5. Ehmet throws his boot.
five
Ehmet throws his boot.
T he late-night air held a balminess Ehmet could almost taste as he stood out on his bedroom balcony listening to distant filtered music punctuated by the occasional shout and piercing shriek of laughter. The party in Rohilavol at the base of the hill, between his home and the River Burshin, would continue all night. For several nights, in fact.
He loved this time of year in the town turned city. Typically a town, technically a town, his city picked up the loftier title during the symposium when thousands poured in from the kingdom at large. Summer in Rohilavol was the only time it was acceptable to call it a city, and so, he did. He’d always considered himself lucky to be their duke, duty bound to the historic city with its ancient Institute, its annual Symposium of Prodigious Minds, and the half-ancient estate of Hewran Hall. Now, it seemed he’d become king of it all .
Of course, Ehmet knew the day would come knocking. While there was no love lost between him and his late father, or even between the people of Selwas and their former king, he’d hoped to have a bit more time before the weight of the world settled onto his shoulders.
With a sigh, he sipped a glass of whiskey. Perks of being king, Ehmet mused as he eyed the ultra-fine drink, a gift from the King of Domos himself. The advantages of ruling a great nation were present, though slim, at least the ones he deemed of import. Most of his time was spent in the dull cycle of duty, things he must do because he was in charge. But the occasional affair, like the symposium, offered respite from his drier responsibilities, a chance to reconnect with his people, and occasionally stumble across a sliver of amusement.
He was surprised Nekash hadn’t stuck around for the duration of the three-day compendium. The prince loved a good party. But, after having presented their united front at the opening address, his brother deemed his duty done. Then the man gathered a small retinue and set off south to grace some lascivious house party with his princely presence. They’d meet back up at the palace in Serkath, eventually.
Moonlight broke from behind hazy cloud cover, piercing silver and propelling images of the beguiling woman he’d met earlier through his mind’s eye. He wondered how she fared after the reaction she’d been having.
Perhaps it was too many drinks?
No, she’d been less pink and rashy earlier in the night.
Ehmet had intended to help her out, despite her protesting. But then his rake of a brother showed up with that harlot on his arm, and the beautiful, if ailing, countess snuck away.
“Nekash,” he grumbled into his drink. The scoundrel always seemed to find his way into matters better left untouched.
Lady Hevva Tilevir though, she intrigued him. First with the fierce protectiveness she’d shown her brother when she’d approached him with that sparkling attitude.
Effervescent.
She was.
Ehmet sipped his drink and leaned out into the night, forearms resting on the stone railing before him. She’d flat denied his invitation to dine. “No,” she’d said. The king barked with laughter and flexed the muscles in his hand before bringing it up to rub the back of his neck. What kind of woman was so married to decorum she demanded the perfect introduction, yet so dismissive of propriety she declined his invitation? Who denies an invitation to dine with the king?
A variation of his mother’s constant prodding echoed in his mind: “ Solidify your line, son. It is time to take a wife.”
He did need to, but it certainly wouldn't be with someone as uninhibited as Lady Hevva. Furthermore, he wasn’t in it for love. The tumultuous ardor his father felt for his mother, the constant pain and sorrow the late king inflicted on his queen. Absolutely not. Ehmet had vowed to never, ever, go down that path.
A nice sensible young woman from a decent family. Someone who would make a good companion and be willing to pop out a few heirs. That’s what he was looking for.
Though their encounters were brief, Ehmet knew for an absolute fact that Lady Hevva Tilevir, daughter of the Duke of Stormhill, was not wife material. Certainly not for him.
He saw her then, in his memory, her lithe frame in the silver and blue dress she’d worn to the plenary address, those piercing eyes, her luxurious silver satin hair. After dinner, at the inn, the first thing he noticed was her new gown. From bathing in moonlight to plunging into the depths of the ocean, she’d changed into an evening ensemble that rippled in a thousand shades of blue. It was astonishing, and he wasn’t one for clothes.
The second thing he’d noticed was the fact that she was vomiting behind the stables. The way she’d snapped at him when he’d tried to help her...definitely not the right woman for him. Far too volatile. Now, if she was interested in a casual thing, he might be willing to consider the opportunity.
Time for bed, he announced. Ehmet drowned his irritation in the remainder of his drink and plodded through the glass double doors to his enormous chamber.
S houting and slamming awoke him sometime during the night. Ehmet was out of bed, cracking his neck, and weaving together a hefty sword all before he’d even opened his eyes to see what was going on. It was dawn, the hazy orange sun started its climb over Rohilavol as he tugged on a pair of only-slightly-dirty suede trousers.
Where the fates are my sta—? His half-formed thought was cut off by the door flying open. Panicked, Ehmet chucked his footless boot at the intruder.
A thunk preceded a croaking, “Your Majesty.” His butler shuffled into the room, one hand on his manhood and one hand holding Ehmet’s left shoe.
“Ah, Parosh. Sorry about that, man.” Ehmet accepted his offending boot from the hunched butler. Decent aim. Though, it would’ve been better if he’d been an intruder and not a loyal member of the staff. “What is happening?”
“Fire, Sir.”
Ehmet startled. “Where?”
“Elk he knew who they were talking about. Energy charged Ehmet’s extremities as thoughts raced. Using his magic to craft a pair of blacksmith’s gloves that would protect him from the heat, he dashed toward the back entrance.
“She’s gone back up! Top floor!” the woman with Lord Kas shouted after him.
“King Hethtar, don’t—” someone else’s voice rang out, but he didn’t stick around to hear what they had to say.
Heart keeping time with his boots, Ehmet sprinted through the untouched dining room, dodging tables. Top floor . The roar grew louder with each landing he rounded, the heat more oppressive the higher he climbed. Rooms were gone on the third level, black, the ceiling caved in. Up, up! Shielding his mouth with his palm, as if that stopped the press of smoke, he dodged burning balusters, taking the final flight two stairs at a time.
A long narrow room ran the length of the level: the family’s living space. He scanned the doors along the far wall, ready to shout her name over the deafening fire. A door across the room swung open, fanning flames, and there she was, emerging into an impossible situation. The floor between them had burned away, a gaping smoking maw.
“Come this way. It will be all right, I promise,” Lady Hevva shouted to two small figures at her back as she moved to exit the chamber. A third tiny being was pressed against her chest in a one arm hold. Despite the volume of her voice, loud enough to carry over the roar of flames and shouts of people outside, she sounded almost calm and motherly. The nervous shadows behind her moved in, one clutched the other, and the one in the middle clung for dear life to the back of Lady Hevva’s nightdress.
Horror tore through him at the sight of her stepping forward, she would drop with those poor children to the floor below. Who knew if the charred beams would even hold them? They could crash further, falling to their deaths. “No!” he roared, moving forward as he began to craft the sort of footbridge a child might build across a narrow stream. Chaos wove together, logs popping into position beneath Ehmet’s feet.
At that same moment, the countess drew on her own magic to grow and expand the burnt and broken boards across the hole, creating a floor for her to cross with the children. Flames licked at her heels as she pulled the young ones to safety, somehow graceful throughout the turmoil.
They met in the middle of the ruined room. A ceiling beam shuddered and cracked, sending a shower of ashes tumbling down onto them. They slapped at their clothing as Ehmet grabbed the youngest child from the lady’s arms. She turned tightly and scooped up the middle one before grasping the eldest’s hand. “Why are you here?!”
Behind him, flames tore across the room. A glance confirmed the stairwell had been engulfed. Shouts sounded from somewhere above, the watercoursers who’d been working on the chimney discovered the ongoing blaze within. Jets of water hissed against the encroaching fire. They wouldn’t be enough. “We can’t go back that way.”
“What?” Either she couldn’t hear him or couldn’t process anything further given the horrors she’d endured that night.
With a barely audible pop , Ehmet let his hastily crafted bridge dissipate. He tightened his grip on the tiny child in his arm, and with his other he held onto Lady Hevva’s shoulder. She peered up at him, her blue eyes vibrant against the coating of soot on her face. “To the window.”
“I can’t!” Her well was nearly dry.
“Trust me!” His wasn’t. He didn’t really have one.
She drew on what remained of her magic to stitch together the burnt-out floorboards and their group hurried forward. One of the children screamed and another burst into tears as they reached the destroyed edge of the building where the window once hung. The crowd below stared up at them, agog .
“MOVE! Get out of the way,” he boomed. The gaggle faltered before people got a hold of themselves and made space. Some shuffled back a few steps, others turned and ran to the recesses of the yard. Horses in the stable screamed while the fire roared behind Ehmet, the countess, and the crying children.
He drew chaos from the flames, hoping it would quell the raging inferno as he built their escape. A long slick ramp popped into existence, angling away from the upper floor and across the yard to where it almost reached the cobbled street beyond.
“Be ready to catch us,” Ehmet shouted down to the crowd. People jumped into position, and he turned to the eldest panicked child. “It’s going to be fine, sit down and slide to the ground.”
The girl, who couldn’t have been older than ten, stared up at him with terror in her eyes.
“Look, there’s your father down there! He is ready to catch you. You’ll be all right,” the countess reassured the girl as she coaxed her into position. Down below the innkeeper jumped and waved, he was shouting something they couldn’t make out. Two other children stood by his side.
Ehmet glanced over at the remarkable Lady Hevva Tilevir, barefoot and clad only in her nighttime shift. She’d raced back into the inn—more than once, if he’d heard correctly—to rescue the innkeeper’s children. The flickering of flames around them grew brighter, fanned by a burst of summer breeze rising from the river. Firelight shone through her thin chemise, silhouetting her form in a way the gods should never have allowed for.
He gulped.
These weren’t even her people. She should have remained safe outside.
Muddled shouts rose up from below.
“See, your brother and sister are there too, they’re waiting for you.” The lady’s voice carried a softness he wouldn’t have thought possible given the harrowing situation.
The girl was off, whizzing down the king’s creation into the safety of her father’s arms. “After you, my lady.” Ehmet helped Hevva and the middle child onto his slide. She settled the boy between her legs, and they zipped away.
Then it was his turn. The tiny child in his arms was no longer wailing, instead it gazed entranced over Ehmet’s robust shoulder. Reflections of flames shone in the babe’s wide eyes. “Come along, little one,” he murmured as he sat down and zoomed away from the pursuing blaze.
Feet firm on the cobbled yard once again, Ehmet let the metallic escape route dissipate back into nothing. He remembered, and released, his makeshift blacksmith’s gloves as well. A frantic woman raced up to him. “My baby! My baby,” she shrieked, voice raw, as she grasped for the child in his arms. He handed off the babe and took a few steps away from the chaos.
The innkeeper and his wife were huddled together with their three children, all tears and arms, kisses and “I love yous.” Lord Kas and the woman with him had rushed to Hevva’s side and were holding her close. The lady rested her head atop her brother’s bony shoulder, her back heaving as she sought comfort in his arms.
Ehmet shivered, sweat-drenched skin puckering in the night breeze. Soot coated his damp shirt, and he coughed, eyes falling on his clean hands and the stark line where the gloves he’d worn ended. Slinking toward the stables, he located a clear patch of wall and leaned back against the solid, non-burning structure. He exhaled a sigh of relief.
It wasn’t long before the fire was contained and extinguished, thanks to the swift response of watercoursers. Both guests and staff had risen to the occasion. Lady Hevva was being praised for her heroics, and he could hear her trying to pass off some of the credit to him, as if she really didn’t want all the attention on herself. He nearly smiled but was far too drained from the frantic rescue. Parosh found him in the shadows beside the stable, near to where the lady emptied her stomach earlier in the night. She’s had an horrendous day.
“What would you like to do, Your Majesty?”
Ehmet tugged himself back to duty, straightened his back, set his metaphorical crown atop his head, and began issuing commands.
“ W elcome to Hewran Hall,” he declared, gaze lingering on Hevva. He was impressed by her leadership during the crisis. That’s all.
The forty-some-odd displaced guests of the Elk & Heron stood within the entry hall, gazing up at him through exhaustion and a lot of soot. The entire inn would need to be rehomed for the remainder of the night while the building was aired out. A smaller subset of the group would stay longer due to the utter destruction of their rooms. It was the least he could do to provide some comfort amidst the chaos. “My staff will escort you to your chambers. Baths and meals are waiting for you there. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. And please, make yourselves at home.”
Murmurs of “thank you, Your Majesty” and “too kind, too kind” met his ears. He nodded tersely at the unexpected guests, then turned to stalk up the stairs.
By some stroke of luck, the fire at the inn had been contained to the family apartment on the upper floor and two guest rooms below. Ehmet readily agreed to take in the roomless guests, which included Lord Rithgar Nithim, the Baron of Turkhane and his lady friend, Roza (no surname), an older couple, Shilan and Teymour Gulan, and, as fate would have it, Lady Hevva Tilevir and Lord Kas Kahoth, along with the lady’s maid who he’d learned was named Aylin.
The baron hadn’t been displaced. His room was on the second floor of the establishment, but he’d offered to give it up for the innkeeper and his wife to use as temporary quarters. The couple needed to remain on site to keep the Elk & Heron running in spite of the disaster. It was too busy, with the symposium, to shut down even temporarily. Ehmet suspected Turkhane’s offer had less to do with altruism and more to do with being able to say he’d been a guest of the king. The man didn’t even like him, he was friends with Yusuf, for fucks sake. Turkhane would have to cut his losses if he was hoping to spy for the Duke of Kashoorcih. Ehmet had nothing to hide, and no desire to fuel that fire.
Oh, and there were the children. Ehmet had pulled the innkeeper and his distraught wife aside and offered to care for their five offspring over the coming days. He would happily keep them safe and entertained at Hewran Hall while the aftermath of the fire was handled. The couple were initially shocked by his offer, but wound up accepting the aid. It felt good to do something tangible, not just sign his name to scroll after scroll after scroll.
As the sun rose in earnest, Ehmet spent a few hours in his study, sending out missives to workers who would repair the Elk & Heron. The project, while imperative, only took up a morsel of his time. Left to his own devices he wandered the large and quiet hall.
Sure, he’d unexpectedly filled most of his guest chambers for the night. But the symposium attendees had not yet risen for the day. They’d need breakfast before heading down into town. Ah, breakfast. That gave him something else to focus on. He needed a distraction, considering his standard ongoing ruminations regarding the weight of the crown and all it entailed had gone on a surprising hiatus. That should be a relief, but unfortunately, it was not.
Sitting in his atrium as the sun rose above the hall, Ehmet watched it light the tops of the trees along the back of his property. A servant delivered a mug of spiced tea, and he sent them away with instructions for the morning meal. Left alone again, Ehmet sipped his drink while considering whether or not to return to his chamber and force a few more hours of rest in a proper bed. The last vestiges of anxious energy still pulsed through his system. It wouldn’t be worth it. Bed would have to wait for another night, for Ehmet’s mind remained obnoxiously busy.
The king sprawled out on a discreet sofa in his solar, like a cat in the morning sun. With his eyes closed, he willed a nap to come. A few more minutes of sleep would be grand. But through closed lids, as dappled light danced red on black, images of a figure silhouetted by roaring flames stood firmly in his line of sight.