Tag: Petrea nó Cereus

Autumn’s First Kiss

The first chill breeze of Autumn came whispering through the City of Elua, hinting at the cooler days and darker shadows and misty mornings of the autumn season, and, like perfect clockwork, the invitations arrived for Dahlia’s Revelry. 

The patrons that received the gilded invitations sealed with the Dahlia imprint in the burgundy wax dressed to impress – of course, anyone who came to the Night Court dressed to impress, but the Dahlia Revelry was a little different than just attending the public salons. Invitations were also courteously extended to the other Dowaynes and Seconds of the other twelves Houses, if they chose to accept them. 

An invitation also found its way to the Rocaille townhouse at the edge of the Noble’s District. Addressed to Lord Maël de Rocaille and his Bosom Contraband, Maël nevertheless knew exactly what this was: a way to circumvent the scanning of the secretaries and staff of the Royal Palace Courcel. It had taken him two tries to read it correctly; the first time he had scanned it he had seen and his Bosom C and filled in the rest with Companion. It was only when he had picked up the letter opener to slice the embossed envelope open that he realised what it really said. And, young and mischievous as he was, he enjoyed a good chuckle at it. Very well, Dahlia, he thought to himself, I see you appreciate a good game after all!

It seemed that he would need to spirit the Dauphin out of the palace once again, for there was no way Gustav would be missing this Revelry. 

The whispers of the Autumn ripened into full fruits and the lanterns were lit in Dahlia House, so it gleamed gold as the royal jewels they wore as monarchs in their pride. 

Valerian House had their Mara’s Eve celebration at the end of winter, Cereus House hosted the Longest Night, but Dahlia House began the harvest season with their Grand Revels. In the style of Old Hellas, it was a grand symposium with music and food and drink where patrons courted the favour of the Dahlia adepts, all competing for their regal attention and approval. The fruits of the season were piled high in bowls and on platters; lush apples, rich plums, glossy blackberries, bunches of grapes draped over the gilded rims like wine caught in the illicit arc of spilling. Pomegranate quarters nestled among sweet figs, pears, and cherries. Dahlia adepts wore the jewel tones of the harvest season; some choosing the shimmering gold of the sheaves of grain rippling in the fields, some wrapping themselves in the deep green of the vines bearing the bountiful fruit, some choosing their favourite of the fruits on offer to inspire their clothing. 

As this would be the first formal event outside of her own House as Dowayne, Rosanna took the matter of what to wear quite seriously. With Etienne well and truly gone, not too far as he was simply ensconced in his beloved’s townhouse until the new year, the title had officially been passed to her. Now she needed to make a statement with her inaugural appearance. Which was made all the more complicated as her good friend did reside in Dahlia too. Honestly, she relished the challenge.

A deep burgundy gown was finally selected, with a wide neckline and wide trailing sleeves with dagged edges. Her long, autumnal, hair fell to her hips, accented by a copper diadem of fallen leaves. To her right hand was Tryphosa, in burnt orange and deep olive green. As the newly appointed Second, it was her joy and duty to attend. 

“Dahlia has not spared any expense,” Tryphosa observed and plucked a drink from the tray of a passing server.

“They never do. As is their right and doctrine. Truly regal,” Rosanna replied. In her mind she was already considering the expense of such an event, the elegant decorations and attention to theme. What surrounded them was the work of an experienced Dowayne. Come February, she would be expected to host the events of Mara’s Eve, the first test of her abilities as a House leader. 

“You’re thinking too much, my Lady Dowayne,” Tryphosa whispered. 

“I believe I am thinking just the right amount,” Rosanna gently corrected. “We will enjoy ourselves tonight, of course. But this is a unique opportunity. We must learn from Dahlia’s success. Come, let us mingle.” And so she led the way deeper into the revelries, her friend and Second at her side. 

Mena was nervous, a first for her. She had of course attended Dahlia’s Revelry before but this time there were stark differences. Olivier was not standing in the upstairs Adept only Salon, fussing with the cut of his tunic, nor was Laurent there to offer his thoughts on clothing or to tease them about going to visit the House he said was “you, but rigid”. In their place was a small army of Adepts, since this was Mena’s first year, the whole process was different. Loir, who would be attending with Mena, sat on a backless stool, her laughter ringing through the Salon as Emilié finished her hair and a servant pulled the back of her dress tight. Her marque was newly finished, by the d’Marrs as Mena had predicted, so her dress was mostly open, held to her body with three ties. In honor of autumn, her dress was the color of the tall grasses that grew outside her family land and hid game and predator alike. 

Mena had seen this as an opportunity to use the bolt of deep blue fabric the dye merchant had gifted her. It was a sample of a dye he was sourcing from parts unknown, part of the deal that would make him wealthy. There was no other fabric like it in the city, he’d gifted it to her as thanks for her House’s hospitality. The gown it made was simple; it went to the floor, clung where it needed to, with a high neckline that went from shoulder to shoulder, but a deep back. She loved it and made a mental note to wear it when the caravan returned.

Dahlia House was impeccably decorated, as expected, and Mena felt her nerves being replaced with happiness.  She loved parties. Loir slipped her hand into the crook of Mena’s arm and whispered, “This is gorgeous, Mena. I cannot believe they do this every year.”

”They do, and it is always incredible,” Mena whispered back. “You know, every House has a function like this that we traditionally hold. Next year, we’ll hold Helio’s again.”

Loir laughed quietly, “I’ll hold you to that. Now though, we need to go mingle and observe.”

Mena nodded, “Agreed. And remember, Olivier sends his regrets, but he’s got a personal commitment that prevents him from attending.” 

Loir nodded and slipped off into the crowd, towards the garden, while Mena moved to circulate through the rooms.

Petrea loved a party. Any party, if she was being honest with herself. But this party was different. She was not here for revelry, dancing, or cavorting, as was her usual modus operandi. She was here in her official capacity as Second of Cereus House. She was here to represent her House, to mingle with the Dowaynes and Seconds of the other Houses, to make the acquaintance of those deemed important or influential enough to be invited to the grand affair, and most importantly, she was here to prove that she was a capable Second. Oh, she had heard the rumors that swirled through the salons and bedchambers of Mont Nuit: that she was nothing more than an aging adept looking for a good time and that she was no more fit to be a Second than a stableboy. 

All of these thoughts had swirled through her head the entire morning as she prepared. Aimee had stood by her side, listing off the day’s duties and assisting with the tiny buttons that ran up the back of Petrea’s deep blue gown. It had become their routine. They took breakfast together and then helped each other dress as they each gave the other an update on their respective tasks. Standing there, on the magnificent veranda in Dahlia House now, listing off the many tasks that Aimee would be taking care of while she, the official Second, would be here—indulging in wine and conversation—took away some of her nerves.

She tucked a lock of her golden hair back behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. She had been standing along the wall for too long, and that would not do. She was the Second of Cereus House. It was time to act like it.

Maël’s brows had lifted when he had seen what Gustav had chosen to wear, but Gustav had only smiled his secret smile and assured his friend that it was perfect. And it certainly was when he entered the grand gardens of Dahlia House and saw the adepts and patrons glance at him. He wore only simple boots, soft hose that clung to his legs, and a flowing poet’s shirt of soft white. His hair combed only by his fingers, his collarbone and throat exposed by the loose neck of his shirt, he seemed like he had stepped from the music of the Hellene stories of heroes returned home and he certainly felt like he had come home again as he saw her see him. 

Across the garden, Odilia sat draped in a rich plum gown that gathered at her throat and fell in pleats down her body, belted with a chain of golden vines to make her seem a harvest goddess herself. Her dark eyes lifted at the whispers that rippled through the gardens, falling on him bathed as he was in the soft light of the lanterns and gleaming white and gold like Elua Himself. He saw her hand lift to touch her chest, as though soothing her heart that skipped for him and he smiled. When he smiled, it reflected in her own face like a sunbeam, glowing and rosy and focused on her and her on him. 

He made his way through the patrons, adepts, and servers, intent on his goal, her face the only thing he could see as he came to her, boldly reaching for her hands as she sat on her couch. 

“Odilia,” he breathed to her, savouring the feel of her soft skin under his touch again, as he always did – it was always a gift when he could touch her, when he could see her face and smell her perfume. 

“Your Highness,” she said, recovering some of her composure even as her eyes glittered. He tugged gently on her hands to pull her to her feet, standing with her as though they were the only two people in the garden, in the city, in the world. 

“I would be a shameful guest if I did not come to Dahlia’s Revelry without a tribute gift for my Dahlia queen,” he said to her with his mischievous, slightly boyish smile. “May I give you my gift?”

She eyed him, her brow lifting, but she permitted him his game, “You may.”

The world spun for a moment as he pulled her into his arms, cradling her close as he kissed her sweetly. She gasped – she wasn’t the only one – her hands gripping his shoulders to help herself balance as he swayed with her, but she kissed him back. She knew she shouldn’t, this was so public and so many people were watching, and he was the Dauphin, she was only a Servant of Naamah. But was this not what the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers was for? Indulgence and delight?

She let herself delight in his kiss, her hands relaxing on him – trusting him – and sliding to comb up through his loose hair to savour him. 

Rosanna was conversing with one of the patrons of Dahlia House, a curious one who saw her own marque and came with earnest questions about such a distinctly different practice than the one hosting. They were smiling and making light discussion when from the corner of her eye movement pulled at her attention. The patron’s too, if the shocked and grinning gasp was anything to go by.

“Now I have never seen the elegant autumn revelry celebrated quite so…enthusiastically before,” said the patron.

“Nor have I,” she replied with a perfectly polite smile. On the inside she was positively ecstatic, but those emotions were tempered down. Later, she would seek out her friend and ask all about the Prince who kissed her later.

Loir was standing with a small group of Dahlia Adepts, whispering Night Court gossip when the Prince’s approach caught their attention. Their conversation stopped mid-word as they watched him approach the Second of Dahlia House. They were too far away for even Loir’s well-trained ears to catch their words, but the kiss rendered words useless. One of the Adepts grabbed Loir’s arm tightly as they stood, stunned by what they saw. A Dahlia, kiss in public?! With a Prince! Loir felt her heart racing at the implications. The kiss ended in an intimacy that made Loir look away instinctively, lovers like that deserved their privacy.

“W-w-where were we?” An Adept said with a light laugh, and Loir released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Well, I think we were talking about Bryony House,” she said with a light laugh, “Though I am sure their numbers did not include that development.” As the conversation started back up, Loir tried to organize her thoughts and the events so she could let Mena know when they returned home. This needed to go into the books for sure.

Petrea heard a gasp and turned from her conversation with the young Lancelin of Siovale just in time to catch the kiss to end all kisses. All her years of training at Cereus House could not stop the look of shock from her face. It took her mind a second to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. The heir to the Perigeux duchy cleared his throat quietly, freeing her from her momentary reverie. She blinked and turned back to the gentleman, once again the picture of a trained adept. 

She put her hand on his arm, apologizing for her impertinence. He smiled in his dark-eyed way and waved off her concern. He continued speaking about…something…and Petrea continued to nod and make appropriate murmurs of agreement when appropriate. But her mind was not on her companion’s words. There were larger pieces in play now, and Petrea knew that she had just witnessed a major shift in the game she had unwittingly joined. She would need to navigate this carefully as Second, and Aimee was not the one who could help steer her.

When the kiss ended, Odilia looked up at him, bright and beautiful as they smiled into each other’s eyes in a way that could never be feigned. In a way that was noticed by many of the eyes still watching their Dauphin kiss the Second of Dahlia House, a woman more proud and distant than most of her comrades. And she smiled at him like he had sprinkled the stars in the sky above them himself. 

“Well,” the Dahlia Dowayne said from her throne among her favourite lovers, lifting her goblet in a toast, “it seems our Revels have truly begun!”

Maël’s eyes swept across the gardens, tracking the ripples of the gossip and seeing the spreading whispers as the fête continued, and it was not just the Autumn chill that came kissing his neck. No, he knew that nothing good could come of this. 

Flowers Grow Together

It was midsummer, and Petrea still felt unsettled in her position as Second of Cereus House. Aliks had named her in early spring, and yet still she did not feel secure. To be sure, she had worked hard to put on a good face for the House, meeting with other Dowaynes and Seconds, as Aliks buried herself in paperwork and ledgers, meetings and politics. Petrea met with patrons and arranged assignations for adepts. But there were things that were holding her back. One of which was Aimée.

Petrea suspected that Aimée had hoped, at least in some small way, to be named Second. She and Aliks were romantically involved, so it wouldn’t have surprised Petrea for Aliks to name Aimée to the position. Even if the relationship wasn’t exactly common knowledge, and senior adepts weren’t supposed to be emotionally involved with subordinates. Aimée was responsible, organized, and logically minded. The younger adepts trusted her. She had all of the qualities that Petrea feared she did not. Yet, Aimée was quite young. Many years younger than both Aliks and Petrea, and Petrea suspected this was the reasoning behind Aliks’s decision. But Petrea knew that, as much as the decision made sense, and as much Aimée understood the decision in that logical mind of hers, it would still have hurt. And Petrea felt a deep sense of empathy for her. And perhaps even some guilt. Was she truly suited for the position? Could she honestly say that she was up to the task of Second of Cereus House? It was a heavy mantle. Could she wear it? Would young Aimée have been the better choice?

It was on a hot and damp afternoon that Petrea finally decided she was finished navel-gazing over this. She had been lying on the wood floor of her new apartments, wearing only a dressing gown, furiously fanning herself in a desperate attempt to cool off and failing miserably. Lying on the floor and wallowing in self pity would resolve nothing. It was time to gather her wits and actually speak with Aimée. Petrea had often seen Aimée walk in the large gardens behind the house, so she decided to find her there and talk things out.

After a quick bath, Petrea made her way through the gardens to the tall shade trees. The temperature felt significantly lower, and Petrea began to understand why Aimée felt comfort here. It was a tranquil and protected space, far from the oft chaotic life inside their home. After walking for several minutes, she found Aimée sitting on the lip of one of the fountains, dangling her feet in the water.

“Aimée?” Petrea approached slowly, as one might do a frightened animal.

Aimée jumped up, startled. “Oh! Petrea! I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Oh! No! I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you often come to the gardens, and I thought that, well, I had hoped that we could speak, in private—” She gestured to the large, imposing Cereus House behind them. “—in a less formal place, perhaps away from prying eyes and ears, and be more plain with one another?”

Aimée looked at Petrea and gracefully made a welcoming gesture to the space beside her. Her face had subtly slipped into the perfected mask every senior Cereus adept cultivated. Petrea felt a small twinge of disappointment at the shift in demeanor. She had hoped that Aimée would be more comfortable in the botanical sanctuary.

Petrea sat down on the edge of the fountain and trailed her fingers through the cool water, watching the ripples lap at the stone. “I can see why you came here today. This water feels lovely.” Petrea shook off her shoes and gathered her skirts, tucking them under her lap. She plunged her feet into the water and sighed. “That feels incredible.”

A small hint of a smile teased at the corner of Aimée’s mouth as she replied. “It’s the best respite from the heat. One would have to go to Balm House to find anywhere more refreshing for the body or soothing to the soul than this little corner of Cereus.” Her shoulders loosened almost imperceptively. And she turned to gaze at the fountain and the garden beyond.

After a moment of silence, Petrea cleared her throat and began speaking. “Aimée, I feel as though things between us are tense, to put it mildly, and I don’t like that. I feel that, well, I feel that you may resent me for being chosen as Second when you were not. I want you to know that I firmly believe that I would have been just as happy if you were chosen.”

Aimée’s head snapped toward Petrea; her face had lost its trained air of nothingness. Petrea couldn’t quite decipher the meaning painted upon her features. A mix of shock, defensiveness, anger, hurt…all emotions that Petrea watched pool into a general upset of Aimée’s practiced air. In a second, Aimée forced a roll into her shoulders and several deep soothing breaths in and out her lungs. Petrea waited as Aimee tried to reclaim some of calm. “Petrea…if I have done anything to give you the impression that I am anything other than genuinely pleased for you, I apologize. I always knew that Aliks would choose you for the role. There was no question in my mind that you would be her Second,” Aimée stated. Then quieter, in almost a whisper, “But I did, very briefly, hope.”

Petrea saw Aimee’s posture soften, like a huge weight had been lifted with the admission. 

It was then that Petrea finally felt she could share. “I often feel as though you would be a better Second than I am. That the House would be better served if you were leading it.” She spoke her fears in the same hushed tones they had once used to share midnight secrets in the novice dormitory. She locked eyes with Aimée, needing the other woman to understand the seriousness of her next words. Her voice was strong. “I am sorry, Aimée. I think that perhaps I should have told Aliks no and pushed her to name you.”

“What!?” Aimée gasped. “You are more than qualified, you have the skill, the connections, the years of service…”

Petrea swung her feet out of the fountain, using the momentum to swivel her body to face the opposite way and placing her feet firmly on the garden path. She stood and began pacing. She dug a bare toe into the dirt and shook her head before interjecting. “But, Aimée, don’t you see? I am missing things! Aliks spent years being groomed to be Second, while I was nothing but an adept. We all knew she would be Second and then Dowayne. But me? This was a surprise to everyone, myself included!  And I know nothing of leadership. For certain, I can pour wine and play the lyre. I know that I am a favorite among several patrons! But I was never trained to be Second! Or, Blessed Elua forbid, Dowayne! I have signed my own assignation contracts, but I do not know how to write them! Patrons are coming to me to negotiate for adepts’ time—what do I know of that? What do I know of drawing other Houses to allyship?” Petrea slumped back against a tree trunk, falling to the ground, giving no care for dirtying her fine clothes. “My days are filled with tasks I know nothing of. My only…my only escape is my time with Santiago.” She smiled sadly.

“I know. Sometimes I see you more often returning from Orchis House than from your office.” Aimée teased. She immediately realized her attempt at levity had the opposite effect.

Petrea’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Precisely. You see, I am failing,” she said in a quiet voice. “It feels as though no matter how many tasks I complete, there is always another. And I know, I know, that I am missing things. I know that there are happenings in the House that I know nothing of.”

Aimée removed herself from the fountain and walked to Petrea to sit with her under the tree. Aimée waited until Petrea looked toward her. “I will be honest with you, things are falling through the cracks. The younger adepts and novices are coming to me to put out spot fires. By the time you smell the wisps of smoke, the proverbial fire has been doused. Sometimes it’s been out for hours or even days.” Petrea sunk into herself. She knew the situation had been bad, but it was somehow worse than she had anticipated.  “Every time you leave for Orchis, yes, you have completed your formal tasks, but there are a thousand unwritten responsibilities and unexpected problems that need to be handled.” 

A deep sense of shame filled Petrea’s chest, and she felt blood rise to her face. “And a good Second would know these things,” she whispered, unable to meet Aimée’s eyes. She had been right. Aimée did resent her. Aimee was taking care of all of these responsibilities that she was not. Aimee knew all of these things. And she did not.

“I understand now why you resent me so. Here I am, off at Orchis House while you are stuck here cleaning up behind me. I am so sorry, Aimée. I should have known these things. I should have been more aware.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from falling. 

“That…This…” Aimee’s arm made an all encompassing movement. “Is. Not. Your. Fault. And I have never resented you,” she stated emphatically. “The plague has caused nothing but chaos. The Court, the City, Terre d’Ange itself is struggling to reorganize and bring back some order. Aliks is completely absorbed with her duties as the First and Foremost Dowayne of the Night Court, the Council to House Courcel, and any House responsibilities that absolutely require Dowayne,” Aimée laid out. “You are not handling the responsibilities of merely a Second. You are dealing with more than half of the responsibilities of a Dowayne and all the requirements of a Second. All while the kingdom is recovering from one of the most destructive plagues in our history.” Aimée sighed. “And you have not been trained for either position. I wouldn’t have known what to watch out for had I not been…” Aimée nearly trailed off into silence. “…with Aliks.” She shyly summed up.

Petrea looked at Aimée, her eyes wild and desperate. “Will you help me? Please. Please, help me. I know the topmost bricks, but you are the expert in the building blocks. You know everything that happens within the walls of the House, and I know that I can talk my way through political meetings and afternoon teas. Aliks was left with mountains of backlogged  papers to sift through and piles of scrolls to read, most from before Dowayne Geraunt’s passing. It’s so much. So much…it’s too much. Everything is falling to the Second.” Petrea shrugged and gave Aimée a wry look. “Perhaps—together—we would make a superior Second?”

Aimée gently took Petrea’s hand between her own. “Do you remember when I first entered Cereus? I was a scared little reject from Bryony House. ‘All of the talent, none of the passion.’ They only sent me here because my looks matched the canon of Cereus House. I was certain Cereus wouldn’t keep me either. You held me as I cried those first nights. You told me, ‘All Loveliness Fades, but what doesn’t fade is our bonds to each other. We are desert flowers. We survive.’ Cereus House is my family. You are my sister. You always were; you always will be.”

Petrea threw her arms around her friend. “Thank you, Aimée,” she said quietly into Aimée’s hair. “You cannot know how much your love and support mean to me.” Her voice grew firm as she clutched her friend. “We will do this together. Together we will rise.”

The Unruly Patron

The doors to Cereus House flew open, knocking Lucas almost off his feet. He recovered himself just in time to see the man burst into the foyer. 

“Good evening, my lord, welcome to Cereus House. How may I assist you?” It was only his years of training as a servant at the house that allowed him the grace not to stumble and stammer at the glaring noble in front of him.

“Fetch me Dowayne Aliks. Right now.”

Lucas paused for a moment. As the doorman, part of his responsibilities included knowing when the Dowayne or Second were expecting visitors so that he could show them to the appropriate rooms. “Is she expecting you, my lord?”

The visitor grew angry. “Just fetch her,” he replied, snapping his fingers impatiently.

Lucas bowed and led the man into one of the front salons and offered him tea, which the man refused with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Who shall I say is calling, sir?”

“Tell her Lord Pierre Montaban is here. She is to come at once.”

Lucas bowed and left the room. Despite his outward appearance, he was shaken. Who was this man who had blown in like a stormcloud, demanding an audience with the Dowayne? His manner was unlike any Lucas had seen in all his years as a servant on Mont Nuit, and indeed, all his life.

~

Petrea and Aliks were sitting in the Dowayne’s office, discussing an upcoming Showing when they heard a knock at the door. When Aliks indicated entry, Lucas, the servant who manned the front doors, entered. He was clearly upset about something.

“Lucas! Whatever is the matter?” Aliks’s eyes flew wide at the state of the servant. Lucas was nothing if not stoic, and to see him so uneasy led her to believe that something was truly amiss.

“A visitor…a visitor is here…here…” he stammered.

Petrea frowned. “A visitor?” She asked. “Why does a visitor have you so out of sorts, Lucas?”

Lucas took a deep breath and composed himself before continuing. “He demanded an audience with the Lady Dowayne.”

Aliks raised an eyebrow. “Demanded?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “He said to fetch Dowayne Aliks.”

Petrea’s face grew hard. “He used those precise words?” One did not refer to the Dowayne of Cereus House in such familiar terms.

“Yes. He simply said to fetch her.”

Aliks and Petrea exchanged a look. 

“And who is the demanding gentleman?” Aliks asked primly.

“A Lord Pierre Montaban, my lady.”

“Ah,” Aliks said simply. She gave Lucas a gentle smile. “Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a pastry? You have had a bit of a fright, I fear, and I want you to take a moment to yourself.”

Lucas started at her comment. “My lady! I am fine.”

Petrea waved him off. “It’s all right, Lucas. Go sit. We have this matter in hand. Go speak to Cook. She is good with these situations and a little chat with her will calm your nerves.”

Lucas gave a nod and left the room.

Aliks turned to Petrea. “Is this who I think it is?”

Petrea nodded sharply. “Yes. This is Kyrian.”

Aliks hummed. She gave Petrea a conspiratory smile. “You will handle this?”

Petrea grinned at her friend. “I will.”

Petrea sat back on the chaise and took another drink of her wine, and Aliks returned to her desk. They took up their conversation about the Showing for several minutes before Petrea looked at the clock. “Have we let him stew long enough?” She asked.

Aliks nodded. “I leave you to it, love.”

~

Petrea entered the front parlor where Kyrian had been sitting for more than ten minutes since his arrival. A woman in formal dress was sitting on the sofa across from him, drinking tea and eyeing his ever reddening face.

“Good afternoon, Lady Elaine, it is a pleasure to see you,” Petrea greeted the woman warmly. “I do apologize for keeping you. David is waiting in the upstairs salon, and he is most excited to see you. If you step outside, Louis will take you to him.” Petrea gestured toward the door, and the noblewoman exited.

Petrea turned her attention to Kyrian, whose face was red with anger.

“That woman—” He flung himself to his feet and pointed towards the door “—arrived no more than moments ago, and you have the gall to apologize to her when I have been waiting here for Elua knows how long! How dare you?”

Petrea sat down calmly on the sofa vacated by Lady Elaine, folded her hands in her lap, and poured herself a cup of tea. 

“May I offer you some tea?” She asked placidly, finally raising her eyes to meet his. “You seem,” she gestured with her cup delicately, “out of sorts.”

“I do not want tea!” He almost growled the words, starting to pace the room, his hands clenching and unclenching as he walked. “I am here to see the Dowayne, not whoever you are. Fetch the girl, now.”

“No,” Petrea responded, holding his gaze for a moment before returning her attention to her tea.

Kyrian’s jaw dropped open. His mouth opened and closed silently, gaping like a dying fish. Never in his life had anyone told him no. He stared, trying to comprehend how this woman, a mere adept, found the nerve to tell him so and look him in the eyes.

Petrea said nothing, sipping her tea silently and seeming to ignore him. She waited, knowing that the next move had to be his.

His wits returned, and he stalked closer to where the woman was seated. He could feel his rage starting to build “What do you mean ‘no’? Who do you think you are, speaking to a peer of the realm, a man that way? I will see your Dowayne, and I will see her immediate—”

Petrea held up a finger to interrupt his tirade. She still did not look at him, treating him like she would a child or a servant who needed to be scolded. Speaking calmly and evenly, she said. “Your behavior is unacceptable here. We simply do not conduct ourselves in such a way at Cereus House. David will escort you out now.” She stood and gracefully slipped past him like she would a potted plant and began to make her way towards the door.

“I am not leaving until you bring me the girl! Do you not know who I am?” His voice rose, loud enough now that it bounced off the walls of the salon.

Petrea turned and finally met his eyes again, a small smile playing on her lips. “I do know who you are, Lord Montaban, and perhaps unfortunately for you, your reputation precedes you. David will escort you out now.” Though her face was calm, her voice was steely.

Kyrian opened his mouth to speak, but Petrea stopped him. “You are not welcome here. I am offering you the opportunity to leave with your dignity. I suggest that you take it.”

Kyrian strode over and pressed in close to her, his hand tight around her upper arm. “I will be back. You mark my words.”

Petrea’s eyes flashed as she jerked her arm free. “No. You will not. Should you attempt to return, it will not be a pleasant experience for you. Not only that, but I shall see that  you are not welcome at any House on Mont Nuit.” Her voice was icy.

She turned and stepped to the doorway. “David?” She called. “Please see this gentleman to the door and ensure he gets into his carriage. He is to be escorted off the grounds.”

A large manservant appeared in the doorway and gave a small bow. “Yes, my lady Second. I will inform the servants and guards.”

“Thank you, David.” With that she strode from the parlor, leaving Kyrian to face the large manservant.

~

Petrea strode purposefully out the door and took several steps down the hallway before she stopped to take a deep breath. Her heart was pounding. Hearing rumors of this man and his tantrums was one thing, but experiencing it in person was quite another.

Looking around, she saw a maid busily dusting a sconce that had no need of dusting. When they made eye contact, the maid blushed furiously.

“You have been dusting that sconce for quite some time now, haven’t you?” Petrea asked with a wry smile.

“Oh, I, well,” the maid stammered, her cheeks turning redder by the second. “It’s just, I, um…”

Petrea stepped up next to the maid and ran her finger along the sconce. Her voice grew quiet. “You know,” she said, her tone mild. “It would never do for the Second of Cereus House to be seen gossiping about the goings on with visitors.” She paused and held the other woman’s gaze. “Things are different, however, with servants.”

Choosing a Cereus Second

Aliks was sitting at her desk when Petrea walked in. The mountain of paperwork had not diminished, but she had just barely managed to keep it from growing. When Petrea walked in, Aliks motioned for her to take a seat on the chaise.

“I appreciate you coming so quickly,” Aliks began.

“Of course.” Petrea nodded.

“As I am sure you know, Cereus House needs a Second. We simply cannot go on as we have the last few weeks without one, and it is my duty to name my Second and successor.”

Petrea nodded carefully. She knew this was coming, and yet, she was not sure which way the wind would blow, nor which way she hoped it would.

“Petrea, we have known each other for a very long time, and I feel I can be quite frank with you. You have recently been engaging in behavior somewhat, how can I say this, wild for a Cereus adept. Your time spent at Orchis House seems to bring you joy, but it concerns me as well. The Second of Cereus House must represent the House by my side. So, I would ask you to please alleviate my reservations as I am naming you Second of Cereus House.”

Petrea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She found tears filling her eyes.

Aliks looked at her, stunned. “This is not the reaction I had expected of you.”

Petrea could do nothing but throw herself into her friend’s arms. The chair squeaked under the weight of both women. Aliks patted her friend’s back and then pushed her away gently. She looked at Petrea’s watery eyes, and found herself utterly confused.

“Petrea, what in Blessed Elua’s name has gotten into you?” Her shock was evident, though her voice was quiet.

Petrea sat back on the chaise and wiped at the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. “Yes, well…” she began. She cleared her throat and started anew. “I…” She paused again, looking around the room, gathering her thoughts. “These past weeks have been difficult for me. I have felt, well, lost since the death of Geraunt. I feel my years are catching up with me, and I have been wondering what I am supposed to be doing with myself. I have been melancholy, full of sorrow, perhaps not just for Geraunt, but mayhaps for myself, as well. For my youth. I have been, well, I think I have been drowning my sorrows, as it were.”

They shared a rueful chuckle at this. “I think one could argue that point, my love,” Aliks scolded gently. “But, as I have said, if I am to name you as my Second, I must be able to trust that you can fulfill the duties of the office. And they are not small, nor few. Are you up to this challenge?”

Petrea’s eyes glimmered with hope. “I am! More than certainly I am! This gives me…a purpose I fear I have been lacking. I know that much work goes into being a Second, and I know that you will need to depend on me. And I swear to you, on the names of Blessed Elua and Naamah themselves, I will not let you down.” Her voice had grown with determination as she spoke.

Aliks reached over and took her friend’s hand. “I trust that you will not. Now that that matter is settled, I have your first task.”

Petrea’s Concern

The passing of the Dowayne of Cereus House had affected Petrea nó Cereus, an adept of Cereus House, in ways that she had not expected. Something about the death of someone who had been a constant presence in her life for most of her life was causing her to question her own mortality. She was passing four decades, and every time she passed a mirror, the face reflected in it reminded her of the canon of her house: All Loveliness Fades. 

She felt in her bones her loveliness fading. The lines at the corners of her eyes and lips. The sag of her skin. The rounding of her belly. And was it her imagination, or were patrons’ eyes skipping over her more often? Was she losing the favor of those seeking beauty? Her skills as a Servant of Naamah had certainly not dulled in her years. If nothing, her experience only improved her ability to entertain and pleasure those who sought her company! Perhaps it was only her mind playing tricks.

So it was that Petrea found herself more often at her place of refuge: Orchis House. An odd choice some might think for a Cereus, but over the years, Petrea had developed a close friendship with the Orchis Second, Santiago. Where Cereus House was a place of decorum, there was nothing of decorum to be found at Orchis House—a breath of fresh air. And since the death of her Dowayne, Petrea had found herself more and more in need of air. And drink. She would slump into a carriage and trudge to the doors of Orchis. She would then be whisked into the house by either Santiago or Xixiliya, the Dowayne, with kisses and strong drink. Once inside, her dark mood would fade, and all thoughts of decay would float from her head.

It was on just such an evening that Petrea was deep in her cups, her feet propped on Xixiliya’s lap, her head lolling on Santiago’s shoulder, her gown half off (how that happened, she could not say), and her shoes…somewhere, that a perturbed messenger arrived from Cereus House.

The irritated man in Cereus livery, his hat askew, was brought into the salon by a grinning adept. “My lady Petrea,” the Orchis adept sing-songed. “You have a message. This adorable thing says it is terribly important.”

Petrea tried to sit up but succeeded only in falling to the floor in an undignified heap. Her face flamed as she looked up at the messenger. He wrinkled his nose at her and cleared his throat. She stood as gracefully as one can when having been plied with drink for many hours and smoothed her dress. She looked around for her shoes. She could not find them. They were in the room somewhere.

She brushed back her hair and gave the messenger a bland look. “Yes? What is this message that is so urgent it could not wait until morning? As I am sure you are aware, there are strict instructions that I am not to be disturbed here.”

The man had the decency to look slightly chastised, as he did know of Petrea’s habits. The former Second, now Dowayne, Aliksandria nó Cereus, was Petrea’s best friend and allowed Petrea her visits to Orchis House. Aliks was the one who gave the instructions to leave Petrea alone.

“Yes, well, my lady, you see,” he stammered.

Petrea sighed, her shoulders slumping. Clearly, her evening was over. She could feel her head clearing of the alcohol as the mantle of belonging to Cereus House dropped to her shoulders. “Please,” she said quietly. “What is the message?”

“Dowayne Aliksandria has requested that you return to the house. She must speak with you. Privately.”

“Oh.” It was all Petrea could think to say. She knew what this conversation was about. 

Behind her, Santiago wrapped his arms around her. He rested his forehead at the nape of her neck. “It will be alright. Either way, it will be alright. And you can always come here. You know that,” he whispered softly.

While Santiago was one who never seemed to take anything seriously, he also knew when the time called for tenderness. And that was one of the things Petrea loved most about him. She turned and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Xixiliya appeared in front of Petrea with her shoes. The Dowayne slid them onto Petrea’s feet, giving her ankle a quick pat as she stood. “Go home and get this done. Then come back and tell us all about it.” She gave Petrea a wide grin and pinched her cheek. They smiled at each other.

Petrea turned to the messenger and gave a sharp nod of her chin. “Well, let us go then.”

She followed the gentleman to the Cereus carriage and stepped in. Settling back in the seat, she wiped a hand across her face. She knew this conversation with Aliks had been coming since the day of the old Dowayne’s death, and she wasn’t sure which way she wanted it to go. 

A New Dowayne’s Dilemma

Aliksandria nó Cereus sat behind a desk covered in papers and folios. She looked at the left most pile with some degree of satisfaction then looked at the right pile and groaned realizing it was still the taller of the two. She reached for the folio on top of the right pile and opened it. It contained invoices for the last month’s wine deliveries. She flipped through the third stack of papers and found the inventory for the wine, made sure the two documents corresponded, then signed the invoice and set it on the left stack. 

It had been a month since Dowayne Geraunt nó Cereus had passed, taken away by the fever that ravaged the city, and even claimed the Crown Prince’s life. The funeral had been held with all due honors, and now Aliks was Dowayne of Cereus house. And as Dowayne, Aliks was swamped in paperwork. 

This would only get easier, she mused to herself, once she named a Second. As it was, Aliks was trying to do both her old job as Second and her new job as Dowayne while relying on two of the senior adepts to catch the pieces that fell through. But this was no way to go on, the roles of Dowayne and Second were clearly defined and so done for a reason. It was a system that had worked very well for centuries, and this last month certainly showed her why it was needed. 

The truth is that she had put it off for far too long. She only had two choices, the very senior adepts who were helping her now. But how does one choose between their two best friends? They had been through so much together. When she had been raised to Second, they were the only adepts to not change how they interacted with her. Many others had become distant due to her new authority, but not Petrea and Aimee. 

Petrea was the older of the two, and she and Aliks had grown up together. She had come to Cereus House not long after Aliks had and they had gone through their training, schooling, and juvenile antics together. She was an exemplary adept and never failed to do what she was called on to do, but she had a penchant for wildness. She was one to push the very bounds of what was acceptable for a Cereus adept, and Aliks wondered if she would thrive or balk under the responsibility.

Aimee was younger, both Aliks and Petrea were sworn adepts when Aimee began her training, but she rose through the ranks well and quickly. Even though she had started years after them, Aimee had made her marque made less than a year after the older girls. She was graceful and exuded the air of Cereus House but was the shyer of the two, and Aliks wondered if she had the grit to handle the pressure. 

The decision was made all the harder with the reality that Aliks had been having an affair with Aimee for the last six months. They had tried to keep it quiet, but nothing travels faster than gossip in the Night Court. 

Aliks reached for another sheaf of paper, knowing a decision had to be made soon and with it she would likely hurt someone she cared about. 

Storyline: A Year in Review

Here is a review of everything that has happened this year in and around the City of Elua

  • Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, lights a candle to Eisheth and has a romantic evening with Waldemar nò Mandrake, her longtime lover.
  • Waldemar is involved in a carriage accident and passes away.
  • As all of the Night Court mourns the passing of the fallen Mandrake, Aliks visits the Yeshuite quarters to give the news to Waldemar’s mother, who is ashamed of her son.
  • News comes to Mont Nuit that King Gustav is to marry Lady Corrian de Borlean of Azzale.
  • Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, and longtime lover of the king, leaves the City of Elua, retreating to the estate of Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace. Roland proposes an advantageous, political marriage to her.
  • Philomena nó Heliotrope, Dowayne of Heliotrope House, wonders how the Night Court will handle the news of the king’s betrothal in light of his relationship with Odilia.
  • Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House and granddaughter of Roland, visits her family’s country estate to discuss the state of the Duc’s proposal to her best friend. The family is stunned and unsupportive, viewing it as disrespectful to their grandmother, Roland’s late wife.
  • Gustav and Corrian are shocked that news of their nuptials was leaked to the Night Court. They write to Odilia, asking that she come to the palace to clear the air.
  • Odilia leaves Roland’s estate, much to his chagrin.
  • Gustav and Corrian ask Odilia to be their official Royal Consort and Royal Companion. Odilia does not give an answer, as she must consider Roland’s proposal. She says she will give an answer before the wedding.
  • Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, suspects that Aliks may be with child. This is confirmed by an Eisandine chirurgeon.
  • Rosanna visits Roland, who asks her to convince the family to support his proposal to Odilia—who is her best friend—and help settle the gossip in the Night Court.
  • Mena ponders her duties as Dowayne, overcome with all of the responsibilities given the current situation.
  • The Dowaynes meet to discuss what is to be done about Odilia. Odilia informs them that she must leave her decision of which proposal to accept to the council. It is decided that she must choose the king. A subtle show of support is proposed.
  • Petrea writes a letter of support to Odilia
  • Two nobles enjoy a romantic night at Balm House.
  • Aliks tells her parents she is pregnant. They suggest that she could retire, and she balks at the suggestion.
  • The King of Terre de Ange marries Lady Corrian de Borean of Azzale and they publicly name Odilia as Royal Consort and Royal Companion.
  • The Court of Night Blooming Flowers celebrates the royal wedding long into the night.
  • Rosanna meets with Roland, and they discuss his plans for how to proceed now that Odilia has rejected his offer. In a strategic move, Roland invites Odilia to join him and Rosanna at the theater.
  • Gustav, Corrian, and Odilia negotiate Odilia’s contract as an adept of the Night Court. They make the decision that she is not to serve them exclusively in an attempt to be a conduit of information.
  • Corrian struggles with her duties as queen and looks to Odilia for help.
  • The City of Elua celebrates the harvest festival of Steward’s Eve in celebration of the Good Steward, the angel Anael.
  • Aliks’s baby is born, and she names him Patroclus.
  • Mena relates the story of a troubling patron to her Second, Loir.
  • Petrea tells Mena that she intends to retire from her position as Second of Cereus House after the Longest Night.
  • Aimée nó Cereus, unofficial Third of Cereus House, goes to the tailor to put together a stunning costume for the Longest Night.
  • Valerian House makes preparations for the Longest Night and discusses their preparations for Mara’s Eve, the special vigil that they celebrate in February.
  • Roland and Odilia make peace with their relationship and the path that it has taken.
  • Aliks and Petrea reminisce about their childhood at Cereus House and come to terms with their future together, and apart.

Storyline: The Shortest Days

Odilia

It was not the sunlight kissing her face that woke her gently, it was the soft kisses of her lover. In the start of this shortest day, he was not the King of Terre d’Ange, he was only Gustav, and she was not the Second of Dahlia House, she was only Odilia. Wrapped together in each other’s arms, this was precious time. All the most precious for how brief it was.

He looked at her, his Courcel blue eyes looking deep into her brown ones, and he stroked her cheek. She leaned her forehead against his and let her arm drape around his waist. Nothing needed to be said.  They had fought too hard to get to where they were now not to appreciate the peaceful morning for what it was. 

When finally they rose, he helped her into her dressing gown.  She did the same for him, a quiet kind of reserved intimacy, and accepted his hand to join him for the breakfast laid in his solar. Fresh oranges and pomegranates were presented in a bowl along with the warm, crusty bread with goat cheese and honey. A pot of warm lemon water sweetened with honey was set on a warmer. 

“So much citrus and honey,” Odilia said warmly, letting him serve her with his own hands. “Is this a hint from your staff? Will you be the Sun Prince at the palace masque tonight?”

“Not as far as I know,” Gustav laughed lightly. “The Master of Revels has seen to all the details, I know very little about what is planned for tonight.”

The footman entered and announced the arrival. “Her Majesty, Queen Corrian,” followed shortly by Corrian herself, dressed in a simple day dress of pale green.

She beamed at her two favourite people and swept to the table before sitting and reaching for an iced bun. “Good morning, husband, Odillia. I trust you had a pleasant night?” But that really wasn’t what she was most excited to talk about as she continued, “Are you excited for this evening? I am! My gown has been set out already, it will truly be a delight.”

“We were just discussing the Masque ourselves,” Gustav said.

“Oh, Odilia.” Corrian leaned forward to catch her eyes. “I cannot wait to dance with you this evening. Please promise me you will not let my husband monopolize you.”

Odilia paused as she reached for a quarter of a pomegranate, the tiniest furrow appearing between her brows. “This evening?”

“Well yes, of course. The Longest Night Masque, whatever else would I be talking about?”

Gustav coughed in an attempt to hide his laughter, and Odilia ripped the pomegranate quarter in two.  She reached to lay the fruit onto the Queen’s plate as she said lightly, “Surely you are aware I will not be in attendance with you at the palace.”

Corrian looked aghast. “Why ever not? Haven’t we made your position in the palace and our lives quite clear? Who could object to your presence?”

Odilia watched the exuberance of the outrage completely transform Corrian’s face and she pursed her lips slightly to restrain her smile.  Corrian was so full of life.  She would be good for Gustav and balance him in ways that Odilia couldn’t. So, the Dahlia said, not unkindly, “My position is not in doubt in any way, but I will celebrate the Longest Night on Mont Nuit with the rest of the Night-Blooming Flowers. As I must. I am still the Second of Dahlia House.”

A flush of red spread across Corrian’s cheeks. “Oh my, I had completely forgotten.”

“Nevertheless,” Gustav interjected with a warm smile, “I am certain that we will find another occasion for the two of you to dance soon.” 

“I would like that,” Odilia said, allowing herself a small smile. She could allow herself this hard-earned joy.

Her chess game was far from over, but at last she had achieved her own victory for herself. Jocaste had once asked her who she was playing against when she studied the chessboard in her private chambers.  She hadn’t known how to answer. Now she did, because she was finally at peace. 

Her heart and her head were finally balanced.

~*~

Aliks

“You look lovely, my lady Dowayne,” the cook said when she entered the kitchens for a final pre-Masque check. 

“Thank you, I am just checking to make sure all is well in here.”

“Of course, my lady, the meats are being cooked as we speak, the savories are being plated, and the fruit ices are in the cold box. All is well and on schedule.”

“Very good, I’m off to get ready, then I shall ensure the initiates are ready to serve, have a good Longest Night.” And with that Aliks left the kitchen.

Aliks went to the nursery to see Patroclus before going to her own chambers. He was spending more and more time there these days. He still slept in his mother’s chambers, but time had come for him to go to the nursery during the days.

“Good Afternoon, my lady,” said Cecile. The adept had recently finished her marque and was beginning to train in the running of the House. As such, she was put in charge of initiates for the Longest Night. Aliks went with Cecile to gather the initiates and watched approvingly as she gave them their instructions. Before she left, she wished them all a happy Longest Night.

Folk of the Night Court would begin arriving in a few hours time. Tonight would be Petrea’s last  official night as Second, and tomorrow Aliks would be returned to full Dowayne duties. She would miss her friend, but Aimee was more than up for the job of Second of Cereus House. And Aliks, in truth, had missed working, she loved her job and was excited to get back to it. 

~*~

Rosanna

Nothing was so hectic as the hours leading up to the opening bells which heralded the beginning of the Longest Night festivities. From one point of the country to the other, celebrations of all kinds were had by royal and commoner both. On Mont Nuit, this was no different. 

Valerian House was all perfectly executed chaos. Through it all, those who were directing said madness remained as calm as possible. Dressed in a combination of costume and dressing gowns, the Dowayne and Second answered questions as they sat at their boudoir tables, applying makeup and checking hair. During this time, a young novice navigated through the crowd with a missive clutched in hand. 

“For the Dowayne,” he said to the apprentice watching the door. Taking a look at the familiar seal of black wax, embellished by a golden honey bee, she took it and gave the young messenger a cinnamon sweet for his efforts.

Rosana accepted the letter, opening it to read even as another member of the House was attending to her long, red hair. Grandfather had written to her.  

Abandoning all preparations, she opened the letter with her bare hands rather than reach for an opening tool, her eyes voraciously scanning the words within. Of all the grandchildren, she was closest to the Duc. When he deigned to show an emotion, it was to her he expressed it. What she read was bittersweet. He would not challenge the suit Odilia accepted, of course not. That she was happy and had made the selection of her heart was what mattered to him, especially since he had once made a scandal by choosing Grandmother all those years ago. While there was a possibility that he and Odilia may one day have another tender moment, their affair was settled and settled well. All this he told her because she was the one he trusted in the city, in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, to guard their secret. To be present for her friend as he knew she always would be. 

She did not have time to write a reply, but to be sure, Grandfather would be at the palace ball. Seeing as she would be there for part of the night, perhaps she could seek him out. They could dance and mingle and watch the crowd, speaking to one another about who they estimated would be the next to spin the gossip mill. 

Life had returned to something that could be called normal.

Blessed Elua was kind to give them such peace.

“Back to the work,” she called and placed the letter in a locked box where all her most intimate correspondence was kept. 

Eventually came the time to don cloaks and make their way to Cereus House. The procession was to begin soon, and all those attending the event needed to be ready to make the trek up the hill. During this time, Rosanna spoke to her Second. 

“I will most likely not return until late tomorrow or the morning of the following day. But not later than that,” she reiterated. “Should the latter happen, I will send a page. If you should need me, should some accident occur, inquire at the Baphinol home first. No matter if I am not there at the time, my family will handle anything you might need.”

Since the processional was in alphabetical order following Cereus House, they need not rush. Valerian always rounded out the show, and they could afford a leisurely stroll.

“All will be fine, my friend. Do not worry, the House will be fine. I am more interested in hearing how you wind up spending your night. Such as the gossip you will get up to with your bosom companion from Dahlia.” Tryphosa grinned under her mask.

“Whatever we shall gossip about will be confidential, thank you very much. However, you are correct, I look forward to a celebration with her. Like old times. Just, happier and more settled.”

As she had received news of how things had concluded, sweet and hopeful, but in peace, with the Duc de Chalasse, she was eager to see her friend. Watch her be happy again and enjoy such a holy night with her. At least until Rosanna was pulled away by the call of family and the chaos of the royal party. 

“I am excited to watch the changes in our quarter, the whole city, and even beyond now that the King has both a Queen and Courtesan,” Tryphosa said, twirling her fur lined cloak about as they prepared to leave the House. Outside was a dusting of snow. Not so much to make the walk to Cereus difficult, but enough to make the Mont sparkle.

“I am excited for the new year, and all the joys it is sure to bring. We all deserve it, having come through the bitter cold as we have,” Rosanna replied. 

~*~

Petrea

Petrea sat at her dressing table and frowned at her reflection. She fiddled with the long strands of beads at her neck for the thousandth time in the last hour. Nothing felt right. Her hair felt too puffy, her makeup too bold, her jewelry unmatching, and her costume just…wrong. She looked over at the shimmering gown that hung over the door of her armoire. It was beautiful, and she had loved it from the moment she saw the design through every pinning and fitting until it was brought to the House the prior morning. But tonight, every bead looked askew, every seam crooked. 

Petrea looked down at the myriad cosmetics and baubles strewn about the table. She knew in her heart that everything was perfect. The only thing off was inside her. Her heart ached knowing that this was her last Longest Night as Second of Cereus House. Her last Midwinter Masque processing next to Aliks—next to her best friend—as they led the Houses through the grand ballroom. Next year, it would be Aimee at the front of the procession. Next year, she would be relegated to the ranks of the other adepts. Next year, she would wear the matching costumes of the rest of the House. No more special designs for her. Just something delivered in bulk and fitted tacitly in a room of twenty others at the last minute. 

No more would she be charged with planning the Masquerade Ball at Cereus House. No more would it be her responsibility to oversee the most important ball in the City of Elua. And while, yes, that would take a massive weight from her shoulders, it had been the one weight she had carried with joy. The one responsibility she had truly loved as Second. But, if she was giving up her position, she had to give up everything that came with it. There was no such thing as an a la carte Second. Perhaps, she considered, as her fingers toyed with a string of beads, Aimee would allow her to assist with the planning. Perhaps Aimee would allow her this one small concession? She could ask. 

But this is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She had never wanted to be Second, and she certainly had no designs on becoming Dowayne. So where had this melancholy come from? Perhaps it was simply that her life was being upended, that all that she and Aliks had planned since the night Aliks had found her crying in their bedroom was ending. A piece of her identity was dying.  And did one not mourn any death? 

But tonight was not a time for sadness, for melancholy, for mourning. This was a night for celebration, for love, for joie. It was the Longest Night, and she was Second of Cereus House. This was her Masquerade Ball. And by Blessed Elua and Naamah, she was going to enjoy it.

Petrea turned to look at the shining gown behind her. Now she could see the way the fabric hung flawlessly, the way the beading seemed to glow in the light of her dressing room, the perfection of each stitch and seam. It was an ideal dress, and indeed an ideal theme, for her last Masque as Second. She cast her gaze into the looking glass and smiled a true smile for the first time that evening as she began again applying her cosmetics. Tonight she would sparkle and shine like a jewel. 

~*~

Philomena

The Shortest Day in Heliotrope House was always a chaotic struggle, behind the scenes at least. The patrons never knew how hard the adepts and novices struggled with the loss of the sun, how the busyness of their patrons made the loss feel sharper. What the patrons saw was a House single-mindedly focused on the upcoming Midwinter Masque at Cereus House. Favored patrons were granted a favor that would allow them entry, they were told how they could subtly coordinate with their adept, and they were swept up in the food and drinks and laughter of the season. Dara’s new games continued to be in rotation, keeping everyone laughing and happy.

Behind the scenes, Mena and Loir were both fighting hard to keep things running and make sure the House was ready. Loir had to go herself to the fabric merchant to get the bolts and bolts of fabric needed to get everyone Masque ready. The theme was Innocent Love, and each adept was wearing garments that mimicked undergarments and sleepwear, with delicate masks of stiffened lace, calling to mind the hopeful feeling of fresh pledges to Namaah, the first fluttering of love, and honesty of the first assignation with a Patron that will make their way into your heart. It was Loir’s job to make sure that everyone’s costume was on schedule as many adepts chose to make their own while the rest were being made by the adepts and novices with deft hands. Mena knew that Loir fell exhausted into her bed each night and rose as soon as she could to make sure things were done, and for that Mena was eternally grateful. Despite her youth, Loir was an incredible Second. Mena also knew that most nights, Loir’s bed was far from empty. Her new favorite patron, Leandré, came every evening when Loir took her evening meal and left when she did, so she knew Loir was being well taken care of.

For her part, Mena had to take care of the adepts themselves. It was the nature of Heliotrope adepts to become attached and invested in each of their patrons, so when they had obligations that kept them away, the adepts tended to feel melancholy. That was where Mena came in: she went room to room, visiting the adepts, keeping their spirits up with news of the costume progress, fresh gossip, and food. When that wasn’t enough, she sat and listened, talked them through their thoughts, and encouraged them. She had one, a lovely man named Antoine who struggled more than most when the nights lengthened. No one understood why, but the less sun there was, the harder it was for him. She’d moved him to a room on the highest floor of the house, with windows that faced the sunrise and the path it took across the sky, and she made a point of climbing the stairs every day to see him. 

“Antoine,” she said as she pushed his door open. “It’s Mena.”

He was awake but still abed and she smiled gently at him. “How are you today?”

Antoine sighed and gestured for her to sit, which she did not. Instead she opened his curtains, and started finding clothes for him to wear.

“Today is not a good day, Mena. I have no interest in the dark sky or putting on clothing.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you do, you just don’t know yet.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it, but tell me why?”

Turning around and holding his clothes out to him, she said, “I think the Comté and Countess sent word.”

The smile he gave at that news lit up her heart. They’d made it through the Night.

Storyline: Fittings and Finishes

Petrea stood very still, not wanting to be jabbed with a pin as the clothier fitted her gown for the Longest Night. It was a beautiful frock, as befitted the Second of Cereus House. It would be the last night Masque she would attend in that position.. 

The conversation between the two friends had been tense when Petrea finally went to Aliksandria to break the news. In truth, Aliks could scarcely remember a time without her.They had grown up as near sisters in Cereus House, from wild children to romantic youths to powerful women, in tandem. So it was heartbreaking for Aliks to learn that Petrea did not want to continue on the same path they had begun together so long ago. 

The clothier was instructing Petrea to turn around when Patroclus began to coo from his crib. It was yet another thing that had changed, another way their journey’s had diverged. 

Aliks went to the child and picked him up, cradling him in her arms. His small fists were clenched and she recognised on his face that if she did not feed him his cute coos would soon become unbearable screams. Petrea looked over and smiled.

As she began to nurse, Aliks looked at her friend and said, “You are going to miss this, you know. You may not wish to be Second any more or even Dowayne, but you will miss this life.”

“I am not leaving the House, Aliks. I’m not retiring from Naamah’s service, I am just retiring from my position. I will continue to take patrons, as would any adept who has made their marque and chosen to stay. I will attend the same fêtes and balls as always, I’ll just do it in my own way.”

“And me? Will you not miss me? And what of Patroclus, you are an Aunt to him.”

“We have discussed this, I will never be far from either of your lives.” Petrea gave her a gentle smile. “It’s not as though I’m going to La Serenissima. I’m moving down the hall.”

The reassurance helped Aliks, though she was loath to admit she needed it. She knew she had been selfish, wanting Petrea to stay with her, for her. It had been a departure she had managed to forestall for years, but she could halt the inevitable no longer. 

“And what, pray tell, shall we do when you start stealing tarts from the kitchen?” Petrea asked, jutting her chin at Patroclus.

Aliks looked at the boy, whose appetite was great indeed and smiled, “Why, the same thing that our Dowayne did, pretend I don’t know about it.” 

The two women laughed.

“He won’t be for Cereus house, you can tell already. He is too swarthy for that, so I imagine his antics will not be my worry for over long. Though I will be embroidering him a pillow to take with him when he leaves,” she said with a wink.

“If he goes to Orchis House it would go over well, but should he find himself at Alyssum it may prove awkward.”

“Oh, no more than it was here at Cereus House.” Aliks chuckled at the memory of their childhood lark.

“Whatever happened to those cushions?” Petrea asked. 

“Check the crib.” 

Petrea looked at the clothier, who nodded, then carefully walked over to the boy’s bed and peered in. There it was, a 20 year old cushion with a flower in shades of medium and pale blue, with a phallus for a stamen. “I had thought the Dowayne had thrown them away.”

“When I became Second, they were returned to me. Apparently, our old Dowayne had a great ability to hide her thoughts, for though she scolded us, she secretly found them hilarious. She was originally from Orchis herself, you know. The other one is in your room. I hid it there while you were off with Marco. I have been waiting for you to notice, but it appears we did hide our design too well.”

“Truly?” Petrea said, shrugging out of the gown and taking Patroclus from Aliks. He had finished feeding and was falling into the sort of slumber that only comes from a full belly, “I will look for it this evening.” She stroked his soft cheek. While the announcement of Aliks’s pregnancy and Patroclus’s arrival had thrown her own life into upheaval, she did love the babe. How could one not?

Aliks stood and walked to the clothier and began donning her costume for its final fitting. Once her costume was on, Petrea made a slight choking noise, and Aliks turned her head slightly to look at her friend, “Yes?”

“You are wearing that?”

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“Well, no, not specifically. It’s lovely, but I, hmm, well, I just expected you to wear something more, well more.” Petrea gestured at the lack of fabric covering Aliks’s body.

Aliks laughed. “Oh? And why would I do that?”

“Well, you’re a mother now,” Petrea said, gesturing to Patroclus.

“So I am, and happy to be one. But I was a Servant of Naamah first, And I will be one always. And as this Longest Night marks my return to full duties, I intend to lead with the message that I am returned to work.”

Storyline: Ripples in the pond

Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, entered the salon at Heliotrope and took a seat at the small table that was laid out with tea and small snacks. As Petrea sat, she realized that she had never been to Heliotrope House and wondered how, in her many years as a Servant of the Night Court, that was possible. She ran through the catalog of Houses and considered how many others she had not visited and frowned. While there were many she did not visit as a patron or guest, certainly she should have been to each on occasion in her role as Second, but that was not true. Had she been so consumed with her own life at Cereus, first as an adept and then as Second that she had neglected to meet with other leaders of the Night Court. Well, that would need to be resolved, and quickly. Or was it a waste of time?

Vouloir came around the corner taking in the appearance of the Cereus Second. Pale, beautiful, the standard for her House: exhausted, frayed at the ends, the stress she was living with unraveling that beauty before its time. Loir cleared her throat and nodded, “Petrea nó Cereus, the adepts indicated you’d arrived. I am Vouloir, one of the Seconds here at Heliotrope, you may call me Loir. Our Dowayne will see you in her private Salon.”

She led Petrea through the halls towards the back stairs, “We’ve not seen you since the Wedding. How have you been faring?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. What with the new babe, the business of the House…” Petrea trailed off, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Loir pushed open a half-open door and gestured for Petrea to go in ahead of her. She smiled at the other woman and said, “It was wonderful to meet you in person and not at an event. We should become friends if you’re not busy. Our Dowayne will be right in.”

Petrea sat for a moment before she heard Mena in the hallway say, “Make it very clear that he is no longer welcome here.” There was an inaudible response, and Mena made a sound of annoyance. “Yes, I know he won’t take it well, but he’ll have to. I’ve already filed it with the City Guards. Now shoo, I have company.”

Mena came in with a smile, “Petrea, it’s wonderful to see you.” She leaned over and gave Petrea a kiss of greeting. While they did not know each other well, the two had socialized a few times. Petrea held a fondness for Mena and made a mental note to invite Mena to her own home.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Petrea replied. “I was just thinking that I have taken the time to get to know the other Dowaynes and Seconds as well as I should, so this is a wonderful opportunity for me to do that.” She chuckled. “I suppose that I have been overly busy these past months. What with the babe and all.”

Mena nodded with a light chuckle and gestured for Petrea to sit down. “I am sure. Between the surprise child and the other, also unexpected situations, I’ve barely known my head from a melon these last days.”

“As do I. I will admit, I was surprised by your invitation. Pleased, but somewhat surprised.” Petrea sighed, her eyes trailing about the room, her smile rueful. “I confess it is a relief to leave Cereus House, if for only an afternoon. Ever since Patroclus arrived, it has been beyond chaos there.”

Mena laughed. “Babes bring so much chaos for beings so small! Even if we think that we and the House are prepared, we never are. You’re welcome here anytime you need some peace.”

Petrea brushed an errant lock of hair out of her face. She took a small sip of tea before setting the cup down and reaching for a pastry. Her fingers hovered over one, then moved to another, and another, before dropping her hand back into her lap. It appeared almost as though the simple act of choosing a bit of food was too much.

“Our cook makes many of these here so I know which ones are the best,” Mena said as she placed some pieces on Petrea’s plate. “Well, best to me anyway.”

She took a bite of her own favorite, filled with a sweetened and smoothed paste of an imported nut. As she chewed, she watched Petrea. She looked pale and utterly exhausted, which was to be expected since she was a Cereus. What was intriguing to Mena was underlying tension and panic at the corners of her eyes and in her movements. 

“How are you finding him, Patroclus was it? I remember you were very concerned about your Dowayne and the child,” she asked very mildly.

“Oh yes, now that Patroclus has arrived, I realize how…ridiculous perhaps…I was. Those last weeks of Aliks’s laying in were more overwhelming than anything I have ever felt. Especially with her mother present.” Petrea huffed a laugh. “I think between the two of us hovering like haunting ghosts, had Aliks not been ordered to stay abed, she would have fled the House. But, in the end, all was well with the birth.” Petrea shrugged and looked again at the pastries.

Mena laughed quietly. “I think you’ll be readily forgiven. After all, it was a lot to have thrust on you, particularly given the other high-stakes things happening at the same time. And it was the first for either of you.”

She sat quietly for a moment. “Forgive me if I overstep, but you don’t seem happy. Normally births bring so much happiness to the House, along with their chaos, of course. And yet you seem—” She looked Petrea over “—downtrodden is the word that comes to mind. There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Petrea hesitated. She wondered how much she should confide in Mena. She knew that Mena had been thrust into the position of Dowayne unexpectedly. Perhaps she would understand? Petrea cleared her throat and began slowly. “Aliks has taken back some of her work, but the day to day operations still fall to Aimee and me. I think that Aliks believes she is handling many things, but truly she is not. She is signing contracts, yes, but she is merely a signatory. We are asking her to make decisions about household business, but we are carefully phrasing things in such a way that she does not understand that the decision has already been made and that her opinion is meaningless. She is consumed by Patroclus. And, I suppose, as well she should be, as a new mother.” Petrea cleared her throat and met Mena’s gaze. “Mena, I have seen the amount of time and attention he requires. I do not begrudge a child his mother, by any means. But she is exhausted. He keeps her up all hours of the day and night. He needs every moment of her attention. Aimee and I are worried. We are concerned about the number of weeks, nay, months, or even—dare I say, years—that it could take before Aliks is able to return to her full duties.” 

Mena thought for a long minute before speaking. “You are right, it is customary for a new babe to take up all of their parents’ time. Ideally, the parents divide it, though one of their mothers, a sibling, a friend, or even a fellow member of the House, helps them. Normally, I’d say to find her a wet nurse or at least a Novice to help her, but I get the feeling that’s not what’s really bothering you. 

Petrea folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I…if I may confide in you, privately between us.” She hesitated for a long moment. Mena gave her a gentle look, encouraging her to continue. “Mena, I never sought a position in the Night Court. I was content to be an adept, to take patrons, be one of many. But, Aliks has dreamed of being Dowayne for as long as I have known her—since we were but children. And I would do anything for her. And that includes being dragged along to be her Second. And while being Aliks’s Second does not make me terribly unhappy, I do not share her joy of leadership and responsibility. I am fine to stand in her shadow, to handle business behind the scenes while she attends to all of the public functions and handles the public—” Petrea waved her hand in a helpless gesture “—everything else, but that is where it ends for me. When she retires, I have no intention—none—of stepping into her shoes. I will not become Dowayne of Cereus House. I cannot do it. I don’t have the stomach for it.” 

Her face fell then, an air of sadness in her composure. “But I thought we had years. Years to train someone else, years to get the House used to the idea, years before I had to confess this to Aliks…But with the pregnancy and the arrival of Patroculs, I have been thrust into the de facto role I never desired, that was not my choice. I had to tell her. And I think it broke her heart. Elua knows, it broke my heart to tell her. But I had to. Aliks never spoke to me about her desire to have a child with Waldemar. We never discussed what might happen if she did this. What would happen to me. And perhaps it is selfish to ask Aliks to make such decisions based on my, but…is it really so much to ask that she take into consideration the thoughts and feelings of her Second? Of her best friend? Of someone she loves? Of someone whose very position in life could hang in the balance? And…I…I fear that I will be forced to become someone I am not. Something that I am not.” She shook her head. “Aliks is a Dowayne, Mena. I am not.” 

Mena felt her heart sink with Petrea’s words. When the other woman had finished, Mena set her cup down and reached across the table for Petrea’s hands. 

“Oh, my darling. I am so sorry. The things we do in the name of Love.”

“I do love Aliks so. I always have, and I always will. But for that love, I fear I have sacrificed a piece of myself. For her. For her ambitions. And I am lost now.”

Mena squeezed Petrea’s hands, “We know more than most about that sacrifice here. Why don’t you stay a while, talk with my adepts, find comfort and peace with us? Stay and rest your heart with us. I’ll send one of the children over to Cereus to let them know where you are.”

Petrea nodded. “I would appreciate that. You are kind to offer me such.”

“We’re glad to have you. And if you’d like, I can introduce you to our adepts, perhaps—”

Petrea interrupted her in a rush. “Mena, if I tell you something, may I trust that it stays between us? Only us? Please? I find myself feeling I can trust you. That you might understand.”

There was something desperate in Petrea’s eyes, and Mena found herself agreeing immediately. 

“Of course, nothing said here leaves here. “

Petrea could not meet Mena’s gaze as she spoke, her voice no more than a whisper. “I have decided that I will be stepping down after the Longest Night. I will plan the Midwinter Masque and assist Aimee with transition, but come spring, I will no longer be the Second of Cereus House.”

Mena’s eyes widened for a moment before her face softened. “Oh Petrea. You must have been unhappy for so very much longer than this babe and his turmoil.”

“I have thought long about this over many sleepless months.” Tears sprung to Petrea’s eyes, and her voice quivered. “I know that I am throwing a boulder into a pond, and the waves may flood the shores. But, Mena, I must do this, or I fear I will drown.”