Tag: storyline

Storyline: The Deciding Factor

It was not an insignificant decision and, in fact, it was almost unheard of on Mont Nuit. Once one became Second of a House it was a foregone conclusion that they would ascend to the position of Dowayne upon the death or retirement of the current Dowayne. A Second simply did not step down. Perhaps in the case of severe illness or injury, it would be understandable, but to simply give up one’s post as Second? No. It was not done.

Petrea nó Cereus considered this as she paced the halls of Cereus House. She had been away from the House and her duties for almost a year, traveling with her lover Marco. While the time had been enjoyable, she had come to realize that her place was here on Mont Nuit. But was her place as Second? Did she truly want to return to the responsibilities of being one of the most prominent Servants of Naamah in all Terre d’Ange? The anonymity of being simply Marco’s lover – passed off as his betrothed when necessary – had been blissful.

But. She had long ago made a promise to Aliksandria to stand by her. They had risen in the ranks together, side by side. From Petrea’s first night in Cereus House, Aliks had guided her through the murky waters of Naamah’s service. Petrea doubted she would have survived without that. And truly, she enjoyed her success. Enjoyed somewhat her prominence. Enjoyed the prestige of her position.

What to do?

Petrea’s wanderings led her unexpectedly to the rooms of Aimee nó Cereus, who had been de facto Second in Petrea’s absence. Aimee sat bent over a desk, surrounded by piles of documents, a deep frown marring her lovely face. Petrea’s heart contracted with contrition. Aimee had been thrust into a role for which she had no training and no preparation. And yet, she had managed everything with great aplomb. Petrea did notice, however, that Aimee looked continually harried and had taken to muttering under her breath, racing about the halls.

With all of this in mind, Petrea stepped into the crowded office and settled down onto a chaise.

She cleared her throat to get Aimee’s attention. When Aimee did not look up or cease her fierce scribbling, Petrea cleared her throat again, louder this time. Again, Aimee did not appear to notice.

Finally, Petrea gave up with subtlety and spoke.

“Good morning Aimee. How does the day find you?”

Aimee started and dropped her quill.

“Oh! Milady! Excuse me,” she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “I was deep in thought. There are many plans to be made for the upcoming fête and I fear we are not keeping a close enough eye on our ledgers to meet expenses for it. I have to speak to Louis about this today.”

Petrea moved to look over Aimee’s shoulder at the documents on the desk. Her practiced eye scanned the lines of the ledgers and estimated expenses for the upcoming ball.

“Ah, here it is!” she said a moment later, pointing to a line in the expense document. “The flower vendor is trying to overcharge you. We do not pay this amount. Ever.”

She smiled slyly at Aimee. “Louis is not the one you need to speak to. We’ll go together this afternoon to the flower shop and make this right. Shopkeepers cannot think that they can overcharge Cereus House.”

Aimee sighed. “There is much work to being Second. One does not have a moment to think!”

Petrea put her hand on Aimee’s shoulder. “You did not ask for this and I am so grateful that you stepped in while I was gone. You have done the House proud. I hope you know this. You would make a wonderful Second.”

Aimee gestured to the chaise and the two sat down across from each other. Petrea poured glasses of wine as they continued their conversation.

“I could not continue as Second on my own, you know. I have not taken a single assignation for myself in months. I feel as though I do not sleep and have no energy to even eat.”

Petrea looked down into her glass. “I did not know that,” she said quietly.

Aimee continued. “I did not have the opportunity to make connections in the city as you did and you see the results of that with the flower shop. I did not learn to be a leader over time as you did. I have not earned anyone’s respect as you have. I have not learned the administration skills you have. I simply do not have the training and teachings that you have.”

“You would need a great deal of help….were you to become Second,” Petrea said slowly.

“I would need assistance, yes.” Aimee appeared to be thinking aloud now. “An assigned group of adepts or hired hands to help me with the position. I could not simply continue as I have. But a dedicated committee? Yes, that would work.”

Aimee blinked, ending her reverie. She lowered a gaze at Petrea.

“Do you intend to step down?”

That was the question.

“I do not have an answer to that,” Petrea said sadly, her shoulders sagging. “My heart is torn. I have no desire to leave Cereus House, but I waver on what to do about my position.”

“You must decide.”

Petrea nodded. “I know.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, sipping their wine, each considering their own thoughts.

Petrea was the first to speak. “I should like to do something for you to show my gratitude for your work during the last months.”

Aimee smiled. “That is kind of you and I appreciate it.”

“I was thinking a grand ball. Invite all of our adepts and your favorite patrons. Certainly they have missed you!”

Aimee’s smile began to fade as Petrea rushed on. “I, of course, will handle the planning. You will not need to lift a finger. Would you like a new gown? I could have a new gown made for you if you would like?”

Aimee raised her hands. “Petrea, please! I do not want a ball. In fact, I cannot think of anything I should want less than a ball.”

Petrea was stunned. “No ball?”

Aimee shook her head vehemently. “No! I have been drowning in planning balls and fêtes and purchasing gowns. All I want is some peace. Some time to myself.”

“Something like a night at Balm House?”

Aimee laughed. “A week at Balm House would be suitable for my needs!”

Petrea looked at her curiously. “Truly? That is what you desire? A full week at Balm House? I could arrange that if it is what you want.”

Aimee looked at her in surprise. “I was not being completely serious. While, yes, a week at Balm House would be my dream, I cannot imagine the expense of that!”

Petrea waved her off. “That is not your concern. If I can express my gratitude to you by sending you to Balm House for a week of restoration, then I shall.”

“Well. In that case, I shall pack a bag.”

Petrea nodded and put a gentle hand on Aimee’s arm. “I shall speak to the Dowayne as soon as we finish speaking and arrange everything. You have done great things for this House and for me, personally, and should be appropriately rewarded for that.”

“You must make me a promise, Petrea. You must promise me that when I return to Cereus House, you will give me your decision. I do not want to spend my week worrying. I want to come back and know my future.”

“I promise. One week is enough time for me to come to a decision. I shall bring word when your assignation at Balm is arranged.”

Petrea embraced Aimee and left the room.

One week. Petrea knew it would not take long to schedule the assignation at Balm House and Aimee would leave perhaps even that day. She had little time to decide her future. She returned to her apartments and sat down at her desk. She shuffled papers absently, not looking at anything, simply needing something for her hands to do.

Presently, a House attendant knocked on the door.

“A letter has come for you milday. From Aragonia, I believe.”

Petrea took the letter and broke the seal. “Aragonia? Who would write me from Aragonia?”

The attendant shrugged. “I know not. You traveled far this past year and met many people. Perhaps one of them?”

A jolt hit Petrea as she remembered whom she had met in Aragonia. Her heart racing, feeling a bit giddy, she read her letter.

Mi querida Petrea,

Long have I thought of our night together and wished for another. Your words, your kiss, your touch. I cannot seem to forget you and I seek a reason to see you again.

Finally, my longing ends as I shall be traveling to the City of Elua on business for my family. Will you make time for me amongst your many other important patrons, cariña?

With all my affection,

R

Ramiro Pascual De Soria y Borja, Marqués of Almazan

A warm feeling spread in Petrea’s belly at the memory of Don Ramiro. She had exchanged an assignation with him for lodgings in Aragonia. It had been…enjoyable. The news that he was coming to the City on behalf of his family was not necessarily surprising. The silver embargo was affecting the mines in Aragonia and the Aragonian nobility was sending the young Marqués to make political overtures on behalf of the family. He would, of course, be seeking to make his own political connections in Terre d’Ange. He had only his family name to trade on presently and that was a thin thread.

He likely believed, however, that he had another ally. Her. Being seen about the City with the Second of Cereus on his arm gave him clout that could open doors that might otherwise be closed to him. Regardless of what he might say about their night together, it wasn’t only her he wanted, it was the Second of Cereus House.

Petrea knew from experience that politics trumped personal feelings every time. Ramiro might personally desire her, but he would spend his time with whoever occupied the Second’s seat.

“Well,” Petrea thought, “that’s not an assignation I’m willing to give up. I suppose that’s that.”

She dropped the letter on her desk and went off to find Aimee.

Storyline: A Conversation at Le Chateau Couture

A small bell chimed as Lord Florent Lafons strode into the silk shop on the Rue Courcel. Helene Bridault, head of the Ceramics Guild, and Margot Langneau, head of the Weavers Guild, stood deep in discussion at the front counter. At the sound, they abruptly ceased their chatter and turned toward the handsome, well appointed young man.

“Good morning, monsieur,” Margot chirped at the noble from Namarre. “How can I help you this morning?”

“I am here to pick up some fabric for my mother. She said it was pomegranate patterned velvet? She is to have a dress made and seems to think that I am the only one capable of delivering this to the dressmaker. It must be something terribly important, I suppose.”

The silk weaver nodded. “Ah yes, milord! I have it ready for you, all wrapped up.” She turned to the cubbies on the wall behind her and pulled out an oilcloth wrapped parcel.

“So, what have you two hens been squawking about this morning?” the gentleman inquired, leaning toward the two women, as if they were all about to share their deepest secrets.

“Oh, we were just discussing the recent Judiciary vote, sir,” Margot replied carefully, her eyes darting to her friend. Did this rich young man know which way they cast their votes? Gossip was all over the City of Elua and everyone knew that the gentry were taking sides. Word leaking of one’s vote to the wrong person could potentially cost one theirNamarre livelihood.

“It would seem that the Night Court is to remain a legitimate trade guild, thank Blessed Elua. I dare say,” he chuckled, “The threat of the doors to Mont Nuit closing was a terrifying prospect!” He clutched his chest with feigned drama.

“Well, they had to do something!” Helene sniffed, “That preposterous Halceaux! Just who does he think he is – bringing his personal problems into our businesses?”

“Ah yes, this overzealous smith everyone is appalled at. Encouraging the merchants to rise up against the oppressive courtesans.” The nobleman laughed. “Truly, I have heard no funnier joke from a professional jester.”

Margot nodded vigorously in agreement, her worries forgotten. “He acts like he’s representing the interests of the Guilds, but I will tell you, monsieur, he does not speak for me!”

“And this embargo on silver,” the potter exclaimed, “Do you think it hasn’t started to have an effect on the rest of us? Some of us are starting to see fewer imports available from Aragonia. They take the silver from their mines elsewhere. Why would the traders sail all the way up to Terre d’Ange if they can only trade for part of their cargo? Look at what that blasted Halceaux has brought upon us!”

Helene was outraged.

Lord Lafons chuckled. “The silver embargo is a shrewd endeavor by a, shall we say, friend of the Night Court. But Roland cannot think that he alone has enough power to control all Terre d’Ange’s trade routes.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“The Duc de Chalasse controls more than you can possibly know and has his hand in more than you can even imagine. The embargo will end when it suits him. He has greater interests here than simply keeping the Night Court on the Judiciary and punishing an arrogant tradesman. The Duc plays the long game and he has been playing it since before you were a babe at your mother’s breast. Don’t underestimate him,” Margot scolded.

Lafons rolled his eyes. “You overestimate Roland’s influence. No single lord holds that much sway. This will be done in short order, no matter what he wants. He thinks to throw his weight around with this small move, but it’s no more than posturing.”

At this Margot burst out laughing. “Oh, my Lord, surely you do jest. If the Duc de Chalasse were to throw his weight around, we would feel all the Earth shake.”

Storyline: Halceaux Defeated

Slumped in his chair, Jacques Halceaux sat staring at his fireplace, its lonely log licked slowly by flames. A chipped cup of brandy hung from his fingers, threatening to spill onto the worn carpet under his feet.

He heard the door open, heard the quiet footsteps and the soft swish of skirts and his lip was already curling as he said, “Come to gloat?”

“No, Uncle.”

His eyes narrowed, “Don’t call me that. We are not family.”

“We almost were, once.” She rounded the chair set beside his, her hands resting on the winged back, “There was a time you were thinking of marrying me to your son, when we got older. It seemed a perfect match, the silversmith’s son and the jeweler’s daughter.”

“Things changed.”

“As things tend to do.”

“Don’t patronize me, Odilia, I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m sorry.” She slowly eased herself down to sit in the other chair set before the fire. She sat silently for a long moment before she asked quietly, “Why did you let it go so far? The city did not need to know about your grievance against me. If you had come to talk to me-”

“As if your arrogant Dahlia House would have let a poor merchant like me through the front gate,” he said sourly. “My purse would never be heavy enough to buy even a quarter-hour of your time.”

“I would have seen you,” she whispered. “If you had come, I would have seen you.”

He scoffed wordlessly.

“Talk to me, Uncle. You don’t really care about the Cereus seat on the Judiciary, do you? What is this really about?”

He sat silent for so long that she did not think he was going to answer. Then finally his lips parted and he managed to rasp out, “You…you were blessed with a pretty face. And because you are beautiful, they came and they took you away and they raised you up from a nobody like me, to someone who is powerful and charming and charismatic enough to have the attention of the – Blessed Elua! – of the King!”

He glared at the weak fire without seeing it, “My father was a silversmith and his father before him, that is all I will ever be. My hands are calloused, the work is hard, and I’m training my son to be a silversmith after me. Everything I have, my family earned with hard work and generations of trying to convince the arrogant nobles to buy our silver and keep us in business. And what did you do to earn what you have?”

He scoffed, bringing his brandy cup to his lips, “You were born pretty, and you opened your legs.”

How bitter he had become, Odilia saw as she watched him take a long swig of the liquor. She pitied him. She really did. Bitter and resentful, the anger twisting him until the easiest way for him to deal with the acid burning him alive from the inside out was to lash out and try to make someone else hurt the way he did. But there was a part of her – the part of her that still remembered being a girl born to the streets and learning the importance of pride and hard work, that remembered helping her father set the little gems in his designs because her hands were smaller and more nimble, that part of her that was the seed of who she was – that understood how he saw the world. She didn’t work with her hands, she didn’t have a craft or a marketable skill she could use to support her family the way he does and the way her father did. She had been plucked up to the highest rungs of society because of her face and her charisma and she lived a comfortable life because someone found her and gave her a chance.

“You know me,” she said, leaning forward slightly to get his attention. “You know where I started, you know my family, did you really think I would forget that?” She frowned at him, “Didn’t you stop to think that, with the King’s ear, I could be a voice for the people? I know the streets; I could speak for the common people within the palace. I could do good for the city, Uncle.”

She shook her head and he watched her walls crack a little as she gave a wild little laugh, “Did you really think I would ever forget where I came from? No one will let me!”

Her dark eyes met his light ones as she continued desperately, “You think I am a traitor to my own class for something that I never had control over. The nobles of the court know that my blood isn’t blue enough to ever be one of them. I’ve betrayed my own people and I’ll never belong in court. The only thing I have now is Dahlia. That is what I have been trained for, that is all I thought I could do.”

She reached to touch his wrist, “And then he came to me. And I saw a way that I could help my people. He listens to me, Uncle. And I know that was part of what angered you, but if you stop and think, think about the things I could tell him. I could tell him about how your wife shared your food with us when my mother was sick. I could tell him how the sailors in the Harbour District take side work ferrying people across the river for pennies to make sure no one gets hurt trying to swim it late at night. I could tell him how the little thieves steal the apples from the trees around the Temple of Elua because they know the Priests won’t punish them just for being hungry like some of the merchants in the markets would. Uncle, I could make a difference, a real difference. A girl from the streets with the ear of the King could do so much good. But I can’t do it if you fight me every step of the way.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm. Pale, manicured, soft with lotion, anointed with perfume oils. It belonged to a stranger.

“Did you tell the nobles wrapped around your pretty fingers to start the embargo on silver?” The flickering firelight threw the age lines of his face into sharp relief as he glared at her. “Did you do that?”

“No,” she said, “I had nothing to do with that.”

He pulled his arm away from her touch. “They taught you pretty words at the Night Court, little Lia. But that’s all that you have, and words won’t buy my food or stoke my fire. They’re worthless. Use them with your King or your Duc, I don’t have the stomach for them.”

“If I convince him to lift the embargo,” she asked, “Would that change anything?”

He looked at her, his eyes hard as stone, “Get him to lift the embargo, then we’ll talk.”

 

Storyline: The Meeting of the Judiciary, Part 2

(read part 1)

“You’ve made your point!”

Jacques Halceaux was on his feet, cold eyes fixed on the standing Cereus Dowayne and the seated Dahlia Second beside her. His lip curled ever so slightly, “Though we might have done without the theatrics.”

“How else was I to know that you would take this seriously, sir?” Aliksandria did not back down, standing her ground firmly. She had her siblings in Naamah with her, they all stood with her, and she took strength from them.

“If I may?”

The attention of the room shifted to the dark haired, dark-eyed Odilia, seated still, who had spoken so softly.

The Magistrate smoothed the hem of his tunic, “The Judiciary recognizes Odilia nó Dahlia from the Guild of the Servants of Naamah.”

“Thank you, Magistrate,” she said quietly. Her hands were folded in her lap, still, not a hint of nerves in her posture or expression as she said, “I was not present when the initial proposal was made to remove the Guild seat from this Judiciary. I apologize if what I ask exasperates the members of this august body, but as it has been so long since the issue was raised and these many months seem to have blown this whole affair quite out of proportion, I wonder if I might be reminded what the exact proposal was, please?”

“Monsieur Jacques Halceaux, head of the Silversmith Guild, has made a motion to remove the Guild of the Servants of Naamah from this Judiciary,” the Magistrate said, “On the grounds that with your continued patronage by His Majesty the King Gustav de la Courcel, the influence of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers has grown so that the seat held here by the Dowayne of Cereus House is no longer necessary.”

“The Night Court is represented in the palace itself,” Halceaux said, barely managing to suppress his rage. “We don’t need you here.”

“We?” Aliksandria fired it at him, “Do not hide behind the faces of your colleagues, this is your grudge and yours alone, Halceaux!”

“Just so I understand,” Odilia said before a full argument could erupt, her face almost embarrassed as she held up an inquisitive hand, “Since my mind is not so attuned to the governances and the kind of thinking so important to you respected Guild leaders in your administrative and representative positions, I just want to make sure I understand clearly that the Night Court’s seat is called into question because I have taken assignations with a particular patron?”

Aliksandria caught the twitch in Jocaste nó Dahlia’s lips that meant she was suppressing a smile of amusement.

“If it is the wish of this Judiciary that I no longer accept the King of Terre D’Ange’s patron gifts and deny him access to my bed and spurn his proposed assignations, then I shall comply,” Odilia said with an arch of her dark brows. “And when he asks me why I have done these things, which of your names shall I give him?”

The Guild leaders shifted uncomfortably.

But fury burned in Halceaux’s eyes as he glared at her. “I call your bluff, Odilia. You would deny the chaos of this city with your choice to bed him? Your actions led to chaos and crime after the previous Longest Night; you engage your powerful noble friends to cripple those of us who would stand against you with an embargo that is on the brink of ruining my trade; and now you threaten us with the King’s wrath? How much farther will you climb with your vaulting ambition, girl from the streets?”

If Aliks had blinked, she would have missed it, but for a moment there was a flash of real emotion on Odilia’s face, a flicker of genuine pain at Halceaux’s words.

“But how dare you call into question the importance of our work,” Rosanna Baphinol, Dowayne of Valerian House, cried. “What we do is holy! It is Naamah’s work herself that we do!”

“Then maintain your seat on the Council of Religious Orders,” Halceaux snapped back, “If it is holy, then let it be represented in the Temple District.”

“But it is a business as well,” the Dowayne of Bryony replied dryly, with a raised eyebrow, “That cannot be denied. It is a trade, therefore we are a trade guild and thus deserve a seat on the Judiciary.”

“A voice with the Temples,” Halceaux sneered, “A voice on the Judiciary. What is next? A noble title for each of you? A silver chair in the throne room itself? Where will it end? Where can your power be checked if not here?”

“You have called Odilia’s bluff, if bluff it is,” Aliksandria pressed, “but my threat is real. This is a personal grudge that has been given far too much attention.” She turned to the Magistrate. “Either call a vote, or dismiss this motion entirely. It is time for this to be put to rest for good.”

A man of late years pushed himself up with the assistance of a black wood cane and spoke, “My lord Magistrate, members of the judiciary, the Marquist Guild finds that our business is irrevocably enmeshed with the continued function of the Servants of Naamah, and we cannot allow the Night Court to lose its seat on this body or worse, cease trade entirely; we stand with Naamah’s Servants.”

A blonde man stood in the second row and spoke clearly over the murmuring of the crowd. “My lord Magistrate and gathered guests, Cress Brion, Vintners Guild representative. The vintners met last week to solidify our position and we’ve prepared our response.”

He cleared his throat and waited for the chatter to die down. “If the Night Court, an institution at the heart of d’Angeline culture, is not above this sort of assault, who will be next? Clearly Master Halceaux has a vendetta, but where does it stop? What is to keep him, or anyone, from deciding that the wine produced by, say, my colleague Afrodile d’Nais, which is rising in favor in Court, is somehow unduly influencing the nation? What would stop us from ending up here every time the esteemed head of the Silversmiths or any other Guild leader has a bruised ego or lost a few coins to a competitor? The Vintners stand with the Night Court on this issue and, should they need to shutter their doors, we will hold our product back as well until the issue is resolved.”

There was a gasp among the crowd. No wine! A crisis! Halceaux could be seen almost vibrating with rage at the winemaker’s words. A short woman stood in the first row, “Master Brion, you’ve missed the point.”

Her voice boomed through the room, instantly getting people’s attention. She nodded her head at the Magistrate, “My lord Magistrate, assembled guests, Lina Leveaux, wife of Mason Gustav Leveaux and selected representative of the Masons Guild. Master Halceaux raises a good point, though his solution lacks the precision expected of someone in his line of work. Maybe it’s been too long since his hands touched the tools of his trade and that’s why he’s suggesting tearing something down to the foundation instead of just repairing the crack.”

She tucked her hands in the pockets of her dress and looked over at Odilia. “We can see how this could be a place of potential rot if left unchecked, but there’s no need to go to the lengths proposed. Why not ask Odilia to remove herself from all decision-making bodies until such time as the King’s attention moves on to another? Wouldn’t that be the proper solution to the issue as Master Halceaux has presented it?”

“And what decision-making bodies does she currently sit on, Madame Leveaux?” Aliksandria gestured to the woman next to her. “She is only here today at my invitation only because the issue is so focused around her.”

“Unless Madame Leveaux is requesting that Odilia step down from her position as my Second,” Jocaste said, her eyes intent on the other woman. “A position she holds because of her skills and dedication to our House, an appointment I made personally as is my right as Dowayne of Dahlia House, a title that has never fallen under the purview of any outside of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.”

Madame Leveaux shook her head. “She’s not on any at this time, true. But if she stated that she would neither seek nor accept them in the future, that would certainly suffice.
Excepting, of course, any offered by the King.”

Odilia gave Aliksandria a short nod and the Cereus Dowayne said, “That seems reasonable.”

Madame Leveaux bowed slightly toward Aliksandria before addressing the Magistrate. “Due to the graciousness of the Night Court, all our concerns are addressed, and we now stand with them on this issue.”

At the exchange, Helene Bridault and Margot Langneau, two women known often to vote together on issues, stood almost as one. Helene was the more outspoken of the two.

She raised her raspy voice to the Magistrate. “Madame Langneau and I wish to make it known that the Silk Weavers and Ceramics Guilds stand with the Night Court and,” she glared at the silversmith, “in opposition to Monsieur Halceaux’s proposition.”

Halceaux’s eyes flashed as Helene and Margot sat. As each Guild spoke and turned their back on him, his knuckles grew whiter as he clutched his cane and his face grew more purple. A vein pulsed in his forehead. Though he did not speak, his rage was evident to even the most unobservant. He had misjudged…greatly.

The Magistrate banged his gavel once, nodding to the assembled body. “It would seem that the guild masters have made their thoughts known and are ready to make a decision, then. Let us put this issue to bed,” he chuckled at his own joke, “with a vote, then.”

A murmur rushed through the crowd. This was it! Aliksandria felt her heart pound in her throat and she swallowed against a wave of nausea and dizziness, willing herself to sit tall and straight in her seat. Beside her, Odilia sat unmoving and seemingly unmoved. It might have been a trick of the light, but the Dowayne thought she might have caught a flash of something – fear? anger? hurt? – behind Odilia’s eyes. Surely, the Dahlia was not made of stone?

“Quiet in the gallery, please!” The Magistrate rapped his gavel impatiently. “If we may get on with it. Those in favor of the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers retaining its seat on this body, represented by the Dowayne of Cereus House, say aye.”

A chorus of ‘aye’ sounded through the chamber.

“All those opposed, say ‘nay’.”

A single sharp, clipped voice echoed across the room. “Nay.”

One had to give Halceaux credit; he stood his ground to the end.

The Magistrate spoke. “The Night Court retains its seat. If there is no further business, we will adjourn.”

Aliks felt her heart slow down and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She reached over and squeezed Odilia’s hand, giving her a gentle smile.

“You know this is far from over.”

Odilia nodded, her chin held high. “I know.”

Jocasta took Odilia’s arm, leading her towards the door. “You have strong allies, my Second. You need not worry.”

Across the large chamber, a woman sat and watched the leaders of the Night Court talk amongst themselves. She watched the guild masters file out in small groups, chatting idly and gossiping. She watched the Magistrate confer with his aide over some papers. Finally, she turned her head to the one man who remained seated, very much by himself. His hands still gripped his silver tipped cane, but his knuckles were no longer quite so white. His face was drained of all colour. His shoulders sagged and his head bowed in defeat. Jaques Halceaux no longer appeared the venerable, powerful statesman he had only minutes before. Now, he simply looked…old.

Madame Halceaux sighed sadly and went to comfort her husband.

Storyline: The Meeting of the Judiciary, Part 1

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please! Come to order!” The Magistrate banged his gavel on the podium in an almost futile attempt to gain the attention of the members of the Judiciary. The nobles and guild leaders continued to talk amongst themselves, ignoring the Magistrate’s pleas to come to order and begin the Judiciary meeting.

It had been over a year since Monsieur Jacques Halceux, head of the silversmiths guild, had brought a motion to the floor to remove the Night Court from the Judiciary. The Judiciary would hear arguments for both sides and determine if it was finally time for a vote, or if even more time was necessary to make the critical decision.

The argument was as old as Terre d’Ange itself. The Court of the Night Blooming Flowers held a seat on both the Council of Religious Orders and City Judiciary, and guild leaders argued again and again that this gave the Night Court undue influence in government. And circumstances in the City of Elua were perhaps turning the tide in favor of the guild leaders’ case.

The longstanding relationship between the newly crowned King Gustav de Courcel and Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, and the notion that she advised the king on more than just the baubles she preferred, lent credence to the idea of courtesans holding more sway than was appropriate. Today, a special visitor joined Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House, on the side of the Night Court. Sitting tall and regal was Odilia nó Dahlia herself, looking ready to do battle.

Across the room, one man did not engage in idle chatter. He sat, the instigator of this fight, his gaze fixed pointedly on the two members of the Night Court: Jacques Halceaux, head of the Silversmiths Guild. A man of middling years, he had clearly once been handsome, but his work had worn his body down and grayed his hair; bitterness turned his face an unattractive mask. He hunched forward in his chair, scowling, elbows on his knees, hands clenching a silver tipped cane.

Once again the Magistrate cried desperately for order. This time, he succeeded. “My dear ladies and gentlemen!” he thundered, “I beg you to come to order so that we may begin our business and not languish here all day!”

Slowly the chatter died down and the guild leaders and nobles took their seats with sidelong glances towards the two courtesans. Night Court trained both, one would have thought they sat in a Palace salon awaiting an assignation for the grace and composure they both displayed. One would never know that their futures hung in the balance.

“We are gathered,” the Magistrate said, sounding ever so slightly impatient, “in the hopes that this issue raised as to the Night Court Guild’s presence on this Judiciary may finally be decided. Too long have we delayed this vote for reasons of varying validity, but so help me Blessed Elua, today will bring it to an end one way or another!”

Aliksandria turned her head to Odilia, looking to gauge her resolve. This was the largest attendance she had ever seen in this hall; clearly many in the city wanted to see what the outcome would be.

Aliksandria took a deep breath and rose. “My lord Magistrate, you asked me these many months gone by how the Night Court responded to Monsieur Halceaux’s proposal. I spoke the truth when I told you that, while I may be the Night Court’s representative on this body, I am not its leader. I am, however, the leader of Cereus House, and as such, I can speak for her. As the governing body of the trade guilds, this body has the power to make changes to Guild Laws and regulations. Without a voice in such matters, I simply do not see how we could continue to operate as the trade guild we are, governed by Guild Law. And as anyone who has visited Mandrake or Valerian House knows -” She paused and looked pointedly at several of the guild masters, “- Guild Law protects the very lives of some of our adepts. So, without laws to protect our adepts, I fail to see any way that we could continue to conduct trade. Cereus House would, regrettably, be forced to close its doors.”

Her hands would have been shaking if she had not grasped them so tightly as she waited.

This was an unexpected play, a bold play by the Cereus Dowayne and no few of the other Guild leaders murmured to each other, casting furtive looks between the courtesans and the leader of the Silversmith Guild. That was certainly enough to give them pause as to this venture; was it enough to cow him?

The door to the chamber, which had been closed when the Magistrate called the meeting to order, flew open. A woman of middle years, upright in posture and strong in determination, with hair the color of a Cassiline’s sword, walked in. Jocaste nó Dahlia took her place next to her Second and spoke in a clear and resonant voice, “Dahlia House echoes the sentiments of Cereus House.”

Behind her, Xixilya nó Orchis flounced in, a grin on her face, “Orchis House agrees with Cereus and Dahlia.”

Kali nó Mandrake marched up, stood next to Aliksandria, and proclaimed, “Mandrake House stands with her sisters.” One by one, all 13 Dowaynes of the Night Court entered the chamber and swore the same, that they would close their doors before they would violate the sacred call of their order.

The Magistrate let out a breath as the last Dowayne, Philomena nó Heliotrope, finished. He waved to a servant to close the door, but as he did so, he found resistance. An older woman, well into her twilight years and leaning heavily on a cane walked in, leading a line of men and women so long they did not all fit in the room. She was D’Angeline and, as such beautiful, but one could tell by her carriage and bearing that she was not now, nor had she ever been, of the Night Court. She walked up the aisle, passing the Dowaynes and stopped in the center of the chamber. She cleared her throat and spoke. “Naamah’s Servants of the City of Elua who do not reside on Mont Nuit wish to have their voices heard as well. In this hall, you have made many decisions over the years that have affected us without deigning to acknowledge that we also ply Naamah’s trade. But know this, should a king or prince find himself on my doorstep, I would not turn him away either. We stand with Mont Nuit. No Servant of Naamah in this city will ply the trade without proper representation.”

to be continued…

(read part 2)

D’Angeline Gossip

In case you’ve missed anything, here’s all the gossip that has been circulating in the City of Elua.

    • Odilia nó Dahlia, Second of Dahlia House, continues her love affair with the newly crowned King Gustav.
    • The head of the silversmith guild, Jacques Halceaux, is furious over this and is rallying the guilds to remove the Night Court from the Judiciary over “undue influence.”
    • Roland de Chalasse, Duc of L’Agnace, has managed to convince Niniane de Perigeux , Sovereign Duchess of Soivale, to enact an unofficial embargo of silver as punishment.  This embargo has begun to affect international trade.
    • Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House, has been gone from the City of Elua with her lover, Marco Meridius, a Tiberian trader, on an “extended assignation” since last year’s Masque.
    • Cereus House’s Dowayne, Aliksandria, fears that Petrea’s absence reflects poorly on her House and, thus, the entire Night Court.
    • Aliksandria has written to Petrea and demanded that she return to Terre d’Ange immediately.
    • The Magistrate has ruled that the Judiciary will vote on the matter after the Longest Night.  He has declared that the vote has been delayed as long as possible out of respect for the holy day, but the matter must be resolved.

You can also read back through our blog for the full story, starting at the end of this page and reading backwards from oldest to newest.

Storyline: A Plea to Return Home

Petrea nó Cereus read the letter again. The words never changed but, every time she read them, the knot in her stomach grew.

Petrea,

The situation in the Judiciary grows dire. Your absence as Second of Cereus House is no longer feasible. I need you here. You must return home immediately.

-Aliks

So, the decision had been made for her.  Her Dowayne was demanding her come home. In some ways, it was a relief. She no longer had to decide whether or not to confess her unhappiness to Marco and return to the City of Elua of her own accord or continue to struggle for happiness here in Tiberium. It was done. But still, she had to tell him she would be leaving. Thus, the growing knot in her belly. The fear of his reaction. The worry of her future with him – or without him.

Marco walked into the bedroom where she sat on the bed, still clutching the letter. She turned towards him and, hands shaking, held out the parchment. He looked at her questioningly, but took the page and read it.

“So, you’re to leave then?” he said simply.

Petrea nodded, staring at her hands, unable to look at him.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the bed. “I’m honestly surprised it took this long. The letter must have been delayed,” he mused absently.

He continued gently. “Darling, we both heard the rumors in Aragonia and the same rumors still come from Terre D’Ange. Aliks’s letters continue to mention the trade guild fights and her fears for Cereus House.”

He tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re unhappy.”

She started to respond, but her words died on her tongue.

“You may think you’re hiding it well, but I know you very well, my love. You’re not the vibrant woman I knew in Terre d’Ange. Your eyes don’t sparkle as they once did. You don’t belong here.”

He traced a line at the base of her neck where he knew the finial of her marque lay. He knew the lines by heart. “You cannot live a life where you have to hide this. I am not ashamed of you and I cannot keep you to a life of shame. And besides that, you, my dearest, would never be content being a Tiberian trader’s wife. You would never be content being a Tiberian anything. I should have known in Amílcar that this was a fool’s errand.”

“Amílcar?” Petrea was confused. “What does Amílcar have to do with anything?”

Marco burst out laughing. “You took a patron for the price of room and board! But I suspect you would have gone to him for free.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You are a Servant of Naamah and was a fool to think that would change if I took you away with me. It’s time to go, love.”

Petrea blinked back the tears that had been threatening to fall. When she spoke, her words came out barely above a whisper. “You’re right, but what of us? I truly do love you.”

“And I you. But that won’t stop simply because you no longer travel with me. Or live in Tiberium with me. You don’t have to be my wife for us to love each other. After all, I’ve been your patron for years.” Marco shrugged. “So I’ll continue to be your patron and your lover.”

“As simply as that?” She was stunned; her tears suddenly forgotten.

“Yes. As simply as that.”

“You would simply have me go back to the City of Elua and return to Naamah’s service, knowing that I will be taking other patrons? You nearly tore your hair out over the Marqués in Amílcar!”

“I know,” he chuckled. “And that’s when I began to doubt this arrangement, as I said. I spent many hours that night thinking about how our life would be if we wed, if you could be happy with this. I thought that, if you were happy in Tiberium, then it would mean a marriage could work. But you aren’t and it won’t. You need to go back to the City of Elua and be a proper Servant of Naamah.”

She gave a long sigh. “This is not how I expected this conversation to go.”

He frowned. “You expected I would be what? Angry? Devastated? Dejected?”

She shook her head. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t expect you to just kiss me on the cheek and send me away!”

He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not sending you away. I’m agreeing that you should go home. You simply forgot to ask me whether or not I thought you should.”

Storyline: Homesick in Tiberium

Petrea nó Cereus stared out the window of the beautiful house and felt…disappointed.  She had been in Tiberium for weeks now and had expected to feel…happy? Relieved? Satisfied? She didn’t know how she had expected to feel exactly, but disappointment wasn’t it.  It had everything she dreamed of: beautiful buildings, delicious food, fascinating history, exotic peoples from all over the world and, most importantly, Marco.  At first, Tiberium felt magical, just as every other city and country they had visited.  And being in Marco’s home was even more special as he excitedly showed her his city, taking her to all of his favorite places, and proudly introducing her to his friends.  But she quickly grew weary of Tiberium, and of its people.  The Tiberians knew what she was and shunned her.  Just as Aliks had predicted.  It was worse than Aragonia, and far worse than Alba.  There was no reverence or protection for courtesans here.  Petrea was tired of hiding herself and pretending to be someone she was not.  She was no Tiberian matron, no lady of the house. 

She turned her gaze to where her lover sat at his desk, bent over business sheets, and smiled to herself.  Being with Marco was everything she had expected and everything she had hoped for.  He was loving and attentive, kind and caring, and so excited to show her the life that they could live together.  But his nearness couldn’t seem to fill the emptiness she felt.  She had put on a brave face for him, trying to find solace in his happiness at her presence in his home.  But even his joy and his passion could not make up for the hole in her heart.

Simply put, his love could not make up for home.  It was home that Petrea missed.  Not just Cereus House and the City of Elua, but her chosen family there: her best friend and Dowayne, Aliks, the adepts she was helping train, the members of the other Houses, and the nobles who she took as patrons.  Blessed Elua, she even missed the foolish gossip that had driven her away in the first place.

Petrea knew that trouble was brewing in the City of Elua.  Letter from Aliks had been waiting in Tiberium: the Judiciary was closing in on the Night Court and the guilds were at each other’s throats.  As Second of her House, Petrea knew she had responsibilities to her House and she worried that she was ignoring them – and for what?  She feared that her absence might have consequences that could not be undone.  Her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what she should do.

As she stared out the window at the setting, Marco came up behind her and put his arms around her waist.  He nuzzled her neck and kissed her throat.

“What troubles you, love?” he whispered in her ear.

She sighed, leaning back into him.  “Thoughts of home, I suppose.”

She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around him.  

“I worry,” is all she could say, resting her head on his chest.

He turned her face to his and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Come with me,” he said softly. “Let me distract you.”

Petrea closed her eyes.  Disappointed in her situation? Yes.  Missing home? Yes.  But what would happen to their relationship if she left Marco and went home?  Would she lose him?

She couldn’t stand to think about that and so she let him guide her to his bedroom.

Storyline: On the Rue Courcel

They were all watching. She could feel the eyes, in the House and whenever she left on errands or business. The events of the previous year’s Longest Night Masquerade were still in everyone’s memory. The image of the sangoire cloak hanging at the gates would not be forgotten anytime soon. And the Longest Night was coming again. What would happen this year? Would someone try to outdo the warning of last year? Would the sacred night be interrupted with violence?

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…

She had been thinking more and more about the epic poem. She had sat in the theatre next to the Duc de Chalasse and listened as the poet sang about the violence and war and blood and death that had come to Troy, armies fighting and men dying for possession of a woman. THe Gods themselves cast their lots and chose sides. She had sat there, knowing what it was Jocaste had wanted her to hear in the song, the warning that it was.

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles…

She sat in the carriage now, across from her Dowayne, as the two of them travelled across the river to the Noble’s District, to the Rue Courcel that had the best shops of the City. She sat there, knowing the people outside were watching the carriage go by, seeing the dahlia design embossed on the outer door, whispering about who was inside. The Longest Night was fast approaching, Odilia could feel the City holding its breath to see what would happen. The matter of the Judiciary still needed to be resolved, it had been postponed until after the Longest Night out of respect for the holy day and the preparations that the Night Court needed to make, but it would still need to be addressed. Which meant she would have to see him. Would have to speak to him.

Sing, O Goddess, the anger of the common folk of the City. Sing, O Goddess, the rage of the silversmith. Sing, O Goddess, sing!

Sing, O Goddess, the chaos of Odilia the Dahlia.

“Odilia?”

She brought a smile to her face, “Yes, Jocaste, I’m listening.”

Her Dowayne didn’t look like she believed it, but she didn’t pry, only saying, “Are you sure about the statement you want to be making with your costume?”

“I am.”

“As I am unable to attend the Masquerade this year, you will be representing Dahlia House with it as well, you understand that?”

“Are you requesting I change my costume?”

“No,” Jocaste said. “Your choice is your own, I just want to make sure you know the possible messages you will be sending as you represent us all.”

“I know the risks,” Odilia responded.

“After last year, I should hope you do,” Jocaste said gently. “As you are determined, I will not order otherwise. I trust you, Odilia. Remember that.”

“I know.”

They came to a stop and Odilia stepped down from the carriage first to offer her hand to her Dowayne. The couturier was already bowing at the door to the tailor’s shop, welcoming them in for Odilia’s final fitting to ensure the costume was what she wanted. Payment was given and the package was handed reverently over with a whisper from the tailor that she hoped it pleased the Dahlia Second. Returning to the carriage, they were stopped by a voice calling, “Ah, two of my favorite flowers! What a lucky chance.”

“There is no such thing when you are involved, Roland,” Jocaste said with a smile, giving him a kiss of greeting.

“Odilia,” he greeted her with a tiny bow, “You have been in my thoughts much as of late.”

“Have I, Your Grace?” She gave him a curtsy just as small as his bow to her, “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about our evenings at the theatre this past summer.”

“Were you?” His brows lifted as he claimed her hand for a courtly kiss, “What song are the Muses singing for you?”

“The song of the Longest Night, of course.”

“Let us hope it has more peaceful verses than the song of the previous year.”

“Keeping the young nobles of your province in line, Your Grace?”

“I would not dream of having them disrespect you again.” His eyes dropped to the package tucked under her arm, “Something for the Masque?”

“The tailors have finished my costume,” she said lightly, “Will you be in attendance at Cereus to see it, Your Grace?”

“Unfortunately not,” he said, “My Longest Night invitation came from the palace, not the Night Court. I am surprised that you were not requested at the palace to dance with the young King.”

“There are some traditions that no Servant of Naamah will refuse,” she said, “The Longest Night at Cereus is one of them. His Majesty understood my polite refusal.”

“Then I will have to endure the palace fête without your clever company to keep me entertained.”

“I’m sure you will find a way to manage.”

“What brings you out today, Roland?” Jocaste asked it of the Duc, lest her Second entirely monopolize his time with her witty conversation, though she was proud that it seemed her advice had been followed. Odilia was polite and courteous, clever and warm, but not overly familiar and there was nothing of substance said under the words. She was doing well to keep Roland de Chalasse out of her head. Jocaste was pleased.

“I was on my way to the jeweler in the Palace District,” he said lightly, “I had commissioned a gift for my granddaughter that I was going to retrieve. I would be honored to have your company on my errand. I know little about baubles and you are familiar with dear Rosanna’s preferences through your work together at the Night Court. Additional advice on her gift would be deeply appreciated.”

“You old fox,” Jocaste laughed, “You just want to be seen with us.”

“Two of the loveliest flowers of the Night Court? Absolutely.”

“You are fortunate we are not so prone to flattery, sir,” she smiled at him even as she looped her arm through his. “Odilia, we must go with him now to save his pride.”

“I don’t think that is ever at risk,” Odilia said lightly. “Give me a moment to put my package in the carriage and I will be with you.”

She turned and opened the door to the carriage so she could settle the parcel in the corner of the seat. She heard Roland and Jocaste strike up their conversation again, light and pleasant. This was what the Longest Night was supposed to be, excitement and joy and joie, no dark thoughts, no worries or cares, just the celebration of the night and the return of the Sun Prince to his Winter Queen. She dared to smile.

That was when the hand closed on her wrist. It was a tight grip, wiry and strong and it jerked her around to face the man that the hand belonged to. Greying hair, a lined face, once-handsome eyes now tight and hard with fierce hatred.

“You,” she breathed, looking Jacques Halceaux full in the face. The open carriage door was between her and her other companions on the side of the Rue, and Halceaux had waited to approach until they were both distracted so he could be uninterrupted.

“You have the rest of the City fooled,” he hissed, his grip on her wrist keeping her from pulling away as he stepped closer to snarl at her, “But not me. I know who you are, Odilia, who you really are. Wear your pretty flowers and let them worship their precious Dahlia, enjoy it while you can. You have them all fooled but not me, I know your truth and I will use it.”

His grip tightened and her eyes widened as she saw in his face just how deep his hatred and contempt for her went. What had gone wrong? When had he chosen this path?

“It’s a pretty little fantasy world you’ve built for yourself,” he said, standing so close to her they were almost touching, his other hand brushing the front of her thigh as he leaned even further, lips brushing her ear as he breathed, “But I will tear it down, piece by piece, until you have nowhere to go but the real world with the rest of us. I will drag you back to where you belong, you and the rest of those fancy whores.”

She looked up at him, lips parting, “Please…”

He was gone, vanished back into the traffic of the street with only the dull, tingling pain in her wrist to know that he was ever there.

“Odilia?” Jocaste called, “Is everything alright?”

Odilia slowly closed the carriage door. They were both watching her; Jocaste curiously, Roland intently. She looked her Dowayne and friend in her eyes, pulled up a bright smile, and for the first time, lied to her face.

“Of course,” she said, “Everything’s fine.”

Storyline: A Letter from Aragonia

My dearest Aliks,

We have been several weeks in Aragonia and, thank Elua, I have been able to arrange our accommodations this time. Upon arrival in Amílcar, our presence was requested by Ramiro Pascual de Soria y Borja, Marqués of Almazán, the son of the Duque de Soria who has traveled to Terre d’Ange through his family business dealings. Aragonia is not like Terre d’Ange in its ways of love and the Marqués was thrilled to find a servant of Naamah in the city. He requested the pleasure of an assignation at any price. I negotiated food and lodging for the duration of our stay in Amílcar, which he felt was quite the bargain. Perhaps it was, but the idea of not sleeping in yet another crowded, smelly inn is worth more to me than any amount of money I could fathom at the moment. I was surprised when Marco balked at the idea of my serving another patron! While we may be traveling together, I am still who and what I am and we are not wed. He has always known that I have other patrons and this is the first time he has expressed any jealousy. Aliks, I was truly shocked. He did eventually calm down and I spent a luxurious night with Ramiro.

Marco has not been as fortunate as I in his business ventures. We learned from the Marqués, whose family owns silver mines here, that the silver trade has slowed considerably due to a new and quite unexpected D’Angeline embargo on the metal. This has thrown the international silver market into disarray and caused a ripple effect into other markets. Traders and merchants are confused by the embargo, as there are no conflicts between Terre D’Ange and any other nations. Ramiro has, however, heard rumors of internal conflict between the guilds. Whatever the cause, there is fear this embargo could affect Terre D’Ange’s relations with its partner nations and have serious implications for future alliances.

While days are difficult for Marco, I find enjoyment in exploring the city, delighting in the vast differences between here and home, seeing the beautiful architecture, and visiting local shops. I do, however, feel I am quite the stranger, as I did in Alba, not speaking the language or knowing the local customs. Would that I were Phedrè nó Delaunay – able to blend in to any country and learn the language! I have been fortunate in that the Marques has provided me a servant girl from his household to serve as my guide, so that I am not completely lost. She has advised me to hide my marque, as the Aragonians would not look so kindly upon it. I was expecting different customs and attitudes, but I am not ashamed of who I am and hiding my marque felt uncomfortable. I suppose that if I am to conduct myself as Marco’s betrothed, I should expect to adapt. Ah the things we do for love, yes?

Always yours,

Petrea