13. Hevva goes exploring.
thirteen
Hevva goes exploring.
H er gown was stunningly iridescent, variating between blues and purples, depending on the lighting and the fall of her silks. With hair perfectly pinned and coiffed, makeup pristine, shoulders drawn back, and her chin held high, she looked the very picture of a countess. But Lady Hevva had never felt more out of place in her life.
Sure, she’d attended a hundred of these stuffy, choreographed events. And sure, she knew exactly what she was supposed to do and when to do it, but that didn’t mean she wanted to.
Something terrible had happened to her.
Maybe “terrible” was an exaggeration. But after Hevva met Saka, she had a hard time going back to her status quo. It was definitely Saka’s fault. She was the tiniest bit wilder than any of Hevva’s prior alter egos. She was slightly more Hevva-like than anyone she’d become before.
That was the issue.
Lyria was a fantastic whist player who might have one glass of wine but preferred a clear mind for the game. Ingrid was often found near the shore, a beachcomber who enjoyed hunting for shells and loved fishing even more. Fishermen always had the best stories. The things they found out at sea? Fantastical stuff.
Then there was Saka. She wanted to down a pint and watch a solid fight unfold. Maybe twirl on some cobblestones until dizzy, the world spinning around her like a whirlwind. Lady Hevva Tilevir, Countess of Kabuvirib had, on many prior occasions, gallivanted among the common folk using one alias or another. But before meeting Saka, she’d never tossed all inhibitions to the wind or kissed any kings.
At present, she was trying not to think too hard about that fact, which kept unhelpfully parading through her mind. She was also losing a battle of wills with herself, as the small voice in the back of her head grew louder, shouting over and over that she was wrong, it wasn’t Saka’s fault.
Fine. Maybe it was less about meeting Saka and more about having met Berim.
But Berim wasn’t around, from what she could tell. The poor sod must’ve been left back in Rohilavol to shovel shit for the rest of his days.
King Hethtar, he was around. And Hevva watched lady after miss after lady fall all over him with soft caresses to his arm, a twirled curl here, a high-pitched titter hidden behind a hand there...It was vomitous .
It appears Kas was right. A wife-finding party. Ridiculous. Disgusting. This is why I want a nice common boy.
You found a nice common boy, Saka’s common accent ricocheted through her brain.
She snagged a fizzing flute of champagne from a passing server and held her hand up in a silent request for them to stop. The staff member waited while Hevva downed her drink and grabbed a second.
“Thank you.” She offered a closed-lip smile to the server, who returned the gesture and scurried away.
Meandering to the back of the enormous ballroom, Hevva located a spot by one of the opened balcony doors where she could enjoy her drink in peace. A salty sea breeze had been offered entry and weaved across the room to exit on the opposite side. Air slipped over her face, coaxed by windshifters working the ball. But that was nothing compared to having unimpeded access to the outdoors. She stood with her back to the night, willing the natural breeze to cool her skin and ease her misplaced ire.
The dancing began, and several couples walked onto the floor. The king, who she was definitely not looking at, still stood before a line of guests who wished to greet him and the dowager queen. How the prince, whose birthday they were ostensibly celebrating, managed to avoid the receiving line for a full hour was beyond her.
This was the absolute worst kind of event, all platitudes and lies. Hevva sipped her drink and watched as finely dressed lords and ladies skipped about in a lively dance of denial. There, the Baron and Baroness of Napivol, the Duke and Duchess of Rohapavol, and Baron Turkhane and his poor wife all danced together with another couple she couldn’t name. Hands clasped and smiles pasted on as they trotted in a circle. Fools.
She couldn’t help but wonder if the Lords of Napivol and Rohapavol were, mayhaps, as close as the two ladies had been at the symposium. It wasn’t frowned upon to marry and raise children with someone of the same gender in Selwas at large. Within the aristocracy, however, it was a different sort of game.
And then there was the wife of the Baron of Turkhane. Oh, how Hevva felt for the woman wed to that poor excuse of a man.
Is this it? Lady Hevva wondered morosely. If she were to marry a member of the upper crust, title or not, was this what life would have in store? Double lives and deceit. She sighed.
“Do you have a plan?” A soft hand brushed the back of Hevva’s shoulder as a woman whispered into her ear.
“A plan for what?” Hevva inquired as she turned to face the speaker.
“Oh! My apologies, Countess. I thought you were my daughter,” Lady Nathari, the Countess of Appven issued a breathy apology.
Hevva smiled pleasantly at the woman. “It is no bother.”
Lady Nathari returned the smile. “Your hair, build, even your dresses are so similar, but— Oh! Your gown is simply astonishing. You must refer me to your seamstress.” With that quick change of subject, the lady ran her fingers over the sleeve of Hevva’s dress before her eye caught on something new, and the Countess of Appven flounced away.
Lady Hevva hadn’t even had a chance to share her seamstress’s name. A plan for what ... to secure a king? Bile bubbled up her throat and she washed it away with a deep drink of champagne. It was fine! She didn’t have any interest in being the queen anyway! Searching for a nice common boy, that’s all she was up to .
She had half a second to relax before heat skittered down her back, from the point between her shoulder blades to the dimples above her bottom. Startled, Hevva spun to find Prince Nekash smirking at her from beyond the open doorway. A lick of flame shimmered on the tip of his finger, and then it was gone.
“Countess,” he greeted in his nasally voice. “I didn’t think you would be here.”
“And why is that?”
He spoke to Hevva from the patio, trying to entice her out there in his own way. She wasn’t taking the bait. In fact, she took a few steps back and dipped her head in the direction of the wide-open space before her.
He came inside.
“You weren’t here for the luncheon this afternoon. All of the other ladies were in attendance.”
“I was delayed in my arrival.”
“An earthshaper, as strong as you, delayed on the road?” He lifted a champagne flute from a passing tray, but did not take a sip.
“Happy Birthday.”
His brows jumped slightly at her rapid shift in topic. “Bit early, but thank you kindly. Now, as it seems my brother is presently occupied...” His eyes floated to a distant spot over her shoulder, but she refused to look. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Kirce. We have a fantastic week of activities planned, and the amusements are sure to delight.” The prince lifted his champagne for a toast, while sending an obnoxious flutter of flames to dance around both of their glasses.
Hevva clinked her drink against his, though she was rolling her eyes internally the entire time. She had, if it wasn’t obvious, been late on purpose. Her reasons were her own, but had something to do with an ongoing battle between Hevva and Saka, one of whom was desperate to see the palace, while the other longed to be home, among her people, searching for a common boy .
They finished their drinks in uncompanionable silence while scanning the dance floor. Unfortunately, Hevva determined that the prince had not been baiting her with his comments regarding the king. The king in Berim’s body was promenading his dance partner through a quadrille.
At least it’s not a waltz.
Lady Tahereh Nathari, who did indeed have the same hair as Hevva, clung to her partner’s hand, while King Hethtar danced with Miss Tarcadu, the younger sister of the Countess of Midlake. Poor Lord Koulos. Koulos, the Baron of Kashuvol, had partnered with Lady Tahereh, but while he clung to her arm each time the motions brought them together, she remained enraptured by the king. The baron’s eyes never left the lady as he watched her with thinly-veiled infatuation. Hevva almost felt bad for the man, but she was wallowing, and thus otherwise occupied.
The song came to an end and Prince Nekash took the opportunity to remove Hevva’s glass from her hand and pass it off to a server. She knew what was coming next.
“Lady Hevva, may I have this dance?”
“Why certainly, my prince. I am honored that you would ask.”
Gracefully but not gratefully, she offered the prince her palm, and they drifted onto the floor.
“Do you know which dance is next?” Hevva asked, realizing that she had snuck in late and hadn’t bothered to grab a card.
“I believe it’s a waltz.”
The weaselly prince was just like his dear dead dad. Hevva hadn’t missed the way he kept eying her breasts while they were talking. She hadn’t missed the way he ran his magic down her spine. And she certainly wasn’t missing the fact that his hand was meandering from a respectable to scandalous location on her lower back as he spun her around the floor.
Typically, such philandering behavior would warrant a slap. Typically, a person of rank could be forced into marriage for such wonton activity—in public no less! But there was nothing typical about the Hethtar men, and the whole of Selwas knew it. So, nothing would happen to Nekash.
The dead king seemed to live by a mantra of “rules for thee but not for me,” and his youngest son apparently followed his father’s trail of slime. There was no need to slap the man or rush away, because no one would blame Hevva for Nekash’s lecherous behavior. That fact provided little comfort when the prince sent a lick of flame out of his little finger to caress a line along the swell of her rear.
She shuddered, and he tugged her in closer.
As they twirled around the floor she really tried not to look at the king. But of course, she failed. There he was, a few couples away, hand clasped with the Honorable Miss Hehsaki, the sister of the Baron of Kashuvol, his other enormous palm pressed against her back. Hevva did note that his hand was at least in the correct position. Nekash’s, meanwhile, kept trying to creep further south. So, she stomped on the prince’s foot.
The countess and the king made eye contact, or maybe she met his already-watching eye. Either way, during that moment before the dance spun them in opposite directions, King Hethtar’s lips parted, and he mouthed her name.
Saka.
She trod on the prince’s shoe again, that time by accident.
The instant the waltz ended, Hevva strode to the edge of the room, alone. There she discovered the best thing she’d seen all evening: a stationary table full of fresh sparkling flutes of champagne. Perfection.
She downed one and grabbed two more. With one glass in each hand Hevva escaped to the patio. She was tired from traveling and not in the mood to dance. Sipping first from one flute and then the other, she stood in the shadows and watched the lords, ladies, misters, and misses dance the cotillion. In synchronized movements, the revelers skipped stupidly across the room, spun, and then did it again. The king was no longer on the dance floor.
What’s the point of this shit? She half wondered, while her other half considered if, perhaps, King Hethtar was looking for Saka.
An unsuspecting server walked past Hevva at that moment. Her pale arm shot out from the shadows to trade her finished drinks for a new one. The poor windshifter startled and puffed Hevva in the face with a blast of icy air.
“Apologies! Apologies, my lady.”
“Please, do not apologize. I scared you! Thank you so much, for all that you do for our country.”
The confused staff member shimmied away .
Taking off, Hevva searched for anywhere else to be. The chamber she’d been assigned was lovely. Based on its location, it seemed to be one of the finer guest suites in the palace. She could go back there but wasn’t ready yet. Besides, there was no way Hevva could get out of this gown on her own, and Aylin would not be back until later. The maid was on an information gathering mission, trying to figure out who was staying in the palace for the duration of the house party and where everyone’s rooms were located.
Hevva and Aylin had arrived strategically late, while the luncheon was in progress on the back lawn. The countess hadn’t felt like spending an hour shaking hands and dropping curtsies in the grand foyer. She hadn’t felt like playing lawn games, eating finger sandwiches, or making nice in the sweltering heat. Hevva hadn’t even felt like traveling to Serkath. And she really, truly, wished her father...and Saka...hadn’t forced her to come.
With a groan, she downed her drink, ditched the glass, and tried a door on the palace’s lowest level. It opened, welcoming her into a dark theater. Stumbling over just two chairs, Hevva found a new exit and pushed through into a hallway.
This level was deserted, with most of the staff and guests up on the main floor. So, she wandered. An empty guest room here, a closet there. She turned the corner and tried a few more doors that were locked. Makes sense, with nosy people like me around.
Lady Hevva was nearing an intersection when she heard low voices up ahead. One was undoubtedly the prince, with those nasally notes. The other was a woman, indistinguishable without seeing a face. They were coming her way, so she did what any normal and not sauced person would do, and began walking backward, bumping only slightly into the walls.
“I think it’s an excellent idea, a great way to position oneself ahead of the rest.” The prince spoke to the woman at his side, his signature flames tickling the exposed tops of her bosom, as they strolled the empty hall like they were enjoying the palace rose garden.
They passed the turn where Hevva stood in the shadows, bracing herself against the wall with one hand. The prince and his companion did not even notice her presence. Good, since Hevva wasn’t in the mood to talk. Nekash was speaking with Lady Tahereh, the white-haired daughter of Lady Nathari. Hevva thought they might be cousins, but it wasn’t like the prince had a strong moral code. Perhaps he was her plan.
When all was silent again, Lady Hevva weaved her way up the hall and turned left, to float the opposite direction of where the prince and his pretty lady disappeared. Tottering, Hevva decided she might as well work on getting back upstairs.
But then she discovered the actual best thing she’d seen all evening: the wine cellar door was left open.
Perfection.