25. Ehmet talks collateral.
twenty-five
Ehmet talks collateral.
T he dowager queen peered down over the railing, gazing upon her son, who stood gormlessly in the foyer. “Why are you here?”
Ehmet’s head snapped up to locate the woman behind the voice. Silently, he started up the stairs. His mother fell into step beside him. Brow furrowed, she awaited his response.
They both recognized he would not speak until they were ensconced in some chamber or other. Ehmet ushered the dowager into the tower salon a few floors below his office and closed the door.
“Your office, or here?” she asked, tone clipped.
“This is fine.” He sighed, sinking into one of the wingback chairs.
His mother flapped her hands. “What are you doing back here? You should be arriving in Appven today, tomorrow if there was trouble on the road. What happened?”
“I can’t marry her,” the words escaped in a breath of air.
“You can’t— what? Yes. You can.”
He tensed his jaw.
“Ehmet. Yes, you can. You must. Yusuf has called a referendum. It’s in seven weeks. Seven weeks!” She paced behind the couch.
“I cannot do it. You’re not listening to me. I will not marry Lady Tahereh.”
“It’s for the Crown, Ehmet. You must . ”
He couldn’t do it. He refused. He’d had everything wrong regarding love, what it meant to be in love, wasting all his time expecting it to come with strings—no, whips and chains—attached. Ehmet now recognized it had been creeping up on him for quite some weeks, and it was no scary beast. It was a playful kitten, or some such creature. He’d felt no rage with Hevva, no horrific jealousy, no boredom, no paranoia. Nothing but joy and maybe a bit of uncertainty, but that was to be expected. He could not marry Lady Tahereh for the sake of Selwas, he could not marry her with Hevva on his mind all the time. He couldn’t do it, come what may. The kingdom would not crumble without Ehmet, but gods knew he was falling apart without Lady Hevva by his side.
“Forget the Crown,” he blurted, losing the plot a bit. “Let him have it! We’ll move to Hewran Hall. Would he take that too? We can all escape to Karova—or something.”
The dowager queen blinked once and narrowed her eyes. She took a steadying breath and ran her hands down her bold magenta skirts. As she shifted from the role of former queen and unofficial advisor to “Mother,” the dowager came around front of the sofa and perched upon its seat.
He blinked.
“Why?” Her voice was soft.
Ehmet knew it was tearing her up inside to remain calm when the royal succession in Selwas was up for debate, but he appreciated the gesture. Although, he could see her feet kicking around beneath her dress, shuffling on the rug and swishing her silk skirts, pacing in place. She waited for his answer, recognizing the significance of the situation, because nothing, absolutely nothing came between Ehmet and his duty. Until now.
He rubbed roughly at the back of his neck, pressing his fingertips into the tense muscles. With his eyes squeezed closed, he confessed, “I am in love with the Countess of Kabuvirib.”
“What? Oh . . . oh! Of course. In my solarium, really ?”
His brows pinched and he cocked his head. Whatever she’d heard, she’d certainly misunderstood. In the royal salon at the symposium? That deserved a “really.” Or in the guest room in the west wing, “really?” would also be relevant there.
“I spoke with the lady the second night of the house party, and in passing throughout, but that was our main conversation. I should have realized when she abruptly departed. But she sent a missive explaining there was an issue to tend to at home. I heard about her heroics at the symposium, too. Not to mention the way she gushed about the town, but perhaps her words were more about you, and I missed it in the moment. She loves Rohilavol, Ehmet. She loves her people . She loves your people.”
“I know,” his words rushed out ahead of a tightening in his throat when he learned his mother liked the lady. It didn’t change his opinion of Hevva either way, but it was quite nice to know.
“Why didn’t you say this before telling me to broker a marriage contract?” The dowager bounced to her feet.
“What?”
She paced back and forth between the sofa and low table. “Ehmet, why didn’t you tell me this? How long?”
He shrugged, feeling slightly foolish under his mother’s scrutiny. “About a month. I...we can’t marry.”
“Why not?” She eyed him curiously as if she couldn’t believe she’d birthed such an otherwise well-rounded fool.
“Why not?!” Ehmet boomed as he leapt to his feet and began an anxious course around the room. Having encroached on her territory, his mother sat back down with a huff. “Why not? Because Uncle Yusuf has called a bloody vote to determine the validity of my crown! That’s what caused all of this! Even if she does ever forgive me for the engagement to Tahereh—and other things—we cannot marry, or she will lose her votes and Yusuf will become King.”
“Oh, psh.” The dowager made a dismissive gesture with her fingers and Ehmet saw red.
“What the fuck, Mum? You are the one who told me that I needed to marry Lady Tahereh to placate Yusuf and his allies. You are the one who planned that blasted house party, the one that allowed Yusuf to garner those final votes through blackmail, or bribes, or whatever he is doing.”
“ You are an adult!” she shot back. “Not once did you express concern. I have heard you say before that you never wanted love in a marriage—I figured you took after Vahit in that regard!”
“What?” His father loved his mother, or so he claimed.
“Yes, yes, I know I said all of those things. But—” Her eyes followed him on a circuit of the room. “Oh, would you sit down Ehmet!”
He sat.
“Everything I said is true, but you listen to me, and you listen good, my son. If I could have found love in marriage I would have, even if that meant forgoing being Queen.”
His mouth dropped open. She had loved his father. Or so he thought.
“I was in love once. We were young and dumb.”
“With whom?” She hadn’t loved his father?
“Psh, that’s neither here nor there. But I was in love, and so was he. We were in far over our heads, nowhere near equal matches in class, or more importantly in wealth. That was critical, but not to me, you see, nor to him. Money was very important, a necessity really, to my father, seeing as we had none.
“So, my dad brokered a marriage between me and Vahit. The foundation of our bond was the dukedom in Rohilavol, as you well know. My father signed an agreement that the title would still pass to me upon his death, and that’s all Vahit was interested in. Your father wanted that dukedom in his pocket to take the votes off the table. So, he married me. The agreement allowed my parents to live out their days in peace and relative prosperity. It saved the family name, and you...you came not long after. And that made everything bearable, my love.”
“But . . . it could have been a simple contract, instead.”
“It was a contract. I was the collateral.”
Ehmet sighed deeply, heartbroken for his mother and her love that could not be. Heartbroken for himself and the fact that he’d realized love only after having lost it. “But how is my scenario any different? You pushed me into the exact same situation you went through yourself!”
“I raised it as a possibility, Ehmet. You told me to make the arrangements. Not once did you speak up.”
Sighing, he returned to his seat. She was correct, not once did he speak up. “I cannot marry Lady Tahereh,” he repeated, not daring to believe he could marry Lady Hevva instead.
“I know.”
“What will we do? Make that run for Karova?”
She exhaled laughter. “My dear, there is always something we can do to ensure love wins out. My father didn’t allow me that chance and I promised myself then, when I was heartbroken and handfasted to another, that I would never put the same responsibilities on my children.” Her eyes softened, and she leaned forward as she said, “I didn’t mean to, Ehmet. I apologize for pressuring you. I genuinely thought you weren’t opposed. Never mind that you’re my king, Ehmet, you are my child first and foremost. And I want you to marry for love.”
Hah. Like that would happen now. Still, the sentiment was powerful. It felt supremely motherly and distinctly un-noble of her, like she supported him with or without the crown. “What about Yusuf? Lady Tahereh?” He’d rather not have to hide out in Karova. He loved Selwas, all of its people, and Lady Hevva Tilevir.
“You go clean up and get some rest. Let me look into it.”
He studied his mother. There was something in the way her fingertips tapped a staccato on the tabletop as she chewed her bottom lip that had his anxiety rising. She was up to something. “Mum...?”
“Let me look into it. There’s something I should’ve done long ago.”
“Bad or good?”
“Let me look into it,” she repeated.
He let her go, retreating to his own apartments for a bath and a big think.
E hmet was eating a bleary-eyed breakfast in the morning room, with Nekash, when the dowager queen pushed in.
“You’ll never guess what has been discovered.” A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she slapped a leatherbound notebook atop the table.
Nekash pressed on his temples. “Shhh.”
The brothers had gone a bit overboard with the whiskey the night before. Nekash, because he always did, and Ehmet, because, after he waded through his confusion over the concept of “love,” he’d needed to distract himself from the faint glimmer of hope that flickered in the darkness shrouding his soul. It was absolutely fucking terrifying.
“What’s this?” Ehmet slid the book toward himself and scooped it up in one hand. Opening to the first page he read aloud, “‘Consultation Notes, Property of Kerkhwetan Gihah, Healer?’”
“Open to— Here, give it to me.” His mother snatched the book from his hand and flipped to a page about three-quarters through.
She passed it back, slender ringed finger quivering with excitement as she pointed to the text. He read the stilted notes, “On the fifth night of the hay moon, year three thousand six hundred and forty-two, presided over birth of twins born to Queen Rahna Mathi and King Barik Hethtar. Queen presented with complications. Surgical delivery necessary.
“Lifted first son from womb at twenty minutes ’til midnight. Lifted second son from womb at eighteen minutes ’til midnight. First son marked by ribbon on ankle, presented squalling, robust, latched to nursemaid immediately. Second son marked by natural spot on left buttock, squalled after second smack, smaller, latched to nursemaid immediately. Queen pronounced dead at fifteen minutes ’til midnight.”
That glimmer of hope must have been hit by a huge gust of wind, for it roared to life in Ehmet’s chest. “Grandfather didn’t have a spot on his left arsecheek, did he.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yusuf certainly does,” the dowager queen murmured through a sly smile.
“How do you—” Ehmet shook his head. He didn’t want the answer.
“Let me see that.” Nekash snagged the book from his brother’s hand and pored over the page. He flipped through, checking some of the other entries. “Oh, this is good. A good find, I mean.” He sniffed the pages and scrutinized a few lines. “It’s in surprisingly fine shape for its age.”
The dowager stuck her palms out, requesting the return of the journal. “I’ll take care of that.” She set it on the empty chair to her right, before serving herself a smattering of eggs, bacon, and fruit.
“Tea will age pages nicely. Make sure you don’t use anything overly fragrant though. Dead giveaway it’s fresh.”
“Stop.” Ehmet held up a hand. “No more. I am the king. Do not speak of illicit activity around me.”
His mother snorted.
“A significant find has been made on this day,” his brother said in an official tone.
“So...?” Ehmet’s heart pounded in his chest. His thumb found its way to his knuckle, and he tried to rub away some of the anxiety building within.
“So.” Nekash grinned, reveling in the chaos.
“So,” the dowager began. “It is best if this is discovered whilst you’re not here.” She pointed her fork at Ehmet. “But it should be found while some of the others are still in town. Namely Kashuvol, Rohapavol, and Midlake, who are still lingering even with the party so many days past.” She sneered at the thought of her overwelcome guests.
“Make certain Kashuvol and Rohapavol are present, or nearby when it is discovered,” Nekash added. “Make them think twice about aligning with Yusuf.”
The blaze of hope in his chest was intensifying into an inferno with every word his crazy mother and scheming brother spoke. Ehmet thought it was quite probable that smoke was escaping through his nose, his hope raged so. Bursts of energy ricocheted off his ribs and his palms began to sweat with anxious energy.
“Why are you still sitting here, idiot?” Nekash chortled. “The Crown’s secure. Go.”
“What of Lady Tahereh?” Ehmet choked out.
“I’ll take care of it.” His mother offered a placid smile. “I believe Baron Kashuvol was quite smitten with her.”
He knew he was the king. He knew he really shouldn’t let his mother “take care of it,” of any of it, it was morally reprehensible. But for the life of him, Ehmet could not seem to make himself care. So, he stood from the table, thanked his mother, and strode from the room feeling lighter than he had in weeks.