15. Hevva reflects on etiquette.
fifteen
Hevva reflects on etiquette.
M orning was awful. So Hevva went back to bed.
Midday was awful. So Hevva went back to bed.
Afternoon was awful. But Aylin wouldn’t let Hevva go back to bed.
“Let’s go, that’s right. Drink this down.”
Hevva chugged from the glass shoved in her face, expecting water, and nearly vomited all over again. “What is this?!”
“Hair of the dog that bit you, my lady.”
“Well, you’ve got the wrong dog, because that burns.” But the fiery whiskey was already settling her stomach, so she added, “Do you have any more?”
Aylin pulled a flask out of her pocket and poured a tipple for her. Hevva’s eyes widened at the crest on her maid’s new possession.
“Have you picked up thievery as a new hobby?”
Aylin smirked. “No, my lady. King Hethtar stopped by earlier and thought you might be in need. Says you can return it to him this evening.”
Hevva’s eyes widened further at the thought, and then snapped closed when muddled memories of the night before assaulted her. Her hand flew up as her mouth dropped open.
Aylin tossed professionalism out the window and laughed until she cried. Then she told Hevva of how the king returned her to her room and offered to help her out of her dress.
Hevva's gasp was so high pitched it whistled. “Do not tell my parents about this.”
“I will not. But I am certainly writing to my wife with the story.”
“As you should.”
“Here, you take this.” Aylin handed off the flask. “And follow me. You’re in desperate need of a bath, countess.”
H evva wasn’t on time to the drawing room but was far more prompt than she would’ve thought possible, given her rough start to the day. King Hethtar’s eyes flicked over the moment she entered. She assumed, incorrectly, that he’d been watching all his houseguests enter the salon. Veering in the opposite direction, she was keenly aware of the king’s flask in her pocket, and not at all ready to face the ghosts of the evening before.
“Countess,” the Baroness of Turkhane greeted her with a small smile. “I heard that you saw my husband at the annual symposium.”
“Baroness.” Hevva returned the woman's smile though a sour burning rose up in her stomach at the knowledge she held inside. Yes, she’d seen Turkhane...along with Roza. Does the poor woman know? Hevva wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t the right place to address the issue. “I did. In fact, we were guests at the Elk & Heron prior to the unfortunate fire.”
“Oh! How distressing that must have been for you, Countess.” The baroness pressed a palm to her chest.
Hevva thought about the children, all five of the little H’s who had been so terrified, stuck upstairs as they were, when the fire began. She nodded in agreement. “It was quite the ordeal.”
“To be sure! You must have been horrified at the prospect of losing your lovely wardrobe.”
Hevva cocked her head. Is this lady serious ?
The panic on the baroness’s face at the prospect of ruined dresses was enough to make Hevva want to turn on her heel and call it a night. Absolutely ludicrous. “It was nice to see you, Baroness.”
“You as well.” The woman smiled serenely and turned to address someone else.
Skirting the room, Hevva made small talk while avoiding the two most powerful men in the space. One made her distressingly uncomfortable. The other, delightfully so.
When, at last, dinner was called, the dowager queen requested that the Duchess of Rohapavol escort the king into supper. Lady Hevva was called up next, as the second highest ranking guest in attendance, to enter with Prince Nekash.
Behind her walked the Countess of Appven with Lord Yusuf Hethtar, the gray-haired Duke of Kashoorcih, who was also Ehmet and Nekash’s great-uncle. Behind that was the Duke of Rohapavol with the Baroness of Turkhane. And behind that, well, she stopped paying attention.
As they filed into the dining room, two-by-two, a sudden thought struck the countess: if the Duchess of Rohapavol hadn’t been in attendance, she’d have entered with the king. She sucked in a tense breath. As it was, she’d be sitting beside Ehmet during dinner.
Prince Nekash walked her around the head of the table where his brother was helping the Duchess of Rohapavol into her seat. Using the controlled heat of his fire magic, Nekash pulled out Hevva’s chair and proceeded to send discreet sizzling sparks cascading down her spine. She shivered. The sensation itself wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but the man behind the action was repulsive.
So, she urged a miniature spear to separate itself from her wooden chair back and jab into his thigh. A simple thought sent the sliver of wood sliding back into place in the carved mahogany, its surface unmarred—unlike the prince.
Behind her, Nekash hissed before limping to the other end of the table.
Good. I hope I drew blood.
The king sat down and leaned in slightly. In lowered tones he rumbled, “Whatever you’ve done to my brother, I am certain he deserved it. ”
“I do believe it was justified,” she murmured, with a twitch of her lips.
Lord Yaranbur, the Earl of Midlake, sat on her left and they exchanged pleasantries.
The first course was a delicious but dull affair. Conversation was stifled, tepid down the line. But as the second course was brought out, and more and more sips of wine were shared, the mood lightened.
Ehmet had done quite a number on etiquette at these royal affairs in his short time at the helm. In the past, conversation was relegated to the person on one’s left or one’s right, and that was it. But since his reign began, the king had been loosening expectations, and tongues, little by little.
At their end of the table, The Duke of Rohapavol sat next to his wife. Lord Yaranbur, to Hevva’s left, was seated next to the Duchess of Rohapavol’s sister. The four of them conversed with each other for most of the meal, leaving Hevva and Ehmet to their own devices. She couldn’t speak for the middle, though the misses and misters there seemed to be carrying on a lively conversation that crossed the board. At the opposite end, the dowager queen appeared bemused by whatever heated discussion was happening between Prince Nekash and the Duke of Kashoorcih.
“It’s times like this that I am grateful to be king. Don’t have to listen to whatever that is,” King Hethtar kept his voice low, gesturing infinitesimally with his fork toward the far end of the table.
“You’re not always grateful?” she whispered back, although no one was paying them any attention, at least not anyone near enough to hear them speak.
“No. It comes with a certain weight.”
She understood. “Pressure from above, from within, from all sides.”
“Precisely. Though it was worse when my father was still with us.”
“Is that so? I didn’t realize being the prince was more work than being the king.” Recognizing the weariness in his tone, she hoped injecting a bit of humor might coax a smile from the dutiful man. Her eyes floated down the table to Nekash.
Ehmet chuckled. “I’m a kinder overlord than Dad ever was. I like to think I make things easier on Nekash than it was before. Fewer bruises to sport at social events. Less...fear, all around. My mother’s happier now too.”
“Oh, I am so sorry. I did not realize—” Perhaps she shouldn’t have jested. Being king couldn’t be easy, but it was easier than living under the thumb of an angry man.
Hevva considered herself lucky to have avoided such wretches throughout her life. Her friend, Lorin, was now the overseer in Kabuvirib, but she first moved to the town as a young bride of the former overseer who turned out to have a penchant for barrels of ale and punching women in the face. Unfortunately, he’d gone out hunting with some of the other local men and never returned. Fortunately, Lorin was well-placed to assume the role her husband vacated.
As far as Hevva knew, the dead king hadn’t been out hunting when he passed, but she wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if he made a habit of hurting his wife and children. She always knew there was something unsavory about that man.
“It is nothing, my lady. Bad memories.”
“Our experiences shape us.” No one was allowed to approach Lorin from behind. She was a moderately strong windshifter who, when surprised, would wrap a thick cord around your neck and squeeze before she’d even had time to spin around and learn who made the grave error of greeting her.
“That they do. My hope is I’ve become quite the opposite of who he was. It’s what I strive for, anyway.”
“I’d say you have significantly more empathy than King Hethtar the Third. At least from what I’ve seen.”
“Thank you. I make it a point to be better in every facet of my life.”
“No wonder you’re so weary.”
He clinked glasses with her. “Exactly. Take last night for example...”
She eyed him inquisitively, expecting some reference to the ball.
“Sometimes you have to meet your people where they’re at and carry them to where they need to be.”
Her foot shot out and connected with his shin.
His eyes twinkled. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better now . . . ish. ”
He chuckled.
That flask was burning a hole in her pocket.
Soon the second course was cleared and dessert laid out upon the table. In a beautiful show of air magic prowess, an array of staff entered the room, and with practiced synchronization, they flew the desserts from the sideboards to dot the long table. The performance was met with a smattering of applause.
“How are you feeling today?” He asked as he helped himself to some fruits and cheese.
“You’ve already asked me that.”
“Different emphasis.” He shrugged minutely. Then, because no one was paying all that much attention as they filled their own plates, Ehmet selected a few choice strawberries and served them to Hevva. He followed up with some cubes of sharp cheese. The king drizzled both his plate and hers with a liberal helping of Selwassan honey.
“Thank you? And I will not be answering that question.” Hevva selected a strawberry and popped the whole thing into her mouth. Then, because she was sticky, and someone halfway down the table spilt their wine, pulling everyone’s attention away, she licked the tips of her honeyed fingers.
Beside her, Ehmet groaned.
“What?” She winked, nudging the king with her foot beneath the table.
He pushed his tongue over his teeth and returned the hidden gesture. “Well.”
“Well.”
“I believe my friend Berim will be arriving this evening. His travel was delayed...recovering from an unfortunate incident.”
“My gods, I had no idea!” She pressed a hand to her heart emphatically.
He raised a brow as if to say, “Did you truly not know?” But he asked her, “Do you happen to know if Miss Saka has arrived?”
“I believe she will be turning up later.”
“Good.”
“Good.”