“Oh, I attended that Candlenight ball too!” Emile smoothly covered. “Almost six. How time flies!”

“Six?” repeated Baron Mercuré. “No, has it really?”

“I dare say it has been, Jacob,” interjected Lord der Parres. “Why, six years ago, these three youths were only children.”

“I must correct you on that, Victor,” Christopher said sharply. “I was already of age six years ago.”

“My mistake!” Lord der Parres chortled. “Forgive me, my young friend.”

The three men laughed, and the ladies drew apart, Emile leading the trio. “Shall we leave them to it and take our seats?” she asked.

“Very well,” came the quiet voice of Baroness Mercuré. “Are either of you reading tonight?”

“No, not tonight. What about you, Baroness?”

“Reading to large groups is not to my liking.”

­Now I’ve heard her speak a little more, the baroness has an accent. I wonder where she’s from – perhaps a vassal state or fully outside of the Seraphim Empire? I doubt this is her first language.

The three took seats in the second arc of chairs. Looking around, it seemed that all of the guests had arrived, as Countess Selwyn had entered the room and was taking a full turn, checking in on the attendees. Artemisia noticed that several held small books or sheets of paper, including Miss Verititas from earlier, who was practising silently.

“Emile, what is the theme for tonight?” Artemisia leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“I’ve told you twice already,” Emile sighed. “Old writings and poetry regarding Peripherata, especially those that refer to her role as the Lady of the Seasons’ Turns.”

Peripherata, one of the major deities worshipped here. Her duties revolve around change, as well as endings and beginnings. However, her brother, Anullitius, is the one associated with birth and death, as they are considered to be a separate domain.

Artemisia tapped her fingers on her thigh as she waited for the readings to begin.

I hope this is interesting, at least for getting a grasp of the typical mythology of this world.

Once, the seasons did not change. Instead, the world was split into two, where one side was always winter and one side always summer. The people of the world then used to travel between the two sides, to take advantage of both the bounties of summer and winter, and take shelter from their disasters in turn. But this constant movement was hard on the people, and kept their numbers small and their cultures unrefined.

Eventually, the goddess Peripherata took pity on the mortals, and petitioned the council of gods to transform the seasons into a cycle, instead of static climates.

She petitioned them for six days and six nights, and on the morning of the seventh day, the council agreed, and Peripherata was granted the powers to influence the seasons. She created spring and autumn, and added them to the cycle to ease the transition between winter and summer.

So Peripherata became Lady of the Seasons’ Turns, and so the people of the world were able to settle and great nations could arise like our own. This is why we always celebrate her as the seasons shift, as we have her to thank for the glory of the Seraphim Empire.

Artemisia stifled a yawn.

I can’t believe we’re only half-way through the night. These readings must have been going on for what, nearly two hours now?

“How are you faring, Arte?” Christopher stood behind her, a glass of dark red wine in his hand.

She sipped from her own glass. The flavour was intense, but nice. Luckily, it seemed that Artemisia had a pretty good alcohol tolerance, as she was on her third glass and feeling only a little buzzed. “I must admit, rather tired. I don’t know if I have the endurance for an evening this long yet.”

Christopher covered his mouth to hide his own yawn. “They do have a habit to drag on sometimes. Can’t you go find one of your friends to waste time with? You can’t hide behind Emile or I the entire evening.”

Artemisia frowned. She’d managed to avoid the two or three of her supposed friends that were in attendance that evening, indeed using Emile or Christopher as a shield if the situation required.

But what on earth am I supposed to say to them? Can I tell them that I’ve lost my memory? Will they support me, or turn on me? I don’t know if I can trust them yet.

“It’s… I’m very tired,” she said lamely. “And I feel a little unwell.”

“You feel unwell?” Christopher flicked his eyes across her face. “You seem hale.”

“I think it’s the tiredness, and I feel overwhelmed. I’m still recovering, remember?” Artemisia put a hand to her face. “I’d dare to be so rude as to leave early if only I didn’t want to drag Emile away.”

Emile was a short distance away, talking animatedly with a group of ladies. The shy Baroness Mercuré had attached herself to Emile’s side, and had brightened a little with Emile’s coaxing. It turned out that she was from the Sargassian Islands, explaining her accent and appearance. It had also explained Christopher and Emile’s friendliness towards the Mercurés – they must have thought they could use them as an inroad with the Sargassians.

Christopher hummed in thought. “If you’re really feeling unwell… I’m sure Emile wouldn’t mind leaving early.”

“No, no, I really couldn’t do that to her!” Artemisia hesitated. “Perhaps… would it be awful of me to set off on my own? Countess Selwyn might be willing to lend me a small carriage. It would not need to be a fine thing.”

“If you’re that desperate to return home, I’ll accompany you.”

Dammit! “Don’t you have more networking to do?”

“Huh?”

Artemisia faked a sudden cough. “I mean, do you not need to speak with Lord der Parres more? And the Mercurés?”

“Well…” Christopher took a drink from his wine glass, his eyebrows furrowing. He seemed to be calculating something in his head. “Emile might be able to travel with one of her friends, and I have Callisto…”

“It wouldn’t be too much trouble?” Artemisia hoped her expression reflected her endearing little sister act appropriately.

Christopher sighed. “If Emile does not mind, feel free to call for the carriage. You’ll need to apologise to Countess Selwyn yourself, however.”

“Thank you Topher!” Artemisia flashed him a grin and trotted off to find Emile. As she did so, she missed Christopher’s expression change, from one of defeat, to one of someone evaluating their next move.