Petrea nó Cereus sat at her dressing table and checked her reflection in mirror for the hundredth time. She was determined to look perfect for this evening’s assignation. She adjusted the gem encrusted silver necklace at her throat. The jewelry was a gift from Don Ramiro, the Aragonian Marqués, who was in the City for trade negotiations on behalf of his family. He had contracted her for the night, which would begin with dinner in the City for some type of business and end in her apartments. She had no idea what dinner would entail, but she would bear it for the sake of the rest of the night. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of her last night with Ramiro a year past. Whatever this boring dinner entailed, it would be worth it.
In Dahlia House, the novices flitting around the Second worked very hard to still seem haughty and regal as they finished lacing up her dress and setting her hair. The boy sliding the silver and diamond pins into her dark hair fumbled it, accidentally yanking on a lock of her hair as he tried to save the pin from falling to the ground. He caught it, but was already bracing for the scolding the Second would surely give him for being so clumsy and inelegant over something as simple as a hair pin. But she never moved, sitting perfectly still to let him try again. Her dark eyes were far away, focusing on something across the room and, as he slid the hairpin more surely into her hair, he glanced to see what it was that had so captivated her.
Her chessboard was set on a small table by the tall window, the late afternoon light spilling through the glass and drapes to gleam on the polished wood and ivory pieces. He had seen her at the game in the salon, had often rushed to make sure he was one of the pieces on her side of the board when she took to the grand, life-sized chessboard to play with a patron. The boy didn’t mind only being a pawn when she played, it felt like she knew how to move even the little pawns so they were important.
So he risked, “Who are you playing against, my lady?”
Her head moved and her dark eyes turned to him, appraising him, before Odilia smiled and said, “Myself, I suppose.”
“And who is winning?”
Her smile widened, glittering in her eyes, “Me, of course.”
“Your invitation tonight,” he ventured, toying with the last hairpin as the other novice waited for Odilia to choose her jewelry for the evening. “Is it part of your chess game?”
He had heard whispers, all the novices had, of the grand game that Odilia was playing with the King. Some of the more jealous adepts claimed she was heartless and was only kind to people to use them in her game as she tried to take more power for herself. It wasn’t enough that she had the King’s eye, she also needed to put all of them at risk by bringing the Jucidicary’s attention onto them. And now she flaunted her power with the embargo! But some of the kinder whispers said she genuinely cared for the King and was only trying to use her game and her influence to protect the Night Court and their way of life.
But what everyone agreed on was that she played a bigger chess game than just the grand one in the salon.
Her dark eyes considered the boy, weighing the options of how to answer him, and he refused to fidget, standing tall and proud under her gaze before she rose from her seat before her mirror and gestured him over to the table, saying, “Yes, tonight is part of my chess game. Look.”
She pointed to where one of the pawns from the other side was advancing on the King-side rook, “Here are the other guests tonight – the foreign noble and the Cereus courtesan. He advances on her, trying to woo her to his side as she stays strong to her allegiances and the power she has on our side of the board.”
The boy followed the gesture of her fingers to another set up, the King-side bishop with the Queen-side knight placed defensively in front, “And there is my host and me. The young nobleman with the power of his family behind his name, ready to use as he pleases depending on how he is influenced. And the Dahlia courtesan sliding him closer to the foreign pawn to see that influence used how she wants to affect the knight’s path the way she wants it to go.”
“That’s really how you see the world?”
Odilia gave a small shrug, “It’s the way that makes the most sense. Everybody uses each other to get what they want. At least I don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Then…” the boy hesitated, wondering if he dared to be so bold. He looked up into her expectant eyes as she waited patiently for the rest of his thought. He took the plunge, “May I suggest the pearl and onyx necklace?”
Black and white like her chessboard.
Her smile widened and she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving squeeze, “I think that would be lovely.”
When Odilia nó Dahlia swept down the stairs, several heads turned at the sight. She wore a gown of some exquisite fabric that both clung to her curves and yet rippled like water, light and slithering as it bushed her thighs and followed at her heels in a small train. The warm, deep blue of the fabric made her eyes seem almost black in contrast, and her sleeves were of a loose, floating fabric embroidered with stars and stitched with diamonds to seem like the constellations of the night sky. The string of pearls and onyx around her throat was so long it could be looped about her neck once and still drape nearly to her breasts.
The novice watched from the gallery above, watching the way she seemed to float down the stairs as she reached both hands to greet the young man waiting for her. The nobleman took both of her hands in his and kissed them, saying, “You are a vision, my lady Dahlia. Let all the sailors on the seas tonight set their course by your star.”
She curtseyed, a smooth, silken movement that complimented her low laughter as she said, “And take from Azza his gift of navigation? Not even I am so bold.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Lancelin de Perigeux was a striking young man with strong cheekbones and delicate features. He had the lean muscles of a fencer and moved with the grace of a dancer. His dark hair was a riot of curls that fell artfully into his green-hazel eyes and there was something perpetually mischievous about the curl of his lips. He was a very fine man but that was not what made him so valuable for Odilia. He was the son and heir to the Duchesse Niniane de Perigeux of Siovale. It was her order that began the silver embargo and it would be her order that ended it. Once Odilia had the time to influence those closest to the Duchesse. Lancelin was the pride of Siovale, a brilliantly clever scholar and gifted orator, he was certainly a very advantageous friend to make.
Lancelin offered her his arm to escort her from the house. His carriage was waiting for them, with the crest of Siovale painted on the door. It was a light, fast thing, only enough room for the two of them, open to the sky. And there was no driver. The sentry at the door, wearing the Dahlia livery, opened the door to the carriage easily and helped Odilia into the seat and Lancelin sprang up beside her, sliding soft gloves onto his hands before taking up the reins himself and snapping them briskly over the hindquarters of the prancing grey horse.
“Have you been to the Aviline Club before, Odilia?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“I’m sure I’ll get into some trouble for bringing not one but two ladies to dinner there. It is supposed to be a gentleman’s club. Ladies are not welcome.”
“Surely two Servants of Naamah are, though?”
“We shall see.”
“Regardless of what happens, I am honored by the invitation.”
“Yes,” Lancelin said as the carriage rolled down the hill, away from Mont Nuit, “though you certainly caught my curiosity with this Aragonian man.”
“Do you know him?”
“I have only heard rumors,” Lancelin said, amusement glimmering in his eyes, “and I certainly hope they aren’t all true.”
Odilia laughed lightly and Lancelin’s mouth curled into a smile as the carriage drove on.
Ramiro had clearly spared no expense on either the carriage he hired, nor the bottle of fine Namarre he had drunk in the carriage on the way to the Aviline Club in the Merchant’s District. Petrea had politely sipped a goblet at his insistence, thanking every angel for her strict training at Cereus House that allowed her to drink from stemware in a moving carriage without spilling on her gown. She was immensely relieved when the carriage stopped and Ramiro passed the almost empty bottle to the footman. The Marqués was slightly unsteady on his feet, but composed himself quickly enough to push the footman out of the way and help Petrea out of the carriage himself. As he had been doing during their ride, he cast a hungry gaze down at her.
“Later,” she whispered and patted his cheek. “We have all night. For now, you have important business to attend to, my lord.”
He waved a hand dismissively and winked at her. “This? I will take care of this business quickly. There is a reason that I am here and not my father. This nobleman has no idea who he is dealing with.”
He placed a kiss at her throat and spoke low into her ear. “Don’t worry, mi florecita, I get what I want.”
Petrea cringed inwardly. Lancelin was no fool; the Siovalese nobleman certainly did know who he was dealing with. Ramiro’s arrogance and already tipsy state would not play in his favor and there was a good chance that he was not going to get what he wanted at dinner.
The Club was exquisite, a building of stone foundations and strong wooden supports, with tall windows to enjoy the best views of the river for which it was named. It stood on the edge of the Merchant’s District, the better to see the river without having to endure the slightly seedier reputation of the Harbor District. The attendant at the door gave them a single glance before offering a crisp bow and opening the polished wood door for them with a soft, “My lord, my lady.”
Inside, the entryway was carpeted in a soft green-blue that resembled the shade of the river water and at the center of the hall was a marble fountain with mosaics of fish at the bottom so that the water rippling across them made it seem as though the fish danced underneath the water’s surface. Petrea paused for a moment to marvel at how the mosaic fish seemed to watch her with their tile eyes, flicking their fins at her in curiosity.
“My lord,” the voice of a finely dressed majordomo pulled her attention from her reverie, “My lady. May I have your names for our guest book?”
“This is Petrea nó Cereus, the Second of Cereus House,” Ramiro said, his chest swelling with importance, “And I am Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués de Almazán.”
“Yes,” the majordomo said with a professional smile, “we are expecting you, sir. If you will follow me, please?”
He turned smoothly leaving Ramiro and Petrea little choice but to follow him to the river-side wing of the building and up a little half-flight of stone steps with wave accents carved into the corners to the public salon of the Aviline Club. It was a long, grand room that spanned the width of the building, the outer wall almost entirely windows that opened out to the narrow veranda that had the view of the river. The inner wall was done in simple, tasteful tapestries of rivers and forests to suggest the lush banks of a river. The first half of the salon was done with armchairs and couches for a more casual lounge experience, with bookshelves along the inner corner and plenty of places to sit and read or sit and converse. The back half of the salon, which the majordomo was showing them to, was done for dining with neatly spaced tables and carefully arranged chairs and flatware to catch the sunlight reflecting off the river.
A servant was already waiting with a tray, offering the Aragonian and the courtesan tall aperitif glasses of crisp, sparkling wine.
“I thought we were meeting someone,” Ramiro asked, gesturing blandly to the empty table, “Have we arrived first?”
“No, my lord,” the majordomo said patiently. “The Lord de Perigeux and his companion are on the veranda enjoying the view.”
“Ah, bueno,” Ramiro said. He tucked a lock of Petrea’s hair behind her ear and trailed his fingers down her neck. Sliding his hand down to her waist, he guided her to the veranda. “Let us go get the introductions out of the way.”
Noticing for the first time who Lord de Perigeux was with, Petrea’s stomach knotted. This was not going to be a smooth evening for Ramiro. He would need his wits about him and he did not have them. She prayed to Blessed Elua that this business would be concluded quickly one way or another, as the longer he stayed, the easier it would be for his Aragonian behaviour to be misunderstood. His reputation was on the line tonight, as was her own, and this needed to go well. She considered Odilia a friend, as much as two Seconds could be friends in the Night Court, but she also knew the Dahlia’s reputation. Odilia was clever and cunning, enough to see through Ramiro’s bluster all too easily. Lancelin’s decision to bring her to this dinner was a brilliant one. Ramiro would need to work twice as hard to impress them both.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled sweetly at him. “Come, my lord. Let us begin our dinner.”
At the sound of the voices, the figures on the veranda turned together to greet the new guests. Lancelin glanced only once at Odilia as she made the first move to greet Petrea with a smile, “Petrea, you look lovely, like an exquisite lavender flower kissed by the sun. I’m so delighted to have the chance to see you tonight.”
Petrea accepted Odilia’s kiss of greeting and returned her smile, “Odilia, good evening. Please, may I present Don Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués de Almazán.”
Odilia’s dark eyes slid to the Aragonian man and she dipped him an elegant curtsy, greeting him in Aragonian, “Un placer en conocerse, Señor Marqués.”
Ramiro’s brows lifted at the Aragonian greeting but he took her hand and gave it a courtly kiss with a smug, “El placer es solamente mio, Señora. Mucho gusto.”
“Encantada,” she replied with a smile.
“Petrea, who is your charming friend?” Ramiro affixed his most attractive smirk on his face, “I did not expect to be greeted in my mother language. Her Aragonian is accented, yes, but it only adds to her charm.”
“Don Ramiro,” Petrea said, “may I introduce you to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House.”
“Ah but this is the great Odilia?” His eyebrows lifted further, his eyes immediately dipping to examine her, from the tips of her slippered feet to the diamond pins sparkling in her hair. “Even Aragonia has heard of you, Señora Dalia.”
“I do not doubt you, Señor Marqués,” Odilia said, accepting his compliment with a graceful nod before she effortlessly turned the attention to the other gentleman waiting, saying, “But I am not our generous host for the evening. May I, then, present to you my lord Lancelin de Peregeux, heir to the Duchy of Siovale.”
One would think Lancelin had been Night Court trained by the way one could see nothing in Lancelin’s face of his true thoughts. Petrea was impressed even as she offered him a curtsy.
“Ah,” Ramiro barked a laugh, “Siovale! I understand now. Petrea tells me we are coming to dinner to talk about business, I see now that we will be discussing the silver you refuse to accept from our mines.”
“I am willing to discuss this business with you, Don Ramiro,” Lancelin said with impeccable manners and a scholar’s soft voice, “and let us hope we come to some agreement. I would not wish to waste the ladies’ time and efforts otherwise.”
Petrea hid a wince. Already this was not going well. But she summoned her Cereus smile and gestured back inside to the table waiting for them in the salon, “Shall we sit, then?”
Ramiro settled himself into a seat easily with careless, confident grace, watching as the dark-haired lordling pulled the seat out for the Dahlia courtesan himself, pushing it in for her so she could be settled before he sat himself. Thrown off balance for a moment, Petrea shot a glance at a servant standing nearby who quickly pulled out her chair. With that finished, the servants brought forth the first of the courses for the evening, a thick onion soup in a fragrant wine broth topped with shavings of tangy cheese.
“So what have you D’Angelines been doing without your silver?” Ramiro asked, holding up the spoon for his soup, “Clearly you still have your silverware.”
“Some salons are turning to gold,” Odilia said lightly, “But it is so soft a metal, it can’t endure too much wear. Though, Cereus House just recently hosted a party without a single piece of silver, none on their trays or on their tables or on their adepts either. Cereus House has replaced it with…what was it called, Petrea?”
“Aluminum,” Petrea replied, placing one hand on Ramiro’s arm. “Aliksandria acquired it from the silk dyers. Its appearance is almost identical to silver, but it is lighter.” She gave him a serene smile. “It is fit for purpose, but the quality does not match that of true silver.”
Ramiro kissed her lightly on the cheek. “In that, you are correct. Nothing could match the quality of Aragonian silver. And I would wager that one cannot fashion such fine jewelry from this…aluminum, eh, mi florecita?” he said, giving a long look at her throat.
Petrea placed a hand lightly on her necklace and beamed at him. “My lord was too kind in his gift to me.”
Lancelin cleared his throat pointedly. “It will continue to serve as a suitable replacement as long as necessary,” he said coolly. “The dyers guild may be getting more aluminum orders in the future if we decide not to accept Aragonian silver again.”
The thought that perhaps he would need to put more work in than just preening and posturing was not what Ramiro wanted to hear. He wanted a nice, quick dinner, an easy win because who could resist him? And then he wanted to go back to Cereus House to enjoy Petrea’s charms for the rest of the night.
He considered this through the second course of grilled fish filets in a delicious yellow sauce of saffron, ginger, pepper, and white wine vinegar.
“Of course, what the embargo continues to hurt more than the silver trade,” Lancelin said evenly, slicing through his fish, “is the relationship between Terre D’Ange and Aragonia. As my mother’s duchy borders your country, of course we are interested in preserving a cordial if not friendly connection with our proud neighbor to the south. This embargo makes that more difficult but something must be offered in exchange to persuade us to lift it.”
“But why was it put in place to begin with?” Ramiro gestured broadly with his glass, large drops spilling onto the linen tablecloth. “That is what I still do not understand? We have done nothing to earn the anger of your country so much to block trade like this. We have done nothing wrong, why then should we offer anything in return?”
“We cannot lift the embargo without a clear reason being given,” Lancelin countered. “It would seem to be a petty, childish endeavor and if there is one thing my mother is not, it is childish or petty. She began the embargo, she must be convinced that it is in our best interests to end it.”
This was the larger challenge, Odilia knew. Duchesse Niniane de Perigeux had started the embargo, this was true, but not to punish Aragonia or their silver trade. She had started it at the request of one of her oldest and most powerful friends for purposes that Odilia had yet to puzzle out. One thing she knew for sure was that Roland de Chalasse had not done this for her. No, he had his own plans and his own goals and she was only tolerated at his periphery for the moment. She needed to take some of that power back for herself. Which was why she was working on Lancelin first.
While Petrea had not been in Terre d’Ange for the beginning of the embargo, everything she heard pointed to it being centered on the fight between Odilia and the head of the Silversmith’s Guild. While Petrea had found it difficult to believe that a single woman could be the cause of a nationwide embargo, it was by far not the strangest thing to happen in D’Angeline history.
The discussion continued through the courses of lumps of lobster meat in a savory broth, river pike simmered with pomegranate juice, fat pigeons split between each couple roasted with fresh herbs, red wine, and a dessert of quince cake served with hippocras.
Most nights, the training in propriety and manners Petrea had received at Cereus House came to her as naturally as breathing. Tonight was not most nights. As dinner wore on, Ramiro seemed to grow less and less interested in discussions of trade relations and more and more interested in the wine – and her. For the umpteenth time, she felt his hand creep across her thigh under the table and she almost rolled her eyes. She struggled to maintain her composure as she continued to silently fight him off. She knew from their prior assignation that he was bold, but this was becoming inappropriate. She grasped his hand, perhaps a little too firmly, and removed it from her leg. He took this as an invitation to attempt to pull her hand into his lap. She dug her nails into his palm and snatched her hand back. Dinner was not going well. Well, the food was excellent, she did have to compliment the Club chefs on their fare.
Petrea felt her cheeks burn as Ramiro took the chance while the cake was being served and the hippocras poured to whisper in her ear the things he planned to do once they returned to Cereus House. She prayed to Blessed Elua the light was low enough that Odilia and Lancelin couldn’t tell how red she was or how heavily she was breathing.
“My lord,” she whispered through gritted teeth, “now is not the time to speak of our plans for the rest of the evening. You must conclude your business here first.”
He swore in Aragonian and licked her earlobe before turning back to the table. Odilia raised an eyebrow at her and Petrea gave her a helpless look.
“So, where were we?” Ramiro asked, a touch too loudly.
“I believe my lord de Perigeux was asking you about excise taxes, my lord,” Petrea prompted, grateful he was finally focusing.
Instead of returning to the business at hand as she had hoped, he turned a smoldering gaze on Odilia and put his chin in his hand, quite done with business. “So, you are the famous Odilia, yes? The one who has captured the King. I have enjoyed the First of your Second – no, Second of your First – House, but I would very much love to sample that which pleases royalty.”
Petrea bit down hard on her tongue to keep from laughing aloud at his brash pronouncement. A small sound escaped her lips and she covered it with a cough.
“You know,” he continued, grinning at her, “Petrea and I will be returning to Cereus House after dinner. We would love for you to join us for something more…entertaining than these boring trade negotiations.”
“My lord,” Petrea spoke gently but firmly, “you have not contracted with Odilia for tonight. If you wished for her to join us later, you would have needed to arrange that with her and with Dahlia House ahead of time.
“You’ll have to excuse the Marqués,” she said to Odilia with a politeness honed by years in the Night Court, “this is his first time in Terre D’Ange and our prior engagement was not the traditional assignation arranged through a House.”
“Clearly,” Odilia said in her low, soft voice with the tiniest lift of her dark brows.
Ramiro blinked. Confused, he looked from one woman to the other before drinking down his glass of wine. “You D’Angelines make things so complicated! In Aragonia, if you wish to be with a beautiful woman, you tell her! Why should I not simply invite one beautiful woman to join me with another beautiful woman?”
“Of course you may,” Odilia said, a hint of warm amusement in her voice, “Once such things have been established. This is as yet our first time meeting Don Ramiro. Cereus and Dahlia have different traditions, what woos one will not sway the other.”
He frowned at her.
“In this,” she continued lightly, “I think both nobles and courtesans understand the importance of a good impression.”
Lancelin de Perigeux was too well bred to snort his laughter, but he nevertheless hid the twist of his mouth behind the rim of his goblet. Don Ramiro’s eyes flicked to the younger man and he drew himself up in his chair, defensive and put-upon, managing a crisp, “Claro.”
“If you are to catch my interest,” Odilia said, her dark eyes glinting, “it is unlikely to be in the same way you have won my friend Petrea’s affections. To capture so much of her attentions is no simple feat, Don Ramiro, you have every reason to delight in your time with her. As does she.”
Odilia had caught her blushing, of that Petrea was certain now. She stifled a groan. Dinner was not going well for her, either.
“The most famous of the entertainments at the Dahlia salon is the human-sized chessboard that makes up our ballroom floor,” Odilia continued idly, “I flatter myself to think that I have some skill with the game.”
“It is hardly flattery,” Lancelin said in his soft, cultured voice, “if it is true.”
Odilia gave him a smile from under her lashes, a look that Ramiro wanted her to give to him. Wasn’t he worth her attention? Didn’t he deserve the chance to see what had captivated their young king?
“Then you are challenging me to a game, Doña Dalia?”
Those dark eyes turned to him and there was a glitter of something in their depths that he couldn’t quite define. But Lancelin had seen and he knew what it was; it was a glitter of victory. The Dahlia had gotten him right where she wanted him.
“I would not presume to challenge if you were uninterested,” she said softly.
“I have played the game before,” he said, pride prickling. Now he had something to prove, “I will not be an easy opponent.”
“Then show me,” she murmured, leaning towards him ever so slightly to keep his attention, “Show me how clever a player you are. Let this be the start of our game and let us not rush through to the conclusion. The best games are the ones that draw out the anticipation. Show me here in these opening moves with my lord of Siovale how cunning a chessmaster you are.”
“You would play with politics?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I will win this game,” Ramiro warned her, wagging a finger, “I am very competitive.”
Her smile gleamed in her eyes, molten and confident and coy, “Perhaps.”
Petrea could tell that Ramiro’s head was spinning, caught in the Dahlia’s net, maneuvered so neatly on her chessboard. The Dahlia Second knew what she was about and would be pulling the strings in Aragonia.
“So,” he grinned at Odilia, “you will be coming back to Cereus House after all?”
“My lord,” Petrea put her hand on his and smiled blandly at him. “As I said, if you wish to partake in Odilia’s services, you must formally arrange for them. It is a business agreement. And I believe you and Monsieur de Perigeux are still in the middle of conducting some of your own business? About the silver embargo?”
“Ah, this wretched embargo!” Ramiro’s hand came down sharply on the table, making the plates clatter. “I come here to see why the embargo is happening and all I see is that some petty squabble has spilled across our borders to disrupt my family’s business.”
Odilia’s eyes flicked to the side where she could see the majordomo standing at the door with a look of disapproval on his face. She very much doubted Lancelin would be permitted to invite guests to the club for a while, at least until the memory of this night had faded from the majordomo’s mind. And that might take a while.
“Of course it was not the intention to cause difficulties for your house,” Lancelin said and the courtesans could hear the slightly testy note under his voice. “The embargo was not meant to have such an effect upon your family’s business in particular. I find myself surprised that your family does not have enough silver trade in place elsewhere to cover for the loss of our revenue.”
Petrea watched the way Odilia busied herself with carving a piece of her cake onto her fork to cover the way her brow had lifted and her lips had twisted with amusement at Lancelin’s words. Clearly he was young, but he had learned well from his mother the business of negotiating.
“Of course my family has plenty of other dealings for our silver,” Ramiro argued.
“Then I fail to see why the urgency and desperation in trying to reopen trade, since your family has so many other opportunities.”
“But none come with the same prestige as Terre D’Ange,” Ramiro’s voice took on a vaguely wheedling note, trying to flatter Lancelin’s pride. “It is an honor to provide silver to the great nobles and courts of Terre D’Ange, of course we want that opportunity again.”
Odilia could read in the tilt of Lancelin’s head that he was unconvinced and less than impressed.
“Perhaps a better trade rate could be negotiated with the Duque de Soria,” she suggested lightly, “This is not an issue that can be resolved overnight. Further discussion might be needed between your esteemed parents.”
“Do you suggest that we cannot handle this deal between us, like men?” Ramiro’s voice was too loud and Odilia’s brows rose as she regarded him for a moment.
“Certainly not,” she said softly, evenly, “only that you are proud sons of proud houses and even prouder countries trying to make an agreement in one meeting while you represent these grand powers. No one can work miracles and these things will take time. Like our chess game, Don Ramiro. These are but the opening moves, would you see our game ended so quickly?”
“No,” he subsided, taking another long swallow of the hippocras, “no I would not, you are right, pretty dalia. I forget myself in my excitement.”
“Anyone would,” she said coyly.
“Then let us say these opening moves are finished,” Lancelin said, setting his glass down firmly and shifting his weight forward in his chair to signal that he was about to rise. Odilia read the cue and rose with him, she was his companion for the evening after all, her place was at his side. The Siovalese man looked expectantly down at the Aragonian as the Cereus also rose. “Odilia is right that to finish this too soon would be unsatisfactory to all involved. We have done what we can tonight. The next moves are not ours to make but our Duchesse and Duque, respectively. Only from there may we see how successful this night was. Or not.”
He offered his arm to Odilia and she was already moving with an elegant swish of her skirts to take it, letting him guide her, falling into her place at his side easily. Eager to recover some shred of Ramiro’s honor, Petrea leaned down and began whispering in his ear; he stood up quickly and ushered her towards the door.
As she was working, the majordomo came to meet Lancelin at the door, making no effort to be secretive as he said, “My Lord de Perigeux, we are always delighted to enjoy your presence here at the Aviline Club, it is an honor not quite eclipsed by the presence of the Seconds of Cereus and Dahlia House. However, may I suggest in the future that your Aragonian friend would enjoy the other entertainments that our beautiful City has to offer? The jousting lists, perhaps? Or the Night’s Doorstep taverns.” His eyes flicked to the side where Ramiro stood at the door with Petrea, his hands a little too low on her hips, and the majordomo’s mouth twisted disdainfully, “Or wrestling sailors at the docks.”
Lancelin smiled, a bright and disarming thing on his elfin face, “Forgive my friend, Perrin. He is new to the City and is still enjoying the D’Angeline delights.”
“Clearly,” the majordomo said with a sniff before pasting his professional smile onto his face and saying, “You, of course, are always welcome here, Lord Lancelin. It is a delight, as ever.” He even offered Odilia a slight bow and a polite, “My lady.”
She gave him a courteous curtsy and her secret smile to help smooth some things over for Lancelin before allowing the Siovalese man to guide her away towards the front of the Club, their companions following.
Petrea and Odilia found themselves alone outside the club as their patrons went to fetch the carriages.
“Please accept my apologies for the Marqués’s behavior this evening. He is just passionate and, well, clearly imbibed too much this evening.” Petrea gave Odilia a tight smile. “I fear he may have done more harm than good here.”
“Nonsense,” Odilia returned the smile, “he did exactly what I needed him to do.”
Petrea’s eyebrows lifted, “Oh? What move was this on your chessboard, Odilia?”
“The foreign pawn,” the brunette answered softly, “influences the queen-side knight.”
Petrea’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lancelin?”
“Yes,” Odilia smiled. “In response to Don Ramiro’s display tonight, Lancelin, young and ambitious as he is, will be all the more ready to prove that he is a better heir to his family’s affairs. He is a highly educated man, his family helps to sponsor the university, his mother is a stern and traditional woman. He will be proud of himself for maintaining his composure and will see this as a chance to prove to Ramiro that the D’Angeline way of doing business is much more effective than what they know in Aragonia. He will make the suggestion to his mother, Duchesse Niniane, that they be magnanimous, since it is clear how desperate Aragonia is for us to reopen trade. And since Lancelin wants to prove how well he can play the game too. Through Ramiro, I’ve influenced Lancelin’s next moves, and the embargo is that much closer to ending.”
“We both know that it is not Monsieur de Perigeux who truly controls the embargo; it’s the Duc de Chalasse. I’m aware that you have a close relationship with him and I know you are against this embargo. Do you think your influence is enough to sway him?”
“No,” Odilia said easily, “the Duc de Chalasse is a proud and powerful man. No matter what game he plays with me and no matter what I may seem to be to him, I have no such power over him. Not directly.”
“Directly?”
“I know just what strings to pull to get him to do what I want,” Odilia said with a hint of a smile. “You know I always think four moves ahead.”
“I would love to hear more of this chessboard of yours and who you have placed where. This has been an…interesting evening. We should meet again, perhaps when there aren’t so many distractions at the table.” She smiled wryly.
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” She paused. “If I may, Petrea, I am surprised you put up with Don Ramiro. He is far from the typical patron of Cereus House.”
“Oh quite the opposite. I put up with Cereus House because it gets me Don Ramiro.” Petrea looked at Odilia, a small smile playing on her lips.
The carriages arrived and Ramiro sauntered over to the two women wearing a bold grin. He snatched Petrea about the waist and swung her in a circle, burying his face in her neck.
“Come, mi florecita!” He said, far too loudly before setting her back on her feet. “Dinner is finished! I am taking you back to Cereus House now! Let us see just how sturdy all of your furniture is!”
A lifetime of Night Court training failed spectacularly and Petrea threw back her head and laughed – looking anything but the Second of Cereus House. Catching herself, she turned and bid Odilia a quiet goodnight, attempting to recover some small bit of her dignity. Barely a moment later, Ramiro caught her up in his arms and carried her to the waiting carriage. The look she gave him made it clear that there would be nothing dignified about the rest of that assignation.
In direct contrast to the Aragonian’s exuberance, Lancelin de Perigeux offered a composed hand to Odilia to hand her up to her carriage. He would not be driving her home, it seemed; his attentions would be directed to the majordomo of the Club, attempting to smooth things over for tonight. Nevertheless, he brushed his lips over her knuckles in a courtly kiss, “A delight, Odilia nó Dahlia.”
“An honor, my lord de Perigeux.”
“May I call upon you at the Dahlia House salon sometime soon?”
She looked down at him, this handsome young man with black curls and his green-hazel eyes, a brow lifting, “Oh?”
“I am interested in your chessboard,” he said, a single caress of his first finger to the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. “I would love to see it, and you, in play.”
Her dark eyes hooded ever so slightly even as she let him see the tiniest hitch of her breath at his caress to her skin. And she smiled, “I will look forward to your visit, then.”
A twisting curl of his lips at the corner of his mouth was the only tell he gave for his little victory. But it was enough.
Yes, the chessboard was coming along nicely.