There was only one invitation she waffled over sending, because it seemed impertinent. But Liolesa was Hirianthial’s cousin and they loved one another, and Hirianthial had been gone for fifty or sixty years and almost died in the bargain. So Reese squared her shoulders and hit ‘send’ on that particular request, and started wondering what on the bleeding soil she was going to get a queen for the holiday.
It was almost funny that she could be paralyzed by how many choices she could make now that she had more than two fin to rub together. In the end, she read an article that concluded that “the best gifts make a person feel seen,” and that had stuck with her. It was good to be seen. And rare, she thought. Maybe her gifts this year wouldn’t be as good as they could be, but if paying attention to people made for good presents, then she could get better with practice.
She looked forward to it.
For the women’s vigil, Irine chose a chamber on the third floor in a corner of Reese’s wing of Rose Point. It overlooked the courtyard and was tucked directly over a second floor room that opened onto the castle’s wall walk. The height and corner placement gave it a pleasant feeling of being high above the fray, and it was a small enough room to be cozy once the Harat-Shar was done decorating: a rocking chair, a bench, several more chairs grouped around the fireplace on a soft rug; the evergreen boughs, several mysterious handbells, and the hanging glass stars. Reese started leaving her presents in the inglenooks as she finished wrapping them, and soon everyone else was too.
Hirianthial, Sascha, Val, and Belinor arrived from Ontine early on Solstice day and joined Urise in whatever preparations were proper for the men of the household. They took dinner with everyone and then left, and Reese watched them walk across the courtyard in their cloaks and coats, their breath puffing white and their bodies casting diffuse blue shadows as the sun sank below the sea. When she returned to their corner room, someone had laid out the Vigil food on a trestle table against the back wall: pastries and cheeses, hot coffee and tea and chocolate, brandied fruits and candied nuts. The room smelled like pine and cinnamon and coffee and it was wonderful.
“I probably don’t need to tell you this,” she said as Irine arrived with Allacazam in her arms. “But you did an amazing job.”
Irine blushed at the ears, but grinned, too. “I didn’t do it alone! Felith was hugely helpful. And Kis’eh’t too. Did you know Felith’s got a sweetheart?”
“I wondered! Do you know who?”
“I’m guessing he’s in the Swords,” Irine said.
“Not Olthemiel!”
“No... but maybe Beronaeth.” Irine chuckled at Reese’s speculative look. “Yes, me too! I think they’d work really well together. Plus, it can’t hurt to link our people with the Queen’s more closely.”
Reese eyed her. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking politically as well as amorously now.”
Irine sniffed. “Arii, I grew up with a lot of siblings. If you think there’s no politics with that many brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers, you have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t I though,” Reese said ruefully.
Behind them, Kis’eh’t said, “Are you going to step into the room or stand at the door blocking the way all night?”
“We’re going in!” Reese said. “At least, I’m planning to. But I’m waiting to see if the Queen will come.”
“She will,” Kis’eh’t said. “It’s not night yet. Irine, it’s beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Irine said again, glowing now. “I can’t wait to eat your pie.”
“I can’t wait to eat my pie either.” Kis’eh’t padded into the room and dropped to her haunches on the rug. “The fire is nice, when you don’t need it to stay warm.”
“Just us girls!” Irine exclaimed, looking around. “And none of our new friends either. It feels strange, doesn’t it?”
“A little.” Reese touched the rocking chair, tried giving it a nudge. It creaked against the floor where one of the rockers left the rug. “But it’s not the same, even if it’s just us. Things have changed.”
“We’ve changed,” Irine said. When Reese glanced at her, the tigraine nodded. “Yes, me too. All of us.”
“We’ve helped shape a world,” Kis’eh’t said. “What else, then, when the breath of the Goddess has moved through us?”
That didn’t seem to need commentary, so Reese sat on the rocking chair, leaned back, and inhaled. Safe, warm, fed... she understood, in the most ancient way, the truth of this holiday. Out there, people she loved were making it possible for her to be here, and her job was to wait for them and welcome them home. Two parts of a circuit, and both necessary: the gratitude as well as the service. All her life, she’d been reading stories about those things, and all her life she’d thought the gratitude somehow less everything. Less important, less needful, less exciting, less heroic. How little she’d understood. How unsurprising, too, when she’d always tried so hard not to close those connections with other people.
She was very glad to have decided it was time to stop fearing those connections so much.
The mood must have been contagious, because Irine’s voice was low when she finally spoke. “This is good.”
“Very good,” Kis’eh’t agreed.
Quiet for a while. Then, Irine said, “Um... should Allacazam be here?”
Reese choked on her laugh. “I think Allacazam’s technically an it. I just never felt right using ‘it’ as a pronoun for him.”
“Right.”
A tingling silence, then they all burst out laughing.
“Pie!” Irine crowed.
“Yes, cut the pie,” Kis’eh’t said. “The Queen will be here soon.”
“The Queen is here!” said a voice at the door, merry and clear. “And she has brought candles lit at your astonishing firebowl. I hope you haven’t set out any of the window candles yet!”
“No, we haven’t,” Reese said, rising as Liolesa entered. And behind her came... “Lady Araelis!”
She hadn’t seen much of Hirianthial’s House cousin, but what little she’d seen had worried and saddened her. Araelis had lost her entire House to Surela’s machinations, and while the aftermath of the civil war had kept her busy—no doubt because Liolesa was giving her work for that purpose—the fierce and talkative extrovert Reese had met at Ontine had vanished beneath the widow’s mask. It was anyone’s guess if she would return, even for the sake of the child she was still carrying.
“Alet,” Araelis said, with a little smile, and Reese was grateful for even that small try at a normal expression. “Liolesa said I should come because you’d like hearing the Solstice custom of the Stranger.”
“Something to do with granting shelter, I guess?” Kis’eh’t said. “Because of the monsters.”
“Just so.” Liolesa offered her candle to Reese, who took it hastily. “It is required of us to offer shelter to women and children on the Longest Night if they request it, even if they aren’t of our family. The Stranger does not need to receive gifts, but she does have the first food and drink of the night.”
“I’m glad we didn’t touch the pie,” Kis’eh’t told Irine.
“So am I, but we can cut it now!”
“Yes,” Reese said. “Please, Lady. Sit.” To Liolesa, she added, “Ah... I’m guessing I don’t bow?”
Liolesa snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Theresa.” She drew the strap of her bag over her shoulder and brought it to the inglenook where the presents overflowed in a river of gold and silver paper and ribbon... and there began setting her own offerings. Reese couldn’t remember ever seeing her in a dress so simple, much less one short enough to reveal her boots. In fact, she wouldn’t have bet Liolesa had any outfit so ordinary in her wardrobe. The only thing that gave her away was the ruthless confidence with which she carried herself. She wasn’t dressed like a queen, but Reese doubted she could ever stop radiating the assurance that had ruled a world, and now ruled an empire. It made the enthusiastic light in her eyes charming, because how
often did anyone see her that pleased about something as mundane as arranging presents?
Apparently it wasn’t a new thing either, because Araelis said, “You and gifts, Liolesa.”
“My favorite part of the holiday,” Liolesa said, surveying her work with satisfaction. “Far more fun than Lady’s Day and the mass and all the rest of it.”
“I would have thought you would like those things?” Reese asked. “Aren’t you the High Priestess of the Church?”
“That is exactly why I don’t like them,” Liolesa said. “They’re work.” She stepped back. “Perfect! And such a lovely room here, Theresa. I sense the hand of your pard. Am I right?”
“Oh!” Irine exclaimed, and touched her furiously blushing ears. “Are they on fire?”
“Not as long as you don’t dip them in the candles,” Kis’eh’t said, amused. “You should place them, Reese, if they’re supposed to be seen. At the windows, I take it, alet?”
“Just so.”
Reese found no candleholders on the window sills, but they were made of very solid stone and the pillars the Eldritch had brought were fat enough that she didn’t worry they’d fall over. She looked outside toward the chapel, but saw no lights there… were the men sitting in the dark? Had they found the glass she’d left there, in keeping with Val’s instructions? She hoped so.
Kis’eh’t was cutting the pie; Irine had already pressed a slice on the bemused Araelis, who’d probably taken the first bite for courtesy’s sake and was now eating with more gusto. Liolesa was watching her, standing a little behind and to one side of the chair. Noticing Reese’s surreptitious study, the Queen smiled, a quirk of her mouth that conveyed concern and satisfaction both. It also looked so much like one of Hirianthial’s smiles that Reese found herself flushing and didn’t know why. Probably something to do with planning to marry a man related closely enough to an empress to share mannerisms with her.
“Have pie!” Irine said, giving a plate to the Queen. “Other things too. But pie first, because Kis’eh’t bakes like her goddess.”
Kis’eh’t snorted but didn’t pause in her cutting to disagree, which was good because that meant Reese could claim the next slice.
“I am acquainted with Kis’eh’t’s pies and admit I was hoping to see one make its appearance.” Liolesa put spoon to pastry. “And you have coffee as well, which I predict will become a staple at all the Solstice Vigils from now on.”
“I don’t know how you stay awake all night without it,” Reese said.
“We play games,” Araelis said over her plate. “Board games. Charades. Some card games, though not many.”
“And sing, betimes.”
“Oh!” Irine said. “I forgot that part. Felith said she would give me sheet music for some of the songs for the end of the year but she never got to it and I forgot to remind her. I could have run that through the computer, had it generate some music for us.”
“Most of the Vigil songs need a full choir,” Araelis said. “At least ten women.”
“I have never had so many.” Did Liolesa sound wistful?
“It’s rare,” Araelis agreed.
“Yet another thing that makes no sense,” Kis’eh’t said, sitting back down by the fire with her plate and a cup of coffee. “Your population’s always been small, and no doubt your family gatherings reflected that. So why have songs that only groups can sing? You’d think those would have become less popular, and songs that could be sung by two or three people would be more prevalent.”
“There are some,” Araelis said. “Duets and solos. But rare.”
“And melancholic,” Liolesa added. “We should play games instead.”
“We could do adjective-noun-verb?” Irine said. “All you need for that is a data tablet to draw on and keep time. It’s like charades, but with pictures. You get the computer to pick a random adjective, noun, and verb, and then you have to draw it and other people have a minute to guess what it is.”
“That’s a good game!” Kis’eh’t said. “I’m horrible at drawing, which makes it fun. I can start?”
“Yes,” Araelis said. “I think I’d like to see the horrible drawing of a Glaseah.”
None of them were good at drawing, it turned out. Or guessing. Even Araelis laughed at some of the more ridiculous suggestions. After that, they moved on to an Eldritch card game that Araelis offered to teach them and Liolesa declined to play, saying only that she preferred to watch games of chance. Reese wondered if she hated gambling because she had to do it with the fate of a world too often… or if she’d gotten so good at it that she didn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun? But the card game was fascinating, and they all enjoyed trying their hands at its intricacies. They ate the brandied fruit and washed it down with more coffee and then Reese introduced hot chocolate with marshmallows to the Eldritch, who hadn’t ever floated marshmallows in hot chocolate before and found it bizarre—“Do we wait for them to melt before drinking? Or are you supposed to use a spoon? But then it’s lumpy when you try to sip it…”
By midnight, it all felt so natural that Reese could almost imagine how it would be in a decade, in two decades: they’d be here in a room just like this, but bigger. There would be children—girls and boys, because the boys weren’t allowed to go to the Vigil until they left their nurse’s care—and it would be perfect. Whose children would come first, she wondered? Irine’s? Hers? (She tried not to get distracted by the anxiety and anticipation that thought generated.) Would Kis’eh’t ever have kits of her own? What about Bryer? She tried to picture a female Phoenix waiting through the Vigil with them and hid her smile against the lip of her coffee mug. This time she was the one who noticed Liolesa’s gaze, and she lifted her brows a little, just enough to say ‘I get it. This is what we work for.’
Liolesa smiled back—just her eyes—and returned her attention to the others, who with Araelis’s intrigued permission were attempting to discover if Allacazam could communicate with the unborn child yet.
They heard the men before they saw them, their voices echoing in the stone stairwell: Sascha’s laughter, Bryer’s low murmurs, Hirianthial’s replies deeper still. Then the three were on the threshold, and Reese and the others stood to receive them… because that’s what they were doing, wasn’t it? This was the welcome back from the cold, and unlike some, they really had been in the cold, with Rose Point’s chapel open to the elements. Sascha went immediately into his sister’s arms, and Hirianthial came next, wearing a long fur-lined cloak in burgundy that accented the color the wind had chapped to his cheeks and the brightness in his wine-colored eyes when he beheld: “Lia! You came!”
“Of course I did,” she said, warm. “Your betrothed would have not forgiven me had I turned down her invitation.”
“And rightly so.” Hirianthial came to her and kissed her cheek, putting those so-similar faces in close proximity so Reese could see just how similar they were. Her heart give a great double-pulse, watching Liolesa turn her face up to receive the greeting. When had she ever seen Eldritch so liberal with their affections? And what a compliment, to be trusted with the sight. There was real joy in both their eyes, and even their faces, for once. That was what centuries of friendship looked like, and it was wonderful.
Turning to Araelis, Hirianthial said, delighted, “Araelis… how glad I am to see you here!”
“Where you did not expect?” Araelis said. “You may blame your cousin, Hirianthial. She is a most managing female. Nigh unto interfering, dare I say.”
“We would not want her any other way,” Hirianthial said. “I am so pleased you’ve come.”
Araelis glanced past him at Reese and smiled, and unlike the first smile she’d offered when she arrived, there was real pleasure in it. “I am, also.”
That left… “Theresa.”
Reese sucked in a breath as he came to her and took her hands, and she could tell he was holding them in a completely different way from how he had before they’d announced their engagement. Maybe it was the thumb
gently tracing a circle on her palm, where no one could see it? She cleared her throat before she trusted it with his name. “Hirianthial.”
For a moment, that was all, and it was as if no one else was there. His eyes, full of joy and promises. Hers, full of... well, probably adoration.
Then his eyes grew somber, and he dropped her hands to turn toward Bryer, who’d remained by the door. The Phoenix was carrying the glass she’d left in the chapel, and he passed it to Hirianthial, who received it with both hands. The wine in it was darker than blood, but it reminded her of it all the same. Offering her the cup, Hirianthial said, quiet, “My Lady. One glass was poured, but never claimed.”
The room had become so silent she could hear her own heart racing in her ears. This was it, then, and she was determined not to ruin it. Reese swallowed and carefully set one hand on the bell of the glass, then slid the other under the foot, praying she didn’t twitch it out of their joined hands. Deep breath. She closed her eyes and remembered what this was about and let it steady her, and when she was ready she opened them and spoke the words Val had taught her. “We grieve for the fallen and commend their spirits to the ranks of the Lord and God. In the name of Goddess and Lady, we give thanks for the sacrifice.”
Araelis and Liolesa murmured something low in their tongue in unison, heads bowed.
Hirianthial released the glass into her hands—her care—and Reese brought it to the fire, set it on the hearth. Though her hands were shaking the glass got there in one piece and the wine stayed in it. She bowed to it, since she wasn’t wearing skirts, held it for several seconds. Then she exhaled. Turning to face the room, she said, “I… got that right, I hope.”
Did she need any proof that it had been a good idea? Araelis’s eyes were glittering with unshed tears. Liolesa was studying her with approval and that too-clear sight that suggested she was taking notes. And Hirianthial... she was used to his loving looks. This raw one, that thanked her and thanked God and Goddess for unexpected graces... she looked away to keep her composure.
A Rose Point Holiday Page 3