12. Hevva dives in.
twelve
Hevva dives in.
I t was late afternoon when Hevva arrived home after a visit to Kabuvirib—three weeks to the day from when she’d returned from the symposium with Kas and driven up the very same packed dirt drive. Stormhill, with its gray stone walls and the afternoon sun winking in the windows, had welcomed her then and did so again. Her family’s seat sat atop a hill overlooking the lakeside town of the same name. Architecturally different, geographically different, altogether different than Rohilavol, she still couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Loch Burshin ran off into the river that flowed all the way down to the king’s home at Hewran Hall. He wasn’t even there anymore, neither one of him.
In spite of the weeks that passed since the symposium, unwanted memories spun through her mind’s eye. She’d tried to replace them with not one but three wild nights out in Kabuvirib with her dear friend, and mine overseer, Lorin. Perhaps because everyone knew them in town, perhaps because Lorin was half a foot shorter than Hevva and never once lifted her up, perhaps because she was a she and not Berim, it didn’t work. Even talking Lorin’s ear off about her adventures, in which she changed King Ehmet to a merchant’s son, didn’t help at all.
Home again, she was chagrined to learn the symposium was still Kas's primary topic of conversation. It was the sole subject she wanted to avoid, so she retreated to her rooms. Sending Aylin off to catch up with her wife, Hevva unpacked on her own. She often enjoyed the monotony of the task, but not that day. It offered too much time, too much quiet for her thoughts to race back to Rohilavol.
When her brother came tumbling into her chamber on too-long legs and begged Hevva to go to the creek with him, she gave in, though she feared he’d turn the topic to their time at the symposium.
They swam in blissful silence for a long while, and Hevva got the distinct impression overly-wise Kas had picked up on her disinterest in discussing their recent shared trip. In an attempt to find a suitable topic, and being no stranger to her future marriage intentions, he asked if she met any “nice common boys” in Kabuvirib. The question didn’t go as he intended, seeing as she quite forgot to answer. Hevva floated in the slow-moving section of the creek, staring up at the leafy green treetops that reminded her of a certain someone’s eyes.
She hadn’t met any nice common boys in Kabuvirib, but she certainly had in Rohilavol. Kind of. Berim was perfect. If only she could find a real boy who fit that mold. She’d had the chance to dance with one before the blasted king showed up to draw her away.
Kas must have seen the pinched expression upon her face or noticed the way she kept chewing on her lip while trying in vain to relax. He dove beneath her and headbutted Hevva on the back. After she finished sputtering and splashing her little brother, he launched the next conversation.
“Tell me about Kabuvirib! Any new veins or exciting developments?” For a boy of fourteen, he was far too interested in their mining town in northern Selwas. But the dull subject was a welcomed distraction for the countess.
“Nothing too great, more iron as always, garnets, some olivine.” And olivine is green, like—
Oh, my gods. Stop.
“Good, good.” Kas pursed his small mouth before diving down to the bottom of the swimming hole they’d built a decade before. She’d been slightly older than his current age and he’d been no more than three when they started the project. It took two years of semi-diligent work to move the stones into place and dam up a substantial portion of the stream. The results were well worth the trouble, and they enjoyed their secret spot every summer since.
When Kas resurfaced, he began chatting again, “Is it true that the surface mine is nearly tapped out? If so, I think you need to consider reopening the eastern shaft.”
“I could, but I would need to speak with Lorin to see what her thoughts are.” Her close friend and mine overseer would have the final say. She was the expert, Hevva funded the affair. “Did I tell you that our scouts found a kimberlite pipe up in the Dhegurs? Still in our territory, too.”
“No! That’s so exciting. I need to go see it.”
“Next summer? It’s submerged at the moment, and we need to bring in some extra watercoursers to drain while we dig.”
“Are you planning to shift focus from iron to diamonds?”
“No, I’m thinking about expanding the enterprise.”
Kas bobbed his head and tapped his nose, looking so very much like their father that Hevva burst into laughter.
“What?!”
“Nothing. It’s just, sometimes I think you should have been born first. You’d do a great job of running Kabuvirib.”
“I will eventually, once you become Duchess and I am the earl.”
“Too true. Let’s not wish that on ourselves or mother and father too quickly. Come on, let’s get back inside.”
Paddling downstream, the siblings returned to the narrow, sandy shore that marked their entrance into the rolling creek. After wrapping themselves in plush robes, they trudged back to the manor.
Kas, on his too-big-feet, stumbled over a root in the path, and Hevva followed suit. After laughing at themselves, she decided to use her earth magic to smooth the way back to Stormhill. They were quite tired.
“Have you talked to the king?” her little brother chirped.
Hevva’s pulse skyrocketed in such a burst that she started seeing stars. “Why would I talk to him?”
“I thought you maybe became friends at the symposium?”
Friends? Is this one of his too-mature-for-his-age moments? She crossed her arms.
“Why do you look like that? I’ve been writing to my new friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gulan and Hothan Tarisden!”
Oh.
“Mr. Gulan said he will be sending me a fossilized faerie from the Dhegurs, can you believe it!? And with Mr. Tarisden, I’ve been discussing the potential similarities between Selwassan and Karovian elemental magic.”
“What do you know about Karova?”
“Not much, but that’s why it’s so interesting!”
As her brother rambled on about his correspondence with his friends, all of whom happened to be over the age of forty-five, Hevva chuckled. It seemed his inquiry was innocent. Her reaction? Not so much.
“ P osture, Hevva!” Lady Tilevir barked at her daughter when she walked into the dining chamber that evening.
Hevva pushed her shoulders back and swallowed a sigh. A servant dashed forward to pull out her chair, snap open a napkin, and place it across her lap, all before Hevva could murmur a quiet “thank you” softly enough that her mother wouldn’t overhear.
“Where is your brother?” the duke inquired as he held his empty goblet aloft for a refill.
“He should be here in a moment; we swam too long.”
Her mother huffed. “Swimming is not an appropriate pastime for a countess, Hevva. We have discussed this.”
“Yes, Mum. It won’t happen again.” It would.
Kas stumbled into the room and plopped down into his chair.
Their mother exhaled harshly. Her brother hadn’t waited for a staff member to assist him.
Hevva blinked long and slow—a safer bet than rolling her eyes. The duchess cared about the strangest things. Dinner, for example, was always a formal affair with everything done by workers. It had been easy enough for the family to shift with the new king’s culture, to considering servants as members of staff, because they always were . The Tilevir Kahoth family ensured that everyone employed by them was paid handsomely, because they always had. But the level of involvement Lady Tilevir, Duchess of Stormhill, demanded from the staff...it was a bit much for Hevva’s tastes.
Silent hands reached around her body as someone spooned a dollop of potatoes onto her plate. Another servant passed behind, sliding a piece of fish and some vegetables in front of the countess. Wine entered her glass, the bottle arriving from somewhere over her left shoulder.
Hevva thought she might like to try something at Kabuvirib that was more in line with what King Hethtar was doing at Hewran Hall and the palace. She should have asked him about his staffing structure and management style while they were at the symposium. Silly her, so many chances to glean information that would help her to better her lands and the lives of her people, and she’d been focused on other things.
What a wasted opportunity.
“Hevva. Did you hear anything I have said?”
“No.”
Her mother sighed, disappointed. “A letter arrived from Kirce—”
“Oh, from your friend?” Kas piped up.
Hevva kicked him beneath the table.
“An invitation,” the duchess finished, unamused. “Thera.” She snapped her fingers at the maid. “Bring the correspondence.”
Thera, Aylin’s beloved partner, slipped out of the room on silent feet.
Hevva’s pulse amplified as she tried to focus on the array of greens in front of her. But she found her thoughts kept drifting to a pair of eyes, quite similar in color to her salad, belonging to a man who was presently residing at Kirce Palace. An invitation for what? From whom? She wasn’t going to go. She couldn’t go. There was no reason to go. Why would she go?
I should go.
Nope. No. Shut up, Saka. Terrible idea.
It’s a wonderful idea .
I don’t even know what it’s an invitation for. I am not going.
She chomped an oversized bite of lettuce, but was saved from her mother’s chastisement when Thera slipped back into the room. The maid held the invitation aloft like it was a feather. It appeared to place no strain on her upturned palm.
Odd, considering the weight of the thing.
“We waited to read it until you returned,” Lord Kahoth offered in his low voice.
“There is no way that is true, Dad.” She didn’t believe for one second that her parents would sit on a letter from Kirce without immediately tearing into it.
She was pretty sure her mother kicked her father beneath the table, so she did not get a response.
Hevva flipped open the seal, which had indeed been opened already—dads were silly things—and began to read aloud. While the duke and duchess almost certainly knew its contents, Kas didn’t. And if there was one thing Kas couldn’t stand, it was not knowing information. So, she humored him.
“ ‘ Lady Hevva Tilevir, Countess of Kabuvirib, The Royal Court of Selwas requests the pleasure of your company to celebrate...’” In spite of her best efforts, she stopped reading aloud and skimmed the rest of the page. “There’s a birthday celebration for Prince Nekash. A weeklong house party at Kirce. It begins in eleven days’ time. I don’t think I will be going to this. Why am I the only one invited?”
“Because it’s not a birthday party,” Kas chimed in. “ I think it’s a wife finding party. For the king.”
Hevva choked on her wine.
“You will be going,” her father commented, his tone leaving no room for compromise. “You hardly have to marry the king, but you are a countess. You will be a duchess, Hevva. You can’t turn down this invitation. It would be a terrible slight to the Crown.”
“That gives us a week to prepare.” Her mother beamed. If there was one thing Lady Tilevir loved, it was preparing for an aristocratic event. “You will need an entirely new wardrobe, of course!” She tapped her fingers together excitedly.
This is how Dad lost his fortune. It was regained, decades ago now. But it had taken the duke a solid two years of hard work and one very lucky bet to refill the family coffers. Or so he told her. Now he held his ground.
“Three dresses will suffice,” her father spoke firmly, giving her mother’s hand a little squeeze.
Lady Tilevir pouted.
“I have plenty of gowns that haven’t been seen in Serkath, or any fine company.” Hevva pacified her mother with a smile.
“Oh! Well, which ones? We’ll need to lay them all out. Immediately, of course .” The duchess glanced pointedly at Thera, who again slipped from the room, before swinging her gaze back to land upon her daughter. She nearly clapped from excitement. Hevva saw her mother’s hands quiver, but the action would’ve been too uncouth for Lady Anrei Tilevir. Unable to stop the crinkles that settled in at the corners of her pale eyes, or the way her fingertips tapped a joyous rhythm, she continued, “Then we’ll decide what needs to be ordered. Oh! And! You must need at least one new pair of slippers. And jewels. We’ll need to consider both my collection and yours.”
Hevva returned her mother’s wide smile with a soft one of her own.
A nice common boy. Her mantra rang tinny and faint as she was swept up in preparations.