4. Hevva goes people watching.
four
Hevva goes people watching.
B ack at the Elk & Heron, Kas retreated to the third floor while Hevva stopped at the counter to order a tureen of stew and bread and cheese to their room. “A double order,” she clarified to the barmaid who nodded in response. Her little brother was always hungry these days. Probably a growth spurt, Hevva mused. Oftentimes she needed to remind him to take meals, like when he was particularly engrossed in a book.
“Anything else, Countess?”
“Nothing for me. I’ll be down later to dine,” she replied, and the woman across from her looked confused. She had requested a lot of bread, but it’d be down Kas’s gullet in no time flat.
Upstairs, she found that her brother was taking his turn in the bath before bed. Good. That meant she could freshen up, make sure he was safe and settled with Aylin, give him some supper, then head back down to the quickly filling lower level.
While the individual academic sessions that comprised the multi-day symposium were of little interest to her, Hevva was looking forward to people-watching, and, given the lofty establishment they were staying at, even gleaning some useful ideas from the other ladies, gents, and wealthy merchants staying at the inn.
Finally, after Kas scarfed down two full loaves of bread and damn near a half a wheel of cheese, Hevva coaxed her brother into his bed. Rationalizing with her eccentric younger sibling, her only sibling, was something she’d mastered the art of in their decade together. “If you sleep now, on such a full stomach, you’ll have no need for breakfast and will be up early enough to sneak in some reading at the Institute’s library before your first seminar of the day.”
The gangly Kas Kahoth weighed his head from side to side. He had spent his entire supper trying to convince Hevva to let him go below stairs again so he could seek out Hothan Tarisden. That was the name of the scholar he’d been speaking with earlier, and he was desperate to finish their conversation. Kas heard the man might be staying at this establishment.
“A former tutor? He’d hardly have the funds. You heard no such thing.”
Kas humphed. “Well, I thought I heard his voice outside,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Stop eavesdropping. It’s rude.” She walked over to close the window, but her little brother reached it first with his windshifting, blowing it closed. “Thank you. Now, get in bed.”
“Fine. But I get to head out as early as I want?”
She acquiesced. “During daylight you can explore as you’d like. But you must return here for lunch, or I will be very worried.”
“Understood, Countess.” He gave her a saucy little salute, and she cuffed him lightly on the ear.
Leaving a single candle lit so her brother might read—she had no illusions he’d go straight to sleep—Hevva pranced from her room, down to the second floor of the inn.
The crowd had grown exponentially since they’d returned from the opening address. Apparently, it was a popular location for many patrons in addition to those who were staying on the upper floors. Looking down over the balcony railing at the level below, she swept her eyes over the visible slice of crowd, spying a tall man, that Hothtarn who her brother had been speaking with earlier. Whoops. Well, it’s not like he’d want to spend his evening hours speaking with a fourteen-year-old anyway.
When she descended to the ground level, Lady Tilevir approached the bar to inquire about ordering a drink and meal. A barmaid, different from earlier, let her know they were operating on a limited menu due to the crowd. For five silvers she could have whatever she’d like all evening. Hevva agreed, charged her entry fee to the room, which her father would be covering, and danced into the din.
She helped herself to a stunning pink cocktail in a strange triangular glass from the tray of a passing server and tried a bit. Delicious. The drink was dry, lightly fruity, tart, and packed quite the hidden kick. Strong. She took another dainty sip while weaving through the throng of patrons.
There wasn’t an empty table to be found in the place. So Hevva meandered while she finished her drink. Then she traded it out for a fresh one and slunk about, listening in for juicy tidbits of gossip and unique ideas she could bring home to Stormhill.
“I heard the Baron Turkhane is not here with his wife,” a middle-aged woman whispered conspiratorially to a petite older companion at her side.
Ah, so Kas wasn’t the only person to notice.
“No!” the old biddy gasped in dramatic outrage, though her crinkling eyes told another story. “His young wife is home with their son, barely out of diapers, the boy.”
“I thought he was seven.”
“Psh.” The older woman waved off her friend.
Not dramatic enough for her tastes.
“Well, I am positive that woman is not the Lady of Turkhane.”
Hevva followed the gossipers’ gazes to where the baron, who she’d encountered earlier in the day, trailed his slimy fingers over the hip of a young woman who couldn’t have been older than Hevva herself. The man was at least twice his companion’s age. She cringed and downed her drink. That must have been who Kas saw him with earlier.
“Well,” the younger gossiper chortled to her friend, elbowing her in the side. “What happens at the symposium—”
“Stays at the symposium. You, there!”
A startled young server halted before the women so they could refresh their drinks from his waiting tray. Hevva took the opportunity to saunter past the duo and exchange her spent glass for a fresh one. Rather than another of those pink cocktails, she selected a vibrant lavender one in a low glass.
As she drifted back into the crowd the ladies resumed their conversation in quiet tones. They were now talking about something prodigious, and it certainly wasn’t minds.
Finding a narrow opening against the wall between a support beam and a high-backed booth, Hevva slipped into position. With a lazy sip of her purple drink, she began to listen in. An older rotund couple had taken up residence at the booth beside her earlier in the night and were not relinquishing their choice seats. She was fairly certain they were staying in the room next to her. Speaking in hushed tones, they perused an array of delicious looking finger sandwiches and biscuits on a platter before them. The food drew Hevva’s attention more than the gossip. Odd, but she was hungry.
“He’s nothing like his father, I’ve heard,” the older man said.
“Psh, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Out of the corner of her eye Hevva caught the sparkle of several rings adorning the woman’s plump fingers.
“The former was cruel, power-hungry . . .”
“And this one? We don’t know yet. Hasn’t been long enough.”
“Hmm...you may be right. Doesn’t look a thing like his dead dad. Maybe—” the old man cut himself off and Hevva had a feeling the woman kicked him beneath the table.
“Shhh,” the woman hissed. “Can’t lose you for treason, love.”
He chortled and reached for a soft and delicious looking lump of bread. “The new king changed the laws, love. I can say whatever I’d like!”
Hevva closed her eyes as she took another sip of her drink. She tried to tune into conversations around the room and found herself wishing she possessed her brother’s air magic. It would allow her to draw noise near so she could pick out precisely what she wanted to hear. Maybe she should have let him come downstairs. Alas, as an earthshaper with no interest in going into construction, mining, or the military (she was a countess and would one day be a duchess, for gods’ sakes) the uses for her magic were limited. Sure, Hevva could coax a garden to her liking, will plants to mold to her desired designs, or craft a little jewelry box from a stray log. But those were the most ladylike uses for her powers. Ah, well. She sighed and opened her eyes.
A frizz of gray hair piled high into a looping mound greeted her. Lowering her gaze, the countess found the old woman from the booth stood two feet in front of her.
Hevva gulped.
“Would you like to join us, my lady?”
Oh, great. They’d found her out. And to make it worse, the matronly woman seemed to know who she was, while Hevva hadn’t a clue who she stood before. Of course she couldn’t know everyone in Selwas, but being known while not knowing who one was speaking with was decidedly unladylike. “I’d be delighted, thank you.”
As Hevva moved around the table she stumbled a bit, nearly sloshing the violet liquid onto the floor of the inn. Whoops. She should not have had so many on an empty stomach.
The older couple, she learned, were Mrs. Shilan and Mr. Teymour Gulan, a wealthy retired merchant couple from Kashoorcih. They didn’t fault her for sticking to the shadows and listening in on interesting conversations. In fact, that was why they’d selected that very table and stuck it out all night, waiting for the Elk & Heron to fill with over-imbibing patrons.
“I love your dress, my dear.” Mrs. Gulan beamed, reaching across the table to tug at one of Hevva’s sleeves. She held one of her rings up beside the fabric. “Look Tey, it’s a perfect match for my aquamarine. I must know your seamstress.”
Hevva laughed as she gently withdrew her arm from the kind, but literally grasping stranger. She’d changed after the opening event from her early-evening gown with many accessories to a true evening gown with few accouterments. This dress was one of her favorites, an elegant silky concoction in varying shades of blue. It reminded her of the loch back home at Stormhill.
“Would you like a bite to eat? We made friends with one of the servers.” The older man gestured toward the platter heaped with delicious treats.
As they ate, Hevva learned about her new acquaintances. The Gulans made their money by entering into an exclusive candle trade agreement with House Tehsvont, a principality on the northern shore of Gramenia, the United Principalities of the west.
“Are candles truly that lucrative?” she inquired.
“Have you ever smelled one made from tallow?” Mrs. Gulan scoffed.
“I don’t believe I have.”
“You’d know if you had,” the man replied with a certain nod. “Our Selwassan beeswax is quite the hot commodity, even in Gramenia where they have those strange lamps. Our wax sells at a higher rate than tallow, which is essentially free, but at a lower rate than their magic-powered lights.”
“Have you ever been there yourself?” Hevva inquired, intrigued as she snagged a small circular sandwich off the tray. Its odd butter and jam filling clashed with her purple cocktail, but she ate it anyway.
“Me? Oh, yes. It’s quite dangerous to sail up and around the Horn of Gramenia. My lovely bride here is a watercourser, and I shape earth.”
“As do I.” Hevva smiled.
The older man beamed. Everyone had magic of one type or another, but it was always fun to meet people outside of your family who carried the same kind as you.
“We have the wildest times sailing over there, with our crew of course. Couldn’t do it without them.”
“ Had the wildest times. Remember honey, we’ve sold out and put that life behind us.”
Mr. Gulan nodded. “Ah, so we did. Sold out about a year ago,” he explained for Hevva’s benefit. “Turkhane wanted in, but we passed him over for another young chap. The baron’s already got his fingers into House Newand’s territory anyway. Have to spread the wealth, I always say.”
“Here, here!” Mrs. Gulan lifted her glass.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Hevva beamed, joining the older couple in a toast. They were bracing companions, treating her like an equal rather than some untouchable noble. Perhaps the symposium wasn’t all that bad after all, perhaps it was an opportunity to make new friends. She usually had to choose a new name and put on borrowed clothes to experience life among the people, but this was a delightful turn of events .
“Now that is refreshing to hear, wouldn’t you say, love?” Teymour nudged his pudgy wife.
“Oh, very much so. It’s always refreshing to learn of a young noble who isn’t intent on amassing more, more, more!” Shilan laughed as she lifted her glass to her lips, rings clinking on crystal.
Oh, they were delightful, she couldn’t even find it in her to be offended. “Say”—the lady leaned toward the couple—“you’ll never guess what I heard about Baron Turkhane.”
Hevva revealed the gossip she’d picked up earlier in the evening while she nibbled on a biscuit with a strong peppery flavor and an odd aftertaste. She hoped it hadn’t gone off. It wasn’t to her liking, but she didn’t have a plate of her own or she’d have discarded the thing. She sneezed into a too-small napkin.
“A mistress , you say? No, that couldn’t be his wife, could it?” Mr. Gulan craned past his own wife to try to get a look at the couple in question.
Shilan pushed him back. “Don’t be so obvious,” she scolded. “I thought the baroness was fatter. And a blonde.”
The couple across from her debated whether the young woman on Turkhane’s arm, with her hand suspiciously close to his manhood, was a legitimate companion. Hevva sniffled and scratched her neck.
“Tell me more about Gramenia?” she inquired, setting the duo off on a new tangent as they relived memories of their time abroad. She nibbled at the spiced biscuit and listened to the Gulans reminisce. One day, she wanted that. She wanted a companion, someone to banter with and watch the world go by. A nice common boy. A young merchant, she thought. That would be perfect.
“Lady Hevva, are you feeling all right?”
Hevva set down her drink and scratched her arm. “I believe so, why do you ask?”
“Well, my lady, I believe you may be having a reaction.”
She glanced down at her hands to find them covered in hives as her mouth formed a circle. “What’s in these?” she rasped, holding up the half-eaten biscuit.
“Crab, I believe?” Teymour offered .
She pushed to her feet in a hurry. Crab, of course. Shit. Too many drinks on too little food had muddled her mind. “It was lovely to meet you! Hope to see you soon!”
“Will you be all right, my dear?” Shilan inquired as they both moved to stand with her.
“Yes, quite fine.” Hevva waved them back into their seats as she snatched a full glass of something from a passing servant and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the room.
Shoving open the rear door with her free hand, she stumbled out into the balmy night. The sounds of merriment from within dulled as the door swung shut behind her. Itchy bursts of panic prickled beneath her skin as Hevva’s poor reaction intensified. She scratched at her arms and neck. She’d be fine. She needed fresh air, space, anywhere to escape the embarrassment unfolding within her traitorous body.
Hevva stumbled toward a secluded corner between the side of the stable and the inn, hidden from prying eyes. A pair of horses with eye-having riders approached the establishment as she ducked out of sight. The dim moonlight alone bore witness to her distress as she clutched her throat, feeling the swell closing in. Searching frantically for a solution, she spotted a discarded wooden crate, rushed toward it, and sank to her knees. Her elegant dress had become constricting, and beads of sweat formed on her brow.
Plunging two fingers down her throat in an unladylike manner, Hevva urged herself to vomit, to rid her body of the offending meat. The taste of the peppery crab plagued her, but she continued until her stomach rebelled, and she expelled its contents onto the dusty cobblestones. Tears welled in her eyes, and the itchiness persisted, a relentless reminder of her predicament.
“Lady Hevva, are you all right?”
This was a solitary struggle, and she did not appreciate the interruption. Turning with bleary eyes, Hevva found King Hethtar standing a few feet away. Her lips pursed at the unwanted intrusion, especially from him. Though anyone’s presence would have been embarrassing in the moment.
“I believe so, why do you ask?” She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
A look of concern flickered across the king’s face. “Well, my lady, I believe you may have taken ill.”
Hevva glanced down at her arms to find the angry hives expanded their territory. She clasped her hands over them. “How astute you are.” Her mouth felt tight. Swollen. She turned back toward the crate she’d wretched behind with every intention of retrieving the mystery drink she’d brought outside. The glass, now empty, lay upturned in the dirt beside her vomit. Damn.
“Would you like some water?” He produced a glass from thin air and filled it from a flask at his hip before handing it over.
Hevva’s irritation flared as she faced him. “I appreciate the concern, Your Majesty, but I assure you, I can handle this myself.” Still, she accepted the glass and drank. Then she handed it back, empty, to the king. It vanished with a small pop .
A glance at the ground showed no shards of glass. Odd. A naughtbirin , of course. She’d heard he had the rare and mysterious magic, but never witnessed it firsthand.
Arm still itching, Hevva scratched herself. The tightness in her throat seemed to be fading. She could only hope she’d expelled all the offending shellfish and saved herself from a long night in the washroom.
The king’s expression softened with genuine concern. “Allow me to help. I’ve dealt with emergencies before. Military training and all.” He shrugged one enormous, muscled shoulder.
Her eyes narrowed, both from the lingering discomfort that made her want to scratch off every inch of her skin, and reluctance to accept assistance, especially from someone of noble blood. Find a nice common boy. “I don’t need your help. I prefer handling my own affairs.”
“Stubbornness doesn’t negate the need for aid. Let me assist you.”
Hevva’s retort was cut short by the arrival of Prince Nekash.
“Brother,” the younger Hethtar called out across the yard. A woman on his arm giggled. “Come. Miss Larynthia has a sister we’d like you to meet.”
The king’s attention shifted, providing Lady Hevva the perfect opportunity to slip away. She retreated into the shadows along the side of the inn, aiming for the front door. The prince and his simpering companion were blocking the back entrance. Hevva picked up the pace in an effort to escape prying eyes and potential additional embarrassment.
The king called after her, “Lady Hevva, if you need anything—”
“I’m fine,” she snapped over her shoulder before disappearing into the lively chaos on the street in front of the inn. Her hurried steps carried her through the door and upstairs, leaving behind the king and his persistent concern.
As she reached the sanctuary of her room and her snoring brother, Hevva couldn’t shake the bizarre mix of physical and metaphorical issues roiling her belly.
Wallowing in a cool bath with a small glass of whiskey in her hand, Hevva intended the former to wash away the lingering itchiness that plagued her skin, and the latter to burn any remnants of crab from her throat. She’d had plenty to drink that night, but most of it was out in the yard, so a bit more was fine . As the heat of the liquor settled in the base of her stomach, she couldn’t help but contemplate the perplexing king who had crossed her path in the silliest of circumstances.
First, the offensive way he’d greeted her and her brother, and now...this. That . Whatever it was, she had no time for it. Though, she wasn’t too proud to admit, privately at least, that he was decent looking, and surprisingly kind.
“Hmph.” She dunked beneath the tepid water, her hair floating out around her like beams of moonlight filtering down through the atmosphere.
She’d been there before, with men like that who beguiled you with their flirtatious behavior and doting demeanors. Then bam, they’ve drained your bank account. Or, in her case, they’ve started an illicit relationship with their first cousin, and you find them getting hot and heavy in a closet at a house party. Disgusting upper crust men and their philandering ways—except her father, of course. Though, he had fallen victim to the bank account issue himself, before falling in love with their mother and forgiving her follies.
Tomorrow, she’d look for a nice common boy to occupy her time. It was the safest choice.