentment. Absent-mindedly, Marco trailed his fingers up and down her hip as their conversation continued. Petrea could feel her attention waning. Trade, politics…much though she tried, she could not seem to focus on these topics much longer.

She felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy and the men’s voices seemed to fall away. “I am bored of this,” she said abruptly, untangling herself from Marco and Ramiro and standing.

The two men stopped talking and looked at her.

She looked slowly, deliberately, from one to the other.

“I am going to bed. You are more than welcome to sit by the fire and continue your business conversation, but I am finished here.”

She snatched her skirts and stalked off towards her bedroom.

Marco and Ramiro looked at each other, stunned. What had just happened?

After a momentary pause, Marco gave Ramiro a broad smile and gestured towards Petrea’s departing figure.

“Shall we?”

Ramiro grinned devilishly. “Oh yes. We shall.”

Storyline: A Discussion in the Garden

Once again ensconced in Marco’s arms on the chaise – as she had been before being so oddly interrupted by her Dowayne – Petrea took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Marco was telling me of his travels, Ramiro,” she informed her new guest. “I believe you two just missed each other in Aragonia.”

Ramiro shook his head. “Such a shame, such a shame! What news do you bring of my homeland, mi amigo?”

Marco shrugged. “Well, your father says that you should stop spending all his money and come home with either a deal on the silver embargo or a beautiful wife.”

Ramiro slapped his knee and laughed. “I am working tirelessly on the first. The second,” He waved a dismissive hand. “No me importa.”

Marco grinned. “I thought as much, my friend. There is talk that others are more keen on marriage, though not for themselves. There is word of a gentleman bringing his niece to woo the King.”

Petrea’s ears perked up. A young woman to woo the king? She would be an interesting piece on Odilia’s chessboard.

“Who is this young woman?” Petrea asked.

“Yes, tell us of this lady. Perhaps I know her or her family.” Ramiro scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I might have valuable information for the King!”

Petrea gave him a small smile. The young man was looking for any way to improve his reputation and knowing a suitress of the King would certainly help him curry favor with the right people. Despite his initial failings, he had somehow managed to secure an apartment in the palace and was now making friends with every other young noble he could find there. Word was he spent hour upon hour in the gaming rooms.

“She comes from…Qart Hadast, I believe? What was her name…ah! Elissa Ylenia Barca de Cartagena. Yes, I remember now. Her uncle is Hasdrubal Magon Barca de Cartagena, her father the Barcid Duque de Murcia,” Marco explained. “Someone said they are an old family.”

Ramiro’s brow wrinkled. “Hmm…yes, I have heard the name. An old family indeed. They claim they have been in Aragonia since the time of Carthage. Their great ancestor gave his name to Amilcar and Barceno. No one knows for sure,” he shrugged. “It is boasting. But, we all have our family boasts.”

Marco chuckled. “For certs. But, that is all I have heard from Aragonia. There is, of course, talk from all over, but it seems Aragonia – and your father, Ramiro – is concerned with the silver embargo.”

“Sí, sí. I have done what I can. There are others at work. Sadly, I cannot stay forever.” Ramiro winked at Petrea. “Though it would be my pleasure to. It is time to return home.”

Marco kissed the top of Petrea’s head and smiled into her hair. “You must not monopolize everyone’s time.”

Ramiro stood. “And I think I have. Perhaps I shall see you before I go, Marco. And you, florecita, I shall certainly see you before I go.”

He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned and left the garden.

Marco sighed and tightened his arms around Petrea. “What an odd event. Did you not tell Aliks that I would be here?”

“No, I certainly did. And even had I not, there are few secrets in this House and someone would have told her. I know not why she brought him. Something is wrong. But, it is done now. Tell me of other things.” She toyed with a piece of lace on her bodice.

He took her hand off her dress and laced his fingers in hers. “Trade in ore and metals is difficult, as one expects. This, in turn, makes everything else more difficult. Fewer ships are sailing, so captains are moody and sailors out of work.”

Petrea frowned. “This embargo truly is affecting everyone.”

“Oh, yes. Whoever dropped this stone caused a ripple much larger than I believe he imagined it would. It will take time for things to level out once this stoppage is lifted, too. We are all pawns in someone’s game, love, but I do think the game has gotten away from him.”

It was someone’s game, Petrea knew. But everyone was not merely a pawn and Petrea doubted that the orchestrator of the silver ban was anything but in control.

She sighed. Much though she hated it, now was the time to play her part. As Aliks had said, she made her choice and had to stand by it.

Untangling herself from Marco, Petrea picked up their two glasses of wine and passed one to her companion. Turning to him, she put on her brightest smile. Her heart sank. She never wanted to play act with Marco. But she was a piece in something larger than herself, larger than Marco.

She made her voice light and jovial. “So, love, is the Aragonian Duque the only one seeking to marry his daughter off to King Gustav? I imagine there is much competition for this powerful alliance.”

He gave her a confused look. It was strange for her to ask of courtly gossip. “Well, I think a Tiberian senator is sending his son and daughter here.”

“Oh? Was this more dockside talk?” she joked.

He shook his head. “No, not at all. The senator deals in fine art, a valuable commodity right now. I spent much time with his family of late.”

“Ah, I see. Was this senator trying to marry his daughter off to you, my love?”

Marco grinned at her. “Oh no, my love, you have nothing to fear there. Leonius Emerentius has aims far higher for Aurea than a simple trader.”

“Aurea?”

Again, Marco gave her a confused look. She was looking for gossip and this was something she never did.

“Play the game, Petrea. Just play the game,” she implored herself silently.

“Er, it is just a pet name. Her full name is Leonia. Why are you asking? This is not like you to care about such things.”

Petrea shrugged. “I have been gone so long. I simply wish to know who is being spoken about town. I cannot be seen to be…behind the times.”

“You? Behind the times? Talk about town? This is so unlike you to care of such things. Have you been replaced by a lookalike? Are you truly my Petrea?” he joked, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

Petrea traced the pattern in the damask of the chaise. She could not meet his eyes.

“It’s not all games and laughter here, Marco,” she said carefully. “There is much at stake here and, perhaps oddly, part of my role is knowing the goings on in and around the palace. One never knows what that information may be worth to the right party.”

She gave him a sad smile and he saw a flash of defeat in her eyes.

“So, love, what tidbits can you tell me of this Caerdicci girl?”

Marco thought for a moment.

“Her name is Leonia Emerentius Secunda. She is the second daughter of Senator Leonius Emerentius. She is being escorted by her brother, Crescens Emerentius. She has golden hair, so they call her Aurea. I believe it is a childhood nickname?”

He shrugged, “While I did much business with her father, I only saw her once, at dinner, but she gazed at me with such intensity I thought she might bore holes in my chest.”

Petrea quirked a smile at him. “Oh, she was quite focused on you?”

Marco chuckled. “Not hardly. She had taken an interest in our dealings. Her father claims that once something draws Aurea’s attention, nothing can distract her. He is not the only one who spoke this way.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Others have speculated that her head could bear a mighty crown.”

Petrea looked at him quizzically. “Bear a mighty crown?”

Marco nodded. “Your friend Odilia may think to advise the King, but a Queen? The two do not even begin to compare in their influence over a country.”

Petrea’s heart stopped. In her mind, a powerful piece had just slid across a chessboard.

Marco’s voice drew her back to the garden. “Love? Are you alright? You look scared.”

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had much to ponder, but this was not the time.

“I am fine, my darling. Just done with gossip and politics for one evening. Let us not waste our time here. It has grown too warm and my dress too tight.”

Standing up, she took his hand and led him out of the garden. She was finished being Second for the night. She could go back to being just Petrea.

Storyline: A Chance Encounter Not by Chance

She was sick of him. Blessed Elua help her, she was sick and tired of him. He was too loud, too bawdy, and was drinking far too much of her wine. Worst of all, he was monopolizing her Second.

Aliksandria nó Cereus had decided that, somehow, she needed to get rid of this Don Ramiro. He was an inappropriate patron for any Cereus adept, but particularly for the Second. Regardless of what Petrea might claim, she was certainly not putting in enough work to earn this “plaything.” So, Aliks had devised a plan that she was sure would remove this…distraction…and get Petrea back to work.

Marco Meridius, Petrea’s long time lover, had returned to the City of Elua days before and was spending the evening with her. Don Ramiro was off doing Elua knows what he did with his time when he wasn’t hanging about her House. Petrea had specifically told Ramiro that she was unavailable for the evening, but Aliks had invited him to drop in. She was positive that his Aragonian pride would not be able to endure seeing Petrea and Marco together. Oh, Ramiro knew that Petrea had other patrons, but actually encountering it? That would be unbearable for him. Aliks was certain that he would cause a ruckus, maybe even become violent? And that would allow her to ban him from Cereus House, as she had sworn to do weeks before. He had managed his behavior thus far, mostly at Petrea’s behest, but Aliks was sure that this would be too much for him.

*

Petrea nó Cereus and Marco sat in the lush gardens of Cereus House, curled up on a chaise and speaking in low tones. It had been months since they had been together and Petrea was relieved to be back in his arms. No matter how many other patrons she might take and how much she might enjoy their company, her heart, at its core, belonged to Marco. She could never be his wife and could never leave the Night Court, but she could not imagine a life without him in it.

She leaned back against him and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the summer flowers blooming in the gardens as she listened to Marco’s voice in her ear. He had been quietly regaling her with stories of his travels from Menekhet through Caerdicca Unitas. Menekhet! She could hardly imagine just how far away that was. Marco’s trading took him all over the world; she had seen but a fraction of it on her journey with him. It amazed her how he slid so easily from one country to the next, seeming to fit into every culture as though he had been born to it. She was so caught up in his story of a parrot trader that she almost didn’t hear the voices coming from the hallway.

“…believe she’s in the gardens. Please come with me and we’ll see if she’s there.”

It was Aliks’s voice coming closer. But who was with her? Aliks knew how much Petrea and Marco wanted their privacy. Who could possibly be so important that she would interrupt them?

“Aliks,” she said, seeing her Dowayne come through the doorway, “what is it that merits this interr…” she trailed off as she realized who followed Aliks through this doorway.

It was Ramiro. But what was he doing here? She had informed him that she was unavailable this evening and he had made plans to go to Balm House. Why had he changed his plans? Why had Aliks brought Ramiro into the garden and not simply turned him away? One patron did not interrupt another and certainly not these two patrons. Something was terribly wrong with this situation.

Petrea looked from one to the other in confusion. Aliks smiled blandly at her, but Petrea caught something flash in her eyes for the briefest of moments. Was it…triumph? What was going on here?

Marco rose from the couch, disentangling himself from Petrea. She stood behind him, unsure what to do with herself.

“Ramiro,” he said casually, “it has been so long. A year? Longer, perhaps?”

Petrea again looked at Aliks as Ramiro strode towards Marco. Again, Aliks gave her a blank look.

“Marco!” Ramiro threw out his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Mi amigo! It has been too long!”

Marco laughed and the two men embraced like childhood friends. “Ah Ramiro, you are right, it has been too long! I meant to visit you, but my travels have not taken me through Aragonia. I am so pleased that we happen to be here together. What a surprise!”

Marco returned Ramiro’s grin as they clapped each other on the back.

Petrea was certain she caught a look of shock and, perhaps, disappointment? cross Aliks’s face. Clearly, this was not at all what Aliks had expected – had she wanted something different? It was, however, exactly what Petrea had expected.

Ramiro and Marco had met the past year when Petrea had arranged for lodgings on Ramiro’s estate during their travels. He had agreed to house them in exchange for a night with her. Marco had been neither surprised nor perturbed at the Marqués’s request. She was, after all, a Servant of Naamah and he was well aware that she took other patrons. During their time in Aragonia, the two men had discovered they had common interests and became friends, promising to write and visit each other.

“Ramiro, I am surprised to see you. I thought you were going to Balm House tonight.” Petrea said mildly, giving him the kiss of greeting.

He shrugged. “I heard you might receive me should I stop in.” He gave her a grin. “And you know I am always pleased when you receive me.”

He winked suggestively.

Nexto to them, Marco snorted. “Eh? Been receiving you often, has she?”

“But, of course! Dolce Petrea is always eager to deepen her connections with her favorite patrons. And I’ve connected quite deeply with her.”

He licked his lips lasciviously.

Marco chuckled. “Hungry, Ramiro?”

“Starving! Always! And the dessert here is quite delicious.” Ramiro gave Marco a sly look.

The two roared with laughter.

Aliks cleared her throat loudly.

“Don Ramiro, perhaps we should leave these two to their evening?” she said tersely.

Marco glanced at Petrea, who gave him a tiny shrug.

“Nonsense! We have plenty of time to ourselves. Please join us for some wine, Ramiro. We can catch up.”

Petrea swore she caught a flash of annoyance on Aliks’s face, but couldn’t be sure. What on Earth was happening with her? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Por supuesto! I would love to catch up with you. Lady Aliks, bring us more wine! You know which one I prefer!”

“Aliks, could you please ask a servant to bring us more wine,” Petrea requested. “Whatever we have fully stocked would be perfect.” She gave Aliks a placating smile, knowing that Ramiro’s declaration was not received well.

“I have to have someone check. Our inventory has not been completed recently.” She gave Petrea, whose job it was to oversee the audits, an intentional look. “And many, many bottles of that vintage have been served recently.”

Turning back towards the hallways, she gave Marco a brief nod. “Marco, a pleasure as always.”

*

Aliks clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

Her plan had failed. Spectacularly.

They were friends?! How could that blasted Aragonian scoundrel be friends with Marco?! How could kind, caring, and intelligent Marco be friends with that foolish cad?! It was just unfathomable!

Storming down the hall, she nearly knocked over a young adept carrying bed linens.

“Oh excuse me, my lady Dowayne!” he yelped, jumping out of her way.

“Get some wine to the patrons in the garden! I don’t care what, just something!” she snapped.

“Y-y-yes, milady,” he stammered, scurrying off.

Aliks stomped into the kitchen and headed towards the back door. A shocked cook looked up from chopping vegetables as Aliks flew through the room.

“My lady! Did you need anything?” she questioned, flustered by the sudden appearance of the obviously annoyed Dowayne.

“No! I’m off to Mandrake House. If anyone needs anything, go bother the Second!”

Storyline: Stitching a Scandal

“We are going to get into so much trouble,” Aliks said, giggling.

“Truly? More trouble than for stealing tarts from the kitchen or more trouble than for reading books from the restricted section?” Petrea taunted.

It had been nearly a year since the night she had talked to the crying girl and declared they were now best friends and, even though she had seemed skeptical at the time, Petrea had become just that. This time, however, the game was to see how far they could push their luck.

The initiates were learning embroidery, to practice dexterity. They had been told they could have freedom of expression, but to remember that these would be put on cushions for the salons. The idea had been Aliksandria’s at first, but Petrea had been the one to bring it to fruition. When Petrea showed Aliks the sketch, both girls burst into fits of laughter. But they embroidered the designs nonetheless.

Aliksandria was shocked when the Second looked at their work and declared their stitching to be fine and their use of florals in blues to be elegant. Petrea had actually held her breath. They had to see it, right? But either way the cushions were made.

It was almost another year later when they were summoned to the Dowayne’s office to be dressed down. As it turned out, no one had noticed, until an eagle-eyed and bored patron looked too closely at the cushions. Rumor was he laughed uproariously and told the Dowayne he was honored to see Cereus House care so much for their male patrons. It had been then that the Dowayne picked up the cushion, turned it sideways and saw it: a man’s member where the flower stamen should have been.

The Dowayne glared at the two girls who stood in her office. They tried to appear contrite, but struggled to hold their laughter. A year! It had taken almost a full year for anyone to notice their naughty embroidery, prominently displayed in a salon for all to see. Truth be told, they were almost proud of themselves.

“This behavior is absolutely unbecoming of a Cereus adept. Perhaps Orchis House might accept it, but not here,” she snapped. “Now, which one of you is responsible for this idea? Who is the troublemaker?”

Aliks took a deep breath and managed to speak over her friend who was about to confess. “It was my idea. We are Servants of Naamah, after all, my lady, and is there not beauty in the human form?”

Next to her, Petrea was biting her lip to keep from laughing at Aliks’s blithe tone.

“The celebration of our bodies is one thing, but this is mockery. It is beneath us. We must hold ourselves to a high standard here.” She looked pointedly at Aliks. “I know you have ambition, Aliksandria, and if you want to rise to prominence, you cannot engage in such childish nonsense!”

At this, all humor seemed to drain from the room. Aliks wanted nothing more than to become Dowayne of Cereus House someday. She and Petrea were, perhaps, old enough now for their behavior to be noted. She was being warned.

Next to her, Petrea cleared her throat, glancing at her friend. She had come to the same conclusion. “What Aliks says is true, but we do now understand how our…work…could be seen as a mockery. We both truly do regret our actions and we see that such behavior is below our station.” She paused. “Thank you for your guidance, my lady.”

The Dowayne nodded once and then looked at each girl, meeting their eyes. “You must take care. Now, take your leave.”

Want to stitch your own scandals? Click the links below for Petrea and Aliks’s embroidery patterns.

Phallus

Naamah’s Pearl