Aside – Longest Night Midwinter Masque

The Warmth of the Sun

When Namaah laid with the King of Persis, she basked in love like it was the sun. That was what Heliotrope believed, it was what they brought to their Patrons, and it was what they offered to all when they held the Festival of the Sun. On the day when the sun shone for the longest on the Temple of Namaah, Heliotrope had a party that lasted from the moment the sun crossed the horizon until it sank, sated from the day, below the horizon.

The House worked outside for months, tending gardens, clearing paths, repairing gazebos and arches, all while the children played around them. They planted flowers and made sure vegetables and fruit had the largest yields. The adepts, novices, and staff worked tirelessly, taking the tanning of their skin as a sign of their work for Namaah. Inside, people cleaned, dusted, placed cut flowers and living plants. They washed and aired out all the bedding, throwing open the windows, and letting in the freshness of early summer.

Mena oversaw it all and helped with almost every task. In Heliotrope, the Dowayne was the head of their family, not apart from it. She scrubbed floors, carried wet laundry, and played with the children. There was a large berry bush that needed to be moved to the rear garden and replanted, she helped, standing calf deep in the hole that was dug for it, guiding it to its new home. The work was soothing to her, helped her connect with all the people who lived and worked under her roof. It smoothed over the last of her grief and helped her see not only the future of the House, but also her own path.

The House was closed to visitors the week leading up the party, so when midnight struck the night before, every adept jumped out of bed to prepare for their long awaited guests. Mena was no different. She got out of bed and dressed herself in a sleeveless gown the color of cornflower. The lightweight fabric fluttered as she walked, winding around her legs and showing a flash of skin high up her leg. It was the first time in a year that she felt light, unburdened, and excited to move forward.

She did a last check through the House, making sure that the food was out, the tents raised, the games set up, and the wine and juice chilling. Loir came out into the garden where Mena was looking around with pride at what they’d set up. Her dress was the same style as Mena’s only in a yellow that called to mind the golden hour. Every adept had an outfit of similar style; light, translucent, and loose, in a color of their choosing. The result was like a bunch of faeries fluttering around the garden, slipping down hallways, and laughing near the windows.

Mena looked at the horizon and saw the tell-tale signs of dawn. She made her way to the locked front gate. As she pulled the large iron gate key out of her pocket, she greeted the guests.

”Welcome to our celebration of Namaah and the sun. Come, be a Heliotrope for a day. Bask in our love, our hospitality, and the sun. Our doors are open to you, and everything we have we freely offer in Namaah’s name.”

A young nobleman who had never visited the House before paced outside the gate. He was anxious, just like a lot of young nobles are when they first visit the Night Court. This young man, however, was different. This young man was Leandrè Michel Tobronne, youngest son of the Marquis de Tobronne of L’Agnace. The Tobronne estate was a vast swathe of land that grew wheat and grapes, making the Marquis a very powerful figure in Court. Though his status wasn’t what made him special either.

It was why he was there that set him apart.

A week prior, Lesandrè had been happily shopping with his mother and sisters, helping them select fabric for their winter season dresses, when the bell over the door chimed to announce a new arrival. He had glanced up in time to see the most beautiful woman he had ever seen glide by him like even the floor recognized her beauty and moved to aid her existence. If his mother was speaking to him, he could no longer hear her, all he could hear was the woman’s voice carrying through the bolts of cloth.

“Lana, are the dresses finished? The party is next week!”

Lana, the proprietor, had laughed and turned to gather up what looked like nothing more than a pile of fabric. “I know, I know. They’re all here, tell Mistress Mena that we’re glad of your House’s business.”

The woman had laughed and Lesandrè swore he felt the sound wash over him like a palpable thing. Her response was lost to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, and she floated past him with her arms full of filmy fabric.

“LEANDRÈ!” The loud voice of his mother had brought him back to himself.

He turned towards her, his brain still sluggish from her presence. His mother took his face in her hands and searched his eyes for a minute. She then smiled and turned him towards the counter.

“Well, go find out how to find her.”

What he had found led him to pace outside Heliotrope House on the one day a year he would be allowed entry with no question. He had never visited the Night Court, so he was nervous. A man just inside the gate noticed him and smiled charmingly, “You look like you might need this.”

The man handed him a bottle of wine, a sweet red judging by the label, and disappeared before Leandrè could thank him. Always one to believe in fortune and fate, Leandrè took a long swig of the bottle. Maybe Namaah would yet see him through the gate to meet one of her servants.

Nik had received an invitation for the Heliotrope party, but he didn’t feel any desire to greet the sun from Mont Nuit and had asked Jacob to prepare the coach for midmorning. That would give him time to get some business taken care of before he left for Heliotrope, though there wasn’t much he needed to do this morning.

Upon his arrival to Heliotrope, he instructed the coachman to return for him about two hours before sunset, acknowledging that the party would continue for longer, but not wanting to get wrapped up in all the traffic that he expected would be leaving the house as the event wound down. Stepping towards the house, he smiled as he saw the doors thrown open, two of the older novices greeting the arriving guests.

He grinned as he stepped up to them. “I do hope that there’s still a little wine left?” He teased as he slipped into the building. His eyes swept the room quickly, recognizing adepts he knew in passing, but not seeing Mena or Vouloir anywhere. The party was well-attended, and he nodded to a number of nobles he knew, some of them making an obvious effort to ignore him and others responding politely but not eagerly. Well, that was something. He began to wander through the house, waiting to see who would turn up.

Mena saw Nik enter, but she was busy greeting a newcomer. Once she had passed them off to an adept, she wove through the crowd until she was right next to him. She slipped her arm through his and said, “It’s good to see you again, Lord Shahrizai. I know the sun isn’t always en vogue, but it does see all.”

Loir strolled happily through the House, talking to people, sharing a drink or a laugh as she went. This party was one of her favorite times of year. As an Adept, there was a lot of reverence for the Moon’s watchful eye. But to Loir, the Sun was what really mattered to Namaah. Loir understood, the warm rays felt like the hand of a reverent lover to her for a decade or more. The Longest Night was longing, the Longest Day was fulfillment.

“Second Valoir, well met.” A stately blonde with a regal bearing and kind eyes stopped her with a gentle touch. Jocaste nó Dahlia, Dowayne of that House, smiled warmly at her, saying, “I wanted to offer my congratulations for a fine fête. I know well the headache that comes with planning House events, but the warmth of the sun has suffused you all. I am glad to see Heliotrope House rising from your shared grief to open your doors again. I hope this Longest Day is a true blessing, for you and Dowayne Philomena, and for all who are here.”

Loir smiled broadly and said, “Well met indeed, Jocaste! Thank you for your kind words. I hope that you sample our hospitality today, we did indeed put our love into this event. There is food in the dining room.” She gestured down the hall with her hand. “It seems that our chef kindly baked enough of her famous bread to feed the entire Night Court. Please sample some and feel free to take a loaf back to your Second, it is a shame she was unable to attend.”

She turned to a young novice who was carrying a tray of glasses and took two. With an encouraging smile, she held one out to Jocaste. “You should try this, it is a wildflower honey wine we make just for The Longest Day. One of our adepts, Charles, keeps our bees and tends their beds of flowers. Several of our other adepts spent months in service at a winery outside of the City. Their hosts generously taught them to make wine.”

Loir took a sip and smiled as the lightly sweet floral flavor intertwined with the taste of the grapes also used to make the wine. With a smile, she asked, “Have you been to Heliotrope before?”

“I have not,” Jocaste said, accepting the mead. “No, when the duties of my House permit me time to myself, I prefer to relax under the ministrations of Balm House. Though,” she glanced across the bright and warm decor of the House with an almost wistful smile, “there was a time that I was considered for Heliotrope House. It is lovely to see even a hint of what it could have been.”

Loir smiled gently, “Our doors will always be open to you should you wish to see what kind of relaxation the warmth of the sun can offer.”

Leandrè sat on the wall of a fountain, a half empty wine bottle in hand, still staring at the entrance to Heliotrope House. He’d long since unbuttoned most of the buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves to expose the tan skin of a man who was intimately familiar with love of the sun. He sighed deeply, this inability to move was foreign to him. He was a man who went after what he wanted when he realized he wanted it. When his older siblings had their society debuts, he learned all the fashionable dances with them, he learned about fashionable dress, he listened avidly to their gossip and stories. He had been interested in philosophy and had read every book his father kept in the library from his university days. But above all else, he loved the sun. He had spent almost every day outside since he learned to walk, and he’d learned everything he could from the people who worked under the rays of the sun. He had always been confident, energetic, almost impulsive in his action, and yet here he sat, frozen by the thought of the woman he’d seen.

He sighed again and sat up, straightening his vest. ‘Leandrè Tobronne! You are the son of a Marquise!’ He told himself, trying to replicate the talk his older brother would give him. ‘You climbed to the top of the house when you were five, you can go inside a House. Go before I tell Mother you’re paralysed by a woman!’

Leandrè shook his head, that was a good point, Mother would be disappointed in him if he didn’t go in. She had always taught them that the people they were interested in were special, and that things that are special deserve not only our devoted attention, but also to know that we thought they were special. He couldn’t let her down.

He crossed the pavers to the gate, straightened his shoulders and walked through the gate.

The golden hour was upon the House before they realized. Mena smiled to herself as she laid on a bench in the back garden feeling the gentle touch of the sun’s rays on her skin. ‘Perhaps I should look into a Patron’, she thought lazily before shaking her head. That would have to wait, Kyrie was clearly emboldened and she wouldn’t risk someone she cared about.

As she watched, most people started to leave, laughing happily, and promising to return. Others slipped upstairs with Adepts, curled into each other on benches, and sat at tables eating and talking quietly. She smiled again, it made her heart happy to see the happiness and love that was blooming in her House.

She heard someone clear their throat over her, making her turn her head towards the noise. It was one of the young novices who had been tasked with sitting by the door and helping people. The girl looked nervous, which made Mena smile gently at her and sit up. “Yes, Bee, what can I help you with?”

The girl relaxed a little and she said, “There is someone here for you and they refuse to come in.”

Mena felt her stomach drop to the floor, but she kept her face pleasant for Bee’s sake. “Thank you, darling,” she said, reaching out and petting the girl’s head. “I know the way, go get yourself some food, the night is upon us now. You did well today.”

She moved quietly and quickly through the House to the door. It stood open still and she caught sight of someone on the porch. It wasn’t Kyrie, the person was too tall. She straightened her posture, put on her Dowayne demeanor like armor, and said, “May I help you?”

The voice that responded was clipped and cold, “When you come out of there, yes, you can.”

Her guard went up instantly and she stopped in the doorway. “I will stop here.”

The man was wearing non-descript clothing, his face was normal, his brown eyes swept over her, weighing her. “You will step on the porch—“

“You forget who are talking to, I am the Dowayne of this House. Speak your business immediately or be escorted off the property.”

He had the manners to look startled. “I am sorry, Dowayne. I was not informed of your status.” He held out a leather folder, “You are to come to Court in five days. The legitimacy of the late Dowayne’s will is being called into question.”

As soon as her fingers closed over the folder, he turned and strode away. Mena felt like her heart was a bird desperate to escape her chest. She flipped open the folder and scanned the paper within. The names at the bottom filled her with rage at the same time that they made her knees weak.

”Davide, get someone to run this to Duke Bonheur immediately. He and my mother should be in town for the Court season, at the townhouse most likely.”

Davide nodded. “Yes, Philomena. Is there anything else I can do?”

She leaned heavily on the door. “Yes actually. The Duke will need all the information in the Books that we have on Belisario and Kyrian’s family. It seems they’ve found a common cause for their scheming.”

Davide nodded and disappeared back into the House carrying the folder like it smelled. Mena sighed and pushed off from the doorframe. Quietly, she made her way back down the hallway and back to her bench. She had barely sat when someone appeared with food and wine for her. Nodding her thanks, she laid back down, closed her eyes and tried to let the fading sun soothe her.

Petrea rushed into Heliotrope House, terribly embarrassed at the late hour. The sun had long since set, the moon long since risen, the stars bright in the sky. This was a party celebrating the longest day! And here she was, arriving late into the night, for Blessed Elua’s sake! Mena would think that she had forgotten. But that was far from the truth.

Petrea, mere months into her position as Second of Cereus House, had spent the day—and the evening!—trying desperately to finish her work so that she could be on time for her friend’s fête. But every time she thought she was done, she was waylaid by some other task. She had searched high and low for Aimée, needing her friend and Shadow Second, to help. But the woman was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was justice. After all, hadn’t Petrea abandoned Aimée to an engagement only days ago? Or was it weeks? Petrea could not keep track of time anymore.

So it was that Petrea found herself in the entrance hall to Heliotrope, practically gasping for breath. She had jumped out of the carriage as soon as the horses had stopped, terrifying the footman and driver, who had not a moment to open the door or help her down. She had picked up her skirts and run to the door, barging in without knocking.

A servant gave her a shocked look when their eyes met. It must have been quite the surprise to see the Second of Cereus House, gasping for air against the door of the House, looking somewhat disheveled. Petrea smiled wanly at the girl and waved her off. The servant nodded, her eyes still as large as saucers, and scurried away. ‘Well,’ Petrea thought, annoyed at herself. ‘this is sure to be wonderful gossip fodder for the next week.’ She took a deep breath and composed herself. She straightened her shoulders and brushed her hair back, thankful that she had worn it long and unstyled. She adjusted her dress. She hoped that Mena would like it. She had tried so hard to find something to fit the occasion and had eventually settled on a gauzy material the color of grass. Even if she hated the dress, though, Petrea hoped that Mena would not hate her for her rudeness.

Petrea walked slowly through the House, greeting adepts with whom she had become acquainted over the last months. She had spent many hours at Heliotrope since becoming friends with Mena, and the adepts here were warm and welcoming. She glanced into various rooms and salons, growing more nervous the farther into the house she went. Mena was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Mena had gone to bed? Ensconced herself with a patron or a friend? Closed herself in a private room with some of the guests? Now Petrea worried she would not have a chance to even apologize!

Her eyes lit on a young, towheaded adept, deep in conversation with another youth of darker bearing. She recognized both of them. “Adam, Alain,” she said gently as she approached, “have either of you boys seen your Dowayne recently?”

The look they shared carried an entire conversation. If Petrea had not known better, she would have thought them twins, the way that they conversed so silently.

Finally, Adam responded. “You’ll find her in the back garden. She’ll be glad to see you. I know she was hoping that you would come.”

Petrea gave Adam’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you, Adam. I would not have missed this for all of the jewels in the King’s crown. I know how special this is to Mena and to all of you.” They nodded at her, smiling, as they bid her a good evening.

She walked as quickly as she could without seeming undignified until she came to the doors to the back garden. She scanned the beautifully decorated tents and lush plants until her eyes lit on her friend, sitting on a bench, a wineglass in her hand. She was alone, reclining and looking up at the moonlit sky.

Petrea approached quietly and sat down next to Mena. She leaned back and looked up at the stars. “I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said. “I have many reasons, but I’ll make no excuses to you.”

Mena turned her head and smiled. “Petrea, I am so glad you made it. Let me get you some food and a glass of this summer wine.”

She made eye contact with an adept and after they shared a silent conversation, the adept nodded and headed into the House. Mena turned her attention back to Petrea. “Why on earth are you sweaty?” Gasping, she sat up and turned to fully face the other woman. “Did you leave a patron to come here?”

Petrea threw an arm over her face and gave an inelegant snort. “If only! My only ‘patron’ of late has been Santiago, and he is not exactly filling the House coffers. No, no, I did not leave a patron. I was caught up in—” She gestured vaguely. “—things. Every time I tried to start bathing, something else required my attention. Each time I thought I could begin dressing, another adept had a question that needed an immediate answer.” She dropped her arm and looked at Mena. “I’m still getting used to this whole ‘leadership’ business. And Aimée disappeared into thin air today. Aliks and I dropped her in Nik’s lap without explanation or prior notice, so I think this was her revenge on me.”

Mena laughed. “It is overwhelming even when you’ve been doing it most of your life, my friend. I am sorry that people chose today to make more work for you.” She wrapped an arm around her friend and hugged her. “Now this dropping of anyone in Nik’s lap sounds more intriguing than paperwork. Tell me, how did that go?”

Petrea smiled wryly. “It went fine. Aimée is the paragon of a Cereus adept. But Aliks and I thought we had advised her who Nik is to us and that he was coming simply for dinner. Apparently not! If I’m honest, I’m a bit impressed with her. She left me on my own on an important day, yet she picked one that she knew wouldn’t truly ‘ruin’ anything. She’s quite clever.” Petrea smiled and looked around. “But. I’m here now, and I must say I’m impressed. Everything looks so lovely. I shall be stealing many ideas for our exclusive Cereus fête. Incidentally, I passed by your Adam in the hallway. You had mentioned that you wanted to bring him along. I also added that Lord d’Albon to the guest list. What’s the story there?”

Mena grinned. “Do you do a lot of matchmaking in Cereus?” Petrea shook her head. “It is sort of our bread and butter here, setting people into love matches. The young Lord d’Albon has fallen dramatically and irrevocably for my sweet Adam, yet neither of them has made the right move yet.” She shrugged and had a swallow of wine to hide her mischievous grin. “It is one of my joys as Dowayne to meddle.”

Petrea took the wineglass from Mena and stole a sip. She sighed. “Oh that is delicious. Could I impose on you to provide it for our fête? I think the guests would love to sample it.” She handed the glass back to Mena. She sat up and cast a shrewd eye around the garden and back toward the House. “Speaking of Nik, he was on your guestlist? Is he here? I think I owe him an apology for Aliks’s and my absence the other night.”

Mena shook her head. “No, he left hours ago. You know he doesn’t keep owl’s hours as many of us do. I suspect he’s back at his townhouse, scribbling gossipy notes and conferring with that butler of his. You’ll run into him, I’m sure. And you know, Nik. There won’t be any hard feelings.”

“True. He’s a good one. So, Adam and Lord d’Albon. Tell me more. Does Adam return his affections? Do you think it is truly a love match? I am happy to join you in your schemes, but I would hate for this young lord to get hurt. He’s new to the City—I believe he recently inherited his title and estate—and I wouldn’t want him to be forced to leave or have his reputation ruined.”

Mena waved her off. “Adam absolutely returns his feelings. It’s just a matter of giving them a little push. Let me tell you all about it.”

Home from Cereus

Niklos made his way back into the townhouse, only to be greeted by Jacob in the main hall. “My lord, how was dinner with Petrea nò Cereus?”

With a glance, Nik told Jacob that there was to be a conversation, and Jacob moved toward the library, quiet this night with the others out on the town. Some had announced they were going out for a show at the Royal Theater, and others were undoubtedly in the Hall of Games. That was an experience that Niklos would not want to revisit anytime soon. The last time he was there, he’d been almost accosted by that de Bretel lordling. Well, the man hadn’t truly accosted him, he was just using Niklos as an excuse to get away from his companions for a time, and there might be something good that came out of that conversation anyway. It was no big loss.

Nik sighed as he slumped into one of the overstuffed chairs, waving off Jacob’s offer to pour him a drink. “I’m too damned full, Jacob, but thank you. You asked about dinner. Well, I didn’t end up having dinner with Petrea. She had something come up, so I was passed off to some adept… an Aimée nò Cereus. Are you familiar with her?”

Jacob blinked, then frowned and blinked again. Niklos was never this abrupt. He sounded frustrated, which threw Jacob off his mental lists. “I… possibly, my Lord? I apologize. Cereus has never treated you like that. Some of the others, perhaps, when they deign to visit, but not you. I need a moment.”

Niklos nodded. “Understood. Dinner was excellent. If I hadn’t been spoiled by our cook here, I might have even said it was one of the best dinners I’ve had. But you know Aliksandria has been trying to steal our cook from us for years. She can’t find anyone who can compare. Dinner was excellent, and the conversation was decent. I mentioned the silversmith to the adept and she didn’t react, so she may not know what’s going on, or news may not have reached Mont Nuit yet, which I suspect is more likely the case.”

Jacob nodded, then his eyes twinkled, and Niklos knew the man had something for him. “Aimée nò Cereus, my lord, is rumored to be both Aliksandria’s and Petrea’s assistant. I am surprised you haven’t met her before. Perhaps one of them felt the two of you should meet to establish another line of communication?”

Niklos chuckled and shook his head. “Likely both of them, but I think it would have been halfway decent of them to let her know who I was before chucking her into the fire. At least I didn’t get fobbed off on some random adept. I think I put her off by wishing her well after dinner. I don’t think she knew that it was just dinner.”

“Dinner and information, my Lord.” Niklos shook his head at Jacob’s addition, knowing the man was right.

A Nightcap at Cereus

Cozied in the Dowayne’s private apartments of Cereus House, Aliksandra and Petrea gently sipped their wine in front of the fireplace on a rather chilly late spring night. It had been a newly rare busy couple of days filled with back to back meetings, responsibilities, and last minute emergencies that demanded no one less than the Dowayne or Second of Cereus House. They were exhausted but pleased. The House was finally running like finely tuned clockwork. Aliksandra fulfilled her roles as Dowayne of Cereus House, Premier of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, and Adviser to the Royal Family. Petrea was tackling her responsibilities as Second with vigor. The relationships amongst the Houses of Mont Nuit were blossoming. The new generation of Dowaynes and Seconds worked closer with one another than any could recall in recent memory. Petrea was working working to leverage her relationships amongst the Nobility and Naamah’s Servants to begin rebuilding the patronage that Cereus had lost due to Gerault’s mismanagement. There were several especially curated events set in the House calendar. According to Aimée’s calculations, the summer would be extremely lucrative.

Aliks and Petrea, relaxing from their busy day, waited on their missing third: Aimée. Petrea had been urgently called away from a prearranged dinner with a mutual friend, Count Niklos Shahrizai, and Aimée had to step up and host. The dinner had run longer than expected, and Aliks and Petrea had both finally returned to Cereus House. Normally, they would have happily joined, but both were in no fit state to be in the public areas of Cereus. They felt it was best to leave Aimée and Nik to their own devices. Aimée definitely didn’t need them to micromanage a friendly meal.

And so Aimée found them, leisurely drinking, lounging in front of the fire and oblivious to the fact that she had entered the room. She took great pleasure in their being jolted out of their chairs in a shocked reaction as she slammed the door closed with enough force to make it rattle on its hinges. Aliks and Petrea’s attention immediately fixed on Aimée’s face. They shared a quick look with one another, like that of novices being dressed down by senior adepts.

Aliks’ mind began to race, something was very very wrong and everything in Aimée’s continence and bearing said it was their fault. The larger issue being there shouldn’t be anything wrong. It had been busy this week, but things were going well. Aimée had dined with Nik, and while he was a Shahrizai, he was a gentleman through and through. Nothing should be wrong.

Petrea spoke first. “Wha—” and was cut off by Aimée erupting: “You should have told me!”

Petrea and Aliks tried to parse through the tirade that followed, whilst shooting each other quizzical and entreating looks.

“I have never been so embarrassed! And in front of a Shahrizai, no less! You let me walk in there unprepared, uninformed! I could strangle the two of you this instant!” Aimée paced, gesticulating frantically, all her Cereus composure nowhere to be found. “I walked into an assignation and learned halfway through that the patron is expecting nothing but dinner. Oh! I could wring your necks!”

Still rather confused, Aliks chirped out, “…but…it’s Nik?”

Petrea followed up with a tiny: “You know…Nik. Our old friend…Nik?”

Aimée looked at the women before her, who shared completely flummoxed expressions. “No, I certainly did not know! I had never met that man before in my life!” Her face and voice immediately changed to something playful with a slightly sinister undertone. “But I have now. We have had all evening to get to know one another and share so many interesting stories about our favorite people.” She finished, her eyes promising good natured retribution in the not too distant future.

At the realization that Aimée wasn’t truly livid and was teasing them, a sigh of relief escaped Aliks and Petrea as the oppressive energy dissipated. Only for their minds to truly register what Aimée had just said.

Aliks started: “I’m sure I introduced you at…” Aimée arched a brow. “But what about that one party with…” Aimée’s brow was joined by an emphatic crossing of her arms. “Surely we couldn’t have…” Aliks sent a pleading look to Petrea as Aimée began to slowly tap one of her fingers menacingly.

“I told you it was dinner,” Petrea stated cautiously.

“With a patron. During a busy evening. With a full House.” Aimée ticked off each point by raising a finger.

“He is, technically, a patron,” Aliks popped in. Aimée’s already arched eyebrow managed to gain several more millimeters in Intimidation.

“…only technically,” Petrea conceded.

There was a held breath for a moment and then… “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” Aliks and Petrea’s words tripped over each other as their apologies began to tumble out.

Aimée reached out to give each of them a comforting touch. “Forgiven, but we really need to better communicate. This can not happen again,” she said. “And while we will laugh about this later, tonight I need wine.”

She sank into a previously unoccupied chair that was also situated by the fire. Aliksandra refilled her own and Petrea’s drinks while Petrea grabbed a fresh glass for Aimée. After all glasses were filled, Petrea and Aliks retook their seats.

“So, what did you two talk about over dinner?” Petrea asked as she passed Aimée the wine, nearly getting splashed with the liquid as Aimée almost up ended the cup as she broke into raucous laughter.

After taking a minute to recover, but still fighting sporadic giggles, Aimée replied, “Your dear Nik is very well informed in all manner of subjects. I now have several very skilled individuals I shall be making acquaintances of.” As she continued a cat-like smile spread across her face, “An exchange entirely in my favor. All he received as payment was the lovely revelation that his two dear friends had once managed to dye the pristine and beautifully white novice tunics for the Longest Night a hideous putrid green.”

Aliksandra and Petrea’s faces morphed from vaguely confused, to stunned clarity, finally settling into embarrassed horror. All the while Aimée smugly sipped her wine before adding, “Don’t worry, Petrea. If he has a loose tongue, it will never be anything more than a rumor. I should know. Our dear Aliks told me the two of you burned the evidence over twenty years ago.”

And with that definitive pronouncement, Petrea delivered a well aimed smack to her partner in crime. “You told her about that! Aliks!”

Before a good-natured kerfuffle could ensue, Aimée began to laugh once more. “She did, but it is still a secret between us three and the angels,” she said whilst giving her Dowayne and Second a pointed look. “Perhaps that small taste of panic will remind you to keep me well informed the next time you think to throw me to the wolves.”

Deep sighs of relief escaped Aliks and Petrea for the second time that night.

“My love, that was cruel. Well played.” Aliks said as she tipped her glass in salute to Aimée. “Now all vengeance aside, what did you and Niklos actually talk about?”

“Mostly it was polite conversation,” Aimée replied. “There was a query on his part that stood out, though.”

“Oh?” Petrea asked curiously.

“Are either of you familiar with Jacques Halceaux? He is the current Guild Master for the Silversmiths,” Aimée asked.

“The name is vaguely familiar,” Aliks responded. “We may have commissioned pieces through him at some point. But nothing definitive or recent comes to mind.”

Aimée tapped her glass thoughtfully, “Our Count seems rather well informed. I will look into Halceaux. There was something in Niklos’ tone that makes me nervous about the Silversmith.”

A Count Pays a Visit

Spring had turned, and with it came a welter of invitations for Niklos to all sorts of various events throughout the city. His plan was starting to bear fruit, and that pleased him. He also had cousins starting to make their way into the city from Kusheth, and there had been numerous late night meetings in the library to draw up plans.

He had been out meeting some acquaintances in Night’s Doorstep for a drink one afternoon and returned to Jacob proffering a letter on a tray. “I believe it comes from Cereus House, my Lord… don’t you know some of the adepts there?”

Niklos nodded as he took the envelope, frowning as the handwriting wasn’t quite familiar. “I do, Aliksandria and Petrea. I’ve known Aliks for some time. Petrea I’ve only known for a year or so. But we have exchanged letters in the past. My thanks, Jacob.”

Niklos made his way across to one of the parlors, opening the letter as he slouched into a chair. He scanned it, then frowned and read it again.

From the desk of Petrea nó Cereus, Second of Cereus House

at the behest of Dowayne Aliksandria nó Cereus

My dearest Lord Shahrizai,

I understand that you are undertaking a Grand Tour of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. It would be my great honor were you to attend a private dinner at Cereus House a fortnight hence. I wish to personally ensure that you experience the full measure of our hospitality and graciousness during your visit.

Yours most sincerely,

Petrea nó Cereus

The curious thing was that, while it had the cadence of Petrea’s writing, the letters didn’t look correct. There was something off, which indicated that Petrea had not actually penned the note. However, he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer just staring at the paper. He moved over to the writing desk in the room and hastily scratched out a response.

My dear Petrea,

While my grand tour was actually this past autumn, I had postponed visiting Cereus because I knew there was much happening within the house and I did not want to bring any of my own confusion in as well. I would be most pleased to dine with you in a fortnight. Please provide me a specific day, and allow me to bring the wine. I look forward to chatting with you.

My best,

Niklos

He sealed the envelope quickly, using the Keys, and passed it to Jacob who nodded in acknowledgement as Niklos headed up the stairs toward his chambers. He wanted to add the dinner to his calendar before he forgot it.

Aimée lingered in the entrance hall of Cereus House. Hosting a Shahrizai was not an endeavor one approached lightly, if one had any sense. So of course, Aliksandra proposed that Cereus should extend such an invitation. It was then decided that Petrea should host the actual meeting. And of course, both were called away to deal with issues even more pressing than dinner with a scion of the most infamous family in all of Terre d’Ange. It gave Aimée some comfort that her Dowayne and Second had a genuine like and affection for Count Niklos Shahrizai. Strengthening his ties to Cereus House would only be a benefit in rebuilding the prestige of Cereus.

Aimée was pulled from her mind’s wandering when an older novice announced the arrival of her most esteemed guest.

His arrival had been greeted by a flurry of activity. He’d taken one of the family carriages, if for no other reason than to see what sort of gossip it would produce. Jacob had eyes and ears in the city, and that sort of information would eventually make its way to the man. Niklos smiled as he slipped out of the carriage, the Cereus servants bowing deeply. The driver and footman from the townhouse knew where to take the carriage, and service for waiting attendants was always impeccable at Cereus. Nik took the entry stairs slowly. Nothing had changed but it felt like everything had changed. Aliks was Dowayne and Petrea, unsurprisingly, was her Second. As he stepped through the massive entry doors, he frowned as he realized neither Aliks nor Petrea were anywhere to be seen. As he paused, another adept stepped forward to greet him.

She greeted Niklos Shahrizai with all the grace and elegance Cereus House was known for. “Lord Shahrizai, welcome to Cereus House. I am Aimée no Cereus. The Second has been called away by House duties that needed her immediate attention. I am happy to host you this evening in her stead if that arrangement suits you.”

Chuckling softly, he shook his head lightly. “Of course we’d set dinner plans and something would come up. I swear, as both of them found themselves more duties within Cereus, it’s been more difficult for an easy dinner. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Aimée. I would be happy to join you for dinner this evening.” He grinned and bowed to her. “Please, lead on.”

“Very gracious of you. Allow me to escort you to the appointed room,” Aimée replied.

Taking her offered hand, Nik allowed himself to be led through the halls of Cereus House, noting that new life had been breathed into the hall.

Nik’s eyes took in everything as they walked through the halls. Something had changed, likely with Aliks taking on the role of Dowayne. There was a different feel to the house, almost as if someone had told the whole host to stand straighter. The last time he had visited, there had been almost an air of indolence that was no longer around. He smiled faintly as he glanced at Aimée, a question on his lips. “How has the transition been, now that Aliksandra is Dowayne? Something feels different in the air.”

He was curious to see how she responded, and he wondered if he could puzzle out whether she’d been born to the House or if she’d been adopted in. Sometimes that made for the best game in his mind.

“The transition of Dowaynes is trying under any circumstance. However, the position and responsibilities of Cereus House have added complexity that—” Aimée paused, choosing her words carefully. “—would bring a less dedicated person to the edge.”

As they moved towards a secluded salon Aimée continued. “Cereus House is regaining blooms that have been neglected in less than careful tending. All Loveliness Fades, but one does not usually accelerate the process.”

At last, Nik is guided into a private salon filled with an impeccable aroma wafting from a selection of dishes displayed on a well laid table. The food even looked and smelled better than his previous experience of Cereus hospitality.

Niklos smiled and nodded at Aimée’s words. She felt like she’d been raised to the House as opposed to being adopted in, the poise and concern for the House being undeniable. His eyes flickered at the implication of difficulties that surrounded the word ‘complexity’. He would have to speak with Jacob and find out what the man knew. Surely, there was some rumor he could divine from somewhere. He glanced around the room, eyes widening slightly. “Will anyone else be joining us tonight? There looks to be enough food here for six, at least.” He grinned, gesturing to the table. “I am looking forward to sharing this meal with you.”

Rumors of Return

It was a warm, clear day, and the sun shone bright in the City of Elua. Despite this, Évrard de Bretel found himself ensconced in the stuffy Hall of Games at the Royal Palace, surrounded by nobles desperate to be seen and heard. Évrard wished that he could be somewhere—anywhere—but here. He had no desire to sit amongst these vapid nobles whose idea of fun was to sit and wait for someone of importance to walk by and notice them. The games themselves were interesting enough, but one could only play cards or dice for so many hours before the mind went numb. Not to mention that Évrard’s gaming company left something to be desired.

He was seated in one of “the most desirable spots,” he had been told, in the company of two young ladies. Lady Oudine de Fhirze was the epitome of a social climber. Évrard swore that the lady spent the majority of her days trying to ingratiate herself with influential people, searching out gossip and spreading it, and the rest primping herself in anticipation of outings with her friend Lady Marion Basilisque. Évrard could not understand how Marion had not murdered Oudine in her sleep. Évrard was quite sure that it was only through Marion’s friendship that Oudine managed to wheedle her way into any invite. He could not imagine that anyone wanted Oudine around and suspected they put up with her because she was sewn to Marion’s side. Marion, in contrast to her friend, seemed to fade into the background, content to follow where Oudine led. Soft-spoken where Oudine was loud, plain where Oudine was ostentatious, demure where Oudine was demanding. Certainly, Évrard only put up with Oudine because Marion was there. And he felt himself an excellent judge of character.

Marion laid down her cards. “I think that’s a win for me?” She said almost timidly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Oudine frowned at her friend. “No, Marion,” she replied. “You’re missing a card here.” She tapped at the hand of cards with her fine silk fan. “Besides—” She examined her own cards. “—I do believe that I have the winning hand!”

Évrard rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Actually, Oudine, Marion has won. Perhaps you need to practice some more,” he said with a falsely sympathetic tone. Évrard did his best to be as condescending as possible to Oudine; she never noticed. “Well done, Marion,” he said brightly. “Your skills are improving!” Oudine snapped her fan open and whirled her head away. Évrard gave Marion a conspiratory wink, and she blushed.

Marion knew how much he disliked her friend and that he only held their company because their families had long histories. Évrard thanked Blessed Elua every day that the two women went everywhere together; he would have put out his own eyes if he had to endure Oudine’s company alone. But, as his father’s heir, he had a duty to maintain appearances among the younger nobles, to make connections, to conduct casual business, to…find a wife and produce an heir. Évrard tugged on his cuffs and straightened his cravat. He was enjoying the freedom of being an unmarried man in the city, and he did not look forward to the day that old Lord de Bretel would finally put his foot down and demand that his eldest son settle down and marry. Évrard sighed and put his chin on his fist. He pouted, upset at the unfairness of it all. His younger brothers had no such demands placed on them. They could remain bachelors all their lives, galavanting around the City of Elua, attending parties, while he would spend his days at the family’s rural estate, tending to a wife and children. It just felt unreasonable that the eldest—the most important—son should be cast out into the countryside. He flicked a card against the table absently, letting out a loud, drawn out sigh.

Évrard was lost in thought, mourning his lot in life, when Marion’s voice brought him back to the present.

“…family’s townhouse is being cleaned. Maybe she’s planning to return to the city,” Marion was saying.

“Who is planning to return?” Évrard asked. He had many friends who summered in the city and had not yet received word that any of them were on their way, but that didn’t always mean anything.

“Oh! The late Dauphin’s betrothed. You know that she has been in mourning at her family’s estate in the country since his death?” Évrard nodded. Everyone was well aware that Cassiopée de Fhirze had not been seen in the City of Elua since Prince Daniel’s untimely and tragic death. “Well,” Marion continued, “it seems as though her family’s townhome is being cleaned—quite thoroughly. And the suspicion is that she may finally be returning.” Marion sighed and looked off in the distance. “I cannot imagine being betrothed—being set to spend my life with someone—and having him die. I think I would mourn for the rest of my days.”

Oudine tsked. “Don’t be daft, Marion.” She dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. Évrard stifled a shudder as she stuffed it back into her bosom. How uncouth, he thought. Marion would never place her handkerchief in such a place. Everything Oudine did was unladylike in Évrard’s eyes.

“You’re a noble lady,” Oudine continued. “A new husband is easy to find. One dies; you get another.” She tossed her hair and batted her eyelashes at a passing gentleman. He tipped his chin, acknowledging the group, but did not stop.

Marion’s shoulders sagged at her friend’s pronouncement. “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I do suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am!” Oudine exclaimed. “You know, Father has had suitors lined up for me to choose from. I have my pick of husbands.” Her voice was clearly meant to carry across the room. Évrard suspected it was to make the eligible noblemen jealous.

Évrard did not doubt this. Lord de Fhirze doted on his only daughter. He gave her everything she asked for: jewels, gowns, ribbons, baubles. Évrard had no doubt that her dowry was tremendous…and he was certain this was the reason that the gentlemen of Terre d’Ange were knocking down the door of the de Fhirze townhouse. Why else would anyone want to court Oudine? With as distasteful as he found Oudine, how could any other gentleman stand her?

“That’s very fortunate for you. I am so pleased to hear it,” Marion said. Now, Marion…he could perhaps envision taking her as a wife…Marion was so elegant and quiet. She would be the perfect hostess, the perfect Lord’s wife. But more than that, She would be so easy to live with. So understanding of his wants and needs. Oudine, however, would demand to live in the manner her father had raised her. She would require a husband to cater to her wants and her needs, instead of the other way around. Évrard had no desire to spend all of his funds and his time on a wife’s whims when he could be spending them on himself.

Oudine tapped Marion on the hand with her fan and gave her a hard look. “Where are you getting this information from about the townhouse? I have not heard one word from Cousin Cassiopée about returning to the city. I am certain that if she were returning to the city, she would have written me!”

Marion paused. “You know, I don’t remember exactly. It seems to be everywhere.” She shrugged and toyed with her hair. She looked about the room and gave a small wave to another group of ladies walking by.

Oudine continued to prattle on at Marion about “Cousin Cassiopée,” and Évrard tuned her out. Though Oudine referred to the late Dauphin’s fiancée as cousin, the relationship was no closer than Évrard’s to Rasiel. It was yet another way for Oudine to put on airs and claim importance where she clearly had none.

Oudine then asked Marion if she had received an invitation to an upcoming fête at Cereus House, as Oudine had. Marion responded in the affirmative, and the two women began discussing the exclusivity of the party, who had been invited and who had not, why the House was suddenly throwing its doors open now, and what they should wear to an early summer evening on Mont Nuit.

Just as Évrard thought he could not spend another moment listening to inane gossip and talk of fashion and fêtes, he spied Count Niklos Shahrizai striding down the hallway. The Count noticed the trio and made his way over.

“Lady de Fhirze, Lady Basilique,” he greeted them pleasantly. “And…, uh, Lord de Bretel, I believe?”

“Oh Count Shahrizai! I did not expect to see you here this afternoon! What a lovely surprise! I am ever so pleased you happened upon us.” Évrard groaned inwardly as Oudine purred at the Count.

“It is lovely to see you, as well, ladies,” he replied kindly.

“Would you care to join us, my lord?” Marion inquired, indicating the card game.

Évrard cringed. The last thing on Blessed Elua’s green Earth he wanted to do was spend more time sitting there while Oudine simpered over the Count.

The Count paused for a moment, considering the offer.

Before he could respond, Évrard jumped in. “Actually, I was hoping I might have a moment of your time to discuss some business with you.”

The briefest look of confusion crossed the Count’s face before he schooled it again. Évrard knew that the two had no actual business to discuss. But he had to get them out of the Hall of Games. “Uh, yes,” he said, his voice flat. “I suppose I could spare you a moment, Lord de Bretel. But only just a moment.”

“Thank you, that’s all I need.” Évrard rose from the table. He turned to Oudine and Marion. “Ladies, I’m sure I will see you soon. Marion, so lovely to see you. Oudine.”

He barely caught the furrow of the Count’s brow before he turned to the man. “Shall we be off, Count Shahrizai?” He said quickly, hoping to get away before either woman could say anything else.

He gestured down the hall toward the Gentlemen’s Salon, trying to come up with something to discuss that would not make him look like a complete fool.

Rumors and Intelligence

Late spring was shaping up to be a good season, and summer looked even more productive. Nothing significant had caught Jacob’s ear, though Niklos’s instincts with regards to the coach and the dinner at Cereus had proven enlightening. Not for what had been said, but for where the rumors had come from. A serving maid at the Palace had overheard some minor Kusheline lordling mention that it seemed like the Shahrizai were “going soft,” which had not merited a response… yet. And some of the folks in the jewelry district had thought it was romantic, which was why, when Jacob later reported rumors from the jewelry district, it first puzzled and then concerned Niklos.

“My Lord,” Jacob interrupted him one evening, as Nik was staring out over the city from the window in his study. Jacob never interfered unless it was a pressing matter, and Niklos nodded to him, knowing that the report would be brief. “There are rumblings in the jeweler’s district, sir. You know of Jacques Halceaux?”

Niklos started, his head turning and his eyes focusing on Jacob. “I know the man is purported to be one of the best silversmiths in the city. I believe his work has even graced some of my cousins…” Niklos trailed off. The man made a living from the nobility. What would he be doing to cause rumblings? “Isn’t he the Guildhead for the Silversmith’s Guild?”

Jacob nodded in response. “Exactly the man, my lord. He has apparently been heard expressing his… frustration… at the closeness of Odilia nò Dahlia and the Crown Prince. It could be nothing, but it could end up being something serious.”

Niklos shook his head slowly, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Find out more if you can. Lean on sources if you must. There has to be a reason for all this. I am surprised that a man like that would make this sort of noise, there must be a reason. Was there anything else?”

Jacob’s lips twisted into a brief frown. He didn’t like the directive he’d been given, Niklos could tell. Neither of them liked pressing sources, it made them far less likely to want to give you more information in the future. Either that, or they’d start asking for favors, and those favors were usually expensive. He took a breath and nodded.

“There is something else. The former betrothed of the Dauphin Daniel, Casiopée de Fhirze, appears to be readying for a return to the city. The de Fhirze townhouse, which has been closed since the former Dauphin’s death, presumably for the lady to go into mourning, is being readied by some members of the staff. She’s a scion of the Marquis de Fhirze, an old Naamarese family, and might be someone to cultivate. She was close to the throne before, and she may be again once she returns.”

Niklos nodded, his brow furrowing in thought. “Let’s wait on her. Give her some time to be settled back in the city before we make any moves. It might be that they are preparing to sell the old place.” He had a vague memory of the house, but only because he had driven past it. “Or something else might be brewing. Besides, if she does return, we will look gauche if we send her an invitation when she’s barely freshened up from being in the country. There’s time.”

Jacob nodded, a mental note obviously being added to a prodigious list in his brain. “Oh, one final thing, and I only know this because one of the sculls just mentioned something as I was making my way to your chambers. Apparently, the Duc de Chalasse has returned to the City. That Idaeus Lacordaire has been summoned to his townhouse a number of times, and there are even credible rumors that the Duc has been sending letters to Dahlia house.”

Niklos blinked, then barked out a laugh, a grin creasing his face. “That old lion is back in the city? This summer is going to be even more fantastic than I could have hoped for! Definitely keep an eye on that. Don’t press anyone, but start thinking about a way that we could invite the Duc to dinner. Perhaps at the Palace in the family quarters. They’re opulent enough even for him. And it’s curious he is reaching out to Dahlia house. I think one of his grandchildren is in the Night Court. Perhaps more than one… but I don’t think any of them are with Dahlia. See if you can find out something there. Oh, and Idaeus Lacordaire… he and I met at Valerian for their Mara’s Eve fête. See if you can’t send an invitation to him to join me for drinks here at the townhouse some night. He’s an interesting sort, and it might be worth our while to keep him as an ally.”

The muscle in Jacob’s cheek twitched at that last statement, Niklos noted. Apparently he’d read something into Idaeus, but not what the butler already knew. He let it pass, knowing Jacob would provide him the information in due time.

On Dove’s Wings

Rosanna was not a woman easily rattled. Being trained for years to handle all manner of pain, the deprivation of sense, to feel fear in congruence with pleasure, to find joy in arts that would make others pale and run, she was not prone to flights of deep worry or fright. Now though, she dared to think she felt it. And that was a difficult realization to make. Upon returning to her House after visiting her grandfather, she waited until the duties of the day were completed before pulling Tryphosa aside.

“What I tell you now does not leave this room, am I understood?” She asked with a certainty and depth of seriousness that almost mirrored their friends in Mandrake.

“Of course you have my confidence,” Tryphosa assured her. “Why though? What has happened?”

“I can only tell you in summary but I promise you it is vital to keep this to ourselves.”

So she did. Informed her trusted friend and Second what had happened with her grandfather, what was discussed, and what possibilities now lay at the delicate feet of another courtesan and her unprepared prince. By the end, her fellow Valerian and confidante was pale-faced herself, sitting down on a fainting couch and asking for a drink. Luckily, the office was always well stocked for just such troublesome times.

“Do you really think someone would start a war over a love affair?” Tryphosa almost whispered.

“Is there not a famous poem from your mother’s homeland about just that? Did it not last ten years?” Rosanna shot back.

“I do not see Odilia being stolen away like Helene but…all epic tales have a kernel of truth in them, in some way. Blessed Elua preserve us if anyone really takes their love so offensively!” They each made a quick sign to the gods above and in the true Terre D’Ange beyond.

“If the Dauphin makes his affections publicly known there is no telling what some of the nobility may do. His Dahlia is an intelligent, successful, and beautiful woman. But she is common born and for some that is a sin that cannot be forgiven, holy precept or no.”

Tryphosa looked quite uncomfortable at that but she nodded slowly. She sipped her wine, the cup held in both hands quite tightly. Nervous, that was easy to tell for one who knew her so well and for so long.

“Speak, my friend. You have something to say, I can hear it.”

“It is just…sometimes I forget that you come from that same rank. We see the nobility and wealthy merchants every night, so it is no surprise how well you handle them. Then there is the matter that we have been here, together, for so long that it is far too tempting to forget what lies beyond Mont Nuit,” the Valerian Second confessed. “To think something could actually be capable of harming one of our own for the crime of loving our Dauphin and for him loving her in kind. It feels…against all we are.”

Rosanna listened and nodded lightly along. Yes, it was so easy to fall into the sensuality and rhythm of life amongst the great Houses of Naamah. To pretend that the politics and machinations of the Court and the elite could not reach them. A fine dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“They can and, if given reason to feel offended, they would. I cannot say who, but he is still to be King. And someone will want their daughter, their noble daughter, to be a bridal candidate for him. To compete against a woman such as Odilia? I fear one of them might dare to forget good sense and precept to keep the royal line as free of what they consider bad blood as possible.”

Such thoughts kept Rosanna up all night. Tossing and turning, she could not help but think of the words of her grandfather. Roland had not survived, and thrived, as he had by underestimating the ambitions of others. There was a reason the old King had a healthy respect, some even said a healthy fear, of him. Taking back the sovereignty of an entire duchy was no mean feat either.

Valerian House was her duchy, in that sense. Her domain. To protect it was to protect herself and all those under her roof. As well as the honor of her family name. Of all times to become Dowayne, her luck would have it be during a time of completely unprecedented social change.

Which was why, some days later when she found the time, she left early for the temple district. Her carriage was en route when the sun was just rising, when no prying eyes might see her. Not out of shame, of course not, but to keep this business to herself. It was to the Temple of Eisheth, her own ancestress, that she went for divine advice first.

Leaving offerings of sweet wine and fruits, Rosanna lit the incense, bowed her head, and prayed, “Blessed Eisheth, mother of my father’s line, I beg for your grace and calm in this time of turmoil. I see around me the chapters of a greater story being woven, but I do not know if I am a spectator or if I have a part to play. What reads as a simple love affair is spilling into places I worry for, that its players are the first act in a drama which has the capacity to unmake and harm. Please grant me insight to see the machinations around me, and to continue to live in your grace.”

After that it was to the Temple of Naamah, the small building of white marble which held so much sway in her life and in those she cared for. Surrounded by gardens, it was a familiar and calming place. Rosanna purchased a dove from one of the sellers just getting set up for the day before moving within. At the entrance was the likeness of the divine patroness, which always inspired awe in Rosanna. She would never tire of looking upon the perfectly serene and enchanting face of the angel. Arms wide in welcome, the holy artwork bid all who came in love and times of need into the sanctum. Around the domed ceiling were rows and rows of doves, sleeping or nesting in the perches placed there. Some flew through the oculus at the center, as the one she brought. Whispering a wish and prayer, she let the pure white bird make its own way. Up into the sky it went. Perhaps right to Naamah herself, or so one could hope.

“Lady Dowayne, you honor us with your presence this fine morning. What might the holy order do for you?” A priest in scarlet robes smiled in greeting. Hands spread wide in imitation of his goddess, he was a man of middle age, long blond hair and a handsome countenance. Rosanna had always liked him and felt peace already by simply being in his presence.

“I have a somewhat…worrisome matter on my mind, Priest Jaques,” she admitted and came to hold his offered hands. “And find myself in need of sage advice. Might we speak in private?”

“Is this serious, my lady?” He inquired, brow furrowed. Still, he nodded and led her along the marble hall to a room meant for meditation and divine assignations.

“For the Servants of Naamah, yes. As well as for some beloved figures high in society,” she confessed as the door was shut behind them. “But I must ask that what I speak of here does not leave this room unless you think the priestly order must be involved.”

“My dear girl, of course. You always have my confidence. Now sit, tell me whatever is the matter.”

…It’s Another

Mena did not sleep easily the day after Florian’s visit. Belisario was out of control, even for him. She knew that she could go to Bryony and get his Dowayne to get him in hand. However, she wouldn’t do that. Belisario was vindictive, conniving, shameless, and capable of the particular brutality of someone raised in Heliotrope possessed. She didn’t want to cause him to turn on Bryony if she could avoid it.

So, she tossed and turned, failing to really rest. When sunset finally came, she pulled on her robe and headed down to see how preparations for the night were going. She helped the adepts readying the front parlor, the routine soothing her more than she had expected. One of her close friends Dara was in the back salon setting up games for the patrons and adepts. Dara had an almost unstoppable good humor and sunny disposition. When Mena peeked in, she was seated on the floor in trousers and her chemise top, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

“Dara, what are you up to now?” Mena asked, laughing lightly.

“Oh Mena! I didn’t hear you,” Dara said with her trademark rich laugh. “I’m trying to come up with new games! The Longest Day is coming, I know our visitors would love some unique entertainment!”

Mena grinned at her. “You know I always love your games. Let me know when they’re ready to be tested, I’ll make sure to come down.”

Dara nodded and bent back over her work. Mena wandered away, enjoying the familiarity and comfort of her House coming to life. The kitchen smelled incredible, but she knew better than to intrude on Cook so she wandered back towards the front of the House.

There was a loud knock at the main door, so she headed over to answer it. There was no one standing there when she got there, making her shake her head. As she was closing the door, she looked down and saw a small box. Bending down, she picked it up and turned back into the House, greeting Loir who was coming down the stairs.

“Hello there, sleepy-head,” Mena said teasingly as she opened the box lid. “I hope you slept well, I’ve been up—“

Her scream had people come running from all parts of the House. She stood, frozen in shock, the box and its contents lying on the formerly clean rug. A decomposing and headless rat lay oozing on the carpet, causing more screams and running to get something to clean it up. The box lid lay near Mena’s feet, the inside covered with words written in what looked at first glance like blood:

precious pet

it took a while but i found this

it reminded me of your future

so i had it brought over

think of me

-K

If It’s Not One Thing…

“Philomena, you’ve got a guest.”

Mena looked up, confusion on her face. A young novice stood in the doorway of her office, clearly nervous. Clara was new, a transfer from Orchis. “A guest? You should just bring them to me, darling. No need to be nervous.”

Tension slid from the young woman’s shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when an advocate showed up at Orchis, someone was in trouble. Particularly one with special privileges.”

Mena smiled. “That makes sense, Clara. Trouble is much less likely here. Please show them in.”

Clara nodded and disappeared for a few minutes, then returned and held the door open for someone to enter. “Dowayne, your guest, Special Advocate Bonheur.”

Mena laughed and quickly came out from behind her desk. “Oh, Florian, you had to scare the novices didn’t you?”

She quickly embraced the man, gesturing for him to sit. “Clara, this is Florian Boneur, my mother’s husband. Please send up light tea. Florian, what brings you here?”

Florian was a handsome man, thick, dark hair, cut short, styled fashionably. He looked younger than his almost sixty years, something he used to his advantage at all opportunities. He laughed richly. “Oh Mena, you know I can’t resist! I do it in court all the time, it’s the one joy I still retain. “

She laughed, scoffing at his dramatics. “Oh. I wouldn’t let Chrysanthe hear you say that. You know how she pouts.”

Florian nodded. “Your mother sends her regards. by the way. She is very proud of her ability to keep me entertained, let’s keep my wording to ourselves, shall we?” He nodded his thanks to the novice who had returned with their tea. “All jokes aside, I’m here for serious reasons. First, it is time to read Olivier’s will.”

Mena didn’t mean to inhale sharply, but she did. “Is it that time already? Very good, I’ll have it sent to you”

Florian nodded, “Very good, very good, even though we all know he left it all to you, Laurent, and the House, we need that official copy. The second piece is that your father is contesting it, claiming that it was made under duress and undue influence. He’s had an advocate file his claim with the Judiciary.”

Mena sat for a second, trying to process this, her hands starting to shake. “Even for him, this is unmitigated gall. What do we do, Florian?”

“You give me the document and leave the rest to me. I was Olivier’s advocate, this is mine to handle.” He took her hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I should be able to keep you out of the mess for a while, maybe even the entire time. Please, trust me Philomena.”

Mena nodded. “Thank you, Florian. You’ve always been kind to me, more so than Chrysanthe. I trust you.”

Florian sighed. “Your mother tries, you know she does. You were wanted, so much. She just didn’t count on Belisario causing so much grief and pain.”

Mena nodded. “I know, I’ve heard some of what he did after. What does Belisario want, exactly?”

“Everything that’s not Heliotrope.”

Of Gardens and Gossip

Perhaps some among the Court of Night Blooming Flowers would raise delicate brows if they knew to what degree she made herself ready to leave at the first notice of a footman in black and yellow livery. There to summon her across the city with a short and to the point message. Yet she was excited, happy even. Binding up her long, red tresses in a beaded net and tossing a light shawl to ward off the still slightly brisk spring breeze, Rosanna left the House and hopped into the carriage awaiting outside. Tryphosa was more than capable to tend to the day’s responsibilities as the Dowayne took some hours to visit family.

For those who recognized the honey bees painted on the side of the carriage, gossip was sure to follow, as the Duc de Chalasse only came to the capital when he deemed the business important enough. Every time he came to town, the nobles clamored to find out why.

Her mother’s father was a powerful man, the sovereign Duc of L’Agnace, and his grand townhouse mirrored that privilege. Windows with many panels, colored glass and gleaming iron. Tall ceilings, heavy stone, the pillars and keystones engraved with the buzzing insects which made up the family coat of arms. The scent of flowering fruit trees from the interior courtyard were carried in the wind, almost welcoming her back. As a child, she had often visited the estate in L’Agnace, but this home was still dear in her memory. Very different from her childhood home in Eisande too, more weighty.

The footman helped her exit the carriage and she walked up to the door where a servant was already waiting and opened the portal to her.

Inside was a display of wealth none could ignore. Rich, wood wall panels with gold gilt, polished marble floors, niches with fresh flowers grown out of season in a hot house, works of art from near and far. Some were new, but she did not pause to examine them yet. When called, Rosanna knew better than to dawdle. Another servant in the same livery escorted her to the grand salon, where his master was waiting.

“Lady Rosanna, Your Grace,” he announced. No sooner than had the words left his lips than she was hurrying across the room to greet him.

“Grandfather.” She smiled brightly.

He turned from where he had been standing at the window that looked out to the courtyard garden behind the townhouse, releasing his hands from where they had been clasped easily behind his back.

“Rosebud,” he said with what passed for a warm smile on his face. He was not an affectionate man, not even with his family, so he accepted her kiss of greeting only briefly before gesturing her to sit with him at the chaise. The servants had set a decanter with his newest honey wine made from his own honey, on the low, gilded table along with crystal cordial glasses and a selection of seasonal fruits. Roland seated himself with unhurried ease of the wealthy and said, “I trust Valerian House will survive your absence for this brief visit?”

It was phrased as a question, but they both knew it was only a silent reminder of the expectations to which he held all members of his family, extended or otherwise. Excellence was the standard in all things.

Rosanna, used to the serious nature of her grandparent, took the seat next to him happily. As the servant set the small table, she adjusted the flow of her long skirts and nodded with ease.

“I have picked a dutiful Second, she will keep our House running like clockwork in my absence.” Nothing less would be acceptable for the leadership of Mont Nuit. Delicate as she might seem, she had been raised to excel.

The servant poured the two glasses full before retreating to just outside of the salon door, ready in case the master of the house needed anything, leaving the family to some privacy.

Rosanna sipped the honey wine and hummed with satisfaction. “Another superior bottle. Your hives never fail to impress.”

A few bites of the fruit and some of the usual light conversion filled the room. They exchanged news, asked about the projects either of them were spearheading. It might be small talk, but the genuine interest was there. To know what was happening in the city as well as the countryside was a vital thing to the both of them. And it was just this that brought Rosanna to finally ask, “It was a member of my order who interested you in your last letter. How can I help? What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” he said, leaning back against the chaise in a deceptively casual lounge. “Everything you know. You said her name is Odilia? What else can you tell me about her?”

An advantage was only an advantage while it was a carefully controlled manipulation of information. The young Rocaille was right that he could get Roland access and information regarding the Dauphin, but he let slip that he wasn’t the only one, and Roland would tease out that other opportunity like a hunter flushing out his prey. Rosanna had already told him the girl’s name, it was enough to start his search—and he had, sending his trusted servants to take the temperature of the city and subtly inquire to find out what they could—but since she was another Servant of Naamah in the Night Court, there were some things only another adept would be privy to knowing about her.

“Yes, Odilia is her name,” Rosanna confirmed. Youngest in her family though she may be, unlike a good portion of courtesans in the city she still hailed from a noble family. A very well connected family, and so her duty to her calling and her blood were split. It was a fine line she had walked from the moment she had been accepted into holy service.

“I had the honor and pleasure of hosting her at Mara’s Eve. Although she came in disguise, knowing her need for privacy I made the event a masked one. All the better for her and her companion to observe the festivities. Only observe though, not participate.” She sipped again and made that important distinction. “It was she who reached out to me, asking for an invitation. His Highness used the fête as a means to learn new dynamics of power. No one was the wiser of his visit, I made as sure of that as anything.”

“Tell me of her,” Roland said immediately. “Spare no detail. Describe her for me, her features and colouring and bearing. She has caught the eye of the future King, Rosanna, I do not think I need to tell you that eyes will be watching her and His Highness very closely. What she is and how she is seen will make an impression on those who look to see how the future King’s head can be turned. This is our first hint at what kind of Queen our nation may have.”

Rosanna did as she was asked. As though there was any other option. While no politician herself, she understood what her grandfather needed and why. Even if that resulted in her giving over information about a fellow courtesan. Because what happened in the bedrooms in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers often had a guiding hand in the machinations of the elite. So she described Odilia, both from what she had seen of her in public, though that was little, and how she appeared at the masked fête at Valerian House. Her coloring, her bearing, anything at all she could recall.

“And she is city-born, if the little birds who whisper to be have it right. Her father is a tradesman. Which will be yet another reason so many eyes will be drawn to her. She’s risen high, through Namaah’s grace.”

“Some will say too high,” Roland said firmly. “Naamah may dispense her grace how she wills, but there are some lines that are not crossed, no matter how Elua’s precept guides d’Angeline hearts.”

No amount of Naamah’s grace would change her Servant’s common blood. Roland knew there were plenty of his peers who would strongly object to the thought of the great royal house of Courcel, who traced their line directly back to Elua himself, thinning the blood of angels with a common-born womb. The scions of the Companions were those who made the great Houses of the country, those that smelled of apples and carried the violet eyes and understood the exquisite pain-pleasure of Kushiel. A commoner was not born to these things, did not understand these things. A commoner would only distract the young King from his great duty and purpose to lead.

“If he clasps her too closely,” Roland said, his eyes hard and heavy on his granddaughter with his warning, “if he places his crown at risk because of his infatuation with this common girl, there will be war over it.” Perhaps not immediately, perhaps not obviously, but this was a delicate line to tread, and Roland de Chalasse had no confidence the boy could manage it.

“What would you need from me to protect his Highness and try to keep my fellow holy servant out of the line of fire?” The question was near instant in asking.

“Your responsibility is your House, Lady Dowayne,” Roland said. “No matter what will come next, eyes will turn to the Night Court. When the storm comes—and there will be a storm if the Dauphin declares his love for her—your House must be beyond reproach, no matter what. Let me handle the rest.”

Rosanna certainly did not want to see Odilia hurt simply because she had the fortunate misfortune of finding herself the object of a prince’s desires. Yes, they had attempted an educational experience by coming to her House, to speak and listen and observe the ways of power unknown to the future monarch. Her ways were not for him, but at least he knew how they operated. Not everyone would be so willing to help when they could attempt to manipulate.

“Would arranging some meeting between you do the trick? I would be glad to continue providing you with information, Grandfather, but perhaps it would do you best to meet Odilia yourself. How better to understand the Dauphin’s thoughts than to meet her yourself? Dahlia House was one of your favorites, I am sure the Dowayne would be happy to introduce you.”

“Oh yes,” Roland said, crossing his ankle over his knee as he lounged. “I have an old friend in Dahlia House. It may well be time to pay Jocaste a visit.”