Tag: storyline

Storyline: A Face of Mena’s Past

When the news of the birth of Aliks’s baby arrived, Mena was glad for the distraction. She’d been up to her eyes in paperwork since the wedding festivities had wound down. So busy that she hadn’t been able to sit and talk to Loir, so she took the opportunity to make an event out of their little celebration.

Loir arrived at the same time the food and drinks did, a smile on her pretty face. “Mena! Did you send our congratulations over to Cereus already, or is there time for me to add a note?”

Mena took the cart from the novice with a nod, wheeling it out to her tiny balcony that looked out over the kitchen garden. “It’s on my desk, in the upper right corner. I figured you would want to send your blessing as well. But leave it until tomorrow, I am sick to death of work.”

Loir held up her hands with a laugh. “Understood. Only gossip tonight.”

Mena sunk into a chair with a sigh. “Well, let’s still complain about work if needed, but yes, gossip only.”

Loir poured wine for them both before she sat. “That sounds perfect to me. But first, what are we eating tonight?”

“Chef made hearty stew and fresh bread, plus bought some of our favorite cheese at the market. You know the one; hard, sharp, nutty, no one likes it but me and you.”

Loir nodded. “Sounds like Chef is remarking on how hard we’ve been working.”

“That is my assumption as well. She’s right, we’ve both been nonstop. Did you get a sense of how the palace is adjusting like you’d hoped?”

“Yes, actually. It’s as I thought,” Loir said as she handed a bowl of stew to Mena. “The staff thinks this is the best thing they’ve ever heard of while the Court is divided. The ones that are responsible for the new queen feel out-maneuvered by Odilia.”

“Mmm, that’s expected though, people with power they didn’t earn are vile losers. I’ll make sure the adepts know not to bring up the topic with patrons and to do their best to dodge it when it comes up. Particularly with new patrons.”

“That is probably the wisest. I can’t imagine an anti-Odilia courtier visiting us, but caution is never a bad idea.”

The two ate quietly for a few minutes, savoring the quiet and the delicious meal. Loir broke the silence with a laugh. “Now, tell me about Kyrie. Yacinia says he had to be escorted out?”

Mena groaned, then laughed. “Ugh, Kyrie. That’s a long story though, Loir!”

The younger woman laughed loudly. “I’d hope it was! You don’t take patrons. and I’d always heard there was a man involved. Tell, tell!!”

Mena sighed. “Alright, alright, keep your dress on. Kyrie was one of my last serious patron before I took over as Dowayne.”

She looked out over the garden for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “He’s a noble, albeit a lower tier one. His family still works as shipping agents. They have a small fleet of vessels that they use to import things from around the world. Just over five years ago, he asked me to leave the House and marry him.”

Loir gasped quietly but didn’t speak.

“It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and like every time before, I laughed and told him that his father would never allow it. This time was different, he said, his father had been killed.”

Mena paused to dip her bread into her stew, chewing thoughtfully before continuing with a loud exhale. “I was stunned, of course. His father was a relatively young man still, Kyrie was the third son, but the children are only a year apart, with the first being born when the late Comte was but nineteen.” She remembered the pang she felt for the Comtesse, pregnant almost every year for twenty-five long years, losing a dozen children to sickness in the nursery, losing five more to accidents, her body so fragile from childbirth that at not even forty she was confined almost entirely to her bed or a chair, while the Comte set about making his mistress step into the role as wife.

With a sharp shake of her head she brought herself back to the present. “Kyrie pressed me to marry him, coming every day to speak to me about it. At this time, the late Dowayne was moving to the countryside to be with his partner as his illness rapidly progressed. so I was not always here. On those days, he worked very hard to get the rest of the House on his side, to convince me to marry him and run away from all of this.”

Mena drained her wineglass before she went on. “One afternoon , we were here in my old room, me getting ready for the night, him pacing like a caged animal and deep in his cups. He was frantically trying to make me agree or at least forgo the evening so we could ‘talk.’ I was so frustrated, he wouldn’t listen to me. Then he said that we’d go to Eisheth, then I’d have to marry him.”

Loir was aghast. “This is Terre d’Ange, not some Aragonian backwater!”

Mena laughed, “That is very close to what I said actually. I told him I had no interest in marrying him and even less interest in having a child with him. He flew into a rage, throwing the decanter of wine across the room. I think his words were ‘I paid for you, your marque came from my purse, you will do as I say or I’ll force you.”

Loir gasped so hard she choked for a moment. “What? A man from the land of Blessed Elua has that kind of attitude?”

Mena shrugged, “In the moment, I assumed he was just in one of his angry fits. I’d been seeing him as a patron since I was two years out of novicehood, I’d seen childish spoiled anger out of him before. I told him that the small amount of money he’d given me, as well as every other small thing about him, were never going to be enough for me to want to marry him, let alone leave my home.”

“Good, good for you. That is the only acceptable response to that. Well, that and a permanent ban from the House.”

“Mmm, absolutely true. He grabbed his coat, threw open the door, screamed that I’d see when he came back that I would do as I was told. He cursed me and my whole bloodline as he left. I collected myself and went to the salon as I’d planned. He was only one of my patrons. so I was upset and rattled, but I wasn’t crushed.”

Loir shook her head. “I forget that people are people, even when they’re blessed by Elua. I suppose it is true what the palace servants say; the ‘smaller’ the noble, the more trouble they bring.” 

Mena laughed and ran a hand through her hair, using her fingers to comb out the knots she found. “I will say that I have found that to be completely true, particularly of the men. The women,” she shook her head from side to side, “They’re a dice roll honestly. So, I assumed Kyrie would be back in the morning, but he never came. News of the Dowayne’s death came and I took over. For months, maybe even a year, I would receive unmarked packages full of dirt, dead things, fish heads, dead roses, that kind of thing, but still no sign of him. Eventually those stopped and the next thing I know, months and years passed with no word. Then he shows up like you saw, wanting to reconcile.”

She snorted. “I will never understand where he keeps his audacity. I spoke kindly but firmly to him, reminding him of what I said when he was last here. He took it worse if possible. He threw money at me, called me common trash with delusions of importance, said that he was the best I’d get, particularly now at ‘my age,’ and that he couldn’t believe I was still ‘ungrateful’ after what he did for me.”

With a heavy sigh, she poured more wine into both of their glasses. “So I had him removed and turned over to the guards. Nathaniel and Jacovy made sure to tell the guard that he implied he’d murdered his father, the late Comte.”

Loir shook her head. “Do you think he did it?”

Mena shrugged, “I wouldn’t put it past him, particularly since he came back after all these years like no time passed. No matter though, I am sure he’ll be banned from the Night Court grounds. I passed the report of his behavior on to the other Houses yesterday.”

She leaned back and stared at the now risen moon for a long moment. “So that is the story of why your Dowayne stopped taking patrons. And that’s just the highlights, it is a long story. And one I’m glad is through. The future can begin when the Sun King arrives.”

The two sat in silence, Mena thinking about how much of her life Kyrie had stolen, Loir trying to think what to say. The silence stretched, but never became uncomfortable.

After a long while, Loir finally spoke. “Is that why you chose Love for our theme?”

Mena looked over at her and smiled. “Of course! We are Love, we bask in it, we are devoted to it alone, we should show that to the world.”

Loir reached over the table and took Mena’s hand in hers, “We will. And may Naamah’s hand bless you very soon, Mena.”

Storyline: A New Bloom

The laying in had been the longest eight weeks Aliks had ever had to endure. Her mother had come to Cereus house to stay and “assist” and, between her and Petrea’s hovering, Aliks was at her wits’ end. The truth was, she had not lived with her mother since she was ten years of age and though she loved her dearly, they simply were not suited for sharing close quarters. 

But alas, the long period of laying in bed and having her work done for her was over and she found it splendid to be back on her feet. Petrea and AImee were still doing the lion’s share of the day to day running of the house, and would continue to do so for several months. The larger duties, such as contracts and legal matters, however had been returned to her. 

As was customary, the babe slept in her quarters and would stay there for the first several months of his life. After, he would be moved into the nursery to be raised with the rest of the house children. 

Aliksandria nó Cereus walked into the Temple of Naamah on a cool winter morning holding her son wrapped in blankets of Cereus blue. The whole of Cereus House was in attendance, to welcome a babe into their fold. Mandrake House had also chosen to come in its entirety, in honor of the boy’s father. In addition the Dowaynes of Eglintine, Dahlia, Heliotrope, Valerian, and Orchis Houses were present as well. 

Aliks looked down at her son, with his hazel eyes and dark curls and knew that he would never belong to her house. Just as her mother had, she would have to see her son leave for another house at ten. This was the way of the Night Court and she would not gainsay it. 

When she reached the altar, the priestess of Naamah smiled and picked up a pot of honey. 

“Naamah is always honored when her service and worship brings forth new life.” the priest said loudly to the gathered crowd. She then dipped her index finger into the pot of honey and wiped it gently on the babe’s lips. “Know that you are a child of Naamah, and that your life and person bring her joy. Know that you shall always find solace in her arms.” She dipped her finger into the pot again. Aliks opened her mouth and allowed the priestess to place the honeyed finger on her tongue. “And so, Naamah’s Servant, what shall you name your child?”

Aliks had thought long and hard about this. Her first instinct was to name the boy after his father, but she could not do that. When she thought the name Waldemar, she wanted only to think of her lover and no one else. Next she considered naming him after her father, but still that did not seem to fit him. Her father was serious and composed, and even though he was but an infant, she could see the mischievousness in him. But finally, she had chosen a name that did seem to fit. She, like so many children, had grown up reading Hellene works, and she was ever fond of the old tales. So with a smile she looked at the priestess and said, “If it please Naamah, I present my son, Patroclus.”

The priestess nodded with a smile as the crowd cheered. 

That afternoon, after Patroclus had been laid down for a much needed nap, Aliks sat in the great hall with the friends who had attended the dedication. 

“Such an interesting choice of a name,” Amara said. “Did Waldemar choose it?”

Laughing, Aliks said, “No, in fact we only ever discussed names for girls. He was so certain that if he ever had a child it would be a girl that we never considered boy names.”

“Then why a Hellene name?” Mena asked.

“Did you ever read the Hellene poem of the great war with Troy? The one that ended with them building a large wooden horse?” Mena nodded. “It was Waldemar’s favorite story, he used to read it to me some time when I went to Mandrake House. The hero of the story is Achilles, and Patroclus was his lover. The loss of Patroclus is what spurs Achilles to fight. It changes him forever, just as my loss has forever changed me.”

Xixilya put an arm around Aliks, hugging her, “What if the child was a girl, what did Waldemar want to name her?”

“If he had been a girl, Waldemar wanted to name her Jehanne, he thought it was a beautiful name..”

“Oh, I like that,” Aimme responded. “ I think when I have a child I will use that name, in his memory.”

Petrea smiled. “Oh Aimee, that may be years from now.”

Aimee responded, “Even so.”

Aliks’ son may not bear his father’s name, but clearly Waldemar would be long remembered by those who knew him. 

Storyline: The Harvest Scythe Festival

The quiet excitement of the anticipation had filled the entire day in the Night’s Doorstep. Gourds had been carved and were now hung from the eaves of buildings, candles alight inside them, to light the way through the streets. Children had pressed their faces to the windows of the homes and businesses that had spent hours cooking, but they had resisted the urges to sneak tastes.  They wanted to be ready for the communal feast that evening! 

The harvest festival of Steward’s Eve was in celebration of the Good Steward, the angel Anael. Taking place at the final harvest of the season, it was a time to ensure everyone had enough food to last the cold months and a time to remember the gifts that Anael had given to the people of Terre D’Ange.  It marked the end of the autumn and the beginning of the final stretch of days before the Longest Night.  Initially a folk festival out in the countryside, it had been adapted for the City of Elua by the commonfolk that still found meaning in the celebration of community and caretaking.  Neighborhoods across the City of Elua were gathering together for the communal banquet and revelries, but none of the neighborhoods did it better than Night’s Doorstep. 

It was a chance for the lower classes of Terre D’Ange to have their fun.  The nobles and royals all had their grand celebrations and balls and events.  Steward’s Eve was for the everyday people, the people that worked with their hands and toiled in the field and cared for the animals. This was their day. 

Once the work of the day was over, families worked to finish their preparations. The gourd lanterns were lit, the red and orange ribbons were tied off to represent the changing leaves, the roads and alleys were freshly swept. Night’s Doorstep was transformed. However seedy some people said it looked in the daylight, it was aglow now as the sun lowered.  Bathed in golden light and dressed in autumn colors, it was a mystical place.  Out in the countryside, the entire village would be decorated and there would be gourd lanterns lining the way to the fields and pastures.  In the City, they did the best they could. 

The people who lived in Night’s Doorstep all gathered outside the Cockerel.  A young Tsigani boy scrambled up the side of the building to perch on the roof to measure the sun. Mothers held tightly to their younger children, they weren’t old enough yet to participate in the Reaping, much as they may want to.  The older children and the youths all took bets, baiting each other and bragging about how long they would last. 

“I’m going to make it all the way through the whole sunset!”

“You will not! I am faster than you, they’ll catch you before they ever catch me!”

“Look! Look, they’re coming!”

The crowd quieted as they heard the pan pipes and bells coming down the street.  A small procession came toward them, five figures dressed in patches like scarecrows.  A few of them tumbled along, rolling and cartwheeling while the others shook their staves wrapped in bells. 

They gathered underneath the eaves of the Cockerel, their faces covered in blank wooden masks.  A few of the braver children reached to try and touch them and the Harvest Men contorted themselves and shook their bells to scare the children away.  A few of the smaller children hid in their mothers’ skirts, hiding their faces so the Harvest Men wouldn’t see them.

But the five Harvest Men turned their masked faces up to where the Tsigani boy was watching the sun sink toward the horizon. The crowd quieted, an anticipatory hush falling over them as they too waited. If he felt any nerves at the attention of the entire neighborhood on him, he didn’t show it.  He had an important job to do and he would do it.  Their own kind of horologist. 

When the sun disk touched the horizon, he pulled the horn from his belt and blew it before bellowing, “Run!”

Shrieking in delight, the children and youths scattered. Pelting into the alleys and side streets, they ran as fast as they could away from the tavern.  And, a bare minute later, the Harvest Men followed, racing after them. 

In the countryside, this chase would happen through the fields that had just been harvested, the Harvest Men chasing the children and young adults through the winnowed chaff and empty vines and through the empty boughs of the orchards. In the City, they adapted to the alleys and streets instead. 

They had the entirety of the sunset, the entire time it took for the sun disk to sink and for the light to fade, to evade the Harvest Men. Several of the Adepts and novices of the Night Court crowded on the balconies of their Houses to try to watch the Reaping, some of them fondly remembering the Steward’s Eve celebrations of their childhood. 

Rosanna leaned on the windowsill of her Dowayne’s office, looking down at the lanterns and laughter in the streets of Night’s Doorstep and remembering the celebrations from her childhood. Autumn in Eisande was usually more temperate than in other, more northern, reaches of the country. The leaves changed color later than in other provinces. Nights turned cooler deeper into the season.  Yet the harvest still came on time. It had to, or else the food stores would not be ready in time for winter.

Rosanna had not experienced a harvest festival in her home province for several years. Being so ensconced in the city for her House duties, this was just a fact of life now. However, as she watched the chase of children and Harvest Men from her window, she remembered what it was like.

Her father’s seat was the manor and estate of Oraisson. Comte Baphinol was expected to oversee the feast and reaping of those who tended his lands. When each of his eight children were old enough, he brought them along too. Rosanna could still see the festival tent erected by their tenants. The homemade decorations, the whole village pitching in to fill the community table. Costumed farmers pranced about like living scarecrows and young people danced with red and gold garland. Papa had made the rounds, speaking to the community leaders and showing his children how the farmers made their living. How their efforts ensured the grapes and lavender the Baphinol family were so proud of grew strong enough to process into wine and perfume.

In their lands, it was tradition for the head of the family to present the villagers with a gift. When Rosanna attended for the first time, the gift was a barrel of sweet red wine. Papa made a speech and then had her eldest sister, heir to Oraisson, hand the wooden tap over to the village elder so that the party might commence. One day would be her duty to oversee the festival and this was good practice.Rosanna remembered her childish mind thinking that she’d much rather be sneaking into the sweets than making speeches.

In the present, she had ordered a cask of her father’s wine for the occasion, specifically for those who tended and cooked and cleaned, ensuring Valerian House was always at its best. Her own way of continuing that tradition.

As Corrian watched the sun descend from her balcony in the palace she could not help but remember the Steward’s Eve festivals back in Borlean. The palace was too far from the Night’s Doorstep for her to see or hear the children run in the Reaping, but she could imagine it was much like the Reapings back home.  

As the only daughter of the Comte de Borlean, she had not been allowed to participate in the children’s game, but she had loved to watch it nonetheless. After the Reaping, her parents would open the hall to the crofters and farmers and a feast was laid that did not end until dawn. It was at one such feast as a young woman that she had met Raul. 

Raul was a crofter’s son and, at 16 years of age, was working the fields alongside his father which gave him a build that the young lanky lords in the city could only dream of. On Steward’s Eve, the village did not stand on ceremony with regard to rank, and it was just this lapse in rules that gave him courage to approach Corrian. 

Corrian found his rough manners and dry language enchanting. He was different from the lordlings her mother had tried to convince her to court. He boasted joyfully about how he had made it through the Reaping untouched and she giggled at his antics. The horologist was calling midnight when she led him by his hand into her room, and his father asked no questions when he returned to his cottage well past dawn the next day with a smile and a secret on his lips. 

It had been a fun little affair, the sort young people are wont to find themselves in, but autumn turned to winter and winter to spring. With the seasonal changes came the end of their tryst. By the next Steward’s Eve, Corrian’s mother was in the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond and Raul was courting the daughter of the village baker. They would be married within the year and currently had no fewer than four children of their own. 

Corrian took a sip of wine as she remembered the rush of first love and first loss.  

The shrieking laughter of the Reaping echoed through the streets and alleys of Night’s Doorstep, fending off the chill of the night with the warmth of laughter and fun. And food.  For after the Reaping was finished, the horn sounding again to signal the end of the sunset, the people of the Doorstep gathered in the open space by the Cockerel where the tables had been lain with the feast. Every household had contributed a little something and the table was heavy with the fruits of the season.

Fruits, roasted vegetables, stews, roasts, breads, meat pies, fruit pies, vegetable pies, sausages, cakes, baked apples, bowls of punch, barrels of beer and wine.  

Night’s Doorstep celebrated long into the night, until Steward’s Eve gave way to the morning, in the cyclical nature of all things.  Night gives way to day, Autumn gives way to Winter, and the days grow shorter and shorter as the City turns its eye towards the Longest Night. 

Storyline: The Queen Diaries

“It can’t have been all that bad, now can it?” Odillia said as she ran the brush through Corrian’s hair. The new queen purred and leaned back against Odilia. 

“It feels like it sometimes. I wasn’t raised to be a queen, I was barely raised to be a noble lady. The pressure is considerably more than I expected.”

“Then tell me, what happened today that caused you to come running into my chambers in tears?”

*

Corrian had overslept, which wouldn’t be a problem normally, but the delegation from La Serenissima was arriving that day, and she had a full schedule of events to attend to. When her maid attempted to rouse her for the third time that morning, she grumbled many curses about ancestors doing foul things with donkeys before she leverred herself somewhat upright. 

After Corrian washed face a bit too hard, her maid (who by now knew everything was behind schedule and was unfairly being held responsible for the delay) selected a green gown and began to dress the queen. Corrian was trying to sit still while being laced into her stays, but her late morning meant she had missed breakfast and was now hungry, so when the youngest maid entered with a tray of food, she nearly lunged at it. That is when she heard the rip. 

It was entirely her fault, to be sure, but the dressing maid was now in tears, holding the lacing that had ripped through the eyelets. The stays were ruined. Corrian tried to comfort the maid but she was already being shooed out of the room by the senior ladies maid. A new set of stays were quickly found, but this only increased the delay already present.

Once she was fully dressed, her very impatient butler began to hurry her out of her rooms. As she passed the food tray, she snagged one more turnover. 

She was shoving the last bite of turnover into her mouth when she found herself at the door to the audience chamber. Walking in, she saw that Gustav was already inside and talking to whom she could only assume were the dignitaries from La Serenissima. She walked up to her husband with a smile only to be met by odd looks from the three Cardicci men next to him. 

“Hello, dear,” Gustav said, bending to give her a peck on the cheek. As he did so he whispered, “You have crumbs on your skirt.”

Corrian’s eyes grew wide with shock, and she looked down to find that, yes, her husband was correct, she was wearing her breakfast. She quickly tried to brush them off as best as she could, all the while noticing Gustav’s cheek twitching in suppressed laughter.

To their credit, the other men pretended not to notice any of it. 

The talks today were just preliminary, no actual politics or trade would be discussed until later in the week, but this was Corrian’s first time meeting foreign dignitaries as queen, so she was a bit on edge. To his credit, Gustav seemed to sense this and stood by her side the whole day. 

It was also customary for royals and ambassadors of all nations to go on a hunt during political visits. Unfortunately, no one told this to Corrian. 

“I am looking forward to the boar hunt tomorrow,” Giuseppe Petrei said to another Sarrenisiman in Caerdicci. 

“A hunt?!?” Corrian blurted out in D’Angeline, looking with pleading eyes at her husband. That was when Gustav realized no one had told Corrian. He knew his wife hated hunts, she despised the idea of any killing to be honest. She hadn’t even eaten meat since she was a child and saw the crofter’s at her father’s estate butcher a pig. “You cannot be serious!” 

“Of course we are serious,” said Dario d’Angelo. “Everyone knows that Terre d’Ange hosts the best boar hunts.”

Corrian turned to look at her husband, her face white as a sheet. “It is customary,” he said gently. 

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, I feel unwell,” she said, then hurried back to her room. 

Corrian did not join the group for dinner, instead requesting a tray to be sent to her room. After she had finished her meal, her ladies maid (who by now she had thoroughly apologized to for the events of the morning) helped her draft a note to the king. 

G, 

I am in need of Odillia’s service this evening. I apologize that you will not find either of our beds available to you.

-C

*

Odilia hummed quietly, continuing to stroke Corrian’s auburn hair soothingly after the queen had finished divulging the events of the day. 

“I see,” she said finally, rising only to refresh the incense before she returned to the chaise where the queen had draped herself in her agony. Odilia settled herself on the end of the chaise and Corrian squirmed herself around to rest her head in her Royal Companion’s lap. Odilia rested her hand on the other woman’s shoulder as she considered this – what she knew about Corrian, what she knew of Gustav, and what she knew of responsibility. 

“You know,” she said softly, “when Gustav first came to Dahlia’s salon and spent his first night with me, we did not fall to bed as so many would expect. We sat up the whole night, just talking.  He told me so many things about the weight of the responsibility that his brother bore, how he never begrudged his elder brother being the Dauphin because he saw how heavy the title weighed upon him and how much he needed to do to prepare. We just talked about duty and responsibility and court.  And when the sickness took the Dauphin, when Gustav was lifted overnight to become the next king of Terre D’Ange, he came to me again.  And we spoke again.”

“I did not know that,” Corrian said, her eyes half closed as Odilia’s voice washed over her. 

“Few do.  But I have already advised one ruler, and in this the teachings of Dahlia House serve well. Naamah bestowed herself like a queen, and adepts of Dahlia House spend their entire lives searching for that same regal presence and royal air.  It will not come overnight, Corrian, and it lives in each of us differently.”

“Easy for you to say,” Corrian said, a little petulantly. “You are a Dahlia.  You are the Dahlia.  It looks so easy when everything you do is regal.”

“Comparison will do you no good,” Odilia chided gently. “I was raised in Dahlia House as a child. You are learning now what I have spent a lifetime studying.  But at the end of the day, you are the Queen of Terre D’Ange.  Outside of these rooms, no one need know how overwhelmed you are.  No one will know unless you show them. And they will be testing you, everyone will be.”

Corrian pressed her cheek against the soft fabric of Odilia’s skirt, squeezing her eyes shut as though that would make the troubles go away. 

“A queen does not hide,” Odilia’s voice said above her, her fingers finding Corrian’s chin and turning her face back up. “The best way a queen can serve her people is to be honest and true.  About herself, about who she is. You are the queen, not anyone else. Be true to yourself first and foremost and, at the end of the day, they will respect you for it.”

Looking up into the courtesan’s dark eyes, Corrian found herself nodding. 

“Will you…” she sat up so she could look into Odilia’s face, woman to woman, equal to equal, “Will you help me?”

“Your Majesty,” Odilia said, a tiny glint in her eye, “you have named an adept of Dahlia House as your Royal Companion. I would say it is quite clearly my job to do so.”

Corrian couldn’t stop the little giggle from bubbling free, and she thought to herself that if she was able to laugh about it, perhaps the road ahead wouldn’t be so difficult. Especially since she wasn’t walking alone.

Storyline: Negotiations

The footmen were no longer surprised to see the Second of Dahlia House approaching the King’s private study, not now that all the city knew how dear she was to the King’s heart.  Certainly not now that she had the ring on her finger.  They merely bowed her through the door with a brief introduction. “Lady Dahlia.”

Gustav looked up from behind his impressive mahogany desk—a desk that had seen so many generations of kings and queens—and brightened with a delighted smile. “My heart!”

She could not stop the smile from flickering across her face—he was ever so endearing, especially now he was able to be more open about his affection.  But she had come here for business, so she refocused and commanded the footman, “Send a page for the queen.”

“At once.” The footman bowed and withdrew, closing the door quietly behind him.  

And Odilia watched Gustav wilt slightly, his brows pinching together as he said, “Sending for Corrian?  What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” she said, circling the desk to let him clasp her hand and kiss it. “But there is business to tend to.”

“This is a business visit?” He continued to wilt, and she loved that he trusted her so deeply that he was willing to show her his more emotional side.  Even if the King of Terre D’Ange was pouting slightly. “Not a visit because you love me so dearly you cannot be without me?”

“Two things can be true,” she said, kissing his temple and letting her perfume surround him for a moment, “but I have come for business, Your Majesty.”

He pulled a face, hearing his royal title from her lips and glared half-heartedly at her as she pulled away to settle herself in one of the chairs set before the great desk. 

“You are sure you are not here to save me from my paperwork?”

“The bane of royals everywhere,” she said drily. 

Corrian was seated with some prospective ladies-in-waiting when the page found her, and she was so grateful for the interruption of what had to be the most pointless gossip and needlepoint session that she could have kissed the page.  She excused herself from the noblewoman, who curtsied extra low to try to win some approval, and let the page escort her to the king’s private study. 

Odilia did not rise as the queen entered, merely smiled as Corrian exclaimed, “Odilia, you don’t know what horrible tedium you have rescued me from.  Gustav, excuse me as I kiss your mistress.”

Odilai accepted the kiss, smiling into it easily as the queen cupped her face with both hands. When they parted, she looked up at the auburn-haired woman and said, “Careful what you thank me for, I came for business, not pleasure.”

Unknowingly following in the footsteps of her husband, the Queen of Terre D’Ange pouted. “Well, that’s hardly fun.”

“Nevertheless, it is necessary.”

Corrian flounced down into the other chair and blinked balefully at Odilia before looking at her husband.  He took a deep breath and said, “Very well, Odilia, we are both here.  What is your business?”

“We must negotiate the terms of your long-term contract for my services,” Odilia said evenly, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. “You have named me Royal Companion and Official Mistress, you have declared for all the world that there is an understanding in your marriage that allows for me in your lives, but now we must clarify those terms in accordance with the governance of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.  You will have to file a contract at Dahlia House officially.  Dowayne Jocaste has allowed some grace for the celebration of your wedding and the first weeks of marriage, but we cannot put this off any longer.”

Corrian pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, it’s true.  It was only a matter of time.  Very well, let us discuss.”

Gustav was slightly more petulant. “Odilia, I have waited for years to have you officially in my life, I do not care what the contract says, I will give you the world if you like. What does the paper matter?”

“It must be done properly so that no one can use it against us,” she said firmly. 

“I agree with Odilia,” Corrian said, smoothing the skirts of her gown. “We must do it properly, in all accordance with tradition and regulation.  This is the manner of things.  I do not want someone to call into question my place in our marriage or on the throne because you are keeping your mistress in clear favoritism.  What terms have you already prepared, Odilia?”

“I want official chambers in the palace,” Odilia said easily. “It is my right as Mistress and Companion both.”

“Easily done,” Corrian said with a nod.  “I will even ensure you have a say in the decor as the household prepares them.”

“I want a clause protecting my right not to light a candle to Eisheth,” Odilia continued, watching Gustav.  “The choice is mine, as it is my body, however I do not want to have a child and begin a succession crisis, or take any power from whatever children the two of you have.”

“A matter we have already spoken about,” Corrian said, also glancing at her husband. “I think that is agreeable to us.”

“Finally,” Odilia said, “I want to discuss with you both the expectations regarding my service as an adept of the Night Court.  I am Second of Dahlia House, I cannot leave that behind me. I have responsibilities to my House and to Mont Nuit to help lead.  There are also the expected duties of the Servant of Naamah to serve in the art of pleasure.  I want to be clear about expectations now that I have been named to your households as Royal Companion and official Royal Mistress.”

“Exclusivity,” Corrian put it together.  “You want to know if you are expected to serve just us or if you are to continue taking other patrons.”

Odilia nodded. “Just so.”

Corrian knew better than to answer this.  This was an answer only Gustav could give. Her teeth closed thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she turned to give her husband her full attention.

Gustav looked torn, the furrow deepening in his brow as he finally whispered, “I have always known I would share you.  With Dahlia, with the Night Court.  I…I never felt like I had the right to ask you to be anything but who you are.”

“But now you do,” Odilia said quietly. “Our agreement now has changed that.  If you wanted to, you had the right to ask me to share my bed with only you.  Or you and your wife.  This is what I truly came here to discuss. The other clauses are important and there are other arrangements that will need to be made with the treasury and with the documentation of the contract with Dahlia, but this is where the paths ahead split. Am I yours and only yours?  Do I remain an adept of the Night Court, with all that entails?  What is it that you want?”

“I want you,” he said, his fingers tracing the texture of the embroidery on his doublet.  “That’s all I have ever wanted, was you.”

“If I may,” Corrian spoke up, “I have a thought as to how we could use this to our benefit.”

Tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, she leaned forward slightly in her chair and said, “All of the country knows Odilia is a Servant of Naamah and a member of the Night Court. Now they know how close she is with us. I am sure even before the marriage question rose, there were those who came to Dahlia House just to sample what had caught the prince’s eye.”

“I seem to remember you being one such,” Odilia said wryly. 

“So I know what I am talking about,” Corrian said with a smile.  “But think of it, now all of the royal court will see her and know her as ours.  They will scheme, nobles always do, and how better to help us keep an eye on the temperature of the court, than our very own spy?  Our very own Phèdre.”

Odilia’s brows lifted. 

“If she is still free to take patrons, if we do not limit her with exclusivity, think about how they will fall over themselves to try it, to try to prove our bond is tenuous, to try to sow discord.” Corrian’s eyes were bright with the thrill of it. “We challenged them when we named her Companion and Mistress, there will be plenty who will rise to the challenge of it. If she is kept to us and us alone, we lose that chance.”

Odilia glanced at Gustav.  He seemed contemplative, considering this. 

Finally, his eyes lifted to look at her, and she watched the walls crumble slightly as he admitted, “I have wanted you as mine for years, Odilia.  I had selfishly thought that with the new arrangement, you would be. Yet, I am torn.  The king in me sees the merit of what Corrian says.  But…the remnants of my younger self in my heart wants you for mine. What should I choose? The romance that would place Elua’s precept first? To love you and love you as mine? Or the king that must make the decisions that will serve the crown and country? It is hardly fair.”

“It is not,” Odilia agreed quietly. “But it is the choice ahead of us.”

He got up from his desk and paced to his window, hands clasped behind his back as his head bowed to think. Odilia watched him.  He had aged so much even in these last few years.  He was still young yet, not even in the fourth decade of his life, and she could see the start of silver at his temples.

“Very well,” he said at last, sounding weary. “I will not ask for exclusivity. I will, however, ask for transparency.  When you are approached by potential patrons, I want to know who they are before you take them to bed.”

Odilia nodded. That was easy to give. 

There was something slightly bitter in Gustav’s voice when he said, “I am sure the Duc de Chalasse will be pleased that he has not lost you either.”

Corriana glanced at the courtesan.  It was only because she was looking that she saw the flicker of pain in the corners of her eyes before her face returned to the serene mask of all adepts of the Night Court. It was easy for the young king to feel threatened by someone like Roland de Chalasse, established and powerful as he was.  To have the same man also enjoying the favor of the woman Gustav loved? It could very well breed some dangerous resentment. 

“Will you tell him yourself?” Gustav asked quietly, clearly ready to hear the worst. 

“No,” Odilia said calmly, rising to her feet. “He will find out with all of the rest of them.  After the contract is signed.”

She gave a small curtsy to the king that also included the still seated queen and said, “I will return in a few days with a representative of the Night Court to discuss final details and draw up the details of the contract. Excuse me, Your Majesties.”

Only once Odilia was gone did Corrian rise and cross to her husband, laying a hand on his arm and looking up into his sad face.  “Gustav, you could have asked her to be yours. You had that right.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said softly. “I couldn’t limit her.”

“She would have done it.  For you, she would have done it.”

“I know,” he said, blinking away the tears glittering in the corner of his Courcel blue eyes. “I hoped that when we made our arrangement, that it would have changed something.  But I know who she is, I can’t make her change that.  It was the dream of a romantic, lovesick boy. I need to be the king I am now.  That means making the choices that will break my heart, for the good of the crown.  She told me that, years ago, as we talked through the night.  All I can hope for now is balance.”

“You’re not alone,” Corrian reminded her husband softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know the love you have for me is different than what you have for her, but I am still here.”

“I know,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Thank you, Corrian.”

“You’re welcome, Gustav.”

A Conversation Between Bees

Rosanna had a private audience with the Duc de Chalasse in the days after the wedding. In the safety of his townhouse, they discussed the outcome of Odilia’s decision. As a Dowayne, of course she had to consider what this choice would do for the entire Court of Night Blooming Flowers, its impact was sure to be felt for years. As a granddaughter, she wanted to ensure just how her beloved grandfather was faring in the fallout. 

His offer was not one made lightly, and was as powerful as it was uncommon. 

“Will you continue to see Odilia after this? Or has that arrangement been put to rest for good?” 

Here in the study, surrounded by antiques, books and all manner of souvenirs of a life well lived, Roland was all but seated on a throne. For any of the grandchildren, but especially for her, it was a place of wisdom and power. Where they learned how to navigate the intricate labyrinth that was the highest circles of D’Angeline life. It was no surprise to her that this was this room he chose to have this discussion.

“That is entirely dependent on what her new contract says. A document I have not yet been made privy to.”

A tray of tea with honey cakes sat between them. She poured and he dished up the treats. A calm and familiar routine they had performed so many times throughout the years. 

“As she is a Second, Jocaste would have had to sign off on some part of that agreement. And a legal representative from the king and queen would as well. Or so I would assume. This has never been done before.”

Nodding, the Duc lifted the teacup to his lips. It was a one of a kind set, made for him with the image of his crest upon an expensive black glaze. 

“For that reason, I believe they will keep it very much private. Should she wish for me to know the contents of her agreement, I will be told. But the paper itself? The palace will not want those words made public. Next thing you know, every count and baroness from here to the sea will be mimicking it. Cheapening whatever happened behind closed doors.”

Now it was her turn to nod. All the people needed to know was that a legally binding deal had been struck and no more. Doubly so as those who tried to ruin Odilia were no doubt having fits over their best laid plans falling to pieces. 

“Do you suspect those who attempted that fiasco last winter will try to find the contract? Or try to play their hand at you being a bitter ex-lover?”

“This is why you are my favorite. They will, I believe they already have. My calling card dish has been insufferably full. Amateurs, the lot of them, to think I would crave sympathy like a broken hearted youth. However, such green attempts to sway me can become sloppy, which does concern me.”

“Sloppiness can open the gates to greater harm once they realize you are not so easily placed in their pocket.”

Familial eyes locked gazes and the conversation silently continued. Until Roland had a clear place in or out of Odilia’s life he would have to contend with the horde of well wishers and hangers on. Once the final decision there was made, clean up would have to begin. 

“I can ask my adepts to keep their ears to the ground. They all have friends outside of our House. Should any pillow talk of anger over this contract be heard, I will be sure to let you know. Or if anyone is foolish enough to boast wishing for your acquaintance, I will do the same. The last thing either you or Odilia need are more miscreants sticking their noses where they do not belong.”

She topped up her cup and leaned back on the great lounging couch. Comfortable in the home of her mother’s father, Rosanna considered what else might need to be done on her part.

“Would we like to attend the theater with Odilia? Our family already made it clear we would welcome her should she accept your offer before the king made his. It makes sense that I would continue to support my friend and you.”

“That does make for a well considered call back to one of the very first outings I attended with her,” Roland mused out loud. “Not the whole family, mind you. We might well scare her away.”

“I would be scared away if they all descended at once. But just you and I? That has merit. And such displays might keep those unhappy with this outcome on their toes. If they do not know what exactly Odilia has promised and she is still seen out with others, we can keep their heads spinning instead of their teeth gnashing.”

A quill, ink and paper were retrieved from the desk.

“The sooner the better. How is Thursday next for you, Rosie?”

“I do believe I am quite free that night, Grandfather.”

One would hope that now after the festivities had died down that the newly minted Royal Companion and Mistress would be able to freely take her pleasure in the many diversions of the city as she was wont to. 

Especially now that there was so much to be happy for. 

Doubly so the silence any speculation that might have cropped up, for any number of those most closely associated with the unprecedented appointee. 

A missive arrived at the door of Odilia, the messenger in the black and gold of the sovereign Duc. Although he had been at the wedding, he had kept himself scarce from the happy trio. Such was not the time nor the place for any sort of sighting of him near her. But a letter a week after the happy event was perfectly respectable. 

His letter was brief and to the point, as was his way. But the contents were warm, at least for those who knew Roland well. He extended his well wishes for her happiness and assured her that he was not sour over the path she chose. Finally, he made the invitation of a night out delighting in the arts with him and his granddaughter and hoped that she would have the time and happy inclination to join them. 

A peace offering, an offer of friendship to continue. They sincerely missed her and looked forward to an evening at the theatre. 

Storyline: Mont Nuit in Celebration

“I’m bored,” Aliksandria nó Cereus said, crossing her arms over her swelling bosom petulantly.

“Here, go over these ledgers with me, then,” Petrea responded. 

“Ledgers? Are you mad? There is a celebration going on downstairs, and you have me cooped up here like an Akkadian maiden!”

Petrea threw her hands in the air. “You are with child! The chirurgeon says you

are to deliver in less than a month. If you go down there, Elua knows what could happen.”

Aliks glared at her friend. “It has been seven months of you mothering me, and I am exhausted from it. I can assure you that if I go down to the party, I will not suddenly burst into flames. I will have some fun, dance a bit, maybe take a patron for the evening. It will all be fine.”

“A patron! Have you lost your mind? You can’t take a patron in your condition.” Petrea was aghast. 

“Of course I can. In fact, though it is gauche here in the Night Court, I have heard there is an establishment at Night’s Doorstep that employs only Servants of Naamah who carry Eisheth’s blessing.”

The two women continued to bicker for some time before a knock came at the door to Aliks’s chambers. 

“Ah, Aimee dear, how is the soiree going?” Aliks asked, happily turning her attention away from her Second.

“Um, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There have been requests, a great many of them, for you, both of you that is, to join us.”

“See,” Ailks said smugly to Petrea, then added to Aimee, “Tell them that the Dowayne and her Second will be along presently.”

Petrea, knowing she had been beaten, followed Aliks down the grand staircase to the party. It was in truth a grand affair, all of the city was celebrating the royal wedding and the Night Court was doing so in their own fashion. A very small House fee was charged to patrons at the door, and upon admittance they could choose from any of the adepts present. It was rumored all the Houses were following this format, and thus the more seasoned adepts who usually command a higher fee, were in quite a lot of demand, most notably Dowaynes and Seconds.

“Aliks, please, just walk about and mingle, but no patrons, not in your condition,” Petrea hissed. Aliks waved her friend off and disappeared into the fray. 

Petrea was right, the babe would be here sooner than later and then everything would really change. Tonight, she would remind herself what it truly was to be Naamah’s Servant. Tomorrow, she would deal with her friend’s fears. 

*

Most Houses on Mont Nuit could boast their celebrations and what special offers could be found on various holy days and observances. Not so much with the two Houses which specialized in the sharper pleasures, outside of Mara’s Eve that is. But for the royal wedding and naming of a courtesan as Companion and Mistress? They did not shout from the rooftops but they did have some elegant tricks up their sleeves tonight.

“I don’t know if we purchased enough flowers,” Tryphosa nó Valerian bemoaned as she checked in the head of the House. She popped in after barely knocking, which the Dowayne was perfectly fine with this night, so much was going on after all.

Rosanna was making some last minute changes to her ensemble for the evening. A diaphanous gown of white silk with bronze trim, cuffs and choker. Still in the spirit of the triumph of happy endings today, but far more maneuverable in the heady environment of Valerian House.

“If they go through every rose, dahlia, and peony we have on hand then I would consider the night to be a success. Should that happen, we shall leave the patrons wanting more, which will only draw them back,” she replied and adjusted the corded belt around her waist. 

“I just don’t want the novices to be picking up petals for the next week when they should be at their studies,” the Second mumbled and checked her own hair in a mirror.

“Then they learn a valuable lesson. And they would also be picking up thornes, which will be tempered by those petals. Rose flogging is an art, they need to pay attention. It’s not often we have it in such abundance.”

Indeed, the choice of harsh and soft flogging with long-stemmed flowers was usually a request made by a patron already experienced in the activity. For the special occasion this day however, Rosanna had directed Showings and more access to the niche spectacle. Apparently her idea had merit, if interest was already so invested as to send her Second into worry over inventory. 

“Do you still think you might be called away tonight?”

“Perhaps. If Grandfather or Odilia ask for me. I’d like to go to Dahlia House myself just to offer my congratulations in person, but I know the place will no doubt be mobbed. I shall remain here as long as I can, it’s not as if I do not have a perfectly capable Second to take over should I need to step out for an hour or so.”

And it was not as though her friend and family were banging down her door. Let them celebrate and sit with the happy news however they so pleased.  

When she did make her entrance, Tryphosa at her side, the pair first made their prayers and offerings to Kushiel and Naamah as was their tradition before opening the doors.

After that, Rosanna would see where the night took her.

*

After the wedding was done and the couple headed to the castle, Philomena and Vouloir nó Heliotrope made their way through the streets. The crowd was electric, even this close to the palace where it was just the nobility, the energy was palpable. As she wove through the people, she felt the stress of the last few years melting off of her, making her steps lighter and her mood soar. She smiled, feeling happiness flood through her for the first time since she became Dowayne. 

They made their way through the streets, passing into the less prosperous quarters, the places Mena and Loir both felt more comfortable. Here the celebrations were more raucous: drinking spilling out of taverns into the streets, groups of people singing love songs, bawdy and not, as loud as possible, with varying skill, to small clusters of listeners, food vendors and bakeries hawking goods for almost free, streams of children running and playing. It was incredible, for someone like Mena who found her joy in the joy of others, it was almost overwhelming. 

Just before they crossed into the Night Court proper, a voice rang out.

“Philomena?”

Her head whipped around, her eyes scanning the crowd for the source of that voice. It had been years, half a decade since she’d heard that voice, was it possible?

A man materialized from the bodies around him, a crooked grin splitting his face. “As I live and breathe, it is you.”

“Kyrie?” She knew her voice broke saying his name, but on this of all days, she didn’t care for her image as Dowayne. Loir came to her side, slipping her arm through Mena’s and squeezing her upper arm. She felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the sight before her.

He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away. “I heard the House would be open for the celebration and I thought that you wouldn’t be able to throw me out, so…”

She stared at him, her mind racing. All this time, she’d thought—

A quick shake of her head brought her back, “The House!”

Spinning on her heel, she started back though the gate, stopping just inside to turn back to him, holding out her hand,  “Come on, come see what we have for you.”

The front of Heliotrope House was decked out in fabric buntings in the colors of the king and his new queen, with flowers spilling out of the open windows. Also hanging out the windows were several Novices, weaving Odilia’s bronze in, placing dahlias among the flowers, and as she approached, Mena could hear them laughing. 

One of the young men noticed her and waved enthusiastically, “Lady Dowayne! How was the wedding! Come in! Dara has the games started in the Salon! And Cook made your favorite cold soup!”

Laughing, she waved back as she climbed the steps, “Thank you, Henri. The wedding was wonderful, Blessed Elua and Naamah are sure to be pleased. We’ll tell everyone the tale at midnight.”

Henri groaned, “Past bedtime as usual.”

It was Loir who answered, “Silly, there’s no bedtime during a Festival!”

Inside, laughter rang through the halls. It was wonderful to have a crowded House. Mena looked around and saw her Adepts cozying up to new Patrons and she knew that these days would see new loves forged, marques made, and would also be blessed by Naamah and Elua, as much as the Royal Couple were. 

Making her way through to the stairs, she turned to Loir and said, “Thank you for attending with me, your presence was a comfort.” She didn’t look at Kyrie, but she knew her Second understood what she meant. 

Loir grinned and gave a small curtsey, “It was incredible, I am glad I saw it with my own eyes. I’ll see you in the back Salon once you’ve changed, Lady Mena.” The young woman turned to Kyrie and gestured down the hallway. “If you’ll come with me, my Lord, to the Salon, the Lady Dowayne will be with you shortly.”

Mena went up to change, not looking back. Kyrie knew this House as well as he knew his own hands, but making him stand on ceremony felt right. Her helper, a Novice named Anton, deaf from birth, sprung up when she entered her room. He helped her out of her fancier dress and into her day dress. Her bronze caul was carefully placed on a wooden sphere the artisan had sent over. When Anton reached for her hair to put it up, she shook her head. He smiled and instead worked quickly to free her from the pins that held her hair back. The relief was instant and the relaxed look was what this festival called for: all people were equal in the eyes of Eula and Naamah in the celebration of love. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. ‘You are the Dowayne’ she reminded herself ‘He is the one who left like that. If you can handle the last few years, you can handle one man.’

Before that, she needed to check on the Salons. Not that she was avoiding him.

The front Salon was a riot of noise; people laughing and talking, the clink of coins hitting the tables, the occasional sound of a ball hitting the wooden floor causing groans and chants of “Drink, drink, drink!” to sound from the back corner. She grinned and made her way through the people, stopping to greet those she knew with a hug or a small word. There were card games of so many types happening, Patrons betting with coin, Adepts with favor slips. It was a favored activity between her Adepts and their usuals, this was the only time they’d allow strangers into their games with no real losers . A group slipped upstairs, following an Adept to their room to get their winnings.

Deeper in the room, there was a serious game underway. It was one of the games Dara had come up with for this festival, and if it caught on, it would be a regular game. It consisted of small squares with letters and was played like dominoes, only the players had to make words instead of number matches. The two playing were intently focused on the space between them. Lina, one the Adepts who had a thirst for knowledge and had a scholar as a regular Patron, was playing against a woman that Mena had never seen. Not wanting to distract the pair, she whispered to an onlooker, “What’s on the table?”

“A week of whatever the winner wants,” the man whispered back, his eyes never leaving the pair. Mena made an impressed face and went onwards. The back corner was her destination.

Dara stood in the circle of players, watching the person with the ball plan their move. She’d set up lines of sturdy cups that she’d gotten from the housekeeper by some means that she didn’t clarify, filling them halfway with mead. The goal was to toss the ball into the cups that still contained liquid, if that was done the player would pick another player to drink. If the player failed, there were punishments that ranged from drinking to favors, depending on the cup that was aimed for. Mena barely understood the rules, but she knew that it was going to be incredibly popular and she planned to buy Dara some special cups.

She slid into the group, slipping her arm around Dara’s waist and giving the woman a kiss on the side of her neck as greeting. “Dara, love. How’s your game going?”

The Adept laughed quietly, “Quite well, Lady Dowayne. Would you like to join?”

The assembled Patrons turned and looked with shocked faces. The Dowayne in the Salon was a rather rare occurrence. Mena wanted to change that now that the pressure had released. With a grin, she took the ball out of the man’s hand who’d just thrown and surveyed the cups. “Third row, second in.”

Her toss was aimed well, but unfortunately the cup rim was higher than she’d thought. The ball bounced up and landed in an empty cup in the second row. Laughing, she reached over, retrieved the ball, and looked back at the group. Someone was pouring a liquid into a small glass as the rest shouted, “Drink, drink, drink!”

She took the glass from the woman and tipped it back. It burned like fire, but tasted like the spices used in winter cooking. When she’d emptied her cup, the group cheered. With an exaggerated bow, she said, “With that, I’ve got to take my leave. Have a wonderful time.”

Dara called to her as she left, “Come back later, we will be breaking out the color game after dinner.”

Mena laughed as she walked away. Dara loved her games, particularly ones like her color game where the longer you played, the less clothing you wore.

Winding her way back down the hall, heading deeper into the House, Mena glanced in the open doors. The smaller Salon’s held quieter activities, Adepts sitting with Patrons, brushing their hair or talking quietly over food and drinks. When people glanced up as she passed, she nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop. As the night wore on, she knew these rooms would empty as arrangements were made, and privacy was needed. As that happened, the party crowd would move towards the back of the House and out into the gardens for more room. She was looking forward to the next few days of relaxation and a return to being an Adept. She missed it more than she thought she had. But for now, she had a problem in the back Salon to deal with.

But Loir sat on the porch of her House in the setting sun, half watching the party-goers passing by. She swirled the cold cup of wine and fruit juice in her hand lazily, thinking about how things played out. The arrangement was one she was familiar with, but only because it was something that all Heliotrope adepts were taught was a rare but potential outcome of their long-term Patron relationships. More usually, the couple married when the adept’s marque was made or the patron married and visited when they could. She sighed, as much as she loved serving Naamah and knew in her heart this was her calling, the prospect of heartbreak loomed. She felt for Odilia in a way she knew the older Adepts didn’t. Still, the outcome was the best possible play with the cards in the king’s hands. As she’d been listening and taking notes and learning what she needed as Helio’s Second, she’d been surprised how many of the nobles had actually been in favor of Odilia as their queen. The only ones against it were, unfortunately, the ones with the most power. Maybe one day, soon she hoped, a Royal would be able to marry for love again.

“Excuse me?”

She looked up to see a young man smiling at her, nervous but with a full smile. She smiled back, “Yes?”

He took a step closer and she could more clearly see that he was a noble’s son, but young, not many years past her. His collar was undone and in his hand he had a wine bottle. Loir watched him take a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment as though gathering his courage. “I saw you during the wedding, you and your Lady Dowayne walked past my mother and I before the ceremony. I could see you, just a ways down in the crowd. The whole event, all my eyes could see was you. I followed you here, after, but didn’t have the courage to come speak to you until now.” He gestured with the wine bottle and looked away. Even in the fading light she could see the color rising on his neck.

She laughed a little as she stood and went to the top of the steps. Holding out her hand, she said, “Well, come closer so we can meet properly.”

The young noble stepped closer, into the light spilling from the doorway. The light showed that he was indeed a noble’s son, and a high-ranking one at that. His coat was long abandoned in the summer heat but his shirt was fine linen and his trousers were decorated in the most fashionable of woven patterns. She wondered what he had to be nervous about.

She held out her hand and said, “Come, come in, my lord. Let me get you some food and we can get to know each other.”

He reached out, but paused before their fingers touched. ‘“I would love to learn all I can about you, you shine like a second sun in my eyes. But I am unsure if the coin in my pocket is enough to allow me that honor.”

Loir leaned out, keeping her balance with an arm wrapped around the post that held the pergola. “My lord. The king has married, he has chosen to keep his love close, Blessed Elua and Naamah in her Grace are honored by this. Your eye has been caught by a simple adept of Heliotrope House, the coin in your pocket doesn’t matter.”

Her fingers brushed over his before tangling in them so she could pull him in. “I set my price, my lord, and today it’s only the stars in your eyes and the honey words on your tongue. Come inside.”

The young man allowed himself to be drawn up the stairs. He stammered out, “L-Leandré. M-m-my name is Leandré.”

Loir took his other hand in hers and slowly backed into the House. “I am Vouloir. But those who know me call me Loir.”

The stars in his eyes sparkled brighter, “Then I look forward to earning the honor of calling you that, Vouloir.”

Storyline: A Night Court Legacy

Aliksandria nó Cereus was, as far as anyone could tell, Night Court royalty. She was a sixth generation servant of Naamah on her father’s side (her great-great-great grandmother having been a Gentian adept of some renown) and a fourth generation adept on her mother’s side. Her maternal grandmother had herself been Dowayne of Bryony House in her day. She, herself, now stood as Dowayne of Cereus House, to which her marque had been sold when she was but ten years of age. And yet, given all this, she had never given thought to continuing this illustrious line. 

Her life’s work was Cereus House, not her bloodline. Which made the conversation she was having with her parents all the stranger. 

*

Aliks arrived at the modest town house her parents lived in shortly before noon. Her parents had bought it when they retired from Naamah’s service so they could finally live together. Her father, ever the Camellia, kept the house perfect. The garden was tended with the perfecly correct ratio of flowers (though no one could have told Aliks exactly what that ratio was), every surface inside gleamed, and the pictures hung so neatly that one could be forgiven for thinking the frames themselves feared to be askew.

The trio sat in the sitting room, eating small pastries and enjoying warm tea. It was comfortable, and though she had not grown up in such an environment, Aliks had become used to the warm visits with her parents over the years. 

“How have you been since the funeral, cher?” Guilliam nó Camellia asked his daughter. He was known for getting to the heart of matters, though he did so with gentleness.

“We have been so worried about you, love,” Annette nó Bryony added.

Aliks took a sip of tea, then set her cup and saucer on the low table in front of her. “I’ll not lie, it has been hard. Petrea has been a godsend, and Aimee has also stepped up a great deal. I thought at first, throwing myself into my work would help, but I don’t think that will be the solution I had hoped.”

“Oh,” said Annette. “Why is that?”

Ailks took a deep breath, and she was certain her parents could see her hands tremble. “It seems Eisheth found my candle acceptable.”

The next few events happened simultaneously, hard though that may be to believe. Annette gasped, her hands going straight to her mouth. They did nothing to hide the large smile that split her face as she said “Oh, honey, that is marvelous.” 

Guilliam jumped up, knocking the table over in the process and causing the pastries and tea to fly across the previously white rug. He thrust his clenched fist in the air as his feet physically left the floor and he released a shout of jubilation. 

Annette moved to embrace her daughter but was knocked out of the way when her consort grabbed said daughter about the waist and spun her in the air. 

If Petrea had been cautious with Aliks, and by all the gods she had, her parents were ecstatic. It took Annette a few minutes to realize Aliks was processing the level of joy in the room, but not quite participating in it. 

“Oh, love,” she said softly, realizing belatedly how complicated this must be, “She answered you and Waldemar’s prayer,” emphasizing Waldemar. At this, Guilliam calmed down, righted the table and sat back down (uncharacteristically ignoring the rest of the mess).

“Yes mother, she answered our prayer, his prayer.” Aliks fought back the tears. “I don’t know how I feel. I get to keep a part of him. He will never truly be gone from me. And yet, will looking at a child with his small face make this hurt more or less? I don’t know.”

“I cannot imagine anything in this world or the true Terre d’Ange beyond can make this hurt any more. My daughter, you have suffered a hurt I cannot fathom.”

Guilliam put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I will not tell you a babe fixes everything, or that it won’t hurt to be reminded of what you have lost, but I will tell you that the day I held you in my arms for the first time, my world changed. I truly understood Blessed Elua as I had never before, and I wish only for you to feel that, too.”

Annette smoothed her skirt, then looked at Aliks and decided to go with a more pragmatic route. “What was the plan for this, with Waldemar?”

“He intended to retire from Naamah’s service. I was going to allow him to live at Cereus House with me as my official consort, and we were going to raise the babe in the Night Court,” Aliks responded.

“Is it still your intention to do so?” Guilliam asked.

“As opposed to what?” 

“You do have other options, my dear,” Annette responded. 

“I’m not retiring!” Aliks said with more force than she intended. “I mean, I have no intention of leaving Cereus House. It is my home, my work, my dream, my life. Besides, both of you continued to work for many years after I was born. Why should I do differently?”

“No one is saying you should retire, merely that you could,” Annette stated. “Also, we could help. After your lying in, if you return to Cereus House, you could leave the child here, and we could help rear them.”

Aliks shook her head. She looked at her parents, whom she loved so very much, and said words she didn’t know she felt until they left her mouth, “No. I want to raise Waldemar’s child myself, at Cereus House, the way he intended.”

*

As Aliks waved goodbye from her carriage, Guilliam put his arm around Annette. “I would have loved to raise our grandchild,” he whispered.

Annette smiled. “We were never going to raise them, she just needed to realize that this is her dream, too.”

Storyline: Silken Pillow Talk

Marion Basilisque could not believe how much her life had changed in the past year. Why, it seemed just days ago she had been following that brat Oudine like a shadow, doing her bidding and putting up with her nasty demeanor. Now here she was, on the morning of her natality, in the fine patron quarters on Balm House, in bed with her lover, the man she had pined over for as long as she could remember. He had taken her to Balm to celebrate her—to celebrate her—with a night of relaxation and love, brought a handsome young man to attend to them, and now here they were, nude in bed, enjoying an overabundance of delicious chocolates from her favorite chocolatier. The bedclothes were piled with wrappings from the candy they had been feeding each other.

“Oh, Évrard, I still cannot believe you have done all of this for me!” Marion said happily. “You are so attentive. No one has ever done anything this kind and generous for me before. Why, I don’t think even my family has taken so much care on my natality.”

Évrard chuckled. “Well I certainly hope you have not spent nights like this with your family, my love.” He gave her a gentle kiss and picked up a chocolate, unwrapping it and feeding it to her. He tossed the pretty paper onto the duvet.

Marion gave a squeal of surprise and playfully smacked his bare shoulder as she chewed the candy. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Of course, dearest.” His eyes sparkled. “I just love teasing you.” He lay back in the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Did you have an enjoyable night?”

“You know I did.” Marion sighed and looked into her lover’s eyes. She could not believe that Évrard had chosen her. That he was with her. That he loved her. “This has been…everything.” She ran her hand down his chest, tracing circles with her fingers. “Did you catch what the adepts were saying in the salon last night while we were eating?”

Évrard’ ears perked up. While he considered himself a proper gentleman, city gossip had always been a weakness of his, and Marion knew this. “Why no, I did not. What did you overhear?” He curled his body around his lover’s so that they were face to face. Wrappings from their chocolates fell to the floor as they moved under the bedclothes.  

Marion’s eyes lit up. She, too, adored city gossip, and they spent many an evening speculating on all manner of social politics. “Two young girls were speaking of a meeting of all the Dowaynes—all of them, Évrard, can you imagine!—just a few weeks past at Cereus House. In addition to the Dowaynes, Odilia was there! So, they must have been talking of her ‘situation,’ as it were. You know she left the city several months ago and was gone for weeks? Well, the adepts were starting to say something about the Duc de Chalasse when the Second came over and chastised them for gossiping in front of patrons. Now, we all are well aware that everyone in this city speaks to everyone of goings on, so this must be of great importance and secrecy if this is being kept quiet.”

Évrard nodded and stroked Marion’s hair. “Yes, that is strange. And the entire city is on tenterhooks over Odilia’s situation, so I do not understand why this would be kept from anyone. Perhaps we chose the wrong adept to join us last night.” His gaze was wicked.

Marion giggled. “Well…I don’t know about that…I enjoyed myself…and it appeared you did, too, my darling.” She blushed, thinking back to the prior evening’s activities.

“Oh yes, I certainly did.” He gave her a soft smile. “But it is most important that you were pleased.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I only want you to be happy.”

“Oh Évrard.” She cupped his cheek. “Some days I have to pinch myself simply to ensure that I am not dreaming. That this is indeed real. How am I so fortunate as to have you?”

“Blessed Elua and Naamah have smiled upon us, have they not?”

She sighed and smiled at him. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot something else I heard.”

Évrard blinked, shaken from his reverie by Marion’s sudden change of demeanor. “Oh, yes, love?”

“Well, it was quite fascinating. There appears to be some…something…going on at Cereus House. No one will say what, but shouting has been overheard by the stablehands and grooms. No one inside the house will say anything about it. Quite tight lipped, they are. Adepts of other Houses and Cereus patrons have noticed an Eisandine chirurgeon visiting—and not as a patron, it is said. And, again, everyone is quite tight lipped about it. It is the strangest thing. No one can discern if there are instructions not to speak or if the adepts and servants simply do not wish to speak out of loyalty to whomever is ill, but you must admit it is odd.”

Évrard nodded, his face drawn in thought. He ate a chocolate, his mind spinning. “Hmm…that is odd, although I have heard nothing of this.”

“It seems no one has, and no one can pry any information out of anyone. I do wonder what is happening.”

Évrard hummed in agreement. “My cousin is visiting Cereus House tomorrow night. I shall ask him to look into this.”

“Oh, yes! You must. Évrard, we have these two large secrets here in the Night Court. Why do you think that no one wants them getting out? What could be of such great importance?” Marion felt almost concerned. “Do you think there is something amiss here? We know what happened with the Judiciary last year. Do you think there is somewhat similar going on? Is there some danger or threat to the Night Court that the Dowaynes wish to keep hidden?” Marion took another piece of chocolate and bit into it. The pile of wrappings on the bed continued to grow as they spoke.

“Hmm…that could be. But how might an illness at Cereus House and the Dowaynes meeting about Odilia be connected?”

“Well…” Marion thought for a moment, her brows drawn. “What if they weren’t meeting about Odilia, but she simply attended the meeting in her position of Second of Dahlia House? Surely that could be allowed, yes?”

Évrard nodded. “True enough. So, what then?”

“What if the meeting was to discuss this illness at Cereus House? What if, say, the Dowayne or Second of the House is…dying?” Marion’s voice rose. “What if one of them has some terrible sickness? What if that is why all of the leaders had to meet? What if they must plan for another funeral?” Her hand flew to her mouth.

Évrard gathered her in his arms, chuckling. The chocolate wrappings crinkled as the sheets tangled underneath them. “Oh, my darling, you are working yourself into a tizzy. I am sure it is nothing that dramatic. If the Dowayne or Second of the House was ill or had some…condition…that would not be kept quiet. No one could keep a secret like that!”

Marion sighed, calming. “Yes. Yes, you are right. If anything were happening to the Dowayne or Second, the news would have gotten out.”

“Of course. I suspect one of the adepts has taken ill or has injured themselves in some embarrassing fashion, and the House has been instructed not to speak of it. The yelling is likely some discipline gone awry. Again, embarrassing to the House if word were to spread.” He fed Marion another chocolate, which she chewed daintily.

“Ohhh, yes, that is like to be the situation. And the Dowaynes?”

Évrard thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Unconnected. The royal wedding is coming. It is like the House leaders met to discuss plans for it. As I said, Odilia was attending as Second of Dahlia.”

“But what of her situation with the king? Or the Duc de Chalasse?” Marion questioned.

“I think that, with the king being wedded, her days as his lover are sadly over. The king must produce an heir, and an adept of the Night Court cannot do that. The king must focus on his new bride. No queen would allow for formal or long term liaisons on Mont Nuit. Perhaps Odilia will be attending the wedding with the Duc de Chalasse?”

Marion made a sound of agreement. “That would make sense.” She sat up and made to grab for another chocolate, but found only piles of empty wrappings. She grasped, looking around the bed. “Oh, Évrard! We have eaten the entire bag of chocolates! Look at this terrible mess we have made!”

Évrard surveyed the bed, which was indeed, covered in candy wrappings. He craned his neck and saw more wrappings on the floor. Seeing Marion’s shocked expression, he could not help but burst into laughter.

Marion’s hand flew to her breast. “How can you laugh? Look at this!”

Évrard’s laughter grew harder, and he clutched his belly, tears springing to his eyes. “I am sorry, my dear,” he gasped. “But I do find it comical!”

“How can you laugh? Someone will have to clean up!”

After a moment, Évrard was finally able to calm himself. He took a deep breath. “Marion. How can you not appreciate the humor in the two of us eating an entire pound of chocolates? I meant for that to be a gift to you to enjoy over time. And here we are, having devoured the entire bag in a single morning, before breakfast. And you must admit, this is quite the sight.” His eyes grew soft as he saw her concern. “My darling. I can think of nothing better than lying in bed, eating sweets with you.”

Marion nodded slowly. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose this has been a lovely morning.” She gave her lover a small smile. “And I, too, can think of no better way to spend my time than here with you.”

The two embraced and fell back under the covers.

Distracted as they were, they had not heard the adept in the hallway, knocking to announce their breakfast. The young man had been standing in the slightly opened door for several minutes, listening intently to their conversation.

Storyline: Petrea reaches out

From the private desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House to Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House

My dearest Odilia,

I have watched over these last many months as your personal struggles have been a public spectacle and your name dragged through the mud of the street of the City of Elua. Gossip on Mont Nuit and Night’s Doorstep is to be expected; your situation is not. It is not acceptable for one to be treated as you have been. And yet, you have handled all with grace and dignity. You are a paragon of the Dahlia tenets, and all should look to you with awe.

I have had my own troubles with love and heartache, though nothing close to what you have experienced. Please know that my heart is with you. Know that my feet stand beside you. Know that my shoulders carry your burden as though it were my own.

In the coming days, weeks, and months, I pray to Blessed Elua for strength for you. Should you ever need a confidant or a friend, you have me. You need only send me.

Yours,

Petrea