storyline – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

Storyline: Crowning Joy

Standing on the balcony of Dahlia House, Gustav finally felt at ease. He crossed to her, his heart leaping at the sight of her face again, his breathing evening out in comfort as he came to stand with her. She did not curtsy to him. Of course she would not, she was a Dahlia.

“You are just as beautiful as I remember you in my dreams,” he said.

She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling at him, saying, “You seem taller. Is this what happens when you go to university? You grow in intelligence and body, too?”

He blushed. “You are teasing me.”

“You do not seem to mind,” she said, resting her hands on the railing as she looked out across the view of the gardens. “After all, you sent me so many poems, I must catch up to your compliments.”

He glanced away, joining her at the railing.

“It is good to see you,” she said quietly. She did not look at him, however, giving him the safety of semi-solitude as she asked, “How are you?”

He was sure his friends had asked him the same question, surely many people had, but it was different when it came from her. She did not expect anything of him, just himself, whoever he was. She had made it clear the first night, for his majority, that he—just as he was—was enough. She had chosen him that night; he had never forgotten how special it made him feel.

“I breathe,” he said just as quietly. “I open my eyes in the morning and close them at night. I sit on a horse, I walk on my feet, I dress myself and eat and drink. But I am not living.”

Her hand touched his, and he clasped it at once.

“Your poems were beautiful,” she said softly. “I enjoyed every one of them. But I liked your letters better. I could hear the honesty of your heart in them as you told me of your day, your classes, your professors, your friends. You can be honest with me, Gustav.”

“I know,” he whispered, twisting his fingers with hers. “I just….Odilia, I do not know where to begin.”

“Come,” she said, stepping back from the railing and pulling him with her. “I will call for wine, we will return to my rooms, and you can tell me.”

“I did not bring my purse.”

“It is a gift,” she said with a smile. “I have made my marque, my Dowayne permits me to choose my patrons as I see fit. And I choose you tonight, Gustav. Come.”

He followed her through the halls, glancing only briefly at the frescoes of Naamah and her lovers on the walls. Far more mesmerising was the play of the lantern light on her dark hair. Her rooms were as he remembered them—though he had not paid much attention the first time he had come here—with tall windows and heavy woods, jewel tone upholstery and plush pillows. Truly an apartment of luxury, tastefully decorated to be subtly elegant.

The wine already sat waiting for them by her chaise, a clear, bubbly prosecco in the crystal decanter to help soothe the early summer heat. She poured two crystal goblets for them and lowered herself onto the chaise, holding out her hand to him. Sitting next to her, he took a deep breath and found the words, knowing she would listen.

He unburdened his soul to her, pouring all of himself into her dark eyes, offering the troubles of his heart into her hands. And she did not stop him, did not interrupt him, just let him speak. She refilled his wine and held his hand and, when he wept for his brother that he had lost, she stroked his hair as he cried against her shoulder. This could not have been the grand romantic reunion he had wanted or she expected, but it was what he needed. When she wound him in her arms and pressed her lips to his forehead, the weight and stress of the last month was lessened.

She leaned back, letting him lounge against her, and her fingers combed through his hair and he nestled into the scent of her skin and the perfume of her gown.

“Odilia?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He heard the smile in her voice as she said, “Of course.”

“I would like to see you more often, now that I am returned to the city.”

“I would like that.”

His head turned slightly, his lips brushing against the fabric that covered her heart, and she paused for just a moment before resuming stroking his hair. This couldn’t be anything more. It just wasn’t smart.

He would be the king one day. He could not lift a courtesan up with him. This was only a dream, a naive hope for a romance written in the stars. She was too practical to allow this.

But perhaps for the moment, she could indulge his fantasy. After all, that was what the Night Court did best.

Storyline: Crowning Joy—Part 1

It had taken some time for Maël to learn the schedule of the palace, but he was nothing if not a quick study. He waited just long enough to be sure he could do it, then made the arrangements to sneak the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange out of his own palace. Careful timing, stealthy steps, and careless confidence all worked together, and soon enough, the two young men were in the nondescript carriage waiting for them, rolling down the Rue Courcel away from the royal palace and towards the City of Elua proper.

“So,” Maël said, fixing his friend with his shrewd look, “it’s a lady you’re going to visit?”

“Yes.”

“The same lady whose poems I have helped you write over the last few years?”

The tips of Gustav’s ears turned a delicate shade of pink. “Yes.”

“And your mother does not know about her, judging by the fact that we are sneaking out like youths in the night.”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you are going to say today?”

“No.”

Maël pretended to let out a huff of irritation but could not hide the amusement twitching his cheek. Neither could Gustav, who shot him a sly, little smile. He seemed lighter, Maël thought, the farther they got away from the palace. The weight of his new title did not weigh him down so heavily.

Maël may not have known the full brunt of that weight, but he understood the long shadow cast by expectation. Gustav was facing his title unexpectedly, Sebastien had been raised as the Duc L’Envers all his life, but Maël had more time to wait. His uncle’s health was always in flux, and Maël knew eventually the county title would pass to him, but until then, he had a freedom that Sebastien didn’t understand–not with how he had been raised and trained all of his life as the Duc of Namarre—and that Gustav had just lost. Maybe his uncle had told him to get closer to Gustav, to become friendly with the prince because of how it would be advantageous for the Rocaille family later to regain some of the honor by companionship that they had lost in David’s betrayal, but Maël had found Gustav to be genuinely likeable. Charming and charismatic, he was deeply intelligent and connected to his feelings. It was easy to follow him, easy to love him, easy to be loyal to him. What had begun as clever maneuvering had become a real friendship, and Maël couldn’t really pinpoint exactly where or when it had happened.

“Well,” he said. “I feel like I know her already, with all the synonyms you begged me for in your poems. I will look forward to meeting your…what did you call her? The guiding star by which you set your heart’s course?”

Gustav sat a silent crimson, mumbling something under his breath that was surely unflattering to his friend’s character and gross mangling of his very heartfelt verses.

“Where are we headed, then?” Maël glanced out of the carriage. “Does her family have a house in the Noble District?”

“Not exactly.”

The carriage jolted slightly as it rolled onto the bridge that crossed the river leading to the slightly lower-class districts. Maël glanced at his friend. “Is she…the daughter of a merchant?”

Gustav shook his head, but Maël saw how he was sitting up on the padded bench, a light shining in his eyes as they traveled onward. Whoever she was, she was clearly special to the dauphin.

Which was why he felt a pang of dismay when they turned another corner and entered Night’s Doorstep.

“Gustav…”

Gustav blinked almost innocently at his friend, but Maël could see underneath the blithe mask was something else. Something more serious. Gustav was trusting him with this, trusting him with the knowledge of his lady—what and where she was.

For all that Maël was a schemer—he knew he was, he was a son of Siovale, and he knew well that knowledge is power and that all knowledge is worth having—he was not willing to destroy his friendship with the crown prince of the country over a secret woman. So, when the carriage rolled through the gates of Mont Nuit and began the journey up to the great mansions of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, all he said was, “I would have been able to prepare better if I knew where we were going.”

Gustav nodded, accepting that, but not apologising for not telling Maël all of the truth.

Maël watched the avenue roll by though the carriage window. He did not spend much time in the City of Elua, but he had been once or twice on university business, and the first time he had visited the City after his majority, his uncle had given him the gift of a night at the Night Court.

Bryony House had been his first experience. His uncle knew his competitive nature and had gambled on his nephew enjoying the games of chance at the Bryony gaming tables. Maël had enjoyed the games well enough, but the joining of bedplay and gambling games was not one that he initially appreciated. Money was money, gambling was gambling, and pleasure was pleasure. He enjoyed the competition of the risk and reward of victory, but he discovered he was not quite the target patron for the adepts there. Somehow, he doubted Gustav’s lady was from Bryony House, however. Which left him to wonder to which House she did belong.

When the carriage turned onto the drive leading to the Dahlia House mansion, he was not sure if he was surprised or not. He had not been to Dahlia House before, it hadn’t been one that had caught his immediate attention. So this may well be an interesting experience for him. The footmen in the Dahlia livery bowed to the young men as they opened the carriage door. Gustav clearly knew where he was going, climbing the steps to the Dahlia House confidently. They swung inward at his approach, and for a moment, Maël could see the sliver of golden light fall across Gustav’s face, lighting his Courcel blue eyes with a gleaming light.

The Dahlia House salon was a grand hall, candles set just so to reflect the light in the mirrors mounted on the walls to fill the room with golden light. The rich jewel tones of the drapes complimented the sumptuous nature of the salon with one side of the hall open with glass doors to a grand balcony overlooking the gardens which rivalled even those of the royal palace. The novices of Dahlia House slipped between the mini courtesan courts the full adepts held, serving trays held perfectly as they provided the food and drink to the patrons there courting their Dahlia monarchs. Along the walls were the older novices, those on the brink of their coming of age, painted gold and standing as living statues.

Maël took it all in as he followed Gustav through the salon, skirting the great black and white checkered dance floor in the center of the salon. Gustav seemed to know where he was going, or at least what he was looking for, he was focused on a singular mission and barely acknowledged the adepts and patrons alike that nodded to him with low murmurs of, “Your Highness.”

A stately woman with silver ribbons threaded through her hair rose from her seat to approach the Dauphin. “Your Highness, welcome back to Dahlia House.”

He took her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dowayne, thank you. Is she…?”

“I believe I saw her take a moment on the balcony.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

He took off with quick steps, striding for the balcony, and before Maël could follow him, the woman was addressing him. “I have not seen you in the salon before, my lord. May I make your acquaintance?”

Maël was many things, but rude was not one of them. He presented himself properly to the lady, introducing himself, “Maël de Rocaille, my lady.”

“Jocaste nó Dahlia,” she introduced herself, taking him by the arm and leading him to the couches in her corner of the salon. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Rocaille. Welcome to Dahlia House.”

Maël tried to turn his head, craning to keep an eye on his friend, and Jocaste smiled. “Have no fear, my lord. No harm will befall him here. Only joy.”

Gustav stepped out onto the balcony, his head turning until he found the figure standing in the shadow of one of the ivy-wrapped support pillars. The moment his eyes fell upon her, he felt the serenity wash over him like a wave, filling his chest with light as he took a step toward her. “Odilia…”

She turned, a look of surprise on her face morphing slowly into one of affection as she answered, “Gustav.”

Storyline: Royal Reunion

Underneath the shade cast by the royal canopy tent, Queen Anielle de la Courcel clasped her hands tightly to stop herself from wringing them. Her senechal had brought her the news that she had long been waiting for. Her son had returned to the City of Elua. For the first time in years, she would come face to face with the young man her second son had become.

The young men, weary from their days of travel, had been met at the palace by the Head Chamberlain, who greeted the first of the riders with a deep bow and a reverent, “Welcome home, Dauphin Gustav de la Courcel.”

Gustav’s horse danced under him, and Maël saw the tightening of the muscles in Gustav’s jaw that revealed the way he clenched his teeth before answering, “Thank you. It has been a long journey.”

“Baths are being prepared for you and your companions, Your Highness,” the Chamberlain said as ostlers came forward to take the horses while the young men dismounted. “Your mother will be informed and will surely wish to greet all three of you herself. Please, refresh yourselves, and we will bring you to the queen in due time.”

And so the three were separated—each to their respective suites. Sebastien was shown to the L’Envers suite his ducal family maintained; Maël was taken with heavy apologies to a guest suite done in the themes of Siovale, as the Rocaille family did not keep their apartments in the palace, preferring to maintain a townhouse on the edge of the noble district; and Gustav was shown to the suite kept for the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. For as long as he had known them, they had been his brother’s rooms. Now they were his. All of the belongings from his chambers had already been moved, Daniel’s things long gone. That, more than anything, cut through Gustav’s carefully constructed defences. He sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing in the quiet stillness of the chambers that echoed with his life while his brother was dead, and closed his eyes against the onslaught of grief.

Eventually, he bathed and dressed himself in fresh clothes, joining his companions at the terrace overlooking the garden. And the royal tent that was there on the far side of the carefully sculpted hedges and beds.

The queen waited, her gown still the deep color of mourning, her dark hair covered still in the translucent gossamer veil beneath her simple circlet. She did not pace, she stood still and looked out over the rolling hills of the rest of the grounds, the palace behind her. The servants had set out a bowl of fresh fruit and a blown glass carafe of light wine, something to welcome the queen’s guests. And she did hear them coming, the crunch of boots on the path getting closer and closer.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned to survey the young men who came to her canopy. Sebastien L’Envers, tall and lean with a fencer’s grace and dark violet eyes. Another young man, one her steward had said was Maël de Rocaille, nephew to the Count who maintained the Université de Rocaille, with his clever smile and bright brown eyes under his auburn hair. And then: her son.

Gustav had the Courcel blue eyes. She remembered how they had blinked sleepily up at her when the music had him dozing on her lap. His hair had been blond, like his grandmother Sidonie’s, but had darkened as the years passed into a deep honey shade that sometimes looked like burnished bronze when the sun hit it just right. He walked with the confidence of a young man, but without the swagger of arrogance. His shoulders were broad, his build lean like Sebastien’s but more restrained, without the flourishes of Sebastien’s fencer’s style. He resembled his grandmother, a true Courcel.

He bowed to her, his companions following suit, with a murmur in unison, “Your Majesty.”

The Queen slid her royal mask over her face and smiled at the three of them. “Rise, please. My lords, thank you for escorting the Dauphin safely home. Please enjoy the gardens while I have a moment with my son.”

However, in a move that prickled deliberately at her pride, she watched the two noblemen rise and glance at her son, as though waiting for his permission. Gustav gave his friends a small nod and only then – only then! – did they take the three steps back to leave the royals alone under the pavilion tent. And Anielle, speaking in the fresh flare of the sting, said crisply to her son, “Well, you seem to have become accustomed already to the command of authority.”

Her son looked at her, his face blank, and he replied, “Madam, I have returned to the city as you bade me. I present myself to you as required. I serve at the pleasure of Her Majesty, the Queen, as do all of her loyal subjects.”

The distance in his tone was a fresh wound anew, and she forced herself to swallow her hurt, putting it aside and gentling her voice to say, “Forgive me. I have missed you, my son. Please, sit with me. Tell me of these last years.”

Gustav remained standing, his hands clasped loosely at an easy courtier’s rest, giving his report impersonally. “I have endeavored to succeed in all of my studies, learning languages and history as well as tactics and philosophy. I have read the writings of the great thinkers from Hellas in the original Hellene and studied the epic poetries of Hellas and Caerdicca Unitas. I have found a particular interest in astronomy and tracking the movements of the stars, as it draws on the legends of the constellations as well as the earthy science of the mathematical calculations of the rotations of the skies. I have done my best to study everything that could serve me well in service to my queen and country.”

“Surely you have done me proud,” Anielle said, pouring herself some of the wine to cover the way her fingers trembled. “I have read each of your letters recording your academic successes, I have kept them all. But you have been many years away from me. I would like to know the man you are now.”

“Rest assured, Your Majesty, I am become a man that will serve the country loyally and with all that I am as the new Dauphin.”

“Tell me of your companions,” his mother said, some desperate grief in her heart at the formal way he still spoke to her. “How did you meet them?”

“His Grace, the Duc L’Envers, introduced himself to me when I arrived at the University,” he said. “As a more senior student, he was more than willing to help me learn the locations of my classes and how best to impress the professors. Lord Maël, due to his upbringing within the university itself, often serves as assistant to the professors. He offered me some advice in strengthening my performance in a particularly difficult class and has proven himself not only intelligent but a true friend. They are good men both, I am honored to have their friendship.”

“Good friendships are all the more valuable for those with the responsibility of leadership,” Anielle said, lowering herself to sit at the table with her wine. “I hope your friendships with them only continue to grow, Gustav, I truly do.”

She watched him with her Courcel blue eyes before releasing a heavy sigh. “Gustav, my son, I will not force you to speak with me if you do not wish to. But I have missed you, and I am glad you are home. Your sister will likewise be thrilled to see you. She read your letters every moment of the day when they came, memorising every word. Will you visit with her?”

“Of course. When will we speak of the new responsibilities of my title?”

“You have been travelling for the better part of a month, you may rest before we look to the future of the kingdom,” she said wearily. “Take some days to yourself, remember these palace halls and the city, then we will speak again about what is next, Dauphin Gustav.”

She covered her eyes with her hand, her heart heavy as stone, and she heard more than saw her son – her son! – give her a courtier’s bow, murmuring, “By your leave, Your Majesty.”

Gustav turned away from the half-stranger who was his mother, stepping out of the canopy and into the garden. He had only taken three steps before the first figure emerged from the hedges. Maël was silent, and only stepped into place at his friend’s left shoulder. Another four steps and Sebastien joined them. The three walked silently through the gardens, along a meandering way back toward the palace before the Dauphin, Crown Prince of Terre d’Ange and heir to the Courcel throne, stopped.

“Maël,” he said quietly, “I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“There’s somewhere I need to go in the city, someone I need to see. I want to get there quietly and subtly. Find a way to get me out of the palace and across the city without the entire court knowing, please.”

Sebastien’s L’Envers violet eyes watched his friend. “Causing trouble already, Gustav?”

Maël only smiled. “Oh good! Time to have some fun!”

Storyline: Fate and Fortune Tossed

The bay horse danced impatiently under its rider as he drew the animal to a stop at the crest of the hill. Head tossing and black mane flaring, it tugged on the reins, wanting to run. This easy, measured pace of traveling was not nearly exciting enough for the horse, nor its rider.

“Take heart, friends,” Maël de Rocaille called back to his travelling companions. “We have made the river!”

The two other riders picked their way along the trail, reining their horses to a stop beside their friend, as together they looked down at the lush banks of the Aviline River flowing patiently onward toward the sea.

“A welcome sight,” Sebastien L’Envers said, flexing his hand in his riding glove to stretch the cramped muscles that had been holding the reins. His dark eyes scanned the rest of the hills before them, picking out traces of paths that would make the passage easier. “From here we turn north, follow the river, and soon enough we will get you home.”

The third rider did not share his companions’ pleasure in seeing the river. They had been skirting the southern edge of the central mountains and plateaus for ten days, and it would be another ten days of travel through the river valley before they would see the gates of the capital city. He wished it were another month of travel. He had no desire to return to the city, not after the news had come. He had requested the longer journey through the lowlands around the southern edge of the highlands instead of cutting across the mountains and plateaus, trying to buy himself as much time as he could. But he could not delay forever.

His mother’s letter, tucked into the breast of his simple jerkin, was well worn from countless rereadings of her perfect penmanship. But the artful swirls of her calligraphy did not make the words any sweeter.

From Her Majesty by the Grace of Elua, Sovereign of Terre d’Ange, Queen Anielle de la Courcel to His Royal Highness, Prince Gustav de la Courcel.

My son,

Ever do those who bear the responsibility of leadership have to carry the burdens of the people they lead without choice but to sacrifice the needs of their heart and emotion for the strength to caretake the needs of the many. I wish I could write to you with the warmth and comfort of a mother and offer assurances that all will be well. But I must set those desires aside in favor of the strength of the crown that calls me to duty first.

The Dauphin, Daniel de la Courcel, heir to my throne and crown, has passed to the True Terre d’Ange That Lies Beyond, waiting for us to join him when it is our time. The plague has taken much from all of us and left those behind to deal with the unexpected and uncertain future. Your country needs you, Prince Gustav, to rise to take the place left by our fallen Dauphin. As you are the second-born of my children, the responsibility of the royal succession now falls to you.

Return to the City of Elua at once. It is time to take your place as Dauphin and prepare for your future as King of Terre d’Ange when my time is finished. The country needs you, you cannot fail them. We will speak of duties, responsibilities, and what you must learn from me when you return to the palace.

Signed,

Your mother, Anielle de la Courcel

The death of his brother was enough to bear on its own but to now face a future he never thought would come to him? He had enjoyed his years at the Rocaille University, studying whatever he wanted to study, expanding his education and knowledge of whatever caught his interest. He had made friends there, real friendships not borne of ambitious hunger or empty flattery. And in an instant, with one letter, it had all changed. The entire trajectory of his life was altered.

“Gustav?”

He came back to himself and looked up at his friends. There was a look of concern on Sebastien L’Envers’s handsome face, the purple in his eyes dark as the wine-dark sea. Maël kept his seat as his horse danced, but there was a quiet sadness in his hazel eyes. The world had changed around them, these three young men, and what they had to help them navigate it right now was each other.

“We’re with you in this, Gustav,” Sebastien said softly.

“You will one day be our king,” Maël said, stroking his gloved hand soothingly down his horse’s neck. “But we started as friends. Good friends. That will not change.”

Setting heels to their horses’ flanks, the three noblemen cantered down the hill to turn up the river, back to where the City of Elua waited for them.

Storyline: 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: Complications of Devotion

The plague that had ravaged the land had somehow spared Heliotrope House. Despite his illness, their beloved Dowayne Olivier Mathan nó Heliotrope had not fallen ill, their ranks were not much diminished, and the handful of babes born had all lived. Every day, Second Philomena Desiderio nó Heliotrope led a handful of Adepts and Novices to the shrines of Elua and Eisheth, aiding the priests in keeping them clean, and leaving their own offerings.

Heliotrope was blessed beyond measure.

Mena stretched carefully, her back aching from having been hunched over her desk since breakfast. There was so much paperwork, more than normal. With her grandfather, the Dowayne, needing to rest, more of his duties were falling to her. At least this batch of orders – requests for visits from Patrons, requests for Adepts, official correspondence from the doctor’s guild, and messages from other Houses – had been handled. She understood why the Dowayne had designated a network of Adepts to help run the House. It was too much for one person. However, that network was attached to his time as Dowayne and, as his successor, she would have to decide how she wanted to run the House and who she wanted to aid her. To that end, all the paperwork was on her desk in the Official Second’s office, and she felt like she was going to be buried under it.

The breeze carried a slight warmth that said spring was right around the corner. While not her favorite season, it was still a welcome change after the brutality of both the past winter and the plague. Mena wished she was able to get out in the fresh air, she wished she had a Patron lined up, she wished for many things, few of them within her reach today. She sighed deeply and stood, stretching her arms over her head for a more vigorous stretch. There was a polite knock at her half open door, followed by the smiling face of her friend Vouloir.

“Oh good, you’re already taking a break,” Vouloir said with a smile.

Mena laughed and said, “Better than that, Loir, I’m caught up for the day.”

Loir grinned back and came all the way into the room, “Really? That stack from this morning was massive. I can’t wait until I’m able to actually help you.”

“You’re almost there, once your Marque is half-finished, I can start training you.”

Loir smiled, “And if Lord and Lady de’Marr keep being generous, that will be before the Masque.”

Mena snorted, “Knowing you and them, you’ll be there before summer solstice on the outside.”

Throwing her head back in a loud, honest laugh, Loir said, “That may be true, we’ll see what Naamah has to say about it, I suppose.” She shook her head, her smile taking on a gentle air, “I came in here for two reasons; first, Olivier has asked for you to come up and Lord Montaban sent word, he’ll be around for your dinner.”

Mena smiled, “Good for him, I suppose, that I don’t already have a patron for the evening. Please have my room aired out and the table reset. I’ll see him in there, of course. And see if we’ve any more of that apple wine I like, I cannot stand to drink the red he brings. It’s bitter.”

Loir nodded, “Of course. If you’ve time, you should come by the main salon in between. Dara has the first version of her ball toss game set up.”

“Ooh, I hope I have time, I’m excited to see what she’s come up with. Elua knows we need all the fun and cheer we can get.”

Olivier’s rooms were on the first floor, though it hadn’t always been. Three years prior, he’d fallen off his horse and broken his hip, so the chirurgeon had insisted that his rooms be moved to the ground floor. While he’d made a full recovery and even gone back to riding, his rooms remained where they’d been moved. Mena made her way to the familiar door and knocked three times, just as she always had.

“Come in,” she heard her grandfather say and she pushed the door open with a smile.

Olivier was seated on his sofa near the fire, his feet tucked up under one of the many blankets her late grandmother had made. As his health declined, he left these rooms less and less, though he always made it a point to get out of the bed.

Also seated on the sofa, with Olivier’s feet in his lap was Laurent, the Marquis de Clair of Namarre, her grandfather’s long time lover. He’d been spending more and more time in the House, particularly after he’d been forced to stay when the plague was considered so dangerous that they’d been told to remain indoors.

“Granpère, Laurent, you sent for me?” She took her usual seat on the ottoman in front of the sofa and smiled at the two of them. Mena loved Laurent, he’d always been kind and gentle with her.

“I sent for you, child, Laurent is just here to be attractive, as usual,” Olivier said with nothing but fondness in his tone.

“My deepest apologies, esteemed and dearest grandfather,” she replied with a barely restrained laugh and a half bow.

“Tch,” her grandfather said, reaching out with firm but gentle hands to hold her face, “Why are you so much like me?”

“Lucky is what I’ve always been told,” she quickly replied, “Grandmother always said it was for the best, since your son-“

“Is a disgrace, yes, yes, I know what she said,” he cut in, a little irritation evident in his tone, “If I hadn’t been there when the candle was lit, I would say he was no son of mine, but alas, we have to play with the hand we were dealt.”

Mena smiled, taking Olivier’s hand in her own and saying, “Granpère, I doubt you sent for me to complain about my parentage-“

“Half of it, don’t malign Chrysanthe like that. She’s not cruel, just delicate,” he cut in with a smile.

“Half of my parentage. You can do that with just Laurent, you don’t need me for that.” She finished with a smile.

“I never need you, Mena, I just want you around. However, you are correct. My doctor came around earlier, as I know you are aware.”

Mena felt her heart fly into her throat. Her grandfather’s doctor was a specialist in the wasting sickness that was ravaging his formerly strong body and would steal him from her. She at times hated the man for existing, though she also lit private candles in thanks that he did. Shoving all that back down and schooling her face into one of calm, she said, “I did, sir. What did he say?”

Olivier smiled at her, his eyes brimming with love and sympathy, and she knew that he saw through her. As always. He didn’t comment on what he saw, instead he just answered her question. “When the last risk of blizzard passes, he says it’s time for me to go to Laurent’s home.”

The heart in her throat stopped and dropped like a stone to her feet. She knew what that meant, it meant that the doctor and her grandfather agreed that he had deteriorated to the point where he needed a quieter environment, away from prying eyes, to prepare to meet Elua.

She felt tears flood her eyes, cascading down her cheeks before she had time to think. “If-if you’re sure, Granpère. What-” her voice broke, and she looked into her lap seeing her tears falling onto her dress. “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh my sweet Mena, nothing,” Laurent finally spoke, his gentle voice seeping between Mena and Olivier, soothing over their hurt like warm velvet. “I will handle all the arrangements and I’ll send my carriage for you once the move is complete. You have my word.”

She nodded and reached blindly for his hand, “Thank you, Laurent. It means the world to me to know you’ll be there.”

Olivier gave her hand a squeeze before lifting her chin up again so she had no choice but to look into his warm brown eyes. “Sweet girl, remember to stay this soft, no matter what happens. Elua and Naamah saw fit to bless you with this, never forget that.”

She nodded and said shakily, “I will. For you, I will.”

His face got stern for a moment, “No, for you you will. You deserve it. Save those tears though, I am not gone to Elua yet, Philomena, I am right here with you and what do we say of tears?”

They swam in her eyes, obscuring his face, but she nodded firmly. “That they are only for those that deserve them, for those that value us like Naamah and Elua demand for us.”

“Good girl,” the shape that she knew to be Olivier said, his voice starting to get raspy, “Now, I hear that Lord Montaban is coming to see you?”

She nodded, “He is but he should know his place, he’s not the most important man in my life.”

That pulled a loud, full body laugh from Olivier, that unfortunately started a coughing fit. “Oh, child!” He said when he had coughed into his handkerchief and she’d studiously acted like she didn’t see the blood left behind. “Get out of this old man’s room! Go attend to your patron before he rises even further above his station.”

Mena stood and gave a small, wry curtsy, feeling a smile start, “As you command, my lord Dowayne.”

Luckily she was used to Olivier and fast, she had the door closed before the small pillow he threw at her hit it with a thump. She stood in self-indulgence at the door for another minute, listening to her grandfather’s laugh, trying to burn it into her memory. Lord Montaban could wait.

The fact that Mena beat Kyrie to dinner was not astonishing. He was notoriously late and even more arrogant about it. Sometimes she wondered why she continued to take him as a Patron. To be honest, these days it was most of the time that she wondered why she still saw him. The honest answer was that she’d been seeing him for most of her time as an Adept.

As she lit the candles around the small dining room, she remembered the first day he’d come to Heliotrope. He was older than her, twenty-seven to her sixteen, and was attending one of her grandfather’s parties. Despite the years that had passed, she could still remember the weight of his gaze on her as she’d moved through the party attendees. Once she’d made her way to him, he kept her captive all night, telling her at great length how he was a Lord from Azzalle, a distant relative of the Trevalion family; how he was supposed to be making his way through the Houses as was befitting his station, but she’d entranced him so he’d abandoned his companions to stay; how his elder brothers had all died in accidents or fallen to illness, so he was now the next in line to inherit his family’s lands and title. At the time, she’d known he was boasting to impress her, that relation to the Trevalion family wasn’t something to just tell people. But part of her training had been to learn to hang on a Patron’s every word, to make them feel like they were the most important person to you at that moment. Kyrie had lapped it up like a dog with broth.

“Hello, pet. You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” his voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see Kyrie leaning on the doorframe, looking her up and down.

Her face broke into a habitual smile and she went to greet him, “Kyrie, you came.”

She knew the dance he wanted as well as she knew her own hands. Crafting the illusion that he was the only thing on her mind now, and ever, was as easy as breathing. Her subservience to him was a lie she slipped into as easily as she slipped into his embrace for a kiss.

Kyrie was an artless kisser, though it had taken her several years of other Patrons to realize how the way he covered her lips with his mouth, the way his tongue moved, and the spit he left behind was so below standard. It made part of her angry, he’d been seeing at least her, a fully trained Adept, for well over a decade, and yet he still kissed with less skill than the young man she’d seen three days ago who was brought to Heliotrope for his first proper taste of Naamah’s Arts.

“Ah, pet,” he said when he pulled away, “I see you missed your Lord.”

“Of course. You’ve not been to see me in several days, Lord Kyrie. I was beginning to think that someone else had stolen your affections from me,” she said, taking his hands to lead him to the table, a pout in her voice. The same way she’d talked to him when she was a new Adept and she’d not had her choice of Patrons.

He smiled wolfishly, his handsome mask slipping slightly as he let himself be tugged to the table, taking his seat before she took hers. “Now, pet, what have I told you?”

“That no one is above me in your eyes,” she repeated back easily as she poured the wine, his always first, her second.

The door to the room opened and Loir came in, pushing a cart laden with their dinner. Another thing Kyrie was particular about: once his coat had been taken, he refused to see any more servants, Adepts and Novices brought what he needed. His airs grated, but he’d been a regular even during the Plague when the House had needed it. Things were returning to normal now, but Lord Pierre Kyrian de Montaban, a minor Earl of Azzalle, was a situation they all just flawlessly navigated out of pure habit.

Mena would be lying if she didn’t say she stopped paying full attention to Kyrie in the middle of the first course. His stories were always the same, full of his prowess and downplaying the contributions of others. He didn’t really care for her input, that wasn’t her place with him. All he wanted was a pretty face to hang on his every word and she was quite good at that. Little did he know that she’d already heard of this particular story, only the factual version. Yes, there was a negotiation that involved all the lords of Azzalle so yes, he had been in attendance. Yes, he had offered an idea that had been ultimately taken into the terms, but after so much adjustment that it was a far-reach to say it was the same idea. ‘I really need to start refusing his visits,’ she thought while she nodded and smiled at something he said, ‘He’s served his purpose and it is time, particularly at his age, that he find a wife and make a new heir. I wonder—‘

“—when we wed,” she heard him say, his words suddenly drawing all of her attention.

”When we what, Kyrie?” She said, hoping that she had misheard him.

“Silly pet with her pretty head in the clouds,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand. “I said that I would be sure to send my parents to a comfortable residence in Caerdicca Unitas when we wed.”

“But why on earth—“ she started to say, only to be cut off.

“Because, silly girl, there’s only room for one woman in the Montaban Household and it is my wife.”

She felt like her brain was underwater, struggling for the surface. Luckily, her mouth seemed to work just fine, “Certainly it would be the Earl’s wife?” She managed to say without stammering.

Kyrie snorted, a loud and rude sound, “I suppose so, but as I am to be Earl, it will be you.”

“But Kyrie, surely your parents—“

“Philomena,” he said, sternly giving her hands a squeeze just past comfortable, “As the man of the house, what I say will go and my parents will go quietly as they are instructed if they know what’s good for them.”

Mena’s poor brain caught up with her mouth in time to stop further commentary. She just nodded, smiled at him in the way she knew he liked and had a sip of her wine. Kyrie started talking again and she fell back into the pattern quickly. Her mind however would now not stop. ‘If they know what’s good for them?’ She felt the cold hand of horror on the back of her neck and promised herself she would start refusing his visits sooner rather than later.

Storyline: Watering the Garden

Aimee walked elegantly to the back garden of Cereus House. As she made her way past one of the novice lectures being led by a fellow adept, she heard the instructions on the subject of poise and composure and to use the senior adepts as examples in order to learn the art. Little did the instructor know that Aimee, one of the most senior adepts, was a roiling, festering pool of rage beneath her statuesque expression and gliding stride. Having reached her sanctuary, a small alcove hidden from the rest of the garden by lush greenery, she finally allowed her training to fall away. Hot, silent tears streamed down Aimee’s cheeks as she sat and tried to soothe the hurt in her chest. Pondering the events of the past few months, she tried to lay everything out dispassionately.

Aliksandra had asked for space and time away from their affair to adjust when she had ascended to Dowayne, and Aimee gave it gladly. With the lack of a Second, Aimee and Petrea had stepped up to fill the gap until an appointment could be made, as was to be expected. Except, Aimee had not taken an assignation in over a month and hadn’t even left the grounds of Cereus for anything outside of official House business in over two. All the while Petrea had spent more time at Orchis than at Cereus!

Aimee took a deep shuddering breath and breathed it out slowly. “You’re winding yourself up again,” she said to herself.

While the Orchis situation did bother her, it would be unfair to Petrea to make anything of it. Petrea completed all of her duties before going and upon returning to Cereus, she always attacked any new dilemma with fervor. It was the small, unforeseen, unscheduled problems of the day-to-day at Cereus House that were causing such havoc. Because once there was a problem, everyone went running to the most senior adept present, and with Petrea at Orchis and Aliks cloistered with paperwork and imminently important House affairs that required the Dowayne, Aimee was the one desperately trying to keep the place together.

And to ice the cake, Aliksandra had just told her that Petrea was to be the new Second.

Fresh tears welled up in Aimee’s eyes, as the past months’ toll manifested upon her face. Before Aliks’ ascension, Aimee knew that it would be Petrea selected, it had to be. Aimee was young for a senior adept much less a Second, and Petrea had far better connections outside of Cereus with the upper echelon throughout the city. But Aimee had done well keeping everything running. Hadn’t she?

Even with Petrea sharing some of the duties, Aimee was the one making sure that effortless perfection of Cereus House graced the Night Court night after night. Wasn’t she?

Feelings of abandonment surged once again inside her, having become a familiar companion in recent months. Taking a final fortifying breath, Aimee stood, and willed the silver of Cereus House into her spine and rebuilt the loveliness that she had embodied since childhood. Reminding herself as she made her way out of the garden that while “All loveliness fades,” so does everything else as well. Time brings changes and how one reacts to them defines whether that change will be good or ill. And Aimee would forswear Naamah herself before leaving Aliks or Petrea to face those changes alone.

Storyline: Choosing a Cereus Second

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

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

“Of course.” Petrea nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: Petrea’s Concern

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: A New Dowayne’s Dilemma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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