Petrea nó Cereus – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

The Warmth of the Sun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was why he was there that set him apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, go find out how to find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Nightcap at Cereus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…only technically,” Petrea conceded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” Petrea asked curiously.

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

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

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

Evidence of Things Not Seen

Marielle nó Cereus had been a Night Court for nearly twenty years, long enough to develop a sense of when something was happening. And something was certainly happening. Her years of training to listen carefully to what was said—and unsaid—to watch for subtlest movements of her patrons’ faces and bodies, were telling her that something was going on.

The mood in Cereus House was lighter as of late. The adepts’ faces were less dour, their chins held a touch higher. The servants hugged the walls a little closely as they went about their duties, and their eyes didn’t dart away from Marielle’s as they passed her in the halls. And if the candles burned a touch brighter, well, that Marielle was sure she was imagining.

No one spoke of the difference at Cereus House, but all within its walls felt it. The household went about its business with a lifted spirit. No one questioned anything, seemingly content to exist in the better climate. That was enough for them. Marielle wished it could be enough for her, but she was too curious. She always had been. Was this simply the House recovering from the long, dark days under Dowayne Gerault’s iron fist? Perhaps. But Marielle, with all her years of experience and tutelage, knew—she knew—that more lay beneath the surface.

The House continued to run. Assignations were scheduled. Patrons came and went. Novices took their lessons. Children received their care. But everything that came from the Dowayne was in Petrea’s voice. Or even Aimee’s voice on behalf of the Second. Aimee—a Senior adept with no title. No true standing in the House. Why was Aimee speaking for the Second? It was such an odd thing. All these words coming from different mouths. Marielle had mentioned this in passing to the cook one morning. Cook had simply shrugged and replied that everyone proceeded in their own way. A fellow adept said the same—and why should they question favorable circumstances? Marielle nodded and continued with her duties. The servants were happy. Her fellow adepts were happy. Her patrons were happy. Why could she not simply be happy? Why must her mind snag on every small thing? Why must she fixate on the small expressions in Aimee’s and Petrea’s faces that told her there was more going on?

As Marielle lay in her bed, she turned over everything that was different in the House. Perhaps new leadership always took time for adjustments. Perhaps it was simply the Second coming into her own. A new friendship emerging. A new Dowayne finding her footing. Could that be all? Marielle doubted it very highly. She noticed those small gestures and tiny looks between Aimee and Petrea. The way that quieted when others approached.

And then…A few weeks past, the Dowayne had emerged! Looking something worse for the wear, but present, nonetheless. Aliks took breakfast in a salon with Petrea, sat in on lessons with younger adepts, attended a Showing. And she smiled. And, Blessed Elua, she even laughed. It was a lovely thing to see and hear. Something had changed. Something caused Aliksandria to emerge from her dark cocoon.

But what had changed? Marielle’s mind spun with the possibilities. She could find no specific event or action to point to, but the effects were all around. Perhaps it didn’t matter. If all was well, was the reason truly important?

It was with these thoughts that Marielle made her way along the dark corridor. The hour was late, and she had gone to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Her sleep had been uneasy lately. Blessed Elua, it had been uneasy for months. She was returning to her room when she heard laughter coming from down the hallway. Creeping slowly, she followed the sound. She found herself standing not far from the Dowayne’s office. The door stood slightly ajar, and bright, hot firelight burned from within. Great gales of laughter exploded from inside the office. Marielle stood stock still. Who could be making such a racket in the middle of the night?

She knew she should turn around. Knew she should take her tea and go back to bed. Knew she should walk away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. On silent feet, Marielle made her way to the Dowayne’s office. She peered through the crack in the door, hiding in the shadows so as not to be seen by the occupants. What she saw inside made her gasp. It was only through sheer force of will that she did not drop her cup.

Within the office, a huge fire burned in the fireplace—not uncommon. What was not common, however, was for the Dowayne, the Second, and a senior adept to be dancing in front of it, clearly deep in their cups. The three held glasses aloft, empty bottles of wine and strong spirits strewn about the room. The desk was empty, piles of papers swept onto the floor. Most shocking of all? They were tossing sheaf after scroll after page of parchment into the fire. With each page that burned, they let loose whoops and cackles like fishwives.

“To Gerault! May he rot in the ground!” Petrea slurred loudly, falling to a chaise.

Aliks threw a large scroll into the fire and watched it crackle and curl, turning black. She clinked her glass with Aimee. “May his eyes be eaten by worms!” She shouted and smacked a kiss to Aimee’s lips.

“And his skin turn to mush!” Aimee said, her voice as wobbly as her feet. She turned to Petrea, attempting to toast her, but succeeded only in falling next to her on the couch. Their glasses fell to the floor, shattering.

The three fell silent, looking at each other like naughty children who had just committed some offense, worried they might be caught. Aliks was the first to recover, doubling over with laughter. She threw her glass to the hearth, where it smashed against the stones. Petrea and Aimee stood on unsteady legs, picking their way carefully through the broken glass on the floor. Aliks grabbed a paper, looked at it, and went to throw it into the fire.

Marielle caught a look at it—it was a ledger! Written in Gerault’s hand! They were destroying House records! She could not let them do this!

Her teacup fell from her hand as she shoved open the door and burst inside. “You criminals!” She shouted, slamming the door behind her. “You are…you are…you are destroying our records! You are hiding our finances! You cannot do this! I’ll not allow it!” She pointed a finger at them. “How dare you!” Marielle would not stand for this. She would have them brought to the Judiciary. Hanged for this crime.

Aliks’s hand stopped, midway to the fire, and the page fell to the floor. The three women gaped at her, staring, then their eyes darted to each other. A look passed between them. An instant decision made.

Petrea’s soft voice seemed to echo through the silent room. She held out her hands in a placating gesture. She stepped toward Marielle tentatively, as though she were approaching a frightened animal. “Marielle, this is not what you think.”

“It is!” Marielled spat out. “I know what I saw!”

Petrea shook her head slowly. “Marielle, please. Come in. Please. Sit down.”

Her voice was so gentle, so soothing. So trusting. And Marielle wanted to trust her. This was Petrea, after all. The woman who had sat with her for so many hours, helping her, teaching her, all while suffering silently. Marielle wanted to give her a chance. A chance to explain. A chance to make this right. Her feet took her into the room, almost unbidden. She nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Explain this to me.” She gestured at the mess of papers, bottles, and crackling fire.

Petrea took Marielle’s hands and led her to the chaise. Her voice was tender as she spoke. “Marielle, there is a grave secret, one that could take down Cereus House should it be revealed. I trust you. Because of my trust, we are willing to take you into our confidence. But you must keep to yourself all that you hear. Do you understand? Speaking of this could ruin our House.” Marielle dipped her chin at the seriousness in Petrea’s tone. “This is all about Gerault. About everything he was doing to destroy our House. And everything we are doing to fix that. All that Aliksandria has been working these last months to reconcile.”

The puzzle pieces began to slot themselves into place as Petrea explained Gerault’s treachery and the plan to bring Cereus House back from the brink. Marielle nodded along, the mystery finally solved, her mind finally at rest.

“Just tell me: how can I help?” She asked. “I want to help.”

A Withering Flower

The year prior…

Petrea nó Cereus had been sitting in her Dowayne’s office, playing her lap harp for what felt like hours. Her fingers were beginning to ache, but her many years of training allowed her to continue to strum the instrument with precision.

Gerault nó Cereus, Dowayne of the House sat at his desk, appearing to pore over vast piles of paperwork. Having done this many times, Petrea knew he was simply looking busy in order to keep her there. He often summoned her to his office and ordered her to sit and play the same long melody over and over, stopping her at a random note, chastising her for missing it, and insisting she begin again. It was a melody Petrea had learned as a child—near a score and half years ago!—and she knew that she knew the piece backwards and forwards. And so did Gerault. She remembered with great melancholy a night many years past that he had sat on an ottoman in her room, laughing with her as she worked through the piece from the end! It was one of her most fond memories, now ruined.

The Dowayne had once been a dear friend to Petrea. In her youth, he had guided her through her training ever so kindly and with great care. He had listened to her concerns and, when he was tapped as Second, he had taken her recommendation of her best friend, Aliksandria, to train as next in line. Petrea remembered with no small sadness the afternoon teas with the two of them, Gerault lounging on a sofa and bemoaning his duties as Second, while noting things that Aliks should remember. While the other two shared the bond of future leadership, Petrea never felt left out. She adored both of them and reveled in their success. She had so looked forward to the day when they would ascend, to the great things they held for Cereus House.

But it had all been for naught. It was almost as if the mantle of Dowayne poisoned Gerault. He became secretive and unkind. Petrea knew that he held things from Aliks, who wanted only to please him. Slowly, the House fell into almost disrepute. And Petrea’s heart broke over and again as Gerault continually took out his ire on her. Perhaps it was their once close friendship that turned him against her.

A knock came at the door, bringing Petrea from her memories, and Gerault indicated the person to enter. Aliks breezed in and approached their Dowayne, a parchment in her hand. “Dowayne Gerault,” she said mildly. “I was looking through some of our ledgers, and I noticed what appears to be an incorrect calculation here—”

“That’s not for you to worry about, Aliksandria,” Gerault interrupted harshly. “I have seen to those ledgers, and there are no mistakes. I am sure that your calculations are simply incorrect.”

Petrea chanced a glance up at her friend. She knew that Aliks had a good head for numbers, and whatever the problem was, Petrea knew that Aliks was correct; she knew this was yet another secret Gerault was hiding, yet another mismanaged bit of House funds. Aliks’s face betrayed no emotion, as was usual when she worked with Gerault. Aliks wanted nothing more than to be a good Second in order that she might be a grand Dowayne. And that meant putting up with Gerault’s poor attitude and behavior. How Gerault was able to keep Aliks in the dark about his misdealings or how Aliks was able to ignore them was a mystery Petrea could not solve.

“Of course,” Aliks murmured. “I will leave this for your review.” She turned to leave, and paused, seeing her friend. Petrea cringed inwardly. She despised these moments. “Oh! Petrea! My dear, I did not see you there. I did not mean to interrupt your….?” Aliks trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Petrea.

Petrea kept silent, far too experienced with this situation to speak. Gerault would make up some lie, and she dare not contradict it.

“Petrea wanted to practice a piece. A patron complained that she stumbled over it, and I wanted to help her perfect it.”

“Well, yes, I…of course.” Aliks stumbled over her words. Petrea knew that Aliks would ask her about this later, and Petrea had no idea what she would say. Gerault was careful to keep this so far from Aliks’s eyes. When Petrea had first cried to her best friend about his poor treatment, Aliks had been aghast but unbelieving. She had been sure that the Dowayne would not pick on their friend. It was just impossible, Aliks had said, their history ran too deep. Ever since then, Petrea had been tight-lipped about her situation. “I shall leave you both to it, then. Thank you for your time, Dowayne.” Aliks withdrew and closed the door behind her.

Petrea didn’t move a muscle, waiting to see what Gerault would do now that Aliks knew she was in the office with him. Surely, he would dismiss her soon? Or perhaps, his “help” would be needed for many more hours.

“Get up,” Gerault snapped, his tone full of annoyance. “I can’t have you sitting here now.”

Petrea stood slowly, placing her instrument gently on the floor, her feet tingling as the blood rushed into her muscles. She kept her eyes on the floor. If nothing else, she did not want to see the hatred in Gerault’s eyes. It was too painful. She folded her hands gracefully in front of her and waited.

He heaved a great and tired sigh. “You are such a disappointment, Petrea. I simply don’t understand why you cannot get these things right. Why I have to deal with so many complaints. It is embarrassing. You once showed so much promise. I thought you would become so much better than you have. And yet, here we are.” He clicked his tongue. “It is almost like you are forgetting all of your training as you grow older. It is no wonder you languish without any patrons.”

Petrea’s heart clenched at his remarks. She knew that patrons did not complain about her. Her patrons complimented her, told her how wonderful her skills were—those few patrons she did see. But it was not for lack of interest. She knew that Gerault turned away patrons, telling them she was unavailable, or steering any new patrons to other adepts who would be “a better fit.” Her longtime patrons asked her for more assignations, promising large gifts if she could fit them into her schedule. All she could do was demure and tell them to speak to the Dowayne. Tell them that he was in charge of managing these things. It was something forced on no other adept—everyone else saw patrons when they wished. When asked about it, Petrea would simply shrug and say that she was not one to question the Dowayne’s mind and was sure it was for the best.

Despite Gerault and everything he put her through, she still loved Cereus House. She loved the Night Court. And she loved her fellow adepts. And somewhere, deep in her heart, she still loved Gerault. She loved the man he once had been. Every time she went to the temples of Blessed Elua and Naamah, she would pray for Gerault. She would pray that he would find his way back to himself. And yet, her prayers went still unanswered.

“I’m finished with you,” Gerault said with finality after a long stretch of silence. “Go to your room. I’ll see if the servants have anything left from their supper and have it sent to you. If not, I’m sure there are some bread crusts.” It was one of his favorite punishments: denying her the rich foods that the other adepts and patrons ate. She had long ago stopped caring.

“Yes, Dowayne,” she murmured and gave a low curtsy.

“Get out of here. I don’t want to see you until morning,” he snapped.

Petrea bobbed her head and backed out of the room as she had been instructed to do. As though he were royalty, he expected her to never turn her back on him. It was a most ridiculous thing, and only expected of her, but he did it to convey his power. To Petrea, it only conveyed his foolish pride.

She closed the door behind her and leaned on it, letting out a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment. Two young adepts scurried by, side-eyeing her as they did. She heard whispers as they continued down the hall, and she knew what they were saying. It was no secret that she was Gerault’s favorite “whipping girl.” Most everyone avoided her, not wanting to draw his eye as well. It was such a lonely existence. Only Aliks, purposely shielded from everything, still treated Petrea as she always had. Aliks’s lover, Aimee, was kind to Petrea, but they had no true friendship or kinship.

A Ripple in Still Water

Weeks earlier at Cereus House…

The Dowayne of Cereus House sat, as she had for the past year—year and a half?—at the large desk in her office. As soon as she had taken over, she had ordered the staff to move the desk closer to the window so that the light might shine through the glass. Aliksandria had never liked where Gerault had the large, polished oak desk during his tenure. It had always seemed to her to be too far from any light, too hidden in the dark corner. And now she knew why. Gerault had, in truth, been hiding. Hiding so much. From her. His Second. Aliks had always held her Dowayne in the highest respect, but that had been dashed to smithereens in the days, weeks, and months since his death. He had driven the House into practical poverty, and secret disrepute. And how she was left to pick up the pieces of her House. To return it to its place of glory.

Aliksandria nó Cereus was a proud woman, and she held herself to the highest standards, higher than she held any other of Cereus House. She expected nothing less than perfection from herself. And her recent visit with her best friend and Second, Petrea, had been troublesome to say the least. For certain, Aliks knew that she had let some things slide, but she had been utterly confident that she was still conducting her duties as Dowayne. That she had simply been passing some things along to Petrea, as one did with the Second, while she fixed Gerault’s mess. But it was apparent that this was simply not the truth. Was she just blind? She had missed the signs of Gerault’s deceptions, and now she had missed the signs of her struggling friend. And her still struggling House.

Aliks shook her head and straightened her shoulders. Perhaps it was this perfection that had led her astray. Perhaps, it had been just this trait that Gerault had preyed upon that had allowed his many follies—her desire to take care of everything by herself. Perhaps, she need not take on everything alone. Petrea’s words echoed in her mind. Do you really think that you would not do better with this if the three of us worked on it together? Petrea had said that she and Aimée missed Aliks. And in the dark depths of the night, when Aliks was alone in her bed, she admitted to herself that she missed them, too. Her last encounter with Aimée had been an angry one, and she fretted about it when sleep eluded her.

The Dowayne rose from her desk and swept from the office, closing the heavy door behind her. She walked silently to her private apartments, requesting a bath and clean clothing be brought to her. A young adept filled Aliks’s bath with hot water and scented salts then helped wash her hair. She luxuriated in the bath but did not tarry long, as she knew that her Second—Seconds—were waiting on her.

A simple gown of green taffeta, embellished with fine embroidery at the decolletage and a delicate silver necklace were laid out for her. She dressed with care, pinning her hair in a low chignon with a mesh caul. It was not a formal look, but one befitting her station. She was meeting friends in the privacy of their own home, and she would dress for the occasion. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she noticed that her cheeks were paler and her face more drawn. Dark circles had formed under her eyes. It was not the visage of a new Dowayne. Aliks vowed to change that. Loveliness might fade, but one was not to help that along.

Aliks slid her feet into a pair of slippers and stepped from the room. She gave nods to the adepts and servants in the halls as she made her way to one of the larger salons, where they often hosted smaller dinners. From behind the cracked door, she heard Petrea and Aimée speaking in low voices. Though she could not make out their precise words, from their tones, she noted that their conversation seemed intimate. They spoke as two who held a close bond, and Aliks could not decide if she was glad of this, or if she was jealous of this. She could not take the time to examine these emotions, however, as she had been summoned to meet them.

Pushing open the door, Aliks entered the room. A table was laid with the finest tableware, set for three, and cloches covered steaming dishes. Candles illuminated the space, filling it with brightness and warmth. Petrea and Aimee stood from their chairs, both giving her smiles, though Aimee’s might have a touch colder than Petrea’s.

“Aliks,” Petrea greeted her. “Thank you for taking the time to dine with us.”

“I do not believe I was offered an option not to,” Aliks responded dryly. Aimée gave a small sound of disapproval, and Aliks cringed inwardly. “But,” she continued hastily, “I would not have turned down your invitation, and I do appreciate it.”

Petrea motioned toward the third chair at the table. Aliks settled into it gracefully, and her dinner companions followed suit. They sat in silence for a moment, none of them knowing quite what to say to one another. It was only the extensive training of their House that kept them from fidgeting.

As though by some unspoken agreement between the other two women, it was Aimée who spoke first. “Aliks,” she began, her voice stiff. Petrea reached over and placed her hand on Aimée’s arm. It was a small gesture, but Aliks recognized it for exactly what it was. Calming. Steadying. Soothing. And it made her ache. She wanted to be the one to calm, and steady, and soothe Aimée. Aimée shifted her eyes and inclined her chin ever so slightly at Petrea before beginning again, her voice far more smooth. “Aliks. Petrea and I fear that you have been living in Gerault’s shadow, hiding in your office, buried under his misdeeds for far too long. We must move forward. Cereus House flounders while you comb through ledgers and letters, trying to uncover his secrets.” Aimée shook her head. “You must move on from it. It is time to focus on the path ahead.”

Petrea took over. “The Dauphin is to be crowned at the end of this year, and you may be called upon to advise him. Your position as Dowayne of Cereus House is a crucial one. And our, well, my position as Second is also a crucial one. If we are to serve the Crown, we must retake our place in the Night Court. For too long we have left other Houses to lead by default.” She glanced at Aimée. “Aimée and I have been planning, and we have come up with ideas for regaining our rightful seat at the head of the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers.”

Hearing Aimée and Petrea’s speeches, Aliks’s mind began to spin. Her eyes brightened, and a grin spread across her face. She steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned forward. “Oh? Please, do elaborate. I am very interested to hear this.”

Aimée and Petrea exchanged large smiles and leaned forward. “We thought you would be interested to hear of our ambitions,” Aimée replied somewhat smugly.

The Desert Begins to Bloom

Petrea nó Cereus found her Dowayne without trouble. Aliksandria was where she always was: squirreled away in her office. Aliksandria nó Cereus had been Dowayne for over a year, and it seemed that she had yet to leave that office. While Petrea’s heart went out to her friend, she did hold some measure of resentment towards her. There were so many other duties to attend to, and Aliks had been almost entirely absent since Dowayne Gerault had died. Petrea was tired of making excuses, tired of handling everything in both her own role as Second and those of the Dowayne. She thanked Blessed Elua every day for Aimee—her right hand.

Petrea knocked lightly on the closed door and entered before Aliks had a chance to answer. The entire room was littered with papers, scrolls, books, and ledgers. The sheer amount of paper shocked Petrea. She had not entered this room in…she couldn’t remember how long…but it had certainly not been this disorderly the last time. Behind the massive wooden desk sat Aliks. Her hair was tied up messily, her face drawn, her fingers ink stained. And her eyes. From the dark circles below them to the blankness in her gaze, Aliks looked less like a Servant of Naamah than a beggar in the streets.

“Aliks?” Petrea said quietly. She was, at the sight in front of her, now questioning her decision to interrupt the Dowayne, but needs must, and this interruption was truly critical.

At her voice, Aliks started and dropped the parchment she was perusing. “Oh, Petrea! I’m so sorry, I did not hear you enter.” Her voice sounded tired and unused. She cleared her throat and offered a weak smile. “Please,” she said, gesturing around the room. “Come in. If you can find a please, sit down.”

Petrea gazed around the crowded and messy office as she stepped in. She moved a stack of ledgers from a sofa and sat. Her eyes scanned Aliks’s face. Yes, this needed to happen. “Aliks,” she said slowly. “Please come sit with me.”

Aliks nodded and stood from her chair. She stretched her neck and shoulder, working out the kinks that had surely developed from hunching so long. Striding over to Petrea, she sank down next to her friend. She took one of Petrea’s hands. “What can I do for you, love?”

Petrea reached up and undid Aliks’s hair to run her fingers through the tangled strands. “This is too much, my dear,” she murmured. “You have to stop. You cannot go on like this.”

Aliks sighed, her shoulders slumping. She closed her eyes and leaned into the soft touch of Petrea’s fingers massaging her scalp. “I know, Petrea. I know. But there is just so much. You cannot possibly imagine how terrible things truly are. How much Gerault lied. How much he cheated the House. It is going to take me…years, I fear, to untangle us from this web that he has left me in.”

Petrea made a soothing sound as she continued to gently work through Aliks’s hair, scratching her nails against Aliks’s scalp. “You’re right. But, love, this is not the way.” She gave Aliks a shake, and Aliks opened her eyes. Petrea’s voice was firm as she continued. “Aliks. You have been hidden away in this office while the rest of the Night Court spins around us. Things in the City are happening that you have no idea about. We cannot have that.”

“I know! I know!” Aliks began, but Petrea held up a finger to stop her.

“Aliks,” she said with great seriousness. “You are the Dowayne of Cereus House. The First and Foremost of the Houses of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. You—we—cannot have you absent. We are floundering. We need you.” She paused. “I need you.”

Aliks blinked. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. It was as though this was some great revelation. “But you…you…I have heard that…you are doing so well! Everything I hear is so positive about you! What could you possibly need from me?”

“Aliks! I have been scouring the Night Court for other Seconds to advise me! What do you think they will be saying about that? I am constantly making excuses for why no one can meet with you! I have turned to Aimee for guidance time and again—”

“Aimee?” Aliks interrupted, puzzled. “What does Aimee have to do with this? She is not the Second.”

Petrea clasped her friend’s cheek. “You have no idea of Aimee’s strengths. But I do. And I tell you now that she is likely the only reason I am not the laughingstock of Mont Nuit. And to be fully honest with you: I am not the Second, we are the Second. Aimee and myself.” Aliks gasped, and Petrea nodded. “It has taken both of us to lead in your absence. With no training or assistance from you, I have turned to Aimee to be my partner as Second,” she said sharply.

Aliks’s face fell at her friend’s admission. “Oh, Petrea, I am truly sorry. I had no idea!”

“Of course not. You have not left this office, save to sleep.” Petrea’s voice then gentled. “But that must change.” Aliks bobbed her head in agreement. “If nothing else, we miss you. You are my best friend. You are Aimee’s lover. We miss your company. You have abandoned us in a time when we should all be coming together. We need you. And you need us.” Petrea waved her hand around the room, indicating the mess. “Do you really think that you would not do better with this if the three of us worked on it together?”

Aliks shook her head, her eyes falling to her lap where she still clutched Petrea’s hand. “No. But I cannot ask this of you. I cannot let either of you into this mess. It is mine, as Dowayne, to clean up.”

“You and I both know that is simply not true.” Petrea squeezed Aliks’s hand. “The job of the Second is to be the Dowayne’s shadow. To protect and prop up the Dowayne. To assist the Dowayne in all matters of the House. You know this. I know this. Aimee knows this. We are not prepared to let Cereus House sit in ruin any longer. Things are afoot in the City—no, the country—that may cause instability. And as goes Cereus House, so goes the Night Court. We must have stability and strength within these walls.” She raised her chin. “I suffered at Gerault’s hand with only my love of this House to keep me sane. I will not see my House fail. Not now. Not again. Not ever. Now,” she said, rising. “Go take a bath and change your clothes. You are dining with Aimee and me in an hour.”

“But, Petrea, I cannot leave this—” Aliks began.

“I will accept no excuses,” Petrea interrupted. “We begin planning tonight.” She placed a kiss on her friend’s brow. “I will see you in an hour, love.”

With that, Petrea turned and walked out of the room, leaving her Dowayne sitting on the sofa, quite stunned.

Where the Sun Sleeps – Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Odilia?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before.

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

He still had so far to go.

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

…And Two for Tea

It was her second attempt at afternoon tea, and Petrea no Cereus prayed this one would be more successful than her first. But had her first truly been a failure? For certain, she had received valuable advice from Second Odilia—as she kept reminding herself—and, yet, she had failed at gaining any modicum of friendship or trust with her Dahlia counterpart. Petrea had tried to be oblique in her questions, attempting to be respectful of the other’s privacy and not wanting to look like she was trying to be manipulative with her overtures, but it seemed as though she should have been more direct. It did make sense, though. After all, would the woman truly wish to keep her relationship with the Dauphin private if she had engaged in such a public display?

“Ow!” Petrea exclaimed, as Aimee once again snagged the brush in her hair. “Are you trying to tear my scalp?”

Aimee patted Petrea’s head. “If you weren’t fidgeting so much, the brush wouldn’t get tangled. Now sit still,” she scolded.

Petrea locked her hands in her lap and glared at her friend in the mirror. “I’m nervous. Again.”

Aimee gave her a soft look. “I know, but Philomena is known to have a more…gentle…open, perhaps? disposition than Odilia—”

“It’s Second Philomena! And Second Odilia!” Petrea interrupted harshly.

Aimee rolled her eyes in the mirror. “We’re in private, Second Petrea,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “We can speak plainly. As we always have.”

She soothed a hand through Petrea’s long, blonde locks, gently untangling them before going back to the business of brushing them out. She took out her pins and spent the next hour carefully styling Petrea’s hair in an elegant updo for her afternoon engagement. They chatted about the business of the House as Aimee helped Petrea dress, with Aimee giving Petrea her usual rundown of the week’s goings on and necessary updates for service. Petrea told Aimee about assignations and patron appointments, Aimee replying with any insight she had from adepts. The two women had been collaborating for months now, working almost as one as their Dowayne continued to find herself desperately struggling to regain footing. As Cereus House goes, so goes the Night Court, and so Cereus House must rise to its feet once more. The damage done to its reputation by the late Dowayne was a hard situation to overcome—not insurmountable—and it was taking every ounce of Aliksandria’s depleted energy.

Aimee was pleased with her choice of a deep blue frock of silk and lace, trimmed in cream and accented by pearl earbobs and delicate silver necklace and bracelet for Petrea. She had pinned Petrea’s long hair in an understated twist at the back of her head and dabbed just a hint of rouge on her cheeks.

“There,” she said with a nod and a final onceover. “You look the part.”

Petrea straightened and rolled her shoulders back, the mask of her Cereus House training slipping over her face. “Well, then let us go to tea.”

Aimee was, once again, to serve tea and refreshments and Marielle to escort Petrea’s guest to the salon. Should Petrea decide to ask Aimee to join them, she would ring the bell, at which point Marielle would enter, and Aimee would be summoned. Cook had also made up a batch of petit fours. She had been unhappy not to hear praise from the Dahlia Second, but Petrea assured Cook that they had been as delicious as ever. Petrea hoped that the Heliotrope Second might spare a word for Cook, who worked so hard.

Petrea sat on the chaise in the same salon where she had hosted Second Odilia. She smiled to herself at the notion of the “parade of Seconds” and wondered what gossip might spread were she to actually begin inviting every Second from Mont Nuit to tea. Perhaps she could invite Santiago, simply to start tongues wagging. Petrea immediately dismissed the idea, knowing that there was plenty enough gossip about the goings on at Cereus House and her personal relationship with the Orchis Second, and the last thing she needed was more speculation of the crumbling of its reputation. It was her job to rebuild the name of the First and Foremost House with Aliks, and she would do nothing to thwart those efforts. The salon had been swept and dusted top to bottom, every cushion beaten within an inch of its life, the table gleamed with polish, and the fire in the hearth crackled merrily.

Petrea fiddled with the silver bracelet on her wrist and wondered how the afternoon would proceed. Her prior engagement had been both more and less successful than she had hoped, so Petrea made the decision to expect nothing of this meeting. She knew little of Philomena nó Heliotrope, save that she had been out of the City of Elua on personal business and that she had been harassed by the problematic nobleman Kyrian. Petrea could not help but wrinkle her nose at the thought of him. Word had it that he had been arrested—or perhaps banished from the City?—after some violent incident at Heliotrope House. The details were sparse, and Petrea had chosen not to press anyone for detail. While she needed to be knowledgeable about events and happenings, and she needed to be making alliances and friendships, she held steadfast to her belief that one should maintain their privacy. It was a razor’s edge to walk, but she was used to it.

A light knock came at the door, startling Petrea from her reverie. Marielle peeked her head in the door. “Your guest has arrived. Would you like me to show her in?”

Petrea rose gracefully and gave Marielle a practiced smile. “Please do so. Thank you.” With a last smoothing of her skirts, she raised her chin and prepared to greet Second Philomena.

Mena straightened her cloak against the cold and knocked on Cereus’s door. The invitation to have friendly tea with Petrea was too good to pass up, so she’d made sure to clear her schedule. It hadn’t proved too hard, given that she was still not taking Patrons, but it had still required a bit of juggling.

She was familiar with Petrea, the newly appointed Second, from past dealings with the House, but she was looking forward to getting to know her better. Mena was realizing how few friends outside of her House had, a fact she despised and was determined to change. This was a golden opportunity she was not going to let slip past her.

A young adept greeted Mena warmly at the door, took her cloak and handed it off to a butler, then led her to a small salon off the main hallway. “Pet…er, Second Petrea is looking forward to your company,” the girl said, giving Mena a genteel smile as she opened the door after giving a light knock. “Your guest has arrived,” she said to her Second, who waited inside. “May I show her in?” Petrea must have indicated for her to do so, as the adept turned to Mena and gestured her in. “I hope that you two have a lovely afternoon.” The young woman withdrew down the hallway.

Petrea gave her guest the practiced smile of a Night Court adept as the Second of Heliotrope entered the room. “Second Philomena, please come in.” She indicated the small sofa in front of a low wooden table. “I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation. Please, do make yourself comfortable.”

Mena raised her eyebrow at the highly formal greeting and settled herself on the indicated sofa. What an odd thing. “I am very glad to be invited. Please, no need to stand on ceremony, call me Mena. Not only are we equals, I’d like us to become friends. I have so few outside the House these days.” She smiled warmly at Petrea, who seemed to falter ever so slightly at her comment.

Petrea sat down opposite Mena, smoothing her dress in what could have been a nervous movement as she did. “I apologize. I am new to all of this, and I thought that it was customary to use formal titles when speaking with each other.”

“Goodness, no, not that I’ve ever heard. I do suppose there are some Houses and people that take these things very seriously, but the majority of us don’t hold that belief.” She gave a small shrug.

Petrea’s entire body seemed to lose some of its rigidity at that. “I must admit that I am pleased to hear that. I feared that I had been embarrassing myself in my casual speech these last few months.”

Mena was taken aback. What in Blessed Elua’s name had happened to this woman? “Embarrass yourself? What could you do to embarrass yourself? We’re all peers here in the Night Court, we all serve Namaah just the same. Besides Dowaynes, only the most insufferable would ask to be addressed by their title. I have never been asked to, and even if I had, I wouldn’t. We serve Namaah and Elua, not an adept’s ego.” She fanned herself with her hand and smiled. “Sorry, I get heated about certain things. I was raised to take over, and Olivier made sure I understood the traditions. Trust me, you’ve done nothing wrong, Petrea.”

Petrea’s smile was more genuine than her first. “I appreciate that. I have been working hard to learn my place as Second.” She laughed lightly. “I have to admit that it is exactly as difficult as I expected. Well, not that I expected this, but I hope you understand the sentiment.”

Mena nodded. “You never planned to become Second, I understand. Not to mention the way your late Dowayne tried to grind the House and its adepts beneath his heel,” she said gently. “I would imagine that this is not an easy situation for anyone here, let alone you and Aliks. But the word going around is that Cereus House is starting to turn a corner?”

Petrea tucked her hair behind her ear—again, perhaps an unconsciously nervous gesture—and dipped her chin. “We can only hope.” She pinned Mena with a hard look. “Geraut poisoned our House. That is no secret. The Night Court and the entire City of Elua knew of his terrible behavior.” Her eyes flashed. “It will not be an easy climb out of the ditch he dug.”

If Mena was surprised by the vehemence in Petrea’s words, she did not show it. She had heard all about Gerault’s temper, his poor treatment of his adepts, his terrible management of the House’s finances and gambling losses at Bryony House. Word had slipped out to her that Petrea had often been the target of his temper. Perhaps it was some rebellion on her part that sent her to Orchis House? Or perhaps it was just a need to escape? Instead of asking, Mena simply said, “It is a climb you can do, I am sure of it. I and all of Heliotrope will be ready and willing to lend a hand as you might need.”

Petrea nodded at the offer. “Shall I ring for tea?” She asked.

At Mena’s nod, she picked up a small, silver bell and rang it. Moments later, Marielle and another young woman entered, carrying a glimmering silver tea set and tray of desserts, and delicate, gilded cups and saucers painted daintily with the cereus flower.

Mena gave a long, appraising look over the refreshments. She could tell that someone had put much care into the preparation of the desserts. “These are absolutely beautiful,” she said. “Please give my compliments to your cook.”

Petrea’s face brightened. “Oh thank you, we will! The petit fours are Cook’s specialty, and she prides herself on them. She will be so pleased to hear your compliment. You will have to let me know what you think of the flavors. She does so love to hear guests’ opinions.” Petrea’s eyes twinkled. “She claims that she likes to know if someone doesn’t like something, but I think she only wants the compliments.”

Mena laughed. She knew how much expressions of appreciation meant to those who worked behind the scenes and would be sure to leave Petrea with some kind words to pass along to the cook.

Petrea thanked the two younger adepts, assuring them she would ring if needed, and they withdrew, leaving the Seconds to themselves.

Mena accepted the tea that Petrea poured her and took one of the delicate cakes. “Oh my!” She exclaimed. “These are delicious! Please, do give my compliments to your cook. I can see why she would consider these her specialty.” Petrea smiled warmly at the compliment.

Mena was quiet for a moment, savoring the flavor of the food and the tea. After a minute, she said, “I am not sure if it is widely known, but Heliotrope has notes on most everyone that we interact with. I admit though, I know almost nothing of you. Tell me, how did you come to be Cereus’s Second?”

Petrea took possibly longer than was necessary preparing her own drink and selecting a cake. After stirring her tea, she finally said, “Well, it was Aliks’s decision. She and I have been best friends since we both came to Cereus House as children and have a close bond. She was chosen by Gerault and his Dowayne to be the successor. She served for many years as the Second, learning of the leadership role. I do not know if she and Gerault ever spoke of her successor. But I do know that he would never have chosen me.” She gave Mena a wry smile. “I think he would have sooner chosen an alley cat.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “I do know that no one was being groomed to succeed Aliks, but that could simply have been another failure on Gerault’s part. I will not blame my friend for that.” She took a bite of her dessert, chewing carefully before resuming her story. “After his death, as the entire City is well aware, our House was a mess. We did not expect him to be taken by the plague, but perhaps we should have. If nothing else, I do not believe that Aliks knew just how bad things were under his leadership.” She waved a hand and shook her head. “But I’ll not speak of her knowledge and expectations. I know that she needed a Second. She chose me—quite to my surprise—and asked me to ensure that I could be responsible enough to take on the role.” Again, Petrea paused. Mena thought it seemed as though she was considering her next words. “I believe I might have been a difficult choice for her. But she knows that she can trust me. I am working diligently to keep that trust.”

Mena listened carefully, listening and putting things together with what she knew already. “Before I say anything else, let me say this; you’re too lenient on Aliks. If she was trained for the role, then there is no excuse for her not to know how things are being handled within the House. I have been learning the job since I was in diapers, I can attest to what’s normal for a Second to know. Something as egregious as the man’s spending of House money, let alone his victimization of you and other adepts is something she should have known about. If we knew, and Gerault despised Olivier with every fiber of his being, let alone that we heard that it was to pry you away from Aliks, there is no reason for someone within the House to be ignorant.”

She had a sip of her tea, before she went on, “Why would you be a difficult choice? You have the drive to learn and excel at something, that is most of what makes good Seconds.”

“Aliks has a…close relationship…with another adept,” Petrea hedged. “She is much younger than us but potentially more responsible? More knowledgeable? More experienced with the House? Gerault did not like me. I was often the target of his temper—I don’t think that is any great secret. This led the other adepts not to trust me, to avoid me. They didn’t want to draw his ire by associating with me. This…other person…is far more trusted by the other adepts than I am. She knows everything that goes on in the House. Others go to her for help. I am Cereus trained; I know how to entertain patrons and how to charm guests at galas. I do not, however, know how to lead a House. I do not know the inner workings of the House.” Petrea bit her lip and looked away. “I do not know if I was Aliks’s first choice or simply her final one. Truth be told, I do not know why she chose me.”

Mena felt her eyes narrow. “Picking a lover to be your Second is a terrible idea. A Second often acts as the hand that manages things that a Dowayne can’t do officially, asking a lover to do them would end in disaster. Personally, I would think that you were perfect for it because he singled you out for mistreatment. He didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, why is anyone worried what he thought?”

She reached over and touched Petrea’s hand, “It is expected that you would have a harder time breaking free of him, even after he’s dead and gone. You’ll get there, though. As for why she chose you? In the end, it doesn’t even matter. She did, you agreed, and you want to do your best for your family. If there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know. I have been training one of my adepts to help me with tasks, a shadow Second if you will, I am more than willing to help you as well.”

Tears pricked Petrea’s eyes as Mena’s kind words. She had never received such sympathy from anyone. No one had come to her defense when Gerault berated her in front of the other adepts, and he had been careful to keep his ill treatment of her away from Aliks’s eyes, knowing as he did of their close relationship. Aimee had been a blessing from Elua in the days since Geraut’s death, and truly, Petrea could not have asked for a better compatriot as she waded the deep waters of her promotion.

“Mena,” she said quietly, but firmly. “I find gossip distasteful, and I do not wish to engage in it. Idle rumors have hurt me personally in the past, and I have seen them used as a weapon against others, as well. I do know, however, that, as Second, information is a valuable resource when it comes to making alliances and…placing myself correctly. I feel that I trust you, so I must ask that what we say here not leave the walls of this room.” Her gaze was almost beseeching.

Mena nodded, “I do not betray confidences unless there is danger. You have my word.” While she herself had a firm line between ‘gossip’ and ‘information’, she understood Petrea’s position: between her lived experiences and the fact that not all members of the Night Court practiced discretion, it was understandable.

Petrea continued, “Ailks’s lover, Aimee—as you so clearly deduced—has become my right hand. I was surprised that Aliks did not name her Second, and I truly believe that Aimee would have made a good Second. Her knowledge complements my own and, together, we seem to be—” Petrea chuckled “—an excellent Second. When Aliks’s decision was made, I initially thought that Aimee was angry with me, that she resented me, that she did not respect me or think that I was a good choice. We had a long conversation, and I learned that it was not me, but Aliks with whom she was angry. Their relationship has failed somewhat since Aliks’s promotion, and that is painful for Aimee, who I fear feels neglected and uncared for. I don’t believe this was intentional on Aliks’s part. Aimee speaks little on the subject, and I do not wish to pry into a hurtful subject. I think that Aliks has been completely overwhelmed in cleaning up our House and has not had a moment to think about herself or her personal dealings. She has barely had a moment to speak to me. I do not know why she was in the dark about Gerault’s dealings, but it would seem that he purposely kept his Second in the dark about many things.”

Mena’s heart went out to poor Aimee. One should turn to their lover in times of strife or difficulty for comfort, not ignore them! And to not take time for one’s Second? A best friend? Truly tragic. “I am so sorry to hear of this strife between them, and between you and Aliks,” Mena said softly. “One should not turn inward in times of struggle. I am glad, though, that you and Aimee have found each other in this difficult time. The gem merchant that comes to see us says that all of their beautiful wares come from rocks, underground. Beautiful things often come from dark places.”

“The House does not know that Aimee and I are working together—and, please, we do not want this to get out—simply that we have become close friends, and we have. It has been difficult for us, but she has become one of my dearest friends. It is said that bumpy roads lead to beautiful places, and our friendship is a beautiful place. But our shared leadership? Of that, we have told no one.” Petrea’s tone stressed this hard. “There are whispers of a fracture between Aimee and Aliks, but Aimee and I quash these at every time, brushing them off as Aliks being very busy. As Cereus House goes, so goes the Night Court. And I—well, I with Aimee—am the Second of Cereus House. There are things I do not know and that Aimee cannot help me with.” Petrea sighed and put down her teacup. “I need advice from experienced Seconds. Can you help me?”

Mena knew that the Second of Dahlia House had been to visit Cereus, and she had wondered at the reason for such an odd happening. Servants had been speculating that Odilia had visited Cereus to not only introduce herself to Petrea, but also to speak informally about the relationship with the Crown Prince everyone had now heard of since the Dahlia party, but no one knew for sure. Surely, this was the reason: Petrea had asked Odilia for advice. Mena wondered for a moment what advice Odilia had offered, then realized that Petrea’s overly formal behavior and shame had to have their roots in that meeting. That made sense, Dahlias were already known for their rigidity, calculating nature, and delicate egos, but there was talk that Odilia was beyond the norm. No wonder Petrea behaved like a scolded child. That had Dahlia written all over it.

She laughed lightly, not wanting to betray her thoughts,”Would it surprise you to learn that Heliotrope often has more than one Second? The job is daunting and incredibly complex, the idea that one person can do it all is usually a naïve one. Vouloir, the young woman I mentioned earlier, already does some of the work that traditionally falls to the Second. We have a third, silent helper who keeps our notes organized. You are always welcome in our Home, any of us would be happy to help. My first piece of advice is to remember that you are helping raise your House from a dark pit, every positive thing you accomplish is one step closer to the light and nothing you do could be worse than what your late Dowayne did.” She smiled kindly. “Also, you can not pour tea from an empty kettle, you have to take time for yourself or you will burn away. Like today, I think we should leave the heavy talk here for now, and work on boosting your spirits, what do you think?”

Petrea smiled back, “I think that would be wonderful.”

The afternoon wore on as the two women spoke on lighter topics. The desserts disappeared, and the tea grew cold in its pot, but yet Petrea did not ring for more. At one point, Marielle peeked her head in and gave Petrea a questioning look, but Petrea simply waved her hand in dismissal and turned back to Mena to continue their conversation.

Finally, one of the long tapers sputtered in its candlestick. Both women looked up at it in surprise. “Oh! My goodness!” Mena exclaimed. “How long are your candles?”

Petrea’s shock matched her own. “I…I believe they burn several hours! I cannot honestly say, though, as I have never sat long enough for the formal candles to burn through! I did not realize how long we had been talking.”

Mena smiled brightly. “I find that I lose all track of time when I am enjoying myself. And I love talking to people who are as charming and lovely as you.”

Petrea’s posture was relaxed,and she gave Mena a deep smile. “This has truly been a wonderful afternoon, and your company has truly taken me out of all the goings on in my life. I have needed this more than I realized. Thank you, Mena. I did not mean to monopolize your entire afternoon, but I cannot say that I regret it!” She chuckled.

Mena laughed aloud. “Nor can I. I would very much like for us to spend more time together. Next time, you’ll come to Heliotrope, and I can show off our cook’s baking skills!”

The two women rose. “I would love nothing more,” Petrea responded. She clasped Mena’s hands as they made their way to the door. “I do not have many friends, as you might have guessed. I do so hope that I can count you as one?”

Mena turned and hugged Petrea tightly. Mena held her until she could feel some of the strain leave her body and then a few breaths more. When she let go, she kept her hands on Petrea’s arms and said, “Of course! In our positions, friends are a huge part of what keeps us going. Leadership can be lonely, and we must have trusted friends we can rely on. Olivier also claims that a close lover or two goes a long way, but I can’t speak on that.” She laughed a little and gave Petrea’s arms a squeeze before letting her go completely.

Smiling, Petrea took Mena’s arm and led Mena out of the salon. Marielle rushed over and stopped short, seeing them in the hallway. “Second Petrea! I apologize! I did not hear the bell! May I show your guest to the door?”

Petrea shook her head and gave the girl a smile. “No need to apologize, Marielle. I did not ring. And I will show my friend to the door. I will find you later.”

Marielle bobbed her head and withdrew down a hallway.

Mena gave Petrea a sly smile. “She’s your little spy, isn’t she?”

Petrea ducked her head, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I said that I do not gossip. And I do very much believe in the importance of keeping one’s privacy” She cleared her throat. “But I also know that whispers are useful…sometimes. One never knows what they might overhear and speak about in the marketplace about, say, unruly patrons.” She patted Mena’s arm, her face sympathetic but her voice firm. “When word travels, sometimes things get done.”

Mena nodded with a smile, “You should come look at our notes one day. You can tell me about that unruly patron, and I’ll tell you what happened when he came to me. Be warned, it is not a tea tale, it requires something much stronger. I’ll be off, do come round when you are free. Once my cook hears of this food, it’ll be war.”

Tea for Two…

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, paced nervously in the small salon. Her counterpart of Dahlia House, Odilia nó Dahlia, was to arrive any moment, and Petrea’s anxiousness was on full display. Petrea had invited Odilia to afternoon tea in hopes of learning more about her and, if fortune favored her, beginning a friendship. Odilia was one of two Seconds who Santiago insisted Petrea could trust for advice and guidance. This would be a test not only of Petrea’s skills as in diplomacy, but in Santiago’s trustworthiness.

“Stop pacing!” Aimée nó Cereus, senior adept and Petrea’s confidant, hissed at her. “You will wear holes in the carpet.” Petrea had asked Aimée to serve the tea and cakes the kitchen had prepared and possibly join them should it feel appropriate. It was well known within Cereus House that Petrea and Aimée were joined at the hip, so to speak, but neither knew if that information extended beyond the House walls. Aimée had joined Petrea in the salon before Odilia was to arrive, supposedly to assist with preparing the room, but in truth it was to keep Petrea calm. Aimée had been adjusting cushions on the chaise but now put her hands on her hips and glared at her friend.

Petrea stopped moving, and Aimée stepped up to her and made a small adjustment to the cinnamon colored ribbon tied at the front of her dress. “Are you sure this was the appropriate dress for the occasion?” Petrea asked. “It’s not too formal?” She picked an invisible speck of lint off her sky blue skirt and frowned. “Was this really the best color? It feels like it would be more appropriate for spring, Aimée.”

Aimée grasped her friend’s hands. “Petrea, look at me,” she said firmly. Petrea raised her eyes, her brows furrowed in worry. “You look immaculate. I saw to it myself.” She patted Petrea’s cheek gently. “And your dress is perfect. It is one of your loveliest, and the color brings out your eyes. It is not too formal, nor is it wrong for the season.” She paused and gave her Second a serious look. “Now, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath. I am going to the kitchen to see to the refreshments. Marielle will bring your guest in when she arrives.” She gave Petrea’s hand a squeeze, then turned and left the room.

Petrea did as she was told and lowered herself to the loveseat. She touched her hair, then quickly removed her hand. It had taken Aimée almost an hour to curl and pin her long, blonde locks earlier, and Petrea had been warned in no uncertain terms not to touch a single strand . She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. This simply would not do. She was Night Court trained; she was an adept of Cereus House; she was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to remember that.

A moment later, there came a gentle knock, and the door to the salon opened. Marielle, a young adept of the House and well known gossip, stepped into the room. “Your guest is here. May I show her in?” She asked quietly.

Petrea nodded and gave the girl a smile. She had specifically asked that Marielle be the one to greet Odilia. She would speak to the girl later and find out any information Marielle might have gathered on their walk in. Petrea suspected that Marielle would have little, if anything, to report, but one could try.

The rivalry between Cereus and Dahlia was well known. To have the Second of one House invite the other for tea would certainly ripple through the rest of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers as the gossip spread. But there was nothing of the rivalry in Odilia’s face as she entered, except for perhaps the way she glanced around the salon to study the decor, which gave Petrea the chance to look at her without the immediate pressure of conversation.

Odilia was a tall woman, and willowy. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and her eyes were a rich warm brown as well. All of her browns were warmed by the bronze satin dress she wore. The chemise, a soft goldenrod embroidered with gold thread, showed at the decolletage where the bronze dipped lower and at her forearms where the bronze gown’s full sleeves opened. Her dark hair was caught up in a gold net studded with pearls but she wore no other jewelry, choosing to let her beauty speak for itself.

There was nothing that could be read on Odilia’s face as she looked at her host, greeting her in her low voice, “Second Petrea, thank you for the invitation to your table.” Though her manners were perfect, as anyone raised in the Night Court would be, she did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of greeting. Her composure was iron-clad and impregnible.

Petrea dipped her chin in acknowledgement, her expression placid. She was not surprised by the lack of a friendly greeting but hoped that they could exchange more than cool pleasantries upon their next meeting. “Odilia, I am pleased that you came. Please, have a seat.” She gestured toward a luxurious couch across a small table from where she, herself had been sitting. “I shall ring for tea and refreshments. Our cook is known for her petit fours, and I am told she prepared a special batch.”

The two women sat facing each other, both as graceful as only those trained in the Night Court could be. Petrea picked up a small bell and rang it. She folded her hands in her lap and gave Odilia a gentle smile. “I had hoped you would accept my invitation, though knowing the history of our House rivalries—” She raised an eyebrow at the word. “—I would have understood if you felt it inappropriate and sent your regrets.”

Moments later, the door opened and Aimée entered, carrying a large tray. On it sat a gleaming silver tea set, polished to a mirror shine, complete with milk and sugar bowls and delicate cups painted with the emblem of Cereus House in blue and gold. Gilding lined the edges of the cups and saucers, sparkling in the light of the room. Behind Aimée came Marielle, who gave Odilia a polite smile, carrying a second tray full of refreshments. The trays were set down on the low table between the two Seconds.

“Would you like me to pour, Petrea,” Aimée asked quietly.

Petrea gave a small gesture of dismissal. “I will see to it, but thank you. I will ring if we need anything else.”

Aimée and Marielle curtsied and left the room, the door closing silently behind them.

“It certainly caused a stir in our salon when your messenger arrived in your so distinctive blue and gold livery,” Odilia said, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as she surveyed the Cereus Second and the tray that had been brought for them. She did not know this woman well and every choice that had been made for this meeting, from the decor of the salon to the clothing she wore and the tray that she had ordered, told Odilia a little more about her.

“Though I must confess,” Odilia said, watching impassively as Petrea’s soft hands carefully lifted the silver pot, “I did not expect you to write to me. Your preferences for other Seconds are well-known. Even though you are yet still new to your position, what I have heard of you did not make it seem as though you had much interest in connecting with Houses to which you were not already acquainted.”

Only Petrea’s lifetime of Night Court training hid her wince and kept her hands steady as she poured the tea into the cup meant for Odilia. Yes, she had not started her tenure as Second as well as she could have, but she was making her efforts now. She motioned to the sugar bowl and creamer, but the other woman said firmly, “No, thank you. I take my tea black.”

Petrea could see that Odilia was not a sweet woman. She was formidable and strong, a different kind of strength than the Cereus steel, but strong nonetheless. So, she simply smiled politely and offered Odilia her cup with both hands. The Dahlia Second accepted it with a low word of thanks and rested the saucer in her lap as she watched Petrea go about making her own cup.

Petrea took a small sip before setting her cup on its saucer and placing it on the low table. A moment of silence stretched between the two women, before Petrea finally broke it. “Odilia,” she said, her tone measured. “I could sit here and attempt to engage you in conversation about the weather and the latest fashions. But neither of us have time to sit and chatter idly like fishwives; we both have much work to attend to. Nor would I insult you by acting as though either of us believe I invited you here simply to eat cake and drink tea. We are not fools. Lies do not become us.” She gave her counterpart a steady look. It was a bold gambit, to be certain.

Odilia did not even blink, merely continuing to watch the blonde across from her as she said, “Why then am I here, Second Petrea? What is it you want from me?”

“Plainly, I want your advice,” Petrea responded evenly.

That did get a reaction, only a small lifting of her brows as she said, “Is that so? My, what would the rest of the Night Court think if they knew?”

Petrea held her gaze, her eyes calm. “When this conversation is over, tell someone or don’t tell someone. It’s entirely up to you. The entire Night Court knows that Cereus House has been in…disarray…for some months, and I was chosen Second somewhat unexpectedly. I am making myself, and indeed my House, vulnerable in asking for your assistance, and I know that. But needs must. Odilia, I know of social niceties, hosting galas, and I have—” she paused, searching for a word— “assistance, in the daily running of the House, but there is far more to being a Second than that. What counsel would you give?”

Odilia took a sip of her tea, savouring the smokey flavors of the dark, rich brew. She considered the question and the woman who asked it before finally saying, “I hardly think your House runs things the way mine does. Why come to me? There are eleven other Seconds, have they all been hosted for tea as well?” Something sharp glittered in her eyes as she pressed her advantage of information slightly. “Or was this Santiago’s idea first?”

At that, Petrea could not help but chuckle. “I certainly have no intention of parading every Second on Mont Nuit through the doors in hope of finding useful advice. And Santiago is one of my dearest friends and has provided me much comfort over the past months. Our relationship is no secret. Yes, it was Santiago who suggested I speak with you. After informing me that he could be of no assistance. Orchis House operates far differently from Cereus. And Dahlia, I would imagine.”

“Naturally,” Odilia said drily. Her head tilted slightly as she inquired, “But your Dowayne has been no help to you in this? She was Second, wasn’t she? She cannot give you advice from her own tenure?”

“It is no secret that Gerault left the House in chaos after his death. Aliksandria has been spending long hours each day attempting to disentangle from the disorder. To say her time has been limited would be a gross understatement. She has had barely a moment to take a breath, let alone instruct someone who had no designs on becoming a Second.”

“Ah, the unwilling and unprepared thrust into power,” Odilia finally smiled, even if it was slight. “Many an epic begins so.” She took another sip of her tea and asked, “What do you want out of your new status? What do you want to accomplish for yourself and for your House during your time in the Second’s seat?”

Taking a small teacake, Petrea seemed to think over her answer before replying. “I believe that Cereus House must be strong in order to uphold the strength of the Night Court. That has not been the case for some time, and I seek to remedy that, assisting my Dowayne. As for myself?” She shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps I simply wish to see myself be seen as someone who can be relied on to accomplish things. I do not, however, see myself featuring in any epics.”

“Ah,” Odilia said, her head tilting back slightly. “You cannot say? Then how can you help to lead if you do not know where you are going?”

“And that,” Petrea said, splaying her hands in her lap, “is my challenge. I do not know where I am going, so I ask the advice of someone who seems to know where she is. Where she is supposed to be. I do not know where I should be going. I am thrashing in the sea. You stand on a ship.”

Odilia acquiesced to the image with a small nod. She leaned forward to set her teacup down on the low table between them, resting her hands on her lap when she straightened, entirely composed as she considered her answer. Finally, she said, “The Second does not stand in the shadow of the Dowayne. The Second is the shadow of the Dowayne. We are their partners in all things, we are also their balancing force in the running of the House. We maintain the expected order of the House so that the Dowayne may focus on the external affairs, but we are also the left hands that take care of their troubles so they may better serve the House in the spotlight of their place. For a House like Cereus, where not just the other Houses of the Night Court but all of the City of Elua is watching, that…weight of responsibility is increased. Aliksandria cannot be seen as vulnerable. She must be above reproach. You are the force that works to ensure that. You are the one that silences the questions before they even arise. It is not enough to simply do as asked, you must also learn to read between the lines and anticipate what needs to be done.”

Petrea nodded, carefully considering Odilia’s words. “Gerault was vulnerable. He was never above reproach,” she said quietly. Her fingers toyed absently with the lacing of her gown. She gave Odilia a small smile that looked almost sad. “He was a petty tyrant, and I truly believe that it is because of his actions that we find ourselves in our current plight. He acted rashly, and everyone knew it. He was unkind, and everyone knew it. We lost many patrons, and our fêtes went unattended. This is unacceptable for Cereus House. It is my greatest hope that Aliksandria and I can repair the damage that he did to our House’s reputation. I love this House, though I never intended to be, I am proud to be its Second. I know that Aliksandria will be an indomitable Dowayne. I want to do right by her. She deserves no less than that.”

“And what about what you deserve?” Odilia watched her with eyes that showed nothing of her inner thoughts. “Who will do right by you? Yes, of course, support your Dowayne. Do what she needs, and anticipate what she will need so she never needs to worry that you will not be there for her in everything. But you cannot serve her or your House if you are not sure in yourself; who you are, what you want, what you need.”

“This is not anything I had considered before today. It seemed to be a simple matter of what needed to be done for the good of the House. You have given me much to think on. I appreciate that. And your candor. Whether you choose to keep my confidence or not, I trust the truth of your advice.”

“I have no reason to lead you astray,” Odilia said, some wry amusement dripping from her words. “If Cereus House falters, the rest of us are then called into question by extension. Our Houses’ rivalry is an internal one. It does not leave the halls of Mont Nuit. I will not gain anything by lying to you now. But the core of my advice is that the best Second you will become is only the best Second you can be. No one else is Second of Cereus House. You are. So be the best of yourself and by that you will serve your House.”

“Reasons can always be found to lead one astray, but I don’t doubt your intentions,” Petrea replied with a small shrug. “Your advice is unexpected but more than helpful.” She gave a small, but direct smile. “Now, I know that I was quite vocal about Cook’s petit fours. She is ever so proud of them, and if she finds out that you did not eat any, she will tan my backside. So, please, have one.”

“She fostered in Mandrake, then?” Odilia asked it lazily, but did reach forward to choose one. They were a selection of soft, springy colors as though in direct opposition to the cold autumn outside and smelled of rosewater, lavender, or orange. Odilia chose one of the orange ones, topped with a curl of candied orange peel and bit into it.

Petrea gave a wry look. “Something like that.” She chose a lavender cake and took a small bite. She ate daintily, set the cake on a plate, dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and took a sip of her tea. “I wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed Dahlia’s Autumn fête. I have attended many formal gatherings before, I have not attended this particular one, as this is my first autumn as Second. Aliksandria did ask me to personally convey her regrets.”

“I will assure Jocaste it was not a slight against us that she did not attend,” Odilia said, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before they hardened into something unreadable again. “But we are glad you enjoyed the evening. We take pride, of course we do, in the success of our revelry.”

“It has been my pleasure to enjoy many a gala and fête over the years, and I would count yours as a true success. I had a chance to speak with Lord de Perigeux, from Siovale, for quite some time. He is a lovely gentleman. I appreciate that I had the opportunity to make his acquaintance.”

Odilia smiled, slightly more genuine, and said, “Lord Lancelin, while not a regular patron due to the distance he must travel between his family lands and the city here, is nevertheless one of our guests that we are always sure to invite to our events. Naturally, we hope that his time spent visiting the City of Elua is only made more enjoyable by the visits he is able to make to our House.”

“I can see why you would invite him. I consider my time well spent in his presence. And he could not give enough compliments to your House. Or his visits. Or to the entertainment when he offers his patronage therein.” Petrea’s smile was soft.

“We may not have the grand gaming salon that Bryony does,” Odilia said, brushing out some of the sugar crystals that still clung to her fingertips from her now finished petit four, “but we manage our own kind of entertainment. Your Cereus House has the grand Longest Night Masque, Dahlia’s Autumn Revelry is our grand engagement of the year. No expense is spared, as I am sure you know with your own preparations now.”

“Oh, yes,” Petrea replied, “I am well aware of the preparations required for a grand gala. Already things are underway for this year’s Masque. It is a huge undertaking.” She took a sip of tea. “Are you much involved in the planning of the Autumn Revelry?”

“Of course,” Odilia said, lifting her teacup again. “All of my decisions are presented to my Dowayne for approval, but her mind creates the vision that I execute. I handle the orders of the food and drink, the design of the decorations once she decides upon the layout of the gardens. I manage the timing and the details while she handles the guest list and the concept. It is how we serve our House as a team.” She took a sip of her tea and said, “Thankfully, once the guests begin to arrive, the details are finalized and done, and my Dowayne and I are free to enjoy the evening with the guests.”

“It would seem that you had a very prestigious guest list this year. I was impressed,” Petrea hedged.

Odilia’s smile was a shade too flat to be genuine, her eyes glittering with something unreadable—a mixture of pride and wariness, perhaps?—as she lowered her teacup to her lap, watching Petrea through slightly narrowed eyes. She said softly, “I shall consider that a compliment coming from the lofty Cereus House.”

“It was meant as such. While it was no secret that the Dauphin had returned to the City, it was a pleasure to see that he was able to enjoy the company of those close to him.” Petrea’s voice was steady and not ungentle.

Odilia could well have been carved from Tiberian marble for all the response she gave. She set her teacup down on the saucer with a quiet, frigid clink, tipping her chin up as she said deliberately, “It was the honor of Dahlia House to have His Royal Highness accept the invitation to our fête.”

“I am certain it would be. Having His Royal Highness attend a House’s event is quite an honor.” Petrea gestured to the sterling tea set. “May I refill your cup?”

Odilia leaned forward to place the teacup and saucer back on the table, “No, thank you. I will save the rest of the tea for the other Seconds you will be hosting here. Besides, you have your masque preparations awaiting you. I would not wish to take up too much of your time with idle gossip or speculation.” There was the tiniest bite to the last few words, something just a little sharp in how she clipped her consonants.

“Yes, I suppose it is time for the parade of Seconds to continue,” she said airily. “But Odilia,” she said, pinning her guest with a firm look, “if any of them seek to gossip, they’ll not find it in my salon. I have seen people’s lives ruined by idle tongue wagging, and I have neither the time, nor the inclination to engage in it.” Her voice regained its neutrality. “I thank you for accepting my invitation. I have appreciated our conversation.” She stood gracefully, her manner only those trained in Cereus could attain.

Odilia remained seated for just a moment longer, sitting as though a throne as she looked up at the Cereus Second. For just that moment, that span of a single breath, the power balance in the room tensed.

The moment passed, and Odilia rose to her feet as well with a rustle of skirts, saying, “How familiar. Thrice you have used my name without any title or form of address, as though we were old friends. We have not crafted such familiarity yet, you are presumptive in it. Nor have you earned enough of my trust that I will readily answer the questions you are trying so hard not to ask.”

She did not offer a curtsy or a kiss of parting, only saying coolly, “Should you wish for any further advice on the nature of our duties, Second Petrea, do feel free to send a note. I will advise you how I can, even with the clear differences between us.”

As though she had not heard the statement, Petrea turned and rang the small bell from the table. A young adept stepped into the room. “Marielle will show you out. I trust you will have a pleasant rest of your day.” The dismissal was clear. Marielle curtsied to both women, then indicated for the Dahlia Second to follow her back to the main entrance of Cereus House, thanking her for visiting and praying that she had a lovely time and would return soon. Odilia swept from the mansion without a backward glance, stepping up into the waiting carriage marked with the golden dahlia on the door and vanishing inside to return home to her House.

After her guest left, Petrea walked through the main hall of Cereus House, tactically timing the walk through the hallways so she could catch the other woman as she returned from her errand, Petrea grabbed Marielle by the arm as the two passed—seemingly accidentally in a hallway—and, seeing no one in the vicinity, pulled the girl into a small chamber.

“So? What did she say? Is there anything of note about our meeting?” Petrea pressed in a hurried whisper as they stood in the dark.

“Not a thing!” Marielle whispered back, her voice filled with frustration and dismay. “I asked all that I could think of without seeming like a fool! Her answers were, dare I say, practiced? Petrea, this woman is the paragon of Dahlia House. She holds to herself.” The young woman paused, gazing into her Second’s eyes. “Did you do something wrong? She seemed…angry?..when she left. If she betrayed any emotion at all. What did you do?” She batted at Petrea’s arm. “Have you fouled up yet again?!”

“Stop hitting me, Marielle!” Petrea whispered back. “I don’t know! Possibly? It was going so well, and then…I suppose I struck something. Tapped something sensitive. I’ll not share personal details. You know that.” Petrea leaned against the wall. That had to be it: something sensitive, private. Odilia couldn’t possibly be made of stone. There was more going on. But Petrea didn’t think she would find out; Odilia was as a closed book to her now. She could only hope her next tea ended better than this one.

Days after their meeting, a letter on the finest parchment, sealed in blue wax with the Cereus flower, was delivered to Dahlia House. The messenger requested it be delivered to the Second of the House with haste.

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

To Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

Second Odilia,

I wish to thank you for your thoughtful and generous advice. You have given me much to think on as I begin to come into my own, and I appreciate the guidance of an experienced and knowledgeable Second. I know your time is both valuable and limited, and I am grateful that you were able to accept my invitation.

Yours sincerely,

Petrea nó Cereus