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.”
