Tag: Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian

A Kiss of Power – Part II

A passing adept, a young man with golden hair and a mask to match, presented them with a tray of sparkling wine. Ever the hostess, and holy servant in her own right, Rosanna gestured to her guests first. Only after they made a choice did she take a glass for herself. “Will you be attending the prayer service and Showing to follow? We are presenting two of our finest in this year’s graduating class to begin their service to Naamah.”

Would the Dauphin take the opportunity? Not all who attended the party would watch or place wagers for the honor of fulfilling the first assignation of a newly minted courtesan. With so much to do, it was not required, but those who did were included in a great honor as well as a rare display of Mont Nuit’s finest connoisseurs of the sharp pleasures. There was a reason this holiday was so closely guarded, part of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers they might be, but every Valerian and Mandrake knew they…stood out. Not all D’Angelines understood them, and that was all well and good, they did not need to. However, power was power which took many forms. Perhaps the King-to-be would discover something useful this night. That was the purpose of his visit after all, and Rosanna would ensure he had every chance to experience whatever he wished. 

Lord Garnet attempted to keep his face blank, then remembered he did not need to underneath his mask. When last he had stepped foot in Valerian House, it was for a Showing, too. He hadn’t known what to do, not wanting to disrespect the canon of the House, but he had not enjoyed the Valerian adept’s cries of pain as the Mandrake had flogged him. And the Mandrake…the bright smile on her face as she had given the pain was one he had tried very hard to forget. He wasn’t made for these Houses, no matter how his Lady Sapphire insisted he needed to learn how their kind of power dynamics worked so he could better accept the service of his people.

“I do not think we will participate in the prayers,” Lady Sapphire said evenly, surveying the golden-haired Valerian with a cool eye as she accepted her drink before turning her attention back to the russet-red of the masked Dowayne. “But I am quite looking forward to the Showing afterward. Which of Mandrake’s finest will be assisting in demonstrating their yielding skills?”

“That pleases me greatly,” the Dowayne replied before sipping at her bubbling wine. Her red lips wrapped almost sinfully around the fine crystal as if by second nature. “As to the Showing, a very talented courtesan will have the honor. Ives nó Mandrake will be providing his services.”

Not only was he Rosanna’s own preferred Showing partner, but he was also a dear friend. Tonight was not for them, however. She would facilitate the premier and Showing, he would make a marvelous display of skill, and her new adepts would shine all the brighter. 

“I look forward to seeing how he will encourage his Valerian to offer the very best of themselves for display,” Lady Sapphire said. Because that was really what a Mandrake-Valerian showing did best; a good Mandrake knew all the right ways to play the Valerian until they were glowing with the unique beauty of their pain-pleasure and danced along the edge of great Kushiel’s agony itself. 

Ah, there it was. Understanding. Now the pair before her made sense, at least to her unique position in the world. Odilia, even without her guise tonight, knew just what made the tug and pull of dominance and submission elevate beyond what the untrained eye could see. Oh, she did like this Dahlia, she did very much. 

Lady Sapphire gestured with one elegant hand, saying, “But I understand three new adepts are debuting tonight. While my lord and I will not join in the bidding for their virgin-price, I would like to see them. Will you give us a tour of the public rooms open for the fête tonight?”

“I would be delighted. Please, follow me, they are not far.” 

When she turned, it was clear that her finished marque was not on display. Not tonight, not when the evening was celebrating the new members of her House, she would not be taking any lover of her own this evening. Instead, she devoted herself to the praise of Mara, Naamah, and Kushiel, and excitedly looked forward to the debuts on schedule. 

Through the guests, she led the pair, rubies gleaming on her throat and golden chain hanging in hand. It was not a crushing press of a crowd, not everyone in Terre d’Ange understood the particular gifts of Valerian and Mandrake Houses, and those that did were on a short list—many of them Kusheline. Though not all. As they walked, they saw a lord wearing a bronze mask like a priest of Kushiel and with blue-black Shahrizai hair speaking with a distinctly non-Kusheline lord. The second lord was smaller, lithe, dressed in black, with a grey mask that complimented the silver of his hair. He certainly stood out among the black and red of the salon’s decorations.

Beyond the main salon were the public rooms, upstairs and down the quarters and dungeons, and towards the back and near the garden, still sleeping in winter, was the space set aside for special occasions. A small stage was in the center of the round room so that spectators might watch from every angle. Any manner of furniture could be brought onto the dais or hung from the ceiling. On the far most wall was a tall cabinet and shelves, holding every sort of aide de amor imaginable. The entire space was elegantly decorated in scarlet, black, and gold, and already scented with cinnamon, lit with fanciful lamps, and softened with a great many velvet pillows.

Nearby was a curtain, behind which whispered voices could be heard. Shadows of three individuals could be seen through the somewhat opaque fabric. They went silent when it was clear they were not alone any longer.

“Worry not, my dears, I am only escorting some of our honored guests to meet you. Come out now,” Rosanna called, and the two instantly obeyed. Moving with so much grace, eyes averted, hands gently held before them, the debuting adepts were both dressed in fine white, virginal silk with black collars at their throats. No lead though, for they would attain that when their first patron would win them. “Lady Sapphire and Lord Garnet asked to meet you.”

Together the two made honors toward the couple, moving in perfect tandem. A whispered welcome was spoken all as one, two voices resonating perfectly. Rosanna watched with pride in her eyes.

Lady Sapphire pulled Lord Garnet firmly with her to approach the debuting adepts, her brown eyes studying the details of the two of them, while his blue eyes focused on her alone. She turned her head to murmur to her companion. “This is why I have brought you with me tonight, my lord; so that you may hear for yourself how these young adepts view the concept of service.”

She turned her eyes back to them and, feeling the weight of her gaze, both shivered slightly. She commanded them, “You are prepared to offer yourselves to sacred service tonight. What does your House teach you about what it means to serve? Answer me.”

The more timid of the two spoke, his breath trembling at the command in her voice, “W-we are taught it is a gift, my lady.”

“A gift?” Her dark hair rippled as her head tilted with the leading question. 

“Yes,” the second debuting adept said with a nod. “While we offer our bodies and accept pain with our pleasure, it is a gift to offer ourselves so deeply and fully to our patrons.”

“Not everyone understands the place that pain has in pleasure,” Lady Sapphire said as she paced a slow circle around the new adepts. “How can you discern who understands the value of your gift and who only seeks to slake their cruelty?”

“We…we have to learn to feel when the lash is wielded with love, my lady,” the second answered again. She dared to lift her eyes to glance at the woman in rippling blue silk and, for that, Lady Sapphire paused before her. She never touched the girl, but held her gaze with complete and controlled composure. 

“And how do you know,” Lady Sapphire asked softly, “when the patron you are serving is worthy of your fullest submission?” 

The young adept gripped her hands tighter together and whispered, “Because…because they care. They care about us, in the pain and afterward.”

Lady Sapphire hummed, her lashes lowering as she considered this before turning away without another word to the adepts to rejoin her companion, murmuring to him, “Much to consider, don’t you think?”

He nodded slowly. 

“Very well done, dear ones,” Rosanna praised the two. Coming forward, she pressed a kiss to each of their worried brows, soothing away the shivers, and helping ground them once again. Only when they had returned to a state of calm did she walk them back to their safety behind the curtain. For their passing of the Dahia’s questions they would receive something nice as a reward, extra dessert or some such thing. After ensuring her adepts were properly cared for, she returned to her guests. 

“Have you found the answers you sought?” She inquired as she rejoined them at the far side of the room. 

Lord Garnet, still reluctant to speak and reveal himself, pressed his lips together. Lady Sapphire tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, beginning to draw him away as she said, “Much to consider, like I said. Do enjoy the rest of your celebrations, we will not take any more of your time. There are surely many things that require your attention now.”

Outside, a clock struck the hour, a low note that hung in the air, not ominously but in anticipation. Soon the highlight of the evening would commence. Something Rosanna herself needed to be prepared to introduce and facilitate. By now surely Ives would be looking for her to begin the preparations for the night’s prayers, Showing, the bidding, and all that would go on until the final guest left. 

She stood watching the couple withdraw to make space for the final preparations for the prayer service, and did not hear the cat-silent steps approaching her until the voice spoke, “There is a rumor, you know.”

Rosanna startled, her hand flying to her chest as she bit back the squeaking gasp of surprise, spinning to glare at her usual Showing partner, Ives nó Mandrake. A tall, well-formed man, with sable hair that just brushed his shoulders and fell into his icy-blue eyes, he was dressed in red with accents of black leather, his arms left bare, and his robe loose—ready to be slipped off to bare his marque when the Showing began. She scowled at him, seeing the way he dangled the information before her, teasing her with it as he looked almost innocently after the couple that had just left. 

Finally, Rosanna took the bait, she couldn’t help it. “What rumor?”

He smirked in his victory, before his brows arched, and he said, “The whispers in Mandrake House say that there was a time where our previous Dowayne went to visit Dahlia House. I don’t know why, and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it is said his eye was caught by the novice that served the wine for his visit.”

He enjoyed drawing it out, finally purring, “It is said that he offered to buy her marque on the spot. He revealed too much of his hand, of course, and Dahlia naturally refused, but still…it is curious. Had he succeeded…could you imagine?”

Rosanna bit her lip, glancing back the way Gustav de la Courcel had gone with Odilia nó Dahlia on his arm. She had seen the way the Dahlia had moved through the salon here, seen the way she circled the debuting adepts, felt for herself the weight of her gaze when she had met those eyes. 

Yes, surely it was for the best that Odilia had remained at Dahlia House. Whatever storm was on the horizon with those two, it would only be worse if she had the deep purple mandrake flowers inked into her skin instead of the dahlia. 

But Ives was still right—it was curious.

A Kiss of Power – Part I

While most of the grand manors which occupied Mont Nuit relaxed once more after the horologist called the dawn after the Longest Night, two barely slept and were propelled into the second most important holy day of the year. For them, at least. 

A pair of months apart from the Longest Night, the Houses of Valerian and Mandrake were unique in celebrating Mara’s Eve. The former perhaps with more pomp and circumstance than the latter. Not for any lack of care, but Valerian House always hosted and marked the occasion with a graduation of great importance. 

Rosanna remembered her own debut some years ago. Only the most talented Valerian adepts were permitted to make their first assignations on this most revered of days. The night before was spent in prayer, meditation, and worship to the first anguisette, Mara, daughter of Naamah Herself. No matter if one did not hold the mote in one’s eye as She had, all who lived in this House walked in Her footsteps. Incense and offerings of fruit were made to those angelic deities, as well as to Kushiel, who bestowed His mark upon those He deemed worthy and necessary to fulfill His will. Not so long ago, one such chosen had visited this very House, though she was not part of it. She was someone Rosanna had always admired, having read her life story so many times now. 

Making this night a memorable one was no small necessity; Her first Mara’s Eve as Dowayne, 

Tryphosa’s first as Second. 

“We have received an unusual letter,” Tryphosa said as she entered the elegant office. Seated at the desk, Rosanna looked up from the final entertainment schedule with a curious look on her face.

“How so?”

“It is from Dahlia House.”

Quickly breaking the gold wax seal, the new Dowayne read through the elegant script with great speed and interest. Thank goodness she was already seated, handling the request within the missive would have resulted in her falling into a chair without much grace otherwise. Something her friend noted instantly. 

“What does it say? They never write to us,” Tryphosa asked. 

“Odilia nó Dahlia wishes to know if she could attend our Mara’s Eve fête…with the Dauphin.”

Tryphosa did hit the chair cushion rather abruptly now. Staring at one another in both shock and barely restrained excitement, the two read over the letter once again. It had been a generation since a member of the royal family had visited Valerian House. Not since King Imriel. To host a future monarch would be the sweetened topping to an already auspicious occasion. 

“This feels like the hands of the angels presenting us with a blessed opportunity,” Rosanna said to her Second. “Odilia is a rising star amongst Mont Nuit and the Dauphin. He is said to be quite enamored of her.” Scanning the letter, she could not ignore the request for secrecy. No one could know that the future King was in attendance, as his courtesan sponsor explained, she meant to introduce him to the various power dynamics to be found throughout his kingdom. While his being present under her roof would be a great honor, it would have to be a secret one. No preening to the other Dowaynes that he had graced her House. But a blessing was a blessing, no matter how it came packaged. 

“What do you mean to do to hide him?” Tryphosa inquired. 

For a moment, Rosanna thought over the plans already made, the food and drink already ordered, the Showings and music and other sensual entertainments she had worked so hard to arrange. Months of planning were scattered over her rosewood desk. As were some odd remnants from the previous holy celebration. 

A smile appeared on her pink lips. “We will make our Mara’s Eve a masked ball, my friend. We shall all be hiding along with him.”

So when the invitations were sent out, to the favored patrons, the scions of Kushiel and Naamah, descendants of past anguisettes, to Mandrake House, it was with the challenge to arrive in the guise of precious stones. Dazzle one another as the polished gems they were, and do not forget a mask.

~

In one of the unmarked carriages rolling slowly along the winding avenue that snaked around Mont Nuit to each of the Houses of the Night Court, a nervous gentleman in a doublet so dark a red it almost seemed black looked at the serene woman across from him in a deep, rich blue gown. He fiddled with the mask in his hand, which was created with facets to look like a gemstone and said, “I don’t understand what we’re doing here, Odilia?”

“I said I had procured invitations to one of the most exclusive parties in the city, my prince,” she said with a tiny smile. “Do you doubt my abilities?”

“Never,” he said at once. “Only…I have come this way along the rue before. Why are we going to Mandrake?”

“To Valerian,” she corrected. 

“But why?”

“Tonight, they celebrate their most sacred holiday,” she explained. “Mara’s Eve is when they honour Naamah’s daughter, the first anguisette. You’ve been to Valerian House before, yes? For your Grand Tour?”

“Yes,” he said, “but not to participate. They arranged Showings for me, since I… was not practiced in their arts.”

“I am not bringing you here in the hopes to unlock your hidden Shahrizai lineage,” she said quietly, her fingertips smoothing across the smooth satin gloss of her own mask, resting on her knee. “Rather, you will soon be put in a position where the people of this kingdom will serve you. They will be your servants, Gustav.” He shifted uncomfortably, and she smiled at him, not unkindly. “You were never raised for royal command, I know. This evening, behind the safety of the mask, will allow you to experience the different kinds of service and submission that come with the dominance of your power. No one will know who you are, and in the seas of blacks and reds that Valerian is known for using in their decorating, another lord in dark red will be easily forgotten.”

She leaned forward to take his hand, stopping him from worrying the carved faces of the facet mask with his fingers. “Trust me, Gustav. I thought about this and have done everything I can to protect you.”

He sighed. “I know. I do trust you. Of everyone around me, you are one of the few whose ambitions I do not need to question.” He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, whispering, “What would I do without you, my dahlia?”

She smiled and took her hand back as the carriage turned into the drive leading up to the Valerian mansion, saying, “I am sure you would manage.”

Together, they donned their masks and their identities for the night. No longer Prince Gustav and Odilia nó Dahlia, but Lord Garnet and Lady Sapphire. Her marque carefully covered by the shimmer blue of her gown and the fall of her sable hair, her identity was safely hidden. And who would look for the future King here in Valerian House, of all places? Everyone knew his tastes by now, the gossip had made sure of that. 

Hooded attendants guarded the grand double doors of Valerian House. Only the presentation of an invitation gained entrance tonight. Tokens were not enough on Mara’s Eve, the guest list was very succinct and highly coveted by certain D’Angelines.

Upon entering, the scent of cinnamon and amber incense filled the senses. White candles in gold sconces lit the way, illuminating the vivid tapestries with their violently beautiful scenes. 

In the banquet room, hot, mulled, red wine flowed from heated fountains. Platters of roasted venison and other red meats were paired with winter vegetables and all manner of other aphrodisiac delicacies. Each little detail was made to evoke the red mark in the fabled anguisettte’s eyes and the flowing blood which bubbled up under a loving lash. 

Practiced courtesans invited guests to open play in the common areas, almost foreplay as the more intense scenes were reserved for the dungeons and private rooms down red carpeted halls. Simple pleasures such as utilizing the cuffs built into chaises, ropes hanging from the ceiling, toying with dripping red candles, could be found in every corner of the public salons.

For those making their formal debut, a special room was reserved for each to be presented by their Dowayne, and the bidding for their first night would commence later in the evening. It was plush with velvet cushions, thick drapes, and a little stage for each new adept to ascend so that all might see them; tonight there were two.

Ebony haired Shahrizai walked with adepts on one arm and a goblet in the other, giving homage to the niche shrine of their ancestor as they strolled to the private space reserved only for them. They were avoided quite clearly by the stoic yet elegant members of House Morhban, their rivalry never-ending even for a holiday such as this.

Music floated through the rooms, setting a sensual rhythm for all the guests to relax and enjoy. Although the players were hidden, their presence could be felt as every honored attendee might think they had their own private performance to set their scenes. 

Through it all walked the new Dowayne, draped in a blood red gown that only made her fiery hair glow all the more. Rubies dripped from her neck in a stunning collar, its leash held by her own hand as this was her domain and party. An equally gleaming mask sat upon the upper half of her face, leaving her red painted lips to smile and speak to her guests. And through it all, she kept a sharp eye out for anyone who might be her very special guests for the evening. 

In doing so, she noted the adepts under her roof and what they were doing, who they flirted with and what caught their, seemingly, averted eyes. A pattern arose, whispers behind shackled hands or fans, curious gazes peeking out from behind elegant masks. They were following a specific couple.

Strolling through the crowd, she soon found the source of their interest. Upon viewing them, Rosanna could very much see why. The presence of the woman she knew to be attending as Lady Sapphire was palpable. Familiar. Commanding. What Valerian would not be drawn to such a refined and sure presence? Even she felt a little shiver up her spine just watching her. Which made her think it so very curious about the gentleman at her side. His costume had not been revealed to her, but only she and Tryphosa truly knew who he was. Curiosity piqued, and hostess duties certainly not forgotten, she crossed the space to greet them.

“Good evening, guests,” she said and dipped a pretty curtsy. “How are you enjoying Mara’s Eve?” 

The kohl that lined the lashes behind the shimmering blue of the mask made her brown eyes all the darker as she watched the Dowayne make her curtsy. She did not offer one in response, that was not the game of the evening. Instead, she maintained her eye contact without blinking, answering, “Valerian House has surpassed itself to celebrate Naamah’s daughter. It is a pleasure to attend, just as surely as it is Valerian’s pleasure to serve tonight.”

Lord Garnet, at her side, studied the red-haired woman who approached them. While one of the hosting House, judging by the deferential way that she offered the curtsy, she nevertheless moved with the self-assurance of someone who could lead. Perhaps the Dowayne? He wondered how one could lead a House when one’s whole life revolved around submission. But he kept his peace. The fewer noble guests who heard his voice and realised his identity, the better. He was only here to watch and learn. Already it was beginning; he saw how comfortable his Lady Sapphire was, how effortlessly the guests here wore their power under the allure of the masks as the adepts and novices of the House offered trays of drinks with yielding hands and lowered eyes. 

Lady Sapphire seemed very comfortable with it all, as did the guests with Shahrizai blue-black hair and Kusheline eyes. He worked to emulate them, remembering the tutors that had taught him a royal posture. Now it meant a different kind of power, another kind of authority. Perfect timing for it, as Lady Sapphire gestured to him. “Lord Garnet and I are quite enjoying our evening thus far. Aren’t we?”

He nodded slowly, remembering his mother’s voice telling him that moving slowly was read as power more than speed was. A prince did not rush through anything, nor would a king. 

“I am so glad to hear that,” Rosanna smiled demurely. Not in the way Alyssum did, in their pious and delicate manner, but in her way which drew comfort in drinking in the power of another. The disguised Dahlia and the royal who accompanied her were a cool drink in the ever warming heat of the salon. “This is our most holy celebration, and the first after Dowayne Etienne took his leave. To serve our guests at such an important time gives us every pleasure, earthly and heavenly alike.”

Where the Sun Sleeps – Part II

Two incredibly complicated holy days and festivities held nearly back to back from one another made the new Dowayne of Valerian House very busy. Even her own strict schedule of prayers and visitations to the Temple district had to be realigned in order to make sure that preparations for the Longest Night and Mara’s Eve went off without a single hitch. Indeed, she was still in the final stages of the latter, but Rosanna made sure some of time and effort was dedicated to honoring the passing of one of their own. 

When the news of Heliotrope’s loss made it to her, Rosanna instructed her Second, Tryphosa, to immediately send a letter of condolence as well as the best flowers that they could attain in winter. Having incorporated Philomena into her life only recently, she did not know the deceased well but knew the other woman’s heart must be broken. So, a gift to her in the form of lavender syrup from Eisande was also sent, the product of her own family’s extensive cultivation. A token from one Dowayne to another, beyond the socially acceptable and expected offerings. 

Arriving at the wake, Rosanna dressed in somber colors, umber and burnished bronze, with her hair piled atop her head and covered in a veil. Modest and respectful, with her back fully covered. She paid her respects to the dead, saying a prayer over him and wishing a swift arrival to the Terre D’Ange that awaited them all in the next realm.

After that, she maneuvered through the mourning crowd to find his heir. As was to be expected, she appeared wan and sorrowful, and sympathy welled up quickly in Rosanna’s heart. Being close to her own beloved grandfather, she knew such a time would be upon her one day as well. Even thinking of it made her eyes sting.

“My sincere condolences for your loss, Philomena,” she greeted kindly. “I am sorry that I did not know your grandfather better, but his reputation was a splendid one. He will be in my prayers, as will you. If you should ever need me, for anything, my door is always open to you.”  

Mena reached out and gave Rosanna a hug, “Thank you so much, my friend. I appreciate your attendance, I know it’s a difficult period to make time. I will be sure to reach out to you so we can catch up after the mourning period has passed.”

Loir noted the sky growing lighter, so she slipped up next to Mena and whispered to her, “It is getting to be time.” She then moved silently to her room to gather what she needed and change her clothes. Olivier had commissioned a garment for her that mimicked what the priestesses she grew up with wore, without being a copy. Loir had overseen the construction so it represented what she remembered with what she knew now. It was easy to put on, and she picked up her basket of supplies and went out into the garden.

For three days, the strongest had been stacking the supplies that the weaker had been purchasing and former adepts had been arriving from all over Terre d’Ange. In the final hours of the wake, the oldest three began building the pyre. A collection of large flat rocks had been installed at the most eastern point of the property at some point in the House’s history. Dowaynes of the past had erected three stone walls around it; a gap on the west wall allowed access with the east remaining completely open. There, the elders carefully built the pyre as they’d been taught, being assisted by all the children, as was custom. The pyre took shape, the materials selected as was the custom: apple wood that burned long and hot on the bottom covered with bedding from his deathbed so that all of him went to Terre d’Ange Beyond, then walls on three sides of the same wood. One by one, each person in the House took a piece of their own clothing or bedding and filled the gaps between the logs: a piece of each of them died with Olivier. 

While that was happening, Mena cleared her throat and spoke to the gathered mourners. “Loved ones, thank you for coming to remember Olivier. The time has come for us to lay him to rest in our customary way. You are welcome and encouraged to stay and even to participate if you want. Again, thank you for coming, each of your faces has made the mourning easier.”

As she made her way outside, the members of the House lined up from the bier Olivier rested on all the way out to the pyre with Mena and Loir at the end. Loir had placed herbs among the fabric pieces and had carefully rubbed a thick oil-based anointment on the logs. The space smelled comforting and relaxing, making the tension and grief start to drain out of Mena’s body as she stood waiting.

The adept closest to Oliver lifted him from the bier, his long illness made him light enough that she needed no assistance. Carefully, she passed him to the person next to her, murmuring, “May Elua welcome you, you will be missed,” as she did. One by one, each person in the line passed him to the next, some speaking quietly to him one last time before relinquishing him to the next person. After many long minutes, he made his way from Laurent to Mena’s arms. 

When she held him, she was instantly reminded of all the times he’d held her over her life, and her tears started again. She moved towards the pyre, it was her job as his surviving family to lay him down one last time. As she did, memories flashed through her mind like lighting in the night sky: Olivier at her bedside when she was sick; Olivier helping her pick flowers for the wreath she wore when she dedicated herself to Namaah; the two of them talking for hours about everything and nothing; the proud look on his face when she’d debuted; how he’d held her as she cried; each moment broke her heart as it paid tribute to the man he’d been. It was hard to place him on the bed so lovingly made for him, a sob breaking out of her without her control as she did so. When she turned around and saw the mourners gathered in the space and only Loir to comfort her, it took all she had not to collapse next to him. She heard his voice in her head telling her that she had to stand tall for herself and for the House, that she would find her Sun, that he loved her more than he loved himself, that he was proud of her.

Loir reached for Mena when she stumbled, pulling her in for a tight hug. She didn’t want to release her, but she had to in order to move the ceremony forward. Two of the children came forward with the canopy they’d woven of the flowers brought by the mourners. Loir took it from them with gentle hands, then turned to lay it over the roof of the pyre. She then took wood and carefully built up the missing wall. When it was complete, she turned to the assembled and said, “Olivier has gone to a place where we cannot follow. In time, our steps will lead us to where he is, but for now, he has gone ahead. We will remember him always and keep him alive in our hearts by speaking freely of him. He wanted to remind us to be good to one another, and to make sure that his beloved Laurent and cherished Philomena know that they were loved deeply and fiercely.”

She paused for a moment to glance over her shoulder and saw the signs of the sun’s imminent arrival. Turning back she said, “In my homeland, we also commend our dead to the sun and sky, this is why he granted me the gift of being his Dernière Montre, the one who stays with him until the end. And now, that watch begins.”

From her basket, she retrieved a bottle of Olivier’s favorite alcohol and a flint. She poured the alcohol on the bottom of the pyre, soaking the fabric and other tinder that she had added there. Loir found herself humming the first song she remembered hearing, a lullaby her mother sang only when her children were frightened. While she couldn’t recall the words, the melody was enough to soothe her own grief. The sounds of the mourners weeping faded into the background as she finished her task and stood. The first edge of the sun was starting to cross the horizon and she took a deep breath, crouched down, and started the fire. While it started small, it traveled quickly, and she smiled, pleased at the work they’d put into Olivier’s final tribute. She then knelt on the stones, close enough that she could feel the heat, but out of harm’s way. 

Dernière Montre meant ‘Last Watch,’ and that was what she would do, be the last watch over him: she would stay where she was until the fire burned itself out, then she would carefully gather the ashes into the jar Olivier had selected, sealing it carefully. Then she would inter his remains next to his wife’s remains and reseal their resting place. She was to be the last mortal hand that touched him, the last person to wish him well on his last journey. Loir bowed her head and offered up prayers as the mourners began to leave the space.

~

By the time Mena made it back inside, the sun was almost at its highest point, and she was beyond exhausted. Once his ashes were interred, the official mourning period would begin, and every member of the House would have a white item on for the next month. Her grief ebbed a little as she accepted a bowl of porridge from the cook and headed towards the parlor to oversee the removal of the bier.

The room was silent when she arrived, and something about it put her on edge. Now that he had been mourned, Oliver had told them to return to the love and laughter that was the trademark of their House. Silence was not what she should be hearing. As she approached the bier, she saw the cause for the silence: a large vase with an extravagant floral arrangement sat in the middle of it, a red ribbon tied around the vase with a card attached to it. The reason for the silence was that all the flowers were dead; dried, shriveled and in some cases, white with mold. Mena gasped and reached for the card with shaking hands.

Pet, I hear the old man finally died. Could not have been a man who deserved it more than him. May Elua shut him out of Terre d’Ange Beyond so he wanders the land forever

—K

A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving her to run Valerian House. Her dream.

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Odilia?”

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

He prayed, like he had truly never prayed before. 

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

He still had so far to go.

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

A Rose Scented Letter

Dearest Grandfather,

Imagine the delight when your gift arrived this morning, when my days have been so very hectic of late! The wine and honey you sent have indeed been delivered safely. As always, your personal couriers are both punctual and careful in their duties. Thank you as well for the warm congratulations in your last letter. My parents, siblings, in-laws, and cousins have all given their praise for my new position, and their presents now overflow my new office. In the storm of correspondence, your writings have always been among those I eagerly await the most, as I can always count on your sage advice as well as the lavender honey that accompanies the letters.

I believe, of the two of us, you have the most faith in such an unexpected transition. Unexpected in timing, not for lack of desire. Aspiration and ambitions aside, my predecessor could not have chosen a more complicated time to step down than now. Recently, I have found myself at the temple district more often than usual. Praying for guidance, for patience, a little divine intervention if need be. This time of year, as you well know, is nothing if not elegant chaos. 

At least, in the process of taking up the mantle of Dowayne, I have been fortunate to meet a fellow newly ascended Dowayne who takes worship to heart as I do. She hails from Heliotrope, to be precise. Not a House you particularly favored, if I recall correctly, but one my nearest brother is fond of. Perhaps they know one another? I have not yet asked. As to be expected, she is a romantic at heart, yet we have had several deeply theological conversations after attending public prayer at the temple of Naamah. I hope to call her a friend in time. Meeting her is a much appreciated boon to the veritable mountain of work and planning documents on my desk. Camlach has fewer peaks, I am convinced. 

Dowayne Etienne had an artist’s eye for entertainments, with accounting skills that were both liberal and, at times, genius. We were truly lucky to have him, lovingly eccentric as he is. 

I worry my first galas will pale in comparison. Something that haunts me, to be very honest. Especially as I must hurry preparations for both the Longest Night, as well as Mara’s Eve. Already, I have certain aspiring courtesans in mind for the honor of their first presentations. Yet I vacillate on final choices.

This matter is compounded by the fact that my Second will be out of the city during these vital planning days. Although I adore Tryphosa, I might not have heard this news with appropriate grace. While we parted publicly with all politeness, the row prior still sticks in my mind. Of all the times to up and leave! And to not tell me why she must make herself scarce. I am unused to such things, I do not understand the need for such secrecy when duty calls. Two of the most renowned celebrations of our Order and our first opportunity in roles of leadership, and she will not be present. Yes, I was very angry indeed. 

Pray for me, Grandfather, and thank goodness my mother the Comtess taught me very young the intricacies of running so complex a household.  

Tell me though, on a happier note, when can I expect you to visit me at my home? Valerian House may not have been a favorite of yours, but our guest quarters are ever open to family and friends when calling. With the holy season, and so many grand parties for the nobility here in the capital, I hope you will decide to visit the City of Elua. 

For all the hectic environs around me, I am so proud of our accomplishments this year and wish to speak to you face to face of it all. Name the day and you will happily received.

Your loving granddaughter,

Rosanna

Courtesans, Pious and Fervent Both

It was the day before the Blessing of Eisheth festival, a day before the light-hearted revelry began weaving healing and peace with music and song. Like all festivals, this day was reserved for a more sedate ceremony, one Mena’s family had always attended. Olivier always said that the blessings of Eisheth were always available, even if a candle was never lit.

Mena slipped her shoes off at the door to the temple and began washing her hands and face with the fresh spring water that splashed in one of the anointed fountains. The shoe removal was something that wasn’t required, but you did not enter Eisheth’s Temple unclean. 

“May Eisheth cleanse my body and spirit as she did Blessed Elua,” she murmured quietly as she finished her washing and entered the temple.

Congregants milled about at the various niches where candles and incense could be lit for private prayers. Others clustered around the statue of the angel herself, shown amongst the symbols of her arts and animals that flocked to her along the coast she once called home. Dolphins frolicked at the base of the statue whilst sea birds carved of fine marble were sculpted at the top. Behind the grand depiction were scenes of Eisande, murals of musicians and healers, lovers and sailors, and all who found peace in Eisheth’s gentleness. 

Among them were a few of her descendants. 

A redhead covered in a silken cowl and bowed in prayer, her marque quite visible, was one of them.

Rosanna counted Lady Eisheth as an ancestress on her father’s side. Long had the Baphinol family tended to the lands once beloved by their angelic foremother, caring for the people who lived on their estate and tended the fields of lavender and grapes. No few of her lineage became musicians, such as her elder sister Joia with her vielle, or her two eldest siblings Dizier and the family heiress Cateline who were excellent chirurgeons. It was a testament to the skills held in reverence by the angel that so many of her children followed such trades and careers.

Even though Rosanna was not dedicated to the priestly order of Namaah, she never missed a festival or holy day for any of their esteemed immortal ancestors. They had much to be grateful for, and she would never disrespect them so as to forgo her duties in faith. 

“Lady Eisheth, please watch over my family, as once again I am to have another niece or nephew. May the labor be an easy one, may mother and child be well at the end.” She whispered her long list of prayers and lit another candle. With such a large family, she had many loved ones to wish for, but Eisheth was loving and patient, and Rosanna swore she could feel the angel’s presence at every visit to the temple. 

Mena made her way to the statue of the angel and looked up at her, feeling more of her calming love settle around her like a cloak. When she was ready, she looked around to find a niche to offer up her prayers in. Most niches had two or three faithful in them, except for one. One glance told her why; clearly the occupant was an adept. The completed marque of Valerian and red hair made her Rosanna, an adept Mena only knew because of the records Olivier had started in the House. Though very few people outside of the House knew of Olivier’s condition, if anyone had to find out in order for Mena to completely lay herself bare before the angel, a Valerian would be least likely to share what they’d heard.

Mena slid onto her knees on the bench a respectful distance from the other woman and took a deep breath. She carefully lit a stick of incense, feeling her mind empty as she’d been taught, the only thing in it was a tightly wound ball of grief and love.

”Lady Eisheth, gentlest of the Companions, hear my prayer,” she said quietly but clearly, pausing to light one of the candles in front of her. “Please grant Lenora nò Balm your gentleness, care, and knowledge in the coming days and weeks. Lady Eiseth, hear my prayer. Please hold my grandfather, Olivier nò Heliotrope, in your grace and compassion in the coming weeks, that he may have peace and comfort in the days before he comes to Terre d’Ange eternal.”

She looked down, the rows of candles swam in her vision as she let her tears free. “There is nothing left to do to save him, but please grant him this. Lady Eisheth, Angel of Compassion, hear my prayer.”

Hearing soft footsteps behind her, Rosanna waited in respectful silence as the new worshipper came to share the prayer niche. Each could potentially fit up to four people if they knelt in a half circle around the holy icon. However, many had chosen on this auspicious day to instead gather below the main altar. When this newcomer came into her line of vision, she found a somewhat familiar figure. At times she had seen the woman, another of her own order, attending religious festivals. Every time Rosanna went to attend, she was sure to find this same courtesan somewhere in the vicinity. It would seem they shared a heart of devotion. 

Such a heartbreaking thing to hear her pray for a loved one nearing the end of his life. 

Although she herself had never lost someone so near to her before, she could feel sympathy for what she must be going through. Many on Mont Nuit loved fiercely, even if their manner of loving differed vastly. When one of her incense sticks threatened to prematurely burn out, Rosanna offered one of the nearby candles to help her lit it anew. 

“My sympathies for your family,” she whispered kindly. 

When the candle was offered, Mena took it gratefully and relit her incense. “Thank you, they are appreciated,” she replied. For a moment, she stared at the candles not really seeing them, before she turned and said, “You’re Rosanna from Valerian, right? I’m Philomena, from Heliotrope. I’ve heard of you, plus I’ve seen you at the temples. There aren’t many devoutly raised adepts, so finally getting to meet you feels like a blessing.”

“I am. And I share the sentiment. Perhaps our meeting today was guided by the Lady’s hands.” Smiling sweetly, Rosanna studied the somewhat familiar figure of the courtesan at her side. Yes, she had seen her face at festivals and holy days in the past, they just had not had the chance to be introduced before now. “Devotion moved me to become one of Namaah’s Servants to begin with. I felt called to service. I am glad it brought me here so we could finally meet.”

Outside, the sound of happy revelers and music began to infiltrate the temple. Not that music was ever an unknown in Eisheth’s domain. Even now, an unseen harpist filled the air with a sweet melody. Surely by now, the plays and entertainments organized by the temple of the divine patroness of the arts would be starting. 

Mena exhaled slowly, letting the gentle notes of the harp slip into her mind and give her peace. She nodded and said to Rosanna, “I was born into it, both devotion to Namaah and devotion to Elua and the Angels. Both devotions bring me such peace.”

Considering a question swiftly, Rosanna looked to Philomena. “When your prayers are concluded, if you are in the mind for some company, I would be happy to attend the festivities together,” she offered. 

The Heliotrope looked up at the ceiling for a moment, watching the smoke swirl towards the high ceiling. “I feel as though my prayers are never over these days, and yet, there is less comfort to be had.” Turning her head, she looked at Rosanna and smiled. “I would like the diversion and the company.”

Smiling brilliantly, Rosanna concluded her prayers, adjusted the veil atop her head, and stood. All around them several more of the faithful rose and did the same, preparing to move from the dusky inner sanctum of the temple, and its incense filled air and into the light of day.

“I am glad of it. Let us worship in joy together and get to know one another. I do not often get the chance to converse with my fellows in Heliotrope, despite the collection of romances I keep in my quarters.” She giggled and held a hand out to assist the other courtesan to her feet. “I would very much like to know you better, Philomena.”

Mena smiled, releasing her worries to Eisheth and Elua, and took Rosanna’s offered hand. “I would love that, Rosanna. And please, call me Mena. All my friends do.”

As they walked out into the sun, Mena said, “You said that devotion led you to Namaah’s service. That wording is intriguing. I would say that Namaah called me to service, that devotion guides me. I am sure there’s a story behind your words.”

Autumn’s First Kiss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Careful Handling

“Do we know when Etienne will go off to join his beloved Kusheline Lord and leave us to fend for ourselves?” Tryphosa Katseros nó Valerian was lying on a long settee, a sheaf of papers in one hand and a glass of cool white wine in the other. Said papers were reports on the latest class of novices within the House, their progress in various lessons, and areas of improvement noted by the tutors. 

“Autumn, from what he has told me,” Rosanna replied from across the room. They lounged in the apartment of the Second going over the minute details of running an old and respected establishment. When the public imagined the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, they did not imagine courtesans reviewing lesson plans and tallying expenses, but without such work, all the pleasures they were known for would simply not happen. 

“I imagine he hopes to attend the Masque with his lord. A rather romantic way to exit one chapter of life and open the next.” With a sigh, Tryphosa dropped her reports to lay a hand over her heart and posed in a rather dramatic manner. 

“And here I thought I was the romantic one.” If the private collection of love stories arranged by author across more than a few shelves was anything to go by.

“Well yes, but you’re not galavanting off to a castle for an early retirement.” Tryphosa propped herself up on one arm and rolled her dark eyes. “Not that Etienne doesn’t deserve his happy ending of course.”

“Of course.”

A soothing kind of silence fell across the two friends. Old friends too. When Tryphosa first came to Terre D’Ange as a child, under the tender age of ten, her family had aspirations of making their fortunes in the trade of Hellenic wares. Successful merchants with an eye for beauty, they had done well for themselves in their homeland before taking the risk to expand abroad. It was almost by accident that their daughter came into contact with the Servants of Namaah. During a festival she became separated from her parents and was found by a priest of the angelic patroness and cared for until the family reunited in the temple. Apparently, the young girl had made an impression with her own appreciation for beautiful things and having easily taken a nap at the feet of a sacred statue. Being slightly older than the usual age of recruitment, there was some concern about the order making an offer for her marque, but the deal was eventually made. It seemed almost fated.

Meanwhile, Rosanna had always yearned to worship Naamah through the honor and esteem of the ancient Houses in the capital. It was not as common for the children of a comte to take the oath and foster to become a courtesan, but having learned to read on histories of famous lovers and patrons, she had been determined. Nothing pleased a young Rosanna more than to read and re-read the tales of her heroine, the anguissette Phèdre. It was her grandfather who saw in her the makings of a courtesan, as his own dear wife—who had passed before their final grandchild was born—had been a lay servant of Naamah. None of his own children or any other grandchildren, of which he had many, had followed in her footsteps. Once more, it seemed the divine had a guiding hand in her fate too. 

When first she met Tryphosa, her fellow novice was still learning the ways of the city. Fascinated by stories of her upbringing in Hellas, young Rosanna desperately wanted to be friends. In turn, the Hellene girl found not only a compatriot in Valerian House but a patient ear to listen as she adjusted to her second new home. Together, they learned more than either expected during their tutoring years. 

Older than them, and assigned as a mentor was Etienne, who took the girls under his proverbial wings with his infectious delight. Add in their favorite companion in Mandrake, and the group was as thick as thieves. For years. Now all that was about to change, for the better to be sure, but change nonetheless.

“It is…bittersweet,” Tryphosa said at last.

“The best sort of sweet,” Rosanna replied softly. 

“I’m going to miss him, fiercely so. Yet I am happy for him, too. He is in love. That is the greatest gift any D’Angeline could hope for. And if he did not step down, we would still be waiting in the wings for our chance to lead the House. It’s like the changing of seasons, fresh beginnings and times fading.”

Rosanna smiled over at her friend. “You are rather in a poetic mood. Should I call for an Eglantine to take down your verses?”

Tryphosa waved her off and took a long sip of her wine. “I’m trying to honor the past whilst being excited for the future. Let me have my moment in the sun.”

Speaking of suns, or rather sons and the passing of one leader onto the next, something came to the mind of the Dowayne to-be: the dauphin, the new dauphin. Although a much different circumstance, he too was transitioning from one chapter in life to another, one of leadership and high expectation. Having been born into a noble lineage, Rosanna had long ago been taught to keep a sharp eye on the goings on of the royal family. She had visited the palace and even their hunting lodge as a girl several times, always with a member of her own family. More often than not, one in specific. 

“Grandfather knew the old king. He told me…he told me much of what he thought of him. Wrote to me when he passed into the Terre D’Ange beyond this life. As he did with the elder prince, may Elua watch over him now. What do you think of the new dauphin?” Turning to her fellow courtesan, she watched for any little tells that would reveal what lips might not. 

“Hard to say, he’s been away for so long at his studies, I don’t think many of us have a clear idea of what he’s like. Especially since he’s only ever visited us once, for a Showing rather than an assignation. The same at Mandrake. His older brother went through the Mont with his friends, in full, as so many young nobles do, from the very top at Cereus House to the edge of Night’s Doorstep. At least then we knew in which direction the elder prince’s desires pointed. That spoke much about his own person and philosophies. But Prince Gustav? He is a stranger to us.”

A very true statement. Much could be deciphered of a patron based upon which house they visited and with whom they spent the night. Royalty did not often come to them anyway, not since King Imriel, at least. The royal family did not have the injection of Kushiel’s lineage as he did and not nearly as much now two generations later. 

Nodding to herself, Tryphosa turned to her companion and asked the same of her. “And what does the Dowayne-to-be think of him?”

Now it was Rosanna’s turn to think. Standing, she went to the chilled bottle of white wine they had in a cask, kept cool by ice harvested in the cold house, and topped up her glass. 

“By the accounts I have heard from—and I have my ways as you know—he seems to be kind, more of a lover than a fighter. Untested perhaps, but we all were at some point. I think he has been cruelly thrown into something he was not in any way prepared for, and so must be feeling so unsteady. However…I think he has potential.”

“There is much in those words coming from your own sudden change of life as there is reflection in our dauphin, I think,” Tryphosa said and held out her glass for more as well. Crossing the room, Rosana poured the remainder of the bottle for her friend. 

“Although far more tragic in his case, there just might be. I could prepare every day for the rest of my life, and I am not sure I will ever be fully ready to manage Valerian House. There will always be some circumstances I will not account for. Angels willing, I will perform diligently and do our house proud. Yet, the weight on my shoulders will always remain.” Sighing, the courtesan who began life as the baby sister of a noble Eisandine family sat next to her unlikely friend and they toasted one another quietly.

“You will not be alone in this, I will be there every step of the way. We can plan our own way to mark the ascension of a dauphin. Leave our mark with a memorable soiree, what say you?” A sparkle was in the eyes of the soon to be Second. Often they had discussed themes and scenes, ways to mark Mara’s Eve, all manner of holidays and festive occasions. Now they finally had the chance to expand on those day dreams and make them reality. 

“You wish to recreate the night with the King of Persis, don’t you?” Rosanna asked, a mischievous gleam in her own gaze.

“Perhaps. I shan’t say until I know where you stand on the matter.” Tryphosa winked. Taking a sip of her wine, she laid back at ease once more, now that the heaviest of topics was at last spoken aloud between them. “I cannot wait to tell our friends in Mandrake about the changing of the guard, to steal a phrase from the soldier boy I see every so often.” Tryphosa giggled rather like a novice girl learning her first chapters in their lascivious manuals. “Oh we will have to plan some sort of celebration, don’t you think?”

“We are to keep our ascension quiet until Etienne makes his own announcement,” Rosanna reminded her, and Tryphosa pouted. “None of that. We are to be discrete in this, as we are in all things. I agree, we shall have a farewell for our darling Etienne and something for us too. But not until all in readiness. Patience is key, my friend, it makes the anticipation all the greater.”

Enter a Rose

During the height of the plague, the only persons allowed to move from home to home, or any other building, were the chirurgeons. Not even worship to pray for the sick was permitted in the temples for fear of spreading the illness. As soon as the terrible quarantine period ended, however, well, the message carriers had never been so busy nor so rich as worried families and friends across Terre D’Ange wrote to find how their loved ones were doing. 

Rosanna, Second of Valerian House, was no different, as she nearly instantly began to write letters to each of her seven siblings, her parents, grandfather, and close friends. Once each and every letter was blotted, dried, sealed in wax, and handed off to a trusted messenger, she made her way to the temple district.

“I will return by sundown,” she told her fellow courtesans as she drew on a light cloak for the chill that still hung in the air. 

A day at prayer was the very first thing on her mind when the news came of the plague at last being over. Offerings to Blessed Elua and His Companions needed to be left at each altar.

As though a terrible illness was not enough to send the country into upheaval, the disease took from them the Dauphin as well. It was as though the earth was shaking under them when the city criers brought the news to the people. So much tragedy in so little time. As none were taking assignations during the period of mourning, she elected to spend that time in the presence of the divine. 

One temple after another found her paying the merchants for incense, fruit, and all manner of libations for the holy shrines. And once within, she knelt in prayer and meditation. Always a devout soul, there was never a feast she missed or a holy day not given its proper due. Now more than ever was a time to reconnect with the divine, something her fellows on Mont Nuit knew very well about her. Ensconced alone at the shrines to every angel and Blessed Elua, she gave up her offerings and knelt in respect at their statues. 

She prayed for the royal family, for those who lost loved ones these past months, for the guidance of the angels in the year ahead. By the end of the circuit, which was by no means short, Rosanna felt lighter. More at peace and actually looking forward to whatever the future held. Ready to return to the Mont and her duties.

By sunset she was home again, and not a moment too soon, as the Dowayne was apparently waiting for her. Tapping his foot impatiently, the tall man with a halo of deceptively innocent curls looked to a clock and muttered what had to be some colorful language under his breath. Etienne was wholly devoted to the order and to Namaah and Kushiel, but he was more exuberant than she. In the most endearing of ways. Upon seeing her, his entire demeanor changed as he rushed forward to greet her. The cloak on her shoulders had barely been removed by the time he got to her. 

“Rosie! You now come with me, we do not have all night!”

Without further ado, the Dowayne took hold of her by the arm and proceeded to pull her down through the house and to his office. As the Second of Valerian House she was by this point very used to such displays of excitement and only waved at her fellows as they rushed by. Poor Tyrphosa, her good friend, was nearly run over in the process but by the look on her face she was more than used to Etienne’s shenanigans too. 

Into the office up on the second floor they went, the door shutting behind them. Folding her cloak over one arm, she watched as her mentor rushed about the room to pour them each a glass of wine. Oh, so it was one of those conversations. 

“What is on your mind, Etienne?” she asked as he finally placed the silver cup in her hand. 

“Only everything! Really, Rosie, you should know that by now.” He sniffed and took a healthy drink of the red he’d chosen for this meeting. “But you’ve been away at prayer all day, leaving me to wait until we could speak! When I have so much to say!”

“You know I take my place as a Servant of Naamah very seriously. The prayers are needed right now,” was her reply before taking a sip as well. Like all the food and drink served at the House this bottle was excellent. From her father’s estate, too, she recognized the blend quite easily. Now why would Etienne choose this wine? That could not be a mistake. 

“Of course, I know that. But I’ve been hearing the most recent news here at home, and you must know!”

“Well, do not keep me waiting then.”

Leaning in, the anxious Dowayne began regaling her with the rumors flying out of Cereus House. Walls talk, and servants even more so. It would seem that after their own Dowayne passed sadly of the plague—Elua rest his soul—the new head of House was singular in her reign. Word had it that she had summoned one of the senior courtesans to her.

“Which one?” Rosanna asked, curious herself. Whoever was chosen would be her peer, another second in command of one of the most ancient institutions of their land. 

“I think her name is Petrea. I’ve got my own eyes and ears working because I will not be the last to know just what is happening up there,” Etienne replied and pointed in the vague direction of Cereus House situated at the top of the Mont.

“Heaven forbid.”

“Precisely!” Another drink of the blended red. Shaking his head, curls fluttering almost like feathers, the Dowayne stood up a little straighter now, a look of contemplation on his face. “Geraunt’s passing has also given me reason to think. To consider what more I can offer Valerian House. And what might be out there for me outside of our walls. Especially as the futures of no few Houses are now in flux.” He gave her a knowing look.

“What do you mean to do?” Rosanna inquired carefully. 

“You know I have been corresponding of late with an old patron?” Slowly walking the width of the office, Etienne held his silver goblet in one hand and brushed along the trinkets gathered on the desk and various shelves with the other. 

Rosanna nodded. They had known one another for some time, her friend and his patron. A lord from the north, he had been called back years ago when his father unexpectedly passed away and left him sole heir to a seaside manor. Despite the distance, the two never seemed to forget one another and she had never seen her Dowayne so excited to read a letter as the day that first missive arrived.

“He has asked if I would ever consider joining him at his home. An estate in Kusheth. As companion, with a place already made for me in both bed and inheritance should he pass before me, but I try not to think about that last part too much,” he said with a small sort of smile. 

“Do you mean to take him up on his princely offer?” The hands gripping her goblet tightened. Not with fear but with concern and anticipation. 

“I want to, very much so,” he replied with a nod. “Which means, sweet Rosie, that I will be passing my torch to you. Do you think you are ready?”

For a long moment she did not speak. How could she when the moment she had been working toward all her life had finally arrived? At such a tumultuous time, too! Suddenly she did not feel as light as she had upon leaving the temple district, and yet, she was not overwhelmed so much as excited and full of nerves. Assuming command of Valerian House would be the greatest honor of her life, the most impactful responsibility she would ever shoulder. 

Something deep down told her that with so much tragedy and change occurring in their world, this was simply one more spinning of the wheel. It was her turn to do what she could for the people and service she loved so deeply.

“I would name Tryphosa as my Second.”

Etienne barked out a laugh. “Trust you to already have the administration figured out before you accept the job!”

Crossing the room, he pulled her into a one-armed embrace and giggled into her red hair. She returned the hold just as affectionately. “Does Tryphosa know of her impending promotion?”

“She will when I tell her!”

Laughing again, Etienne grabbed the bottle of wine and topped up their cups. “I will gladly drink to that!”

Storyline: A Year in Review

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

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