valerian – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

A Conversation Between Bees

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: Mont Nuit in Celebration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Philomena?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Henri groaned, “Past bedtime as usual.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storyline: The Royal Wedding

Corrian had little opinion on her dress for the wedding, which was good because the royal dresser had not asked for it. A gown of pale blue with accents of silver and midnight blue had been constructed for the occasion. The trim had swans and lilies embroidered on it, making sure all knew that this was a royal wedding gown. Her auburn hair was left long with its curls, giving a joyous bounce as she walked. Her head was crowned for now with a simple garland of flowers. Before the day was done, it would be replaced with the Queen’s Crown of Terre D’Ange. It was better to remain simple and celebratory now. She wore simple slippers in the carriage to the temple at the heart of the city, knowing she would remove them when she entered and not wishing to waste overmuch time fiddling with laces or buckles.

For her bouquet, however, she had put her foot down on that. She carried a bouquet with anemones, which was traditional and symbolized Blessed Elua’s precept. She also had lilies to represent Terre d’Ange, the country of which she would soon be queen. She included oleanders, as a nod to her home of Borlean in Azzalle. And finally, she carried three large dahlia flowers in the bouquet. She was no fool, she knew every aspect of this day would be scrutinized, and she wanted the country to know that she supported Gustav and Odilia.

Gustav stood ready to hand her up to the carriage and he looked every inch the king. Resplendent in Courcel blue and gold, he had chosen to forego his great crown for this day. Instead, his golden head was crowned with a wreath of anemones and lilies – Blessed Elua and Terre D’Ange together. He smiled at her.

She returned his smile. Theirs was not a love match, but this was better. It was a match of mutual respect and understanding. A kind of love could grow easily from those seeds, even if she would always know that her husband’s heart belonged to another woman.

And that other woman had chosen to embark on this journey with them. Odilia’s answer had come, and she knew Gustav had wept in relief. She had herself slept much easier since that letter had arrived.

The team of horses pulling the open-top carriage were pure white, with blue and gold ribbons braided into their manes and tails to toss in the sunshine as they pranced impatiently. The carriage would take them only to the great oak in the center of the city. From there, it would be on foot to the Temples. And the way was filled with the people, the citizens of the City of Elua gathered to watch the procession of their king and his bride.

It was the sound of their joy that first greeted the couple, the cheers and singing of joy that guided them on their walk through the winding streets – like so many royal couples before, treading the path from palace to temple to be joined in marriage.

The flowers were next, the sights and smells of the flowers being waved, the petals being strewn before them as they walked together.

The colors of the ribbons as they danced through the air, the garlands draping from the eaves of every building – evidence of how the people loved their king and celebrated his marriage.

Gathered in the square of the temple district were the nobles and courtiers of the royal court, gathered there in all their finery to witness the arrival and entrance to the temple of the royal couple. And arrayed along the side of the square closest to Mont Nuit were the Dowaynes and Seconds of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers.

Aliksandria stood with her fellow Dowaynes and their Seconds as the Royal procession passed. They bowed to their king and soon to be queen, though Aliks had a bit of difficulty doing so in her present condition. As they rose she turned her head almost imperceptibly to look at the second of Dahlia House. Odilia’s face showed no emotion. Jocoste had offered to her Second the option to attend the ceremony as a private individual and not as a member of the Night Court, but she had declined, insisting that her loyalty was to Naamah’s service above all.

Rosanna stood with Tryphosa at her side, in line with the other leaders from Mont Nuit. Arranged, as always, with Cereus House at the fore and then descending down according to the alphabet, they stood last but never least in line. All the better to see the scope of the procession and the reactions of those watching. The Dowayne and Second of Valerian House wore gowns of silvery white and accents of shimmering bronze. When the time came, they tossed flowers upon the cobblestones with the other citizens, celebratory as could be.

“I do not spy anyone seemingly unhappy with how things turned out,” Tryphosa whispered as she tossed another handful of petals.

“They would not do so here. Today we are celebrating, and keeping our eyes and ears open.”

Her own eyes followed the couple once she rose from her deep curtsy, until they vanished from sight into the most sacred of temples. No one outside of the closest family members and highest ranked nobles of the king’s inner court were permitted to actually watch the ceremony. Surely, they could not comfortably fit any more guests in the temple courtyard anyway. But the sanctity of the marriage ritual was something to be respected, and so that Rosanna understood.

As the crowd quieted and awaited the royal couple’s return, she took the time to pray. Always a devout woman, the Dowayne of Valerian House asked Blessed Elua to watch over the king, the new queen, and her friend who was soon to be linked to them both in an unprecedented motion.

They needed all the divine guidance one could hope for to navigate the path they would forge together.

Mena stood with Vouloir, wearing simple flowing dresses in the palest purple, their hair held in fine bronze mesh cauls, waiting for the procession.

“Odilia looks well today,” Vouloir said quietly by Mena’s ear. “I’m interested to see the bride. My friend in the palace says the mood in the royal wing has much improved.”

Mena made a noise of agreement. “She does look quite well. Her expression matches her bearing again. I’ve missed that.”

Vouloir nodded, but before she could respond, the roar of the crowd let them know the couple was approaching. A huge smile bloomed across Mena’s face at the sight of them. Love, in all its forms, made her heart happy. She threw petals when the couple was near and delighted in the smile on her King’s face. His bride looked at peace, her face relaxed.

As the couple passed, Vouloir leaned in again. “Her Majesty’s bouquet told the tale quite well, don’t you think?”

Mena looked at her. “I managed to miss it somehow.”

Vouloir smiled like a cat in the cream. “Oh, then wait until they return, she’ll be on our side then.”

Mena looked up the hill where the couple had disappeared into the temple proper. Everyone settled around her, a peace falling over the crowd that was tinged with excitement. Weddings were loved in the capital, the rare royal weddings were exciting. Everyone, herself included, was looking forward to the holiday and festivals that would last for a week. The plans they’d made for the House had been implemented quickly, the food was prepared, the wine and juices were ready, the salons were lively already when she’d left, the adepts excited for the occasion. Now all that needed to happen was for the couple to emerge.

When they did appear once again, the city was positively deafened by the cheers of the happy citizens. Cries of blessings, congratulations, and prayers were sent to the young king and his new queen. A great wedding feast would be served at the palace upon their arrival, and the celebrations would go for days. Every house on Mont Nuit would open their doors at a pittance for payment as their way of celebrating so that all who wished to make the event memorable in their own way might afford to do so.

“Is all in readiness for tonight?” Rosanna asked her Second once the loud frenzy had died down somewhat.

“To the best of our ability,” Tryphosa replied.

To the great joy of the gathered people of the city, the newlywed couple stood together under the great arch of the Temple of Elua and shared a long kiss together. When they parted, there was a bright sparkle in both of their eyes as they looked at each other. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. But some people, those who thrived on gossip and whispers, snuck glances at the Second of Dahlia House. She stood tall in the midmorning sun, and there was a small smile on her face – her Dahlia composure wasn’t compromised, but it was clear that she was happy.

Mena cheered as loudly as all the other D’Angellines. Seeing the peace on her king’s face and on his bride’s made her relax even further. Things were going to finally get back to normal. Remembering Vouloir’s comment about the bouquet, she looked at it and felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

“Oh. Oh, really,” she said as she leaned towards her Second. “Well, my, my, my, Her Majesty certainly made her stance known. No one could confuse that.”

Vouloir smiled. “I know! I wonder what it will mean in the long term?”

And the affection in Odilia’s eyes only grew, sparkling and crinkling with her smile as the Priest of Elua laid their hand on the clasped hands of the couple, intoning for all the gathered peoples to hear. “Bound now in the sight of Blessed Elua, blessed by His Companion Naamah, Gustav de la Courcel and Corrian de Borlean are now husband and wife. The wife of a king is his partner in all things and must be crowned as the new queen of our Terre D’Ange. She will be crowned in the shade of the great Elua’s Oak, witnessed by the Clergy of the Companions, the Royal Court, and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. Let the songs be sung as the king and his new queen process to the great oak tree!”

Gustav and Corrian exchanged a look and stepped together down the stairs of the temple, but they did not begin the procession as the High Priest said. Rather, they walked together to where the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers stood arrayed. The adepts all bowed and the king and his bride smiled graciously at them before Corrian stepped forward to stand before Odilia. The women looked at each other, and it seemed like a great many of the adepts and courtiers all held their breath.

“Odilia,” Corrian said, gracious and smiling, “would you accompany us to the oak?”

“My lady, it would be my honor.”

The implication of those words hit Mena like a bucket of iced water. She managed to keep her cool, but Vouloir gasped quietly, her hand suddenly gripping Mena’s tightly. What could this mean?

“Did you know about this?” Tryphosa whispered to her Dowayne.

“Mayhaps, mayhaps not,” Rosanna replied with a conspiratorial little smile.

Corrian beamed and lifted the garland from her own head to place it on Odilia’s head, leaving the new queen bare-headed as she turned to begin the procession. Gustav took his place at her left hand, Odilia stepped up to her right, and the members of the royal court slowly filed in behind them, the Servants of Naamah following.

Gustav turned to glance at Odilia – there had been a childish dream that he had once held of seeing her in garlands and ribbons as they were wed together. That dream could not come to be, the world got in the way. But this was still almost like it, she was still beautiful and with him as they made this walk.

Odilia turned her head to look at Gustav. She had always known she would never be able to have him the way other lovers could be with each other forever. Anything now was a gift she had never dared to hope she could have. This was a more mature, adult agreement, and it suited the people they had become over the years that they had loved each other.

The great oak tree stood in the center of the city, the true and beating heart of Elua’s grace and blessing. It was here that the queen had chosen to be crowned. The royal court arrayed themselves to the left of the tree, where the king stood. The Night Court arrayed themselves to the right, where Odilia stood in her flowing bronze gown.

And there, in the shade of the tree, Corrian knelt.

Mena sharply drew in a breath. There was a crackle of tension in the air, she could feel it. They were on the precipice of something.

The High Priest of Elua stood before her, their hands open to the sky. They said, “Corrian de Borlean de la Courcel, do you present yourself here in the sight of Blessed Elua and witnessed by the nobles of this great kingdom, ready to swear yourself to the sacred duty of queenship?”

Odilia watched Corrian’s chest rise and fall with her deep breath. “I do.”

“As you are wed to His Majesty, King of Terre D’Ange, Gustav de la Courcel, you understand your duty as his wife is to be his partner, equal, and support in all things. This duty is ever more important when the nation is looking to him to lead. Are you prepared to take your place as his queen, to support him and help guide Terre D’Ange for the years to come in which you remain bound together?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to wear this crown with grace and poise, understanding the weight and responsibility that it bears to serve the people of this land and bear the mantle of leadership?”

“I do.”

The High Priest nodded and turned to the side where another of Elua’s priests held a cushion of Courcel blue where the queen’s crown rested. The king’s crown was of gold with fleur-de-lis in silver. The queen’s crown was the opposite – a thin circlet of silver with gold stars. Together, they were the lily and stars of the D’Angeline flag. Together, they were Terre D’Ange.

The crown settled on Corrian’s auburn head, and she closed her eyes, exhaling with the acceptance of her new title and duty.

“Arise now, Queen Corrian of Terre D’Ange.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she carefully stood, turning to face the gathered court and courtesans, who bowed to their new queen. Gustav reached for her hand, taking it and laying a kiss upon her knuckles as he joined her underneath the foliage of Elua’s Oak.

Mena sighed happily, a huge smile on her face. It was done, life was balanced again.

“I accept this duty with a humble heart,” Corrian said, pitching her voice so all could hear. She knew that the pages in attendance on their lords were scribbling down every word she spoke so that copies of her speech could be spread across the city and countryside in the days to come. “It is my honor to stand here, and it is my challenge to become the queen that my king and country need. However, no one person may handle so great a responsibility alone. None of us walk the journeys of our lives by ourselves. As your queen, I would embrace all of the royal customs of House Courcel, including that of a Royal Companion. It is the right of a member of House Courcel to choose for themselves a member of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers to instruct them in the arts of love and to serve as companion and counsel. I would like to choose Odilia, Second of Dahlia House, as my Royal Companion, in the sight of Elua and His angels and witnessed by courtier and courtesan alike.”

Now they knew why she had been gifted with the queen’s garland, now they knew why she was invited to walk with them to the tree. Mena felt almost unable to breathe. Her eyes found Odilia’s profile, and she saw the knowledge of this evident in her small smile. The nobles turned their eyes to the Night Court, where the Dahlia stood shining in her metallic bronze among the Dowaynes and Seconds who wore their own hints of her color like badges of honor.

“The queen has named her Royal Companion,” the High Priest of Naamah said, stepping forward to stand at the tree with the High Priest of Elua. “Does the Companion accept the title?”

Odilia’s head was high as ever – upright and unbending – as she took her own step forward. “I do.”

“So it is witnessed.”

The High Priest of Naamah beamed as the queen and her new Royal Companion clasped hands and sealed the agreement with a kiss. Corrian smelled like the flowers that had been her natural perfume; Odilia smelled like the cedar and amber that she favored. Together they were florals and spice, herbs and woods, balancing beautifully. They parted after a long moment, Corrian slightly breathless and Odilia slightly smug.

Gustav smiled at Odilia and stepped forward himself to reach for her hand, declaring, “It is the greatest and most sacred of our tenets to love as thou wilt. It is the message that Blessed Elua sought to bring to this world and one that we as D’Angelines embrace completely. All of the city, all of the country knows how much I love you, Odilia, it has never been secret. This marriage will not change that. I, too, wish to embrace you as we continue our journey together forward.”

She smiled at him, and Petrea thought that maybe the sun sone little more dim in comparison to the shared joy that rose from the king and courtesan together.

Rosanna held her breath as the king made his heart known for the entire country, for the world to see. Her heart was full of happiness for Odilia. However, she could not easily spy the other man who had made her dearest friend an offer. No doubt he was happy for her as well but had stepped back so that the lovers might enjoy their triumph, they so deserved this moment.

“Odilia nó Dahlia,” Gustav de la Courcel said clearly, making sure no one could confuse his words. “I love you with all that I am. It is my intention to name you my Royal Mistress, officially, so that all of the world may know what place you have in my heart.”

Corrian held Odilia’s other hand, making her own stance absolutely clear as the courtesan looked at the man before her – seeing in his face the young prince she had met all of those years ago – and said, “I will accept it.”

The High Priest of Naamah was ready again, scarlet robes swishing as they laid their hand over Odilia and Gustav’s clasped ones. “Gustav de la Courcel, you have named Odilia nó Dahlia as your Royal Mistress, and she has accepted. Witnessed by Blessed Elua, by the angel Naamah and all of the Companions, and in the presence of the royal court and the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, let it be done.”

Gustav reached into his pocket and produced a ring. A swan ring identical to the ones he and his wife wore. It was clear how seriously all three of them took this moment. Corrian wrapped her arm around Odilia’s waist, both women leaning their heads together to watch as Gustav slid the swan ring onto Odilia’s heart finger.

The sight of the ring made Mena gasp, though she took comfort in the fact that she was not alone. A Royal Companion, a Royal Mistress, these were things that she had been prepared for. But to announce the titles and to treat them as if Odilia was an equal marriage partner, witnessed by Elua’s tree and both courts? She was happy for them but shocked just the same.

Another kiss, shared between Gustav and Odilia, then Odilia and Corrian, then Corrian and Gustav, and it was done. The king was married, Terre D’Ange had a Queen, and all the country saw the Dahlia raised up to stand with the royals.

Storyline: Spring Roses

Prayer was always a safe haven, familiar and fulfilling, for Rosanna. Nothing, not even the sweetest lash, could compare to the meditative healing which she always felt in the silence of the shrines.

She had been attending services and becoming engaged in private prayers more often than ever before. How could she not?

With all that had happened, calling to the angels was an obvious next step to resolution. Asking for help and guidance not only for herself but for those around her. From the mourning in their neighbor house of Mandrake to the absolute fiasco that occurred at the Cereus ball and the multitude of volatile emotions going through her family.

It was as though the deluge of pain would never end.

Of all her friends, Odilia was the closest. Which made the gossip spreading like wildfire all the more biting.

She prayed for her friend and family for now ensconced in the gardens tended by the clergy of Namaah. Spring flowers colored the pale green lawns with spots of white or purple, incense filled the air, its heady scent on the breeze. No other sound was heard in this part of the complex save for her own whispers.

Another day, another plea to their patron angel for some sort of grace in this troubling time. Maybe this time some divine intervention would arrive, she had faith it would.

As the hour chimed, Rosanna got to her feet and returned to the carriage waiting for her. This morning a letter arrived from two of her siblings, they were in town and wished to see her. It was not often they met her in the city, usually they all convened at the family estate in Eisande. But with Mother so shocked, and honestly quite hurt, over Grandfather’s proposal, going home at the moment would be naught but painful. Now the family townhouse here in the city, that was a safe place to congregate. Mother and Father would not be coming into the capital any time soon.

Soon enough, the rocking of the carriage came to a halt, and the footman in the livery of Valerian House opened the door for her, holding a hand to assist her to the ground. Almost instantly, a valet bearing the red and white trident crest of the Baphinol family rushed out to help with bringing the carriage to their private stable, showing the footmen to the servants’ quarters for refreshment.

Rosanna was near to drawing the key from her purse when the front door was flung open. Two dearly familiar faces greeted her. A bright-eyed youth of dark, curly hair, and a smiling lady with red tresses to match her own.

“Baby sister!” Auberi, her nearest sibling in age, gushed and threw his arms around her and squeezed tight.

“Don’t suffocate her, you dolt!” Joia, the sister closest to her own age, scolded their brother. “Well, come in Rosie. Extract yourself, and let’s get inside.”

Auberi never did wholly let her go, slinging an arm around her shoulders as the three of them at last went inside. Drinks and treats were already awaiting them in the family solar, favorites of the three siblings the kitchens had long since memorized. Truly a feat of domestic prowess since there were eight Baphinol children in all.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to have you both in town right now,” Rosanna sighed as she fell down upon the nearest settee. “Everything is bearing down and falling to pieces…as though nowhere I go is untouched by disaster.”

“Too true, Rosie. We have heard it all from Mother before coming here,” Joia said as she poured them all tea.

“She has taken the news of Grandpere’s proposal very hard,” Auberi informed her and sat back in a plush chair. “A betrayal of her mother’s memory and her father’s vow to never take another in her place. It especially hurts as she cares so much for your friend.”

“And our father, the Comte? How is he faring through all this?”

“Taking care of Mother,” Joia replied and handed out delicate cups topped with honey to each sibling’s preference. “He knows she would not do well if left alone, so he deemed it unwise to come to the capital. Though he sends his love, as always, and will look forward to any letters you send. Papa misses you, but he knows you will reach out should you truly need him.”

A heavy sigh escaped her before partaking of her first sip. Warm and floral, rose hip tea. Perfect for spring and one of her favorites, a small comfort.

“Mother would not do well with all the gossip, the stares and prying questions, which would be flung her way if she were to come into town now,” Rosanna agreed. “Not even Grandpere and Odilia are in the city.”

“She did not wish for you to join her?” Auberi asked, a furrow in his brow.

“I would wager they are at his estate, maybe the hunting lodge. But no, I received no invitation to join them. Probably for the best. I was in no little amount of shock when I heard the news myself,” she was forced to admit.

“Rosie has enough on her plate, running her House. To up and leave would be no favor to those she would leave behind to manage in her stead. No, it is better this way.” Joia nodded as if to convince herself as well.

Had their grandfather told anyone ahead of time of his plan or even asked to join him and Odilia away from the cruelties of the city, it would have been Rosanna. A fact the entire family knew. She was his favorite grandchild, this was just a fact. In no small part this was due to her being the only one in the family since his deceased wife to enter the service of Namaah.

Neither Joia, nor Auberi, nor Rosanna ever met their grandmother, who was a lay member of the order, for she was gone before any of their births. But her memory cast a long shadow, the story of how Roland de Chalesse fought a duel for the right to court her was the stuff of song.

“How are you faring through all this, sister?” Aurberi turned to her. His pale eyes were stormy with worry, and she wished they had been able to come together again under kinder circumstances.

“To be truthful…it is hard to say,” she confessed. “First, the announcement of the King’s engagement, which was sudden and unexpected and downright cruel. Then, Odilia is whisked off before I can speak to her. Finally, my companion House suffers an unexpected tragedy, and I had a funeral to attend on top of it all. I…hurt, brother. And though I pray every day, no answer seems to come, and I am at a loss of what to do.”

“Nor should you go searching for it,” Joia said as gently as possible. “None of this could be prevented by you, nor solved either for that matter. You have a big heart, of course you feel adrift. This has blindsided us all, but you are close to your friend, it is only natural. Nevermind the mourning you and your fellows at Mont Nuit must be feeling.”

Several plates of sweets were passed around, and the siblings talked amongst themselves about as much of the trials and tribulations as they could. Each of them provided a unique perspective on the happenings of the last few months, surely they could find some path forward together? Because Rosanna could not simply stand back and do nothing. Attending the funeral was a given, she had already sent condolences and met with her own Showing partner from Mandrake to ease his grief. Flowers would be sent as well to join the other offerings when the day came.

But as for her family? Her friend? There were no easy motions to make in that regard.

Eventually Joia pulled her vielle from its traveling case. Some music would surely do them all some good, and she was the musician of the family, after all. With bow in hand, the solar was quickly filled with the sweet sound of light-hearted song. Whilst it did not remove the many troubles weighing so heavy on Rosanna’s mind, just being in the company of her two closest siblings did help soothe her worried self. For several hours, they remained ensconced in the comfort of the house.

When the time came to go, she made them both promise to stay in the city as long as possible. Being spring, there would be much in the way of amusements to be had in the capital, ways they could spend time together before responsibility took them all away again.

“Worry not, I will be haunting Mont Nuit as any worthless son of a noble should,” Auberi assured her. They embraced, and he also whispered words of brotherly love and encouragement for her ears alone.

“We will see you through these ordeals, little sister,” Joia assured her with a tight hug of her own. “Keep your head high, despite whatever mantra you have in Valerian House. All will be well in the end, you’ll see. Trust in your prayers, Namaah and Eisheth will see you through.”

Despite all the confusing emotions swirling around in her heart and mind, she would not just turn her back on Grandpere or Odilia—even if the wagging tongues were surely taking bets if she would. Eventually she must speak to them, hear their side of the story, deduce just what might be required of her moving forward.

To think, she had once thought so highly of the king, sure he loved her friend. Now, she wondered just what was going on in his royal head, if anything. Well, Odilia was certainly his loss if he could not see the good fortune, which had smiled upon him when she gave her favor.

When Rosanna returned to Valerian House, the usual business of the evening was well into its productivity. She would not be working tonight and let her secretary know this. For now, she had a letter to write.

Dearest Grandpere,

I will not fall back upon idyllic pleasantries, as I know better than to ask how you are faring or what news you might share from L’Agnace.

As I am sure your many eyes and ears have already whispered back what words are being spoken in the city, there is no use repeating them here.

What I would inquire is whether or not you would welcome any more company to your home. Would my presence be a help or a hindrance?

Being how I care for the both of you tremendously, surely you must know how concerned I have been, how worried at your silence. Please let me know how you are, good or ill.

Should you permit me a visit, it would be no trouble to require my Second to take charge of the House in my absence. If not, my heart will not be broken, and I would honor your wish for privacy. Just know I am thinking of you.

Your devoted granddaughter,

Rosanna

A rider was dispatched with stern instruction to see the letter to the estate of the sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, and the man was well paid for his efforts.

For some time, there was nothing left to do but continue on with the matters of everyday life. Eventually though, a reply did come, rather quickly as a matter of fact. When placed in her hand, Rosanna closed her office door to read alone, so that not even her staff might see whatever reaction might follow the missive. Fortune was finally with her, however. Grandfather wanted her to come, desired it in fact, and asked that she forgive his lack of usual communication. Much had been upturned, and he had become lacking in that facet of life.

Rosanna made the necessary arrangements and began the journey to his estate within the week. Valerian House could do without her for a fortnight. Obligations of friends and family had their place of honor in her world, too. She wondered just what sort of situation would be awaiting her upon arrival and sent up a prayer of thanks as she disembarked.

***

Storyline: A King Distressed

Really, of all the times for her family to send her a note asking for a visit, it had to be in the days leading up to the Longest Night when she was up to her eyes in final preparations for Valerian House. There were costumes that still needed to be fitted and finished, face paints to be purchased, ribbons replaced on masks, this was entirely too inconvenient.

But they were her family and she loved them dearly so she had the carriage summoned, her cloak brought, and she was on her way across the city to the Noble District within the hour.

The Baphinol footman opened the carriage door and helped her step down onto the street outside the Baphinol family townhouse, greeting her courteously, “Lady Rosanna, welcome. You are expected.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her to guard against the winter chill in the air.

The steward was ready at the door to take her cloak and usher her inside to the warmth. The floors and ceiling were done in the same rich, warm wood and the walls were artfully decorated with tapestries for the winter. In the warmer months, the tapestries were put away to reveal the beautiful frescoes that decorated the walls. Maybe she should make use of the house to host a private summer salon. She could consider that later.

Now, there was the beaming smile of her mother to contend with as Comtesse Marie-Celeste Baphinol swept down the hall toward her youngest daughter, enveloping her in a hug, “Rosanna, my darling! Thank you for coming to visit.”

“Of course, Mother,” Rosanna said, returning her mother’s embrace, “I needed the break from the Longest Night preparations.”

“Yes, you must tell us how that is going,” her mother said, steering her up the stairs, “Your father is in the library, he wanted a chat first before we have some time together as a family.”

The Comte’s library was on the first story, the doors were of dark wood carved with trees and flowers to remind the family of the country estates while they stayed in the city. The Comtesse gestured to the servants to open the doors and ushered her daughter inside where the Comte Gilles Baphinol was waiting, standing behind his desk.

He looked up when the doors opened and smiled at his youngest daughter, “Rosanna. Thank you for coming.”

The man seated at the chair by the pink marble fireplace turned, the sunlight from the window glinting on his light hair and his Courcel blue eyes.

“Your Majesty!” She dropped into a deep curtsy as gracefully as she could.

“Please rise, Lady Baphinol,” King Gustav de la Courcel said, rising from his seat, “and accept my apology.”

What was happening? The King was here? She hadn’t seen his carriage or any royal guards. Why was he here?

She rose from her curtsy and clasped her hands before her to stop herself from twisting her fingers in her nerves at suddenly being confronted with the King of Terre D’Ange.

“Your Majesty,” Gilles bowed to him, “please feel free to use the library for as long as you need. My lady wife and I will be in the family salon down the hall.”

“Thank you again for your generosity, Comte Baphinol,” Gustav said, inclining his bare head to the older man. Gilles took his wife’s hand and paused only to give his daughter a comforting squeeze of her shoulder and kiss on her cheek before he and Marie-Celeste withdrew, closing the doors behind them.

Alone with the King, Rosanna pulled on all of her training in the Night Court to keep her composure, waiting quietly to follow his lead in whatever this was.

“Please,” Gustav gestured to the seat across from him, “Relax and be comfortable. I am not here as the King but as simply Gustav. And I wanted to speak to you, Rosanna.”

Just Rosanna, not her title or her honorific as Dowayne, just her given name. She was more confused than ever as she crossed the space between them to lower herself onto the seat with a graceful swish of her skirts. “How can I assist Your Majesty?”

The King resumed his seat as well once she was comfortable, looking at her with those steady blue eyes. He smoothed his hands along the arms of the chair before he said, “Odilia told me once that you were friends.”

“I would like to think that hasn’t changed, my King.”

“I’m…concerned. For her. I had hoped to get your insight as her friend and perhaps request your help.”

“What troubles you, Your Majesty?”

His gaze slid to the fire in the grate, the metal screen set before it to catch the cinders wrought with twisting flowers to create the protective netting. His fingers toyed with the edge of the upholstery on his chair as he considered how he wanted to say this, “She is….a strong woman. I admire her fortitude greatly and I have never known her to have a temper.”

Rosanna could agree with that, Odilia was not a woman prone to outbursts of passion. That was more the Valerian’s type of expression. But there was a hesitancy in how he said it that caught her attention.

“Has something happened that would call that into question, Your Majesty?”

“No,” he said softly, “But I cannot deny that something has changed between us. We always knew that my coronation would change things, would mean that the responsibilities of the throne would take me away from her, more than either of us wanted. But she was always ready when I found time, she never refused me…”

“She’s refused you?” Rosanna was shocked at the thought. Not just because he was the King and to refuse the King was a dangerous game, but because she had thought there was something real blossoming between her friend and this man. Odilia had seemed much happier once he came into her life, there were more smiles and there was more light around her. What could have happened to so change her friend’s demeanor?

“I do not know if she has refused me,” Gustav said sadly. “I have sent her gifts and letters and she hasn’t sent them back, but she also hasn’t replied to them. I understand that the Court of Night Blooming Flowers is making preparations for the Longest Night Masque, I appreciate that this is a busy time for all of the Servants of Naamah. But…something does not feel right. I may still be young but I have worn my crown long enough to have learned to trust my instincts. And they are telling me that something is wrong.”

She hesitated before venturing, “Your Majesty….these women that have come to the palace…”

He groaned, “I know. It’s a nightmare.”

“Were you the one to tell her what was happening?”

His eyes dropped to his lap, “No. I did not want to make it seem that I was informing her to set her aside. I asked a close, mutual friend of ours to send her word and make it clear to her that my feelings have not changed.”

Rosanna was desperately curious to know what those feelings were, exactly, but she wouldn’t press. That sort of thing was private and she had a guess about what they could be based on the way the King spoke, the angle of his eyes, and the softness in his voice.

“The arrival of the ladies has been a source of gossip across the city for weeks and weeks,” Rosanna said carefully, trying to be gentle in what she was trying to say, “It could be that the news reached her before the message did. Regardless of how the message was worded, if she heard the whispers first and if the whispers were unkind…she might have gotten another impression.”

He nodded, “That is what I am guessing has happened. For her to so suddenly cut contact without an explanation? Something has gone wrong and I…I would ask you, as her friend, to see what she needs? I’m not asking you to spy on her, but she’s your friend and I want to make this right. I just….I don’t know how. And I’m worried that if she is hurt by what she heard…”

He shifted in his seat slightly, “She is clever. And she is very dangerous in many ways. If she chose to make a bold move…I am all too aware of the kind of damage she could do if she decided to listen to her heart instead of her head.”

How well he knew Odilia, Rosanna thought. And he was right. With that chessboard of hers, she was very dangerous. Surely the other nobles saw it too, and surely it was one of the reasons they were throwing women at the King to try to lessen Odilia’s influence over him and lessen some of her power. Perhaps they were right to be wary, she couldn’t deny that there had been something different about Odilia the few times they had crossed each other. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, all of Mont Nuit was stressed over the Longest Night, she had thought that Odilia had just been as overwhelmed and overworked as she was and had put it out of her mind. But now…now she wondered.

“I will see what I can do, Your Majesty,” she promised him, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that, hopefully it’s just a misunderstanding that we can clear up.”

But she knew there was the potential for so much worse. If Odilia really was hurt by what had happened, by whatever she had heard and however she viewed his efforts to reach out…Rosanna knew well that hurt people had the potential to cause the most hurt in return.

Please, she prayed silently as the King kissed her hand, Please, Naamah and Eisheth. Please let her make the smart, compassionate choice.

The page in the Dahlia livery made his way swiftly between the seats and sections of the Dahlia Salon, coming to the high-backed chair where the Second was currently entertaining Lady Corrian de Borlean again. He gave a crisp bow to the ladies before bending down to whisper in Odilia’s ear.

She listened, her brow lifting slightly before holding out her hand. The page slipped a tiny scroll into her palm and she unrolled it to read the words scrawled there.

Let them see.

The tiniest smile played about her lips and she nodded, more to herself than anything, slipping the scroll into her sleeve before returning her attention to the page, “Show him in.”

“Here, my lady?”

“Here.”

He bowed and withdrew. Moments later, he returned, accompanied by a servant in the Ducal Chalasse livery bearing an exquisitely carved wooden box. Whispers followed him as adepts and guests alike turned their heads to watch his path through the salon, eyes on him and on the Second that he stopped before.

He dropped to one knee beside her and said to her, “My lady Second, His Grace the Duc of L’Agnace presents you with this gift as a token from him to you.”

A token, yes, Odilia mused as she ran her fingers over the lid of the polished wooden box. A token of what, well that was anyone’s guess. By the evening meal tonight, there would be any number of rumors flying around about what happened right here and right now. She would not disappoint.

She lifted the lid of the box and it seemed half the salon was craning to see what was inside. Even Corrian leaned forward, seeing the rich brown velvet and wanting to know what it was hiding.

Odilia reached inside the box, her fingers delicately lifting the necklace from where it lay. It had been many years since she had been a jeweller’s daughter, but she could still see how exquisite a piece this was. White pearls in a gold setting, and a bold, gleaming, golden topaz right at the center. She held it up to examine the setting and the jewels and she saw more than heard the whispers, watching out of her periphery as heads turned to companions, as lips moved, as hands and fans lifted to try to disguise the gossiping.

And she smiled, “Inform His Grace that he honors me with this gift. I am delighted to accept it.”

Jocaste watched her Second from across the salon. Odilia, what are you doing?

Storyline: Roland’s response to Rosanna

After receiving her letter, the L’Agnace Duc responds to his granddaughter.

To Rosanna Baphinol no՜ Valerian, My Favorite Granddaughter from Roland Sovereign Duc in L’Agnace Your Own Grandfather.

As always I am grateful to hear from my grandchildren, particularly from the one which does so more often than on the obligatory occasions. This is proved even more appreciative when receiving news such as this. Indeed, the additions and improvements to the hunting lodge have come to such a place where I can trust the steward to handle the final details and allow me to make a sojourn to the City of Elua. Even in the country we have heard tell of the theft of the sangoire cloak from the palace and the slight against the young King’s paramour. While some of my colleagues have expressed some distasteful opinions on whom the monarch should be spending his evening with, I find the pairing a logical choice – considering the nature and talent of Dahlia House and the new King’s lack of preparedness for his role. That and this adept has the honor of your friendship, so I was already curious what this Odilia is like.

I find it hard to see what is so awful with a royal taking a member of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers as a lover, as though any of the offended parties have not spent their inheritances there already.

With much affection and curiosity to meet your Dahlia friend, expect me expediently.

Storyline: Rosanna’s Letter to Roland

If hopes of gathering support for her friend Odilia after the dreadful display before the palace, Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian, Dowayne of Valerian House, writes to her grandfather, Roland. Roland de Chalasse, Sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, is a man to both fear and respect. It helps that Rosanna is his favorite grandchild and his influence can be felt from field to fete.

To Roland Sovereign Duc in L’Agnace, Beloved Grandfather from your Devoted Granddaughter Rosanna Baphinol no՜ Valerian.

I hope this letter reaches you in a pleasant state. When last I saw you, there were great changes going on about your estate, improvements for your hunting grounds and the like. Have they progressed to a point where you might be spared a journey to the capitol? Perhaps by now, and knowing your ability to hear even the most miniscule rumors through walls, that some changes have been occurring at the palace as well. Not for me, but on behalf of a friend do I ask this of you. No other Lord amongst the nobility holds the respect and attention of the court as you do, this presence would be of great appreciation in helping my friend gain some ground with those who would look down upon the Servants of Naamah. Beloved Grandfather, surely as your own wife, Elua rest her soul, was a lay Servant I would hope that you see the need for allies in a situation such as this. Odilia no՜ Dahlia is a dear friend, she is more of an asset to the Dauphin than many could conceive possible, dare I say he is a better man with her influence. Even if the man responsible for the slander against her has been caught, the damage he has done needs help to heal. So please, will you come to the city and loan your good esteem to this painful situation? As I am ever loyal and loving unto you, I await your reply with great anticipation.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian

Almost from the moment the rumor began of an Official Consort to the Dauphin Mont Nuit had been aflame with questions. Supposedly said potential Consort was a close friend of hers, therefore to gossiping minds Rosanna just had to know all the details of how and why and when this affair had begun. Not that Rosanna would ever tell, of course. But with the future King choosing to shy away from the biggest party of the year, well the queries had started to arrive in more and more imaginative forms.

“A donation to the construction of a new shrine?” Rosanna rolled her eyes and continued to look over the collection of masks laid out for her inspection.

“So they say,” her Second replied with a shrug. Tryphosa made a note of who sent that letter and went back to sorting the growing stack of correspondence. “As though we need a new one. Besides, where would we put it? And in return for information on Lady Dahlia’s particular favorite gifts?”

“They are desperate to ingratiate themselves to her inner circle, if the rumors are true. As though I would give them anything.” She examined a mask covered in peacock feathers. “Besides, it’s more fun to watch them wriggle and guess.”

“Are you sure Mandrake didn’t bid for your marque?”

“Not at all. I just like the games of court and Odilia is giving them the spectator sport of their lives. A member of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers maybe becoming Royal Consort? And not a Cereus? It’s a scandal and I love a good scandal.” No, that mask wouldn’t do, she returned it to the pile and continued looking through the choices. One caught her eye, it was made up entirely of the most delicate, silver chains she had ever seen. silver chain masque It took both hands to hold it up properly, the metal glittering in the candlelight. Oh yes.

“Do you think he’ll be a good king?” Tryphosa leaned back on the settee, a lock of platinum hair falling becomingly across her face. Rosanna looked at her over her shoulder, studying her friend and Second. “What with his brother passing away so unexpectedly, the whole country turned on its head for months in mourning and gossip.”

“I admit I wasn’t ready when I had to take up being Dowayne,” she replied and held up the mask to her face. Even if her costume had been complete for some time she had yet to find just the right mask to complete her disguise. It all felt rather like a metaphor to life in court – any court. “My predecessor did leave quite suddenly, I thought I had more time to prepare for this. I imagine it was similar for him, on a far greater scale mind you.”

“But your family is, well,” Tryphosa waved her hand looking for just the right word to describe Rosanna’s huge family.

“Overbearing?”

“Rich is more what I was going for. Well connected is polite. They expected you to make Dowayne one day, so did you and never hid it.”

“True,” Rosanna gave a laugh. “But an assertive Valerian? It sounds like an oxymoron doesn’t it? But as the youngest in a brood I never wanted to end up in my siblings’ collective shadows, so I do not think I can be blamed for pushing ahead. No matter how impromptu my promotion came.”

“Maybe the Dauphin is like that too. He’s so sweet, from what I’ve heard, perhaps people underestimate him. Does your friend hint at any of that?”

“If I am not going to hand over pillow talk to a high paying patron why would I give it to you?”

Tryphosa threw a pillow and Rosanna just barely ducked in time.

“Resorting to violence? Now who belongs in Mandrake?”

To be completely honest the girlish play was soothing. Rosanna did know quite a lot, enough to worry her over just what sort of traps the court was placing for her friend and the Dahlia’s golden prince. Being born into the nobility herself, she knew just how vicious the landed class could be. But she had faith in the Precept, which she held steadfast in her heart, and that Blessed Elua would be watching over them all on this holy night. Such devoted thoughts were cut short by the touch of a flesh and blood hand on her shoulder, and Rosanna pulled herself together.

“Oh hush,” Tryphosa grinned despite not getting the gossip she desired. “Are you done picking your mask? We have a ball to get to.”

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Same Day Dungeon Tickets for the Kink-Curious

If you’re curious about the dungeon, but not totally sure about it, don’t worry. This year, you can scope out the Dungeon and then decide to buy a ticket on the day of the Masque.

Our Dungeon Introduction will take place at 6pm on Saturday evening and is open to all ticket holders who have already checked in to the Masque. Same Day Dungeon Tickets are $25 and will give you access to the Dungeon 9pm – midnight. Holders of Presale Dungeon Tickets have access to the Dungeon 8pm – midnight. These Same Day tickets can only be purchased at Masque Check In and only after the end of the Dungeon Introduction.

So if the Kushiel’s Legacy is your first foray into the world of the “sharper pleasures,” check out our Dungeon, meet our DMs (Dungeon Monitors), and then decide if you want this limited access ticket.

If you have questions or concerns ahead of time, please feel free to email dungeon@thelongestnightmasque.com and our crack team of “dungeoneers” will be happy to help you out.

Sounds of Pleasures at Valerian House

One approaches Valerian House up a long path, flanked on either side by tall and ancient trees. This gives the manse a feel of seclusion, of secrecy, of hidden delights sampled by only the daring. Two adepts greet the visitor, one male and one female – both bare of any raiment. The walls of the salon are decorated with fine tapestries, woven with scenes from dreams and myth. Carnality is the theme, a hint of things to come. Once one descends into the pleasure chambers, the eye catches an unusual sight – for newcomers – in a place of Namaah’s servants. “There was an altar to Kushiel there; a niche with a raised dais and a bronze sculpture contained within, an offering bowl on the dais at his feet.” Valerian House is dimly lit, with lush tones of blood red and accents of black from the chaise cushions to the carving on the dungeon furniture. Nothing is left to the imagination, or the feast for the eyes.

As the patron wanders through the halls, past the private rooms and public salons, one hears things. First comes the refrains of musicians. Pleasures of the flesh cannot always be left in utter silence, setting a mood can often be perfected with just the right strum of a harp or the beat of a drum. Such songs in Valerian House are enjoyed in minor keys, with a dark kind of tone to them, we like it that way. Once the songs fade away, and the reverberations of happy patrons and enthralled courtesans fill the ear. Cracks of whips, cries of pain-laced ecstasy, the rattle of chains, a snap of the flogger, they echo from the dungeons and the bed chambers. Sometimes they are matched to the beat of a song, other times they are enacted in the total absence of any other sound, depriving the senses of all but the assignation at hand.

Upon entering the manse patrons first notice a floral scent faint by the door, which became stronger and more intoxicating as one walks deeper through the halls towards the receiving room. Once inside the receiving room, and pleasure chambers, the floral scent becomes secondary to the mix of frankincense and cinnamon. This reminds patrons of both the sweetness and the spice to be found when seeking pleasure inside the walls of Valerian. The many offerings on the altar of Kushiel add to the potent blend arousing one with anticipation.

The fragrance in the air is so heady an earthy flavour is left in the mouth, heavy and satisfying which is complimented by the rich flavour of the Namarrese wine offered to patrons in the receiving room while awaiting to choose an adept. Should a patron choose to enjoy the lesson all Valerian adepts know well they may indulge in a spiced candy with their wine and savour how the spicy pain leads to greater pleasure.

All Houses of the Night Court thrive off the sensation of touch – it is why patrons attend them. To feel, to experience, to become lost in the little kingdom which worshipped and frolicked in the name of pleasure. In Valerian House one expects pain to be the feeling most felt, at least by those adepts and courtesans who call the place home. Stings from crops, welts from whips, bites and soothing caresses mingle and intoxicate the senses. Cool leather laid in one’s hand was soft despite its ability to sting; wood can be rough but is strong and useful when used to prop up a lover. But not everything is hurt and discomfort. Velvet chaises cradle sated occupants, soft and rich in texture, with feathery cushions beneath. Silky beds awaited a tired patron, and sweet kisses pressed like butterfly wings to warmed skin.

By the time a patron leaves Valerian House, whether one has stayed the night or but a few hours, every detail of the visit has been carefully and lovingly crafted. No element is too insignificant, for the sensations bestowed on the patrons are the delight of those who practice their craft here.