Tag: roleplay

Storyline: Gossip in the Gaming Room

The click of dice and the slap of cards intermingled with the shout of triumphs, groans of defeat, and murmurs of conversation in the palace hall. Nobles young and old gathered around gaming tables to entertain themselves, to gossip and flirt, and to see and be seen in each other’s prestigious company.

A small group sat at a corner table, ostensibly playing a hand of Knave and Fool, but the game had not progressed in hours. Lord Évrard de Bretel absently swirled in wine in his goblet, his eyes scanning the room, searching for something, anything, to hold his attention because his opponent certainly wasn’t. He turned and glanced down at the stack of coins in front of him on the table, then up at the woman who sat across from him. She sighed and gave him a bored look.

“Why are we still sitting here?” she whined. “We aren’t playing and I don’t even like this game! You said we would only be here for a few minutes to mingle and we’ve been here for hours, Évrad! Hours! I’m so bored I could scream.”

Lady Oudine de Fhirze was known as something of beauty, but her pinched brows and angry pout ruined the image she worked so hard to maintain. Oudine was also known well as something of a spoiled brat, an image she need not work to maintain. She came from a family of wealthy vintners in Namarre and her father had doted on her for her entire life, giving her anything and everything she asked for. As a result, she expected everyone else to do the same. She surrounded herself with only the richest and most influential young people in the City – like Évrad and the other young lady who shared their space.

Marion Basilisque was completely oblivious to her friends’ bickering as she sat, her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on a beautiful towheaded woman sitting at a table across the room.

“Isn’t she just the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” she sighed.

“What? Who?” Évrad asked, looking around, completely confused.

“The young Tiberian girl!” She pointed toward the blonde. “The one with the famed golden hair! You know her; she is one who has come to be presented to the King!”

Marion lowered her voice and looked and gave her friends a conspiratorial look. “I have heard about the city that, among the ladies coming here, she could be the most likely to win the King’s hand.”

Oudine rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marion. She’s a senator’s daughter. She’s a commoner. She may be gentle on the eyes, but Queen of Terre d’Ange? What a preposterous notion.” She raised her voice, then continued pertly. “No foreign woman would make a suitable Queen.”

It was no secret that Oudine and her family supported King Gustav taking a D’Angeline bride and Oudine took every opportunity to reinforce this opinion.

“Must you go on like this every single time someone brings up these suitresses? It’s tiring,” Évrad glared at her. He didn’t care much who the King wed, so long as it took plenty of time, giving him much to discuss amongst his friends.

“It’s just not appropriate for all of..” she waved her hand vaguely at the room, “..them to come and parade themselves in front of our king like a bunch of sheep before a shepherd.”

“I don’t know why you care so much. It’s not as though any of this affects you,” Évrad pointed out. He swallowed the wine in his goblet and motioned for a passing servant to bring him another.

Oudine tossed her hair and gave him an arch look. “There’s just no reason for the King to take a foreign bride. There are plenty of perfectly respectable D’Angeline noblewomen who would make far better queens. And it’s not like Terre d’Ange needs alliances. A marriage to some foreign girl would just lead to meddling in D’Angeline affairs by some other country.”

Évrad gave her a wry grin. “Respectable D’Angeline noblewomen, hm? Offering yourself up, Oudine? Think you’d make a good queen, eh?”

Oudine scoffed. “Well, I would certainly be better than what’s coming in from across the borders. Not that I would want to be queen. It’s far too much work. Besides,” she reached across the table and smiled condescendingly at Évrad, “when would I have time for my friends?”

Marion had stopped paying attention as soon as Oudine had begun her rant and gone back to gazing at the Tiberian girl. Marion didn’t particularly like Oudine, but being seen with her opened doors to Marion that might have otherwise been closed. Plus, when Oudine grew tired of fancy clothes and baubles, Marion was all too happy to scoop them up.

Évrad tapped Marion on the hand with a card, grabbing her attention. “So, dear, what is it that you have heard about this Tiberian lovely? Should I go and introduce myself?” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Oh Évrad, you’ve ‘introduced yourself’ to half the men and women in Terre D’Ange. Must you be crossing the borders, too?” Marion giggled. “Besides, I don’t think it would wise to have a liaison with one of the most rakish men in the City of Elua when you have come to be presented to the King as a potential bride.”

Oudine made a disgusted sound.

“Come now Oudine, we’ll go over together. I’ll introduce myself to the young lady; we’ll all go off and you can…entertain her gentlemen escorts.” He winked. “You are so skillful at entertaining the local gentlemen. I’m sure Tiberian men would appreciate those same talents.”

Oudine’s jaw dropped. “Évrad, you pig! How could you suggest such a thing?!” She snapped open her fan and furiously fanned her face.

Évrad turned away from teasing Oudine. He knew he could only push her so far before she would throw a tantrum and ruin the whole afternoon. He didn’t particularly like Oudine, but Marion somehow picked up the best tidbits of gossip and Marion was always tagging along behind Oudine. Why that was, he could not fathom.

“So, Marion, the Tiberian girl?”

“Well, I don’t actually know much about her, but you know I will!”

He gave her a pointed look. “Marion, love, you know I depend on you for my best morsels of information.”

Marion touched his hand. “Oh Évrad, don’t worry. I have much else to tell you.”

“Yes? Well, don’t hold back.”

Her eyes shone with excitement. “When I was last home, my family was housing the Skaldi girl – Gisilia, I think her name is – and her delegation. And Évrad, you won’t believe this – she’s traveling with birds! Birds, Évrad! It’s like something from a carnival!”

“BIRDS?!” Oudine screeched, her voice so loud that several people turned to see what the commotion was. She noticed and cleared her throat before continuing at a more normal, though still high volume. “What is she, a circus performer? Perhaps she’s a falconer? I suppose a falconer would at least be useful. Perhaps she is not here to wed the King, but one of his stablehands?” She laughed loudly at her own joke.

“That’s quite enough, Oudine,” Évrad snapped at her. “You are being cruel and it’s uncalled for.”

“No, I’m not,” she continued primly. “I’m being honest. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, but is afraid to say. We don’t need a foreign queen. We need a D’Angeline queen. Perhaps King Gustav could marry his Dahlia lover, hmm? Has anyone thought of that?”

In fact, many had not only thought of it, they had whispered about it. Many had wondered – and whispered – what would happen to Odilia once the king wed, particularly if he took a foreign queen who was not familiar with D’Angeline ways?

Évrad turned back to Marion, who, as usual, had shrunk into herself when Oudine grew bombastic.

“So, this Skaldi girl, eh?”

Marion immediately perked up. She was a little in love with Évrad and preened at his attention. “Well, aside from her…pets…she is traveling with two quite large, formidable men. They seem to be, perhaps, soldiers of some type? It’s difficult to tell with the Skaldi; the men all look fearsome to me.”

“Savages,” Oudine muttered, sipping her wine.

Marion ignored her and continued. “She seemed kind, I suppose. She was very quiet, very polite. More than anything, though, it felt very much as though she simply did not want to be here. I almost felt sorry for her.”

Oudine opened her mouth to speak but Évrad held up a finger to stop her. “Don’t start, Oudine. We all know how you feel about the Skaldi and how much you would agree that this young lady doesn’t belong here. No need to say it yet again.”

Oudine harrumphed. “Well, at least this whatsername and I can agree on something. Besides, aren’t there Skaldi men who need wives?”

“I’m sure there are many Skaldi men who need wives. I bet you would make a perfect Skaldi bride. After all, you do love draping yourself in fur in the winter,” Évrad countered acidly, then quickly turned his attention back to Marion before Oudine could start ranting again.

“Anything else? You must share everything with me.” His eyes sparkled and her heart melted.

“Um, well,” she tried to think. Évrad loved gossip, so she listened for even the tiniest rumor she could find, just to have an excuse to talk to him.

“Well, as I said, it would appear that she has come at the strong urging of someone else and, if she had her own way, she would have stayed in Skaldia with her, um, animals.” She said the last word quietly, so as not to set Oudine off on another tirade.

“You traveled with her from Camlach, yes? Did you get to know her?” Évrad was greedy for gossip like a child for sweets and Marion was desperate to feed him.

Marion shook her head. “No, I only met up with her for a day or so. I do not think her to be meek, however much she is here against her wishes.”

Her paused and her face suddenly lit up. “Oh! I almost forgot! It is said that she could be the great granddaughter of Waldemar Selig, himself.”

At this Oudine gasped. “Waldemar Selig?” she hissed, leaning towards her friends. “The monster who almost destroyed our country? One of his descendents comes to wed our king?? This is another plot by the Skaldi to rule us!”

Évrad guffawed. “Oh Oudine, the conspiracies you imagine! A young lady, thrice removed from the man, is presented to our king in a legitimate offer of marriage, but it’s not, in truth, an offer of marriage, it’s a secret plot to undermine our government? How? Let me guess,” he sputtered through his laughter, “by birthing a half-Skaldi king? And then what? Marrying him off to another Skaldi girl? Until eventually, the entire D’Angeline royal line is just full Skaldi blood hundreds of years from now?”

Évrad wiped tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. He gave Oudine a sympathetic look.
“Oh, you dear girl. I do wonder sometimes how that mind of yours manages to get you through every day.”

Oudine sputtered. Marion covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

Évrad shook his head and stood up. He brushed off his trousers and straightened his jacket. “Ladies, we have been here far too long. I’m off to Night’s Doorstep, if you’d care to join me.”

Oudine pouted. She hated Night’s Doorstep.

“Night’s Doorstep?” she whined. “Why do we always have to go there? It’s dirty and foul-smelling!”

Marion touched Oudine on the arm gently. She had anticipated this turn of events and planned for it. “Don’t worry Oudine, I have an extra pomander you can use. We can peruse that jewelry stand you loved so much the last time.”

“Oh alright,” she relented. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind some more jewelry. I haven’t bought anything in a few days.”

Marion gave her a bright smile. She loved Night’s Doorstep. Évrad always underestimated the strength of the wine and became more and more affectionate the more he drank. He never seemed to remember anything the next day or, at least, he acted like he didn’t. But Marion remembered.

Évrad clapped his hands. “Let’s not dally, ladies! I’m sure there is someone at The Cockerel who has news of these suitresses! And someone who has that delicious tsingani wine!”

He winked at Marion and held out his hand to her. She blushed as he led her out of the gaming room. Oudine trailed behind them, her grumbles and complaints following the group through the hall.

 

Storyline: Gisila and Her Birds

Gisila sat quietly on a cut log in front of a fire, struggling to enjoy her last night before entering the D’Angeline capital. She wasn’t from the wilds by any means, but she’d never seen this many people in one place. Even at this distance, she thought she could hear a murmur carried on the wind, though that could be just her nerves. So many people gathered together, were any of them going to be friendly? Would she be in danger? When she’d set out, or been sent out as it were, she’d insisted on the smallest number of warriors to accompany her, taking only the two men of the men that guarded her. Not only did she want to be received kindly by the King of the D’Angelines, she was accustomed to largely being left to her own pursuits so she needed the time on the journey to get mentally prepared for what lay before her.

She reached up and touched the feathers on the breast of her pet crow, Agnetta, her fingers looking for the familiar softness. The bird turned and preened a strand of Gisila’s dark hair, the feeling soothing Gisila a bit. Of all her birds, Agnetta was one of the most special. As though they could hear her thoughts, the birds she’d insisted on traveling with stirred in their woven cages, breaking her reverie and stirring her to action. She went to check on them, moving through the motions of their care almost without thought.

There were only three cages attached to the wagon, and they held the birds that Gisila couldn’t stand to leave to the care of others. Two of them held birds that were going to be released as soon as their injuries were healed, but one contained a young magpie that she had found after a storm sitting on her steps. The bird had been so young it didn’t even have the most rudimentary of flight feathers so she’d taken it in. She was worried that it wouldn’t be able to be free or happy so she insisted on taking it. The bird stirred a little under her gentle touch, ate as she handed it food and remembered when she’d left.

“Gisila! You are going as a delegate and potential suitor to the King,” her grandmother Ishild had said sternly, emphasizing her words with thumps of her staff on the wooden floor. “You have to represent us well, girl, leave the birds at home!”

A different woman would’ve immediately bowed to the matriarch’s wishes but despite her quiet nature, Gisila was stubborn. Arguments about her beloved birds were not new.

She spoke firmly and evenly, her quiet voice carrying easily, “I am The Blackbird, not taking them would be dishonest. We are Skaldi, the cold doesn’t care for pleasantries and lies. They should see me for who I am or not see me at all.”

The two women stared at each other silently for a long moment before Ishild nodded and said, “Good, girl. I will pass along to the chief that you will leave in a week.”

“Is it still struggling?” a voice said quietly near her, making her turn head to see Gebhard, the older of her two companions, standing near her. Despite being known as Widowmaker, Gebhard had a gentleness about him that helped put Gisila at ease. He was unmarried and if people whispered that he had a lover in the warriors’ barracks, they were wise enough to do it where he couldn’t hear them.

“Yes, she’s just not doing as well as I wanted. The finches and red-breast will be ready to be free again in a week or so but this little thing,” she furrowed her brow for a moment, “I just am not sure what she’s missing.”

Gebhard nodded, “Companionship maybe?”

Gisila sighed, “You’re likely right. None of us are meant to be alone, are we?”

Storyline: Heliotrope Gossip Regarding the Skaldi

“Have you heard that even the Skaldi are sending a prospect?” the girl whispered, leaning close to her companion while she peeled potatoes. “The Skaldi! As though the King would pick her while he’s got access to an Adept! And a Dahlia at that!”

The other girl opened her mouth to respond, but her thoughts on it were forgotten when hands reached out, catching their ears and giving the upper shell a twist.

“I know that there is no way that novices of my House are speaking in judgement of someone? Let alone someone’s potential love? I know my ears must be deceiving me,” the Dowayne’s voice was low, pitched so only the two girls could hear her, and she was crouched down behind them.

The girl who hadn’t spoken quickly said, “No, my Lady, I’m sorry.”

However, there’s always one with more nerve.

“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard, my Lady Dowayne,” the first girl said, her voice tight. “That’s what everyone is saying.”

Philomena let go of the second girl’s ear and stroked it lightly, signaling that she was not in trouble. The girl reached up and brushed the sore spot before continuing with her kitchen chores. The first girl, Mena noted, was smart enough not to turn around. That was a good sign. The kitchen was still bustling, everyone clearly too busy to eavesdrop. So naturally, everyone was listening.

Naturally.

“Tell me, child, what else is everyone saying?”

The girl took a deep breath, “That a Lady of Camlach’s people escorted them across their land, that the savages-” she broke off with a meep of pain as her ear got twisted further.

“We do not use such language in this House. They are strangers in an unfamiliar land, to be spoken of with compassion and kindness or you will not speak of them, do I make myself clear?” She never raised her voice, but a hush fell over the bustling room, waiting for the girl to make a smart choice.

“Yes my lady.”

“Good, tell me what else ‘everyone’ is saying.”

The collective exhaled as she continued. “The delegation should be in the City within the week. The woman, her name is Gisila, she travels with two warriors, and her two pets.” The girl paused before continuing, “And everyone says it’s silly that people think the King would want anyone else, when he’s got a Dahlia.”

Mena took a deep breath and finally let go of the girl’s ear. It was bright red and had to ache, but the girl made no move to touch it.

“Lady Odilia, if you speak of her, respect her and do it properly.”

The girl nodded.

“Our King has not spoken his preference, do not claim to know his mind or his heart. He entertains whomever he chooses, whenever he chooses, without judgment from us. Our House supports his heart with no reservations. ”

Both novices nodded, and Mena caught a few other people in the kitchen nodding as well.

She stood and caught the eye of her housekeeper. “Please send my coffee and lunch to my office. I think I must offer our Houses hospitality to the incoming guests of the kingdom. Clearly we need a bit more exposure to the outside world.”

Storyline: A Ruined Chessboard

Unfortunately, it was not the Duc L’Envers’ letter that brought the news to Odilia first.

Jocaste was concerned, to put it lightly. She had heard from the novice, Silvere, that a letter had arrived for the Second bearing the seal of the Duc L’Envers. The Duc of Namarre had ever been a constant friend to King Gustav and a warm, welcoming presence for Odilia after the monarch and the Dahlia had begun their affair. Sebastien L’Envers had supported them and helped them as he could. Why should a letter from him cause such a change in her Second?

She scolded herself for not paying more attention to Odilia. The business of the House and the managing of the assignation contracts and the preparations for the Longest Night Masque had taken up enough of her time that she had trusted Odilia to do her job as Second and handle everything else.

“The Second has claimed she was too sick to appear in the salon since before the letter arrived,” the novice said as he set down the afternoon tray. It bore the herbed boar sausage that the Dowayne’s Alban lover had sent to her as a gift and token of his continued affection, paired with a sharp cheese and some fresh late summer berries for her afternoon cravings.

Jocaste frowned. That wasn’t like Odilia. Something was wrong.

“What happened before she fell sick? Did she have an assignation?”

“No,” Silvere said, standing tall with his hands clasped behind him in an easy courtier’s rest, “but she had spent a few evenings in the salon with the prospective guests.”

“Who?”

“I wasn’t in the salon those nights, my lady.  I do not know.”

Jocaste needed to find out whom Odilia had been speaking with and what they had said to so upset her. Jocaste had her own friends spread throughout the city and the country.  She knew what the gossip was; she knew what was happening and what the palace was preparing for; she knew what pressure the world was putting on Gustav’s shoulders. It was too much for one so young, but she had taken heart knowing Odilia was helping him. But there were too many ways for this to go wrong, depending on how her Second had found out that the King would be taking a bride.

No wonder Sebastien L’Envers had written to her.

“Has she been eating?”

“Not the full meals but she hasn’t been starving herself. She’s upset but not self-destructive.”

No, Odilia was many things but self-destructive was not one of them. Jocaste was more concerned that her hurt would result in a bold, dangerous move on that famous chessboard of hers that would destroy what she had worked so hard to build. People were dangerous and unpredictable when they were hurting.

Jocaste rose and said, “I will visit her and see how I can help her.”

Her Second’s behavior was clearly a cry for help, perhaps not how Odilia thought about it, but that was how Jocaste saw it. Odilia was hurting and Jocaste needed to support her, for the good of the House and for the care of her friend.

And it was clear, upon entering the Second’s private chambers, that Odilia needed care. Her bed was unmade, she was but barely dressed in a shift and a robe, her hair unbound. A bottle of wine, mostly empty, dangled from her hand and her slightly puffy eyes were fixed on her chessboard, as though it would have all the answers. She didn’t move when Jocaste entered, the only movement in her was the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed.

Jocaste knew her friend.  She knew Odilia was not a woman possessed of a great temper, but judging by the disarray of the decorative cushions strewn about the room, there was evidence that Odilia had certainly felt something very strongly.

“Odilia,” she said, trying to be both firm to get through to her and also gentle so as not to worsen the situation, “this does not become you.”

Odilia barely blinked, taking another swig from the wine bottle.

Jocaste closed the door quietly behind her, watching her Second and considering how she wanted to handle this. This wasn’t a willful novice that needed a talking to. This wasn’t an adept overwhelmed by a patron and needing grounding. This was her friend and Second, the woman closest to Jocaste and the nearest thing she had to a true equal in Dahlia House. And clearly she was hurting.

She crossed the room slowly, giving Odilia plenty of time to see her and prepare for her presence as Jocaste took the seat on the other side of the chessboard, glancing across the pieces.

“You and I have never sat down to play,” she said lightly. “I genuinely don’t know who would win.”

Odilia’s eyes flicked up to look at her.

“Tell me about this game,” Jocaste murmured, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back, quite comfortable. “Who are your pieces here?”

It took a moment for Odilia to swallow and wet her lips, but finally she spoke, “The King is the King.”

“Of course.”

“The Duc de Chalasse is the queen-side bishop. The queen-side knight is Lancelin de Perigeux. King-side rook is Petrea. One of the pawns is Rosanna.”

Jocaste nodded and asked, “And where are you?”

Odilia’s eyes cut to the side and Jocaste followed them to see the King-side bishop tossed to the floor, discarded and unneeded.

Jocaste sighed, “Oh, Odilia, you know that’s not true.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t fool me, Jocaste. You know as well as I what the city is saying. You know as well as I who is coming to the palace.”

“Yes,” Jocaste nodded, “But none of that means that his heart has changed towards you. None of this means you are cast aside.”

“And why not? Isn’t it clear that I serve at His Majesty’s pleasure? Why should I have expected any better?”

“Why shouldn’t you have?” Jocaste fired back, “Why wouldn’t you have the chance for something more?”

Odilia scoffed.

“Who said these things to you?” Jocaste’s brows pinched in.  “This isn’t like you; that doesn’t sound like you. Who has fed these doubts?”

“What does it matter?” Odilia returned her attention to her chessboard, focusing on the exquisitely carved queen piece sitting so placidly next to the king.

“I want to know who has lied to you.”

“Besides the King?”

Jocaste’s head tilted, “Did you see the letter Sebastien L’Envers sent you?”

Odilia shook her head silently.

“Perhaps read that before you think that His Majesty has abandoned you.”

Jocaste handed it to her and sat back, watching, as Odilia broke the seal open and unfolded the parchment to read it. Her dark eyes scanned the lines on the parchment, reading it twice, before she refolded it.

Jocaste’s brows raised. “Well?”

“He asks me not to interfere.” Odilia’s voice was still dull and flat.

“Anything else?”

“And to trust Gustav,” her lip curled slightly, “and the love he has for me.”

Ah. Jocaste had suspected as much. She regarded Odilia carefully before venturing, “Is that the word he used? Love?”

Something flickered behind Odilia’s eyes and she avoided Jocaste’s gaze as she answered, “Yes.”

“Is that the first time that word has been used?”

Odilia hesitated. “No.”

“Have you used it?”

Odilia pressed her lips together. “No.”

“Have you thought it?”

Odilia didn’t answer.

“Oh, Odilia,” Jocaste sighed. “That makes everything so much more complicated.”

“I know.”

Jocaste sat for some time with Odilia, a silent comfort and presence. She would not advise the other woman unless she was asked to but she could be a friend. Friends were all the more valuable for people like them.

When she did rise to leave, she paused before she went too far, taking up one of the soft blankets on Odilia’s bed and coming back to her Second to wrap her in the warmth. Comfort without touch, support without presumption. It was what she would offer without being specifically asked for help. Draping the blanket across her back, Jocaste smoothed her hands down Odilia’s shoulders, imagining that strength and calm was flowing from her and into her friend. And only then did Jocaste lean down to pick up the discarded bishop piece, pressing it into Odilia’s hand.

“Where you place it and what you do with it is up to you,” she said softly, “but do not do yourself the disservice and the discredit to think you are out of this game. It has changed, but I have never known you to give up. Or to lose. Perhaps all you need to do is change your strategy.”

She leaned down to brush a feather-light kiss to Odilia’s cheek, “Think about it.”

And when the door closed behind her, Odilia was alone again, looking down at the piece in her hand. Weighing her options.

 

Storyline: The L’Envers Letter to the Dahlia

From the desk of His Grace Sebastien L’Envers, Duc of Namarre

Odilia,

I write this letter to you in fear that perhaps the news has reached you through other channels. But I pray to Elua you read this letter with an open heart. You know that I am your friend and I have been a companion of Gustav’s since we were children. I was the one that brought you together and I hope that you will trust me when I say all is not lost for you.

Many of the courtiers, powerful scions of impressive Houses, have been pressuring Gustav to take a wife, to solidify his rule with a queen that will give him an heir. Things moved too quickly for me to delay and they are coming here, to the City of Elua, women from across our country and beyond, all coming to try to catch his eye.

Odilia, I’m sorry. I know that this will hurt you to see him courted by these daughters of great and powerful kingdoms. But please, please don’t interfere. We must not give the traditionalists like the Duc de Chalasse reason to move against us. You must trust that I will do what I can for you and Gustav, but you mustn’t be here in the palace. International politics are delicate matters and I can only do what I can when I know that you aren’t working against me. I remember that night in the Dahlia Salon when I faced you on your grand chessboard, I remember how formidable you were.

Odilia, please. Please don’t do anything rash. I know you have a heart and I know it might be hurting, but you must trust me.

Or if you don’t trust me, trust him. Trust him and the love he has for you.

Signed,
S

Storyline: A Discussion in the Garden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is this young woman?” Petrea asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aurea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marco thought for a moment.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: A Chance Encounter Not by Chance

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He winked suggestively.

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

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

He licked his lips lasciviously.

Marco chuckled. “Hungry, Ramiro?”

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

The two roared with laughter.

Aliks cleared her throat loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

Aliks clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

Her plan had failed. Spectacularly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: Stitching a Scandal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phallus

Naamah’s Pearl

Storyline: Petrea’s First Night at Cereus House

The room was too warm and the night dress too tight. Petrea tugged at her neck and flopped on her back, sighing. It was her first night at Cereus House, her first night of her new life, and she hated it. Her parents promised joining the Night Court would be a better life than what they could provide, but what could be better than home? Petrea loved the thatched roof of their tiny house and she didn’t care that it leaked in the rain. She loved curling up in her blankets next to the fire on cold nights and she didn’t care that she woke up shivering when the fire went out. But she knew that Mother cared. Petrea saw the tears in mother’s eyes as she counted the meager coins to take to market, though she knew mother tried to hide them.

So when the Priest of Elua had suggested to Mother and Father that their daughter could improve her lot in life – and provide a tidy sum for them – by joining Cereus House, Petrea reluctantly agreed. The Priest explained that she would move to the City of Elua and live in the palatial Cereus House, learning the skills of a fine courtesan, making her marque, and earning enough money to live as a fine lady. The sum that her parents would receive from Cereus House would be enough to help them buy a new house and start a small farm. And more than living a luxurious life herself, Petrea wanted her parents to be comfortable.

So, she went with her parents and the priest to the fine City of Elua and rode in a carriage up Mont Nuit to the fine Cereus House. She was ushered into a fine salon, where her parents made arrangements with the Dowayne, a tall woman with pale blonde hair and sharp hazel eyes. She was permitted to say goodbye briefly; Mother and Father promised to write; they did not promise to visit. Petrea took note of this. And then it was done. They were gone, along with her entire life.

Petrea sighed again and pulled at the tangled night dress. She threw off the thick covers. Unfamiliar though everything was, the night dress was soft and smooth, and the mattress thick. She looked around the room, lit by the huge fireplace. Tapestries hung on every wall and a plush rug covered the stone floor. Petrea had never seen tapestries or rugs before; the floor of her house had been dirt. Her eyes fell on the clothes she had been given, draped over the chaise.

The dress was fine velvet, trimmed with silk ribbons, the slippers satin. She didn’t know such fine fabrics existed. The undergarments had felt odd – almost slippery – against her, after a childhood spent in rough spun wool. Everything was just…strange and she longed for home, for something, anything familiar.

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Petrea rolled onto her belly and began to cry. She sobbed desperately, silently pleading with every angel to take her away from this place, to take her home.

She was so consumed by grief that she didn’t notice as someone sat down beside her on the bed.

“You have to stop crying. You will wake everyone up.”

Petrea startled at the voice and sat upright. A young girl, about a year or so younger than she, sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her.

“Wh- what did you say?” Petrea wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

The girl made a sound of distaste and shook her head. “Don’t do that either. It will make your eyes and nose even redder. And that’s not attractive.” She said the last word like it was the most important word in the world.

Petrea blinked at her. “I’m sorry, who are you? And why are you sitting on my bed?”

The girl smiled. “I am Aliksandria. I have the bed next to you.” She gestured to the bed to the left. “You woke me up, so I thought I’d check on you, see what was wrong with you and if I could help.”

Petrea gave her a puzzled look. “Help me? How are you going to help me?”

Aliksandria looked her over. “My first piece of advice to you: do not cry; it makes you look weak. One thing Servants of Naamah are not is weak. Certainly not those of Cereus House.”

“I miss my home and my parents. I don’t know if coming here was the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aliksandia incredulously. “We are going to be Servants of Naamah! What could possibly be better than that?”

“You don’t miss your family and home?” Petrea asked, confused.

“Of course not. My parents live here on Mont Nuit, though not in Cereus house, but this,” she gestured about the room, “is my home. One day I’m going to be a Dowayne like my grandmother was.”

“Your grandmother was a Dowayne?” Petrea asked, finding the idea of a grandmother living in a place like this odd.

“She was, but she died when I was a baby. So, what do you want to do with your life?”

Petrea blinked at her. She didn’t know what else to do. This conversation was difficult to follow.

“I suppose I never thought about it.”

Aliksandria frowned at her briefly, then began speaking again. “I’m eleven and I’ve been here a year. How old are you?”

“I’m twelve.”

Aliksandria tapped her chin. “Hmm…that could work.”

“What could work?”

“I’ve decided we should be best friends. I think it would be beneficial to both of us. You’re new and need someone to show you around. And I need a best friend. You should call me Aliks. I would like my friends to call me that.” She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Petrea’s mind reeled from this conversation, or rather, monologue. But she had never had a best friend and the idea was appealing, so why not?

“Um, alright…Aliks.” She smiled.

Aliks nodded and jumped off the bed. She crawled into her own bed and looked over at her new best friend.

“You know, every Dowayne needs a good Second.”

Storyline: Influencing the Duc

“This is perfectly quaint, Odilia. I hardly expected it of you.”

“Unlike some, Your Grace, I do not need to make grand entrances at the theatre to enjoy time with a patron.”

He inclined his silver head to accept her point, even as she offered a wry smile. They sat in her private salon, so different from the Grand Salon downstairs and so different from the Dowayne’s Salon at the other end of the wing. This was as simple a room as could be managed in the Night Court. The drapes were of fine quality, but of a single color, no grand damask or patterned velvet; the furniture was sturdy, heavy dark wood with simple designs carved into the legs and arms. The only touches of real finery were embroidered cushions and baubles he suspected were patron gifts, not her choice at all. But she displayed them tastefully about the chamber.

“Besides,” she said, pouring the steaming herbal infusion from the simple ceramic jug; it smelled of strawberries and roses and orange blossoms, “I wished to speak with you.”

“In regards to?”

“The embargo you placed on the silver trade,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely as she handed him the painted glass cup that held the steaming drink.

“The Duchesse de Perigeux is the one who closed her borders to the silver trade,” Roland said, not even blinking. “Siovale is the one stopping trade, not I.”

“But who gave her the idea?” Odilia stirred a bare spoonful of honey into her steaming cup, “Who could have written a letter to an old friend catching her up on the events of the city and perhaps suggesting that the arrogant peasant be put in his place? Who was ever so conveniently right here when the drama began to unfold and who has enough political power to arrange something like an embargo at a moment’s notice?”

Her head tilted slightly, “Please do give me some credit.”

“What purpose would I have to do this,” he asked lightly, “if it were true?”

“I’m sure you had several reasons of your own,” she replied just as lightly, “and I am not so self-centered as to think you did any of it for me. Perhaps it benefits you to make it seem so to those who are watching these events unfold, but I do not flatter myself to think that I would have so much sway over you. But you have your reasons I am sure. Just as I have my reasons for asking you to lift it.”

“Is that so?” He took a sip from his cup and set it down on her round table. “Well, you are quite right there, little Dahlia, that I have no reason to do anything you ask of me.”

“Oh I know,” she had the audacity to smile at him. “I know that I have no such influence over you.”

The door to her solar opened and Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian entered in a swirl of pink skirts saying, “Oh, Odilia, I was so glad to get your invitation for this afternoon and-”

Her eyes widened at the sight of the man seated at the table and she let out a delighted little squeal. “Grand-père!”

He rose, “Rosanna, darling.”

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and letting him kiss her hair before she untangled herself and reached for her friend’s hand. “Oh, Odilia, what a lovely surprise! How sweet of you!”

Odilia smiled and accepted Rosanna’s kiss on her cheek. “I know how fond he is of you, Rosanna. I thought the least we could do was share an afternoon together.”

She gestured to the extra seat. “Please, sit. We were just chatting before you arrived.”

“Oh?” Rosanna flounced herself down into her seat. “Chatting about what?”

“The silver embargo,” Odilia said lightly, pouring Rosanna some of the steeped infusion.

“Oh, yes,” the petite redhead said vehemently. “It’s the least the Halceaux man deserves, questioning us the way he did. I hope he’s suffering.”

“The luncheon table is hardly the most appropriate place for your claws, little cat,” Roland said to his granddaughter and she huffed.

“Regardless,” Odilia said absently, “I did hear some gossip from Cereus the other day.”

“Did you?” There were few things Rosanna loved more than some good gossip. “Well, I’m listening!”

Odilia smiled, “Petrea has been hosting a new patron herself recently. An Aragonian nobleman come all the way to the City of Elua on business.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja,” Odilia recited, enjoying the beautiful liquid sounds of his name rolling off her tongue.

Rosanna shivered in spite of herself, “Well, does the face match the name?”

“I don’t know,” Odilia said airily. “He hasn’t visited me personally, but I would imagine so if he could so captivate Petrea and claim so much of her time.”

“Or he has very deep pockets,” Rosanna laughed.

“Ah, well, I’m not so sure his pockets are as deep as they used to be,” Odilia said archly, her brows lifting. “After all, his family owns quite a few of the Aragonian silver mines.”

“Ahhhhh,” Rosanna put the pieces together, “so he’s come to see what’s going on. And then, when he heard, he went to Cereus House, to the contact he already has, to see what can be done.”

“He might have saved himself half the trip if he had only crossed the mountains and remained in Siovale to petition the Duchesse de Perigeux,” Odilia said, “since it was her borders that were closed to the silver trade.”

“No, it made sense for him to come here,” Rosanna disagreed. “Since the Judiciary mess was so important to the embargo, he needed to come here to get a lay of the land and see where things stood within the city so he could plan the best way to approach Her Grace.”

“Don Ramiro is also a shameless flirt,” Roland said easily. “I’m sure he relished the chance to enjoy both business and pleasure while he was here.”

“As though you have ever denied yourself the same chance,” Rosanna teased her grandfather.

“Did I say it was a failing of his?” Roland smiled at her. “Not at all. I quite respect it.”

“We shall have to wait and see how persuasive he will be,” Odilia said, choosing a ripe strawberry from the crystal fruit dish, feeling the Duc de Chalasse’s eyes on her as she took a bite of the fruit, relishing the tart sweetness of the berry on her tongue and on her lips. “I don’t know how much longer the Silversmith Guild will be able to survive an embargo.”

“Well, the bastard shouldn’t have let his personal grudge get out of control,” Rosanna said vehemently. “He deserves what he got.”

“Perhaps,” Odilia allowed, “but he is not the only one who is affected by the embargo. The other members of his Guild also have families they need to provide for. Are they to be punished as well for the actions of their Guild leader? What about their children that need food and clothing?”

“How sentimental of you, little Dahlia,” Roland said idly.

Rosanna frowned. “No, no, she has a point, Grand-père. As much as I want that pompous, arrogant ba-” she paused, as not to use foul language a second time. “Arrogant man to suffer forever for what he put Odilia and the rest of us through. It was just his grudge. Even if the embargo humbles him, what will the cost be for the rest of the silversmiths that had nothing to do with his motion?”

Her face screwed up, “But he can’t get away with it either!”

“The embargo has been going on for months,” Roland pointed out. “I highly doubt he will consider months of no silver and no work as ‘getting away with it’, my dear.”

“An embargo is such a big, public gesture,” Odilia said with the tiniest wrinkle of her nose, “surely, there are more subtle and elegant ways to make it clear our displeasure with him without resorting to something so large.”

“I have heard that Cereus House has banished the silver from their table,” Rosanna said, “They’ve replaced it with gold and I’ve heard that Aliksandria has put in a grand order for aluminum with the Dyers Guild.”

“I have also noticed fewer silver jewelry pieces in the Dahlia salon,” Odilia mused. “Everyone has been wearing much more gold or bronze. It seems that silver has fallen out of fashion.”

“Well, that’s all we need,” Rosanna said, perking up. “If it’s out of fashion, then let the embargo end and let them get their ore again. No one who is on our side will be caught in silver! What a way for us to know who is on our side or not!”

“Now, that’s an idea,” Odilia said, swirling the dregs in her cup. “What do you think, Your Grace? What would be the opinion of the other nobles about such an action?”

Roland looked at her, into her clever eyes, and had to suppress a small smile, “I think that the nobles are ever looking for their next amusement, little Dahlia. And I am sure this will entertain plenty of them.”

“We’ll have to tell Aliksandria, of course,” Rosanna said. “Since we got the idea from her. I’m sure I can convince the other Dowaynes, if they need much convincing at all. Who would have thought that one little metal could become such a political statement!”

“The embargo hasn’t been ended yet,” Odilia reminded her friend. “We can’t do anything with the guild in a stranglehold as it is now.”

“That’s easily fixed,” Rosanna waved the concern away. “Grand-père, you are friends with Duchesse Niniane, aren’t you? You could easily write her a letter to convince her to listen to Don Ramiro’s request to end the embargo and open the silver trade again. Then once she does, because of course she will, no one can refuse you, then we can set about making it clear that just because he has his silver trade back doesn’t mean Halceaux is in any way forgiven for what he has done.”

“I could easily do that,” Roland said slowly. “Are you asking me to, Rosanna?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Now that we have a plan, I think it can be ended.”

“Very well,” Roland said, pushing himself slowly to his feet and looking down, not at his granddaughter, but at the Dahlia that had arranged this so neatly. “Excuse me, then, ladies. I have a letter to write.”

She let him see it for just a moment. No more than a flash, but it was there in her eyes all the same. Triumph. She had won this round and they both knew it. He bowed to them both and showed himself out of her salon. And Odilia hid her smile behind her cup as she finished her drink and set the painted glass down on the table.

“You didn’t have to do it like this,” Rosanna said after a long moment.

“Do what?” Odilia asked it absently as she rose to cross to the sideboard with the decanter of apple brandy.

“You didn’t just invite me here to have a conversation with my grandfather.”

“That’s exactly what I did.”

“Odilia, please.”

The Dahlia turned to look down at the seated Valerian, who continued quietly, “You could have just asked.”

“Really?” Odilia poured two glasses of the brandy and returned to the table to set one down in front of Rosanna, “And if I had – if I had asked you to use your influence over your grandfather to have him remove the embargo on silver that he put into place to punish an upstart peasant that challenged both the Night Court’s power and your friend’s position – would you have agreed?”

Rosanna pressed her lips together before admitting, “No.”

“Mmm,” Odilia hummed, nodding. “So I had to convince you, convince you both, that the embargo was not the way to punish him, that there were other options once it is lifted to satisfy both your revenge and his old-fashioned classicism.”

“And you couldn’t persuade him to do it yourself,” Rosanna said, “Because you knew you didn’t have the same influence over him as I did.”

“You’re his favorite granddaughter, Rose,” Odilia said, crossing to her personal chessboard. “He’d do almost anything you asked him to do.”

She picked up the queen-side bishop and set it down next to a pawn, “And so the pawn dictates the bishop’s next move.”

“You used me.”

“I use everyone.”

“Yes,” Rosanna said, “and that’s why I’m your only real friend.”

Odilia turned to look at her, dark eyes meeting hazel, acknowledging the truth of that for a moment. It wasn’t wrong, but it was unusually cold of Rosanna to say it so blankly. Perhaps she was genuinely hurt by Odilia’s maneuvering this time.

“And,” Rosanna continued, getting to her feet, “It’s one of the reasons he likes you.”

Odilia’s brow lifted as she smiled, “Oh?”

Rosanna nodded. “Mmhmm, I can tell.”

She came to join Odilia at the board, looking down at the setup. “Which piece are you?”

Odilia tapped it. “The king-side bishop. Close enough to advise, powerful, but still limited in how I can move.”

“Grand-père?”

“Queen-side bishop. Not as close to the throne, a powerful player of his own with less clear ties to the crown, but still very much on our side.”

“And me?”

“Queen-side pawn,” Odilia said, picking it up. “Able to direct the other, more powerful pieces with your position, and easily overlooked and underestimated when the enemy focuses on the bigger pieces behind you.”

“And who is the enemy of this game?”

“I don’t know yet.” She set the pawn down. “Perhaps its no one. Perhaps I’m just playing against Fate. Perhaps its just the game of Life.”

“We’ve done well thus far,” Rosanna said, clinking her glass against Odilia’s. “Let’s keep playing and see what happens.”