23. Hevva nods a lot.
twenty-three
Hevva nods a lot.
H evva moved through her days like a ghost. Outwardly, she focused all her attention on her responsibilities as Lady Hevva of Stormhill and her duties as Countess of Kabuvirib which she tended to from afar. It was during those brief working hours each day that her eyes held any semblance of a spark. Otherwise, she glided from place to place, like one of those training dummies in Serkath...numb, unthinking, impenetrable.
Day after day, she existed in this state until, one night, her mother took her aside after supper.
“Hevva, come, sit with me in the breakfast room.” The duchess caught up with her as she was skulking from the dining chamber.
Hevva turned slowly, drawing back her shoulders and forcing up her chin so she could float appropriately beside her mother, toward the circular chamber with windowed walls. There, a decanter of wine and two glasses awaited them.
She planned this.
A weary sigh escaped Hevva’s lungs as she dropped into one of the chairs at the dining table.
Her mother snapped twice, and a staff member dashed in on silent feet to fill their glasses before slipping out of the room. The door clicked closed behind the young woman .
“I don’t know precisely what has gotten under your skin of late,” the duchess began before pausing to sip her wine. “But I have a feeling it may be your first real heartbreak.”
Hevva sputtered—into her glass, luckily, or her mother’s scolding would already have commenced. This was not her first heartbreak, absolutely not. That had been with Sir Gamil Meshah, a cousin of the Baron of Napivol.
Gamil spent several months with the regiment out of Stormhill. He’d asked to be stationed there because he had family on his mother’s side in the town. Their courtship was fun, lighthearted, full of mushy platitudes. And then, one fall afternoon, she’d walked into town to call on Sir Gamil, and found him passionately snogging his fucking cousin. That was the moment she’d sworn off anyone from the aristocracy. A whole bunch of amoral arseholes .
Hevva had cried her eyes dry that night, nearly five years before, and she hadn’t felt like herself for several weeks.
Eventually, she’d returned to her old self and gone searching for a “nice common boy.” She found nice but not common, once or twice. She found plenty of common, but not nice. She found some that partially fit the bill. And then she met Berim.
“Perhaps,” she offered, though her mother was decidedly wrong. This was definitely not Hevva’s first heartbreak. She hadn’t loved Gamil, but he had broken her heart, and so had King Ehmet, as much as she loathed to admit it.
Lady Tilevir tutted, her eyes narrowing as she studied Hevva. “When I was a young woman of twenty, back in Kashuvol, I found myself involved with the most charming young man.” She paused her tale to refill their glasses, for once not bothering to call in a member of the staff. “We were young, and dumb. Magtin’s family had a shipping empire, and our fathers worked closely together. I thought we were a match predestined by the fates, sneaking away every night to share kisses by the river—”
“Ew, Mum.”
Her mother shrugged. “Months and months went by, just the two of us secretly courting, until his father told him he needed to marry.” The duchess sighed heavily, the memory, however distant, still able to dredge up feelings of sorrow, all those decades later.
Hevva’s mother took a sip before she continued, her voice soft and distant, “For many weeks we hoped to be wed, or I did at least. We determined the perfect plan for him to speak with my father. We even went so far as to discuss the night of our handfasting, and how we might...manage, while connected ’til dawn.”
Hevva made a gagging face.
“But he was the eldest son, and due to inherit. While marriage into trade with my family wouldn’t have been an embarrassment, it wasn’t to be. Ships and shipyards go together better than honey and boats.” She gazed wistfully out the window, staring at the darkened night. “The night before Magtin planned to speak with my father, his father informed him that a wise business deal had been struck: a merger by marriage. His wife would be the eldest daughter of a shipbuilding magnate from Kashuvol, and together the married children would build an empire...and they have.”
“Oh. Why did you never tell me this?”
“What would have been the point?” Lady Tilevir smiled wanly at her daughter. “It was not three mornings later that we received news of their betrothal. Hevva, it was the second worst day of my life. I ran from the house, hiding out in the wilderness for hours on end as I cried my heart out. The panic, the despair, it consumed me. I felt as though I would never find another. I felt the loss of the future we’d imagined together, the future I’d dreamt up for us.
“Eventually, the color returned to the world. I found joy in simple things. Eventually, passion budded and blossomed anew. It took time , my daughter. It took a long time, but in due course, all was well.”
She had no idea her mother had been through something so similar. Hevva couldn’t wait to hit that stage in the healing process. She’d spent all of nine days, in total, with the king. With Sir Gamil, they’d spoken for months. It had taken her a few weeks to forget those months. So, by that logic, it should only take her a few days to... Oh. Well, shit. She'd missed the deadline .
A searing pain burned through her at the thought of Ehmet married to Lady Tahereh. Hevva’s face soured, and she drank deeply while scouring her mind for anything else to say. Anything at all, that wouldn’t make her think of him. “You said it was the second worst day of your life?”
Her mother nodded. “The worst was when your father learned I’d spent all his money.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth, pushing up and through her despair to burst free. It surprised her with its lightness. Gods, I’m going mad.
“That was the worst one, because I had come to love him so very much, despite our rather arranged beginning.”
Hevva nodded, she’d heard this story before, always grateful that arranged marriages were not something her parents intended to push on her or Kas.
“I didn’t realize how silly I behaved, racking up all those expenses. I hadn’t thought about it, I assumed a duke would be wealthier than a honey trader! But oh, he was so angry at me. I thought he was going to break our bonds, send me on my way. He didn’t speak to me for five days. Did you know that?”
She shook her head.
The duchess tapped the stem of her glass, lost in thought. Eventually she continued, “Those days of silence, they were wretched. My chest burned from the pain, the fear of losing your father. I hadn’t told him how I felt, I’m not even sure I realized it myself until I’d nearly ruined it all. I was just a spoiled rich brat who’d spent all his money and was miserable to be around.” She scoffed at the memory of her past self. Then she pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “Though, I may still be a spoiled rich brat who is miserable to be around.”
Hevva chuckled.
“Ah!” Her mother leveled a finger at her. “I can say that about myself. Don’t you dare.”
She grinned.
“But here’s the thing, I think...with Magtin, we bandied words of love about like they meant nothing to us. And perhaps, perhaps they did...and it was never love in the first place. But with your father...” A soft smile settled on her face.
“With father, what?”
“It was always different, somehow. The words were never said, not for a long time. But the actions were there. We became the best of friends, even though we resented the way the world brought us together. We respect one another, features and flaws included. He was, he still is, my everything. When I thought I was going to lose him...when I almost did? Why, I wanted to die. It wasn’t the same as the loss of an imagined future with Magtin. No. With your father, I felt the loss of myself, of my other half, of my reason for existing on this mortal plane.”
Hevva nodded, gagged and unable to speak from the terrifying realization that had her by the throat. With Gamil she felt the way her mother had with Magtin. But now? Now, the loss threatened to consume her whole.
She could feel it in the way her bones threatened to break with every heavy step she took, in the way her lungs threatened to burst with every ragged breath she inhaled, the way her heart threatened to stop and give up, for the chore of pumping blood had grown wearisome. The thing that hurt the very most, was that she now realized she would embrace the duties of queen. She would discard her desire to find a nice common boy, like a used handkerchief...if she could be at his side.
This is terrible, she groaned. Everything was utterly fucked.
“You need a distraction.” Her mother interrupted Hevva’s morose musings.
She nodded mutely.
The duchess stood from her chair and looped the table. Then she leaned down and wrapped her arms around Hevva’s shoulders. In a rare show of gentle empathy, she pulled her fragile daughter into a warm embrace. “Go spend time at Summer Cottage,” the duchess murmured into Hevva’s hair.
Lady Hevva nodded again, this time punctuating it with a sob.